We Carry on with Gashes on Our Backs
"Fight! Fight! Fight!"
Castiel made no move to fight back, looking up at the two boys with emotionless eyes. Another kick to the stomach came and he hissed, taking in a deep breath. The sun was brutal, beating down as hard if not harder than the two boys above him. He held his tongue, his strength, his temper. He would be just as bad if he were to attempt to harm them.
"Lying fag!" one boy spat and kicked him a few more times, Castiel held his torso in his arms, rolling so his back was to the bully. He felt a drop of blood stream down from his nose and he grimaced at the metallic tang when it touched his lips.
Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel saw the shorter boy lean towards the other and whisper something. The taller glared back at Castiel on the ground and kicked him one last time, the toe of his shoe bruising his ribs and Castiel was unsure if he was imagining when he heard a small crack. The pair left, the crowd murmuring amongst themselves and some giving a disappointed frown as they dispersed. The reason to the two's leave showed itself when a teacher started walking his way, a student at his side.
Castiel couldn't bring himself to get up just yet, a burning pain ripping through his stomach and ribs. He took a few deep breaths and after a couple minutes he pushed himself up to his knees. The teacher and the student were very near him now, but Castiel hardly looked at either of them. He brought his shirt sleeve to his nose, wiping away a streak of blood and gave a shuddering breath as he forced himself to his feet.
He stumbled upon taking a first few steps, but eventually made his way to the restroom. He could feel the gaze of the teacher and the student on him, but still he paid them no mind. Feeling safer once he was behind the locked stall door, he slumped over on the toilet seat and put his head in his hands. He touched his rib, letting out a hiss of pain.
The door opened again, and Castiel felt a sense of dread, solitude being the only thing he needed at the moment. Even so, he held his breath, waiting for the person to do his business and leave. The footsteps were hesitant and slow, and stopped in front of the stall he was in. Castiel felt his heart jump, hoping it wasn't one of the boys that were just finished with him, for now anyways.
"You all right, man?" a gruff voice asked. "Mr. Singer told me to take you to the clinic."
It was clear then that the man outside the cell was the student that was walking with the teacher. Even so, Castiel wasn't one to talk. He felt something odd stir inside him, perhaps it was a pinch of shock or even happiness that for the first time someone showed him some kind of concern.
Apparently it had been a while since the man spoke since he said again: "Are you sure you're okay? You looked pretty banged up. You should go to the clinic, y'know, get checked out for injuries and all that jazz."
"I'm fine," Castiel replied in an even tone. He saw the man shuffle his feet uncomfortably.
"C'mon man, you gotta let me take you to the clinic. I'll be worried all day if you don't."
Castiel hesitated, swallowing and grimacing a second time as the blood wasn't completely gone from his lips. He let out a small sound of pain as he stood up again and unlocked the stall door. The man on the other side of the door was just a bit taller than him, Castiel noted, and his eyes sparkled. He found himself awestruck, gazing into his eyes so pure and Castiel couldn't help what slipped past his lips.
"You're bright."
The man gave a gruff laugh. "Bright? C'mon there's like no light in here. There's plenty in the clinic though. Let's go."
Castiel nodded once, feeling foolish for letting the words go like that. He was still unaccustomed to the way the humans worked, but still he knew so much as to know not to say things like that. The other man was quiet most of the walk across campus and Castiel quietly studied his profile. Awhile later, the stranger spoke up again.
"I'm Dean by the way."
"Dean," Castiel tested the name on his lips, saying a few moments later, "My name is Castiel."
The stranger—Dean—laughed a beautiful laugh, his body moving along with it and his smile stretching across his face. Castiel was enraptured.
"Isn't that a religious name?" he asked with those bright eyes. "Angel of Thursday."
Castiel looked shocked for a moment. How do you know who I am? he fought the urge to ask, and instead substituted, "Not many people know the names of angels."
Dean shrugged, "My brother is a geek. I have to listen to him talk about all kinds of crap: religion, history, or literature etc."
Castiel nodded once, "He seems well educated."
"He is."
The lapsed into another silence, but Dean seemed eager to break it. "Do you have any siblings?"
Castiel looked down, smiling in spite of himself. Had he internally corrected. However when he answered, he said, "I do."
Dean turned around a corner and soon they were in the clinic. There was the average kid with a cold, one kid that was just skipping class, ("I have a really really bad headache!"), and one girl that was getting her daily medicine. The nurse looked up, her nametag reading Nurse Jody Mills, and immediately rushed over.
"What the hell kind of tornado hit you?" she asked and led him to a chair for him to sit down. She started with taking a wet cloth and dabbing a few cuts on his face.
Castiel was relieved when Dean answered for him: "I dunno, I just found him like that on the ground," he looked at Castiel with another grin. Castiel's stomach flipped. "Took some convincing to get 'im here though."
Nurse Mills looked disapprovingly at Castiel, "You should never hesitate when you need medical attention," she said sternly. "I'm going to need you to take off your shirt. I can see blood soaking through, and I need to check for serious injuries."
Castiel nodded, wincing at every moment he made to move his torso. He dropped the shirt on the ground. The colder air felt like a slap in the face, stinging a rather largely sized bruise on his chest. He took in a deep breath, control the pain. It is not real.
"I'm going to press on your stomach. Tell me if it hurts," she said and applied a bit of pressure just over his ribs.
Castiel made a pained face and immediately informed, "That hurts."
The woman nodded sadly, saying, "I think you've bruised a rib here."
They proceeded in relative silence and Castiel made a few noises of discomfort as she bandaged him up. Dean attempted to make up a small topic once and a while, but from the three word answers Castiel provided, he soon gave up. He looked at him as if he was a puzzle because who is Castiel? Apparently Dean didn't know, and apparently no human may in their lifetime.
Castiel may be described as being withdrawn, but given his history, it is to be expected. Castiel eventually became used to the occasional pinches and pricks and he let his mind drift away. The physical world never did much for him, not that anyone could relate to him, but it was still comforting to read of different dimensions and surrealism. Newly human, Castiel imagines he would like to be an author.
The nurse gave a curt nod as if to say All done here, and then she turned back towards her desk. "You'll have to sign in," she said, "I normally would have them sign in when they first come in, but you looked pretty bad. Your name?"
"Castiel," said man replied.
There was a stretching silence between the three and the nurse's expecting gaze scratched at Castiel's face.
"Castiel..?"
"Yes."
"No, she means your last name," Dean provided.
Castiel looked uncomprehensive for a moment. "Oh," he said dumbly, "Novak."
The nurse chuckled and wrote it down, "I'll have to check you for a concussion!" she teased and turned back to him with a content sigh. "Well you're all fixed up! It's third period right now. He's a new shirt. Be careful now! I'd normally say 'see you' but taking as this place is what it is, I hope to never see you again!"
Dean laughed softly, but Castiel remained quiet and simply nodded. He stood from the chair, striding over and taking the shirt in his hands, seeming to have difficulty with figuring it out at first. Just when it was slipping over his head, he head Dean speak.
"Dude," he sounded breathless and Castiel turned confusedly towards him. "What's on your back?"
"My back?"
"Oh my word, how did that happen?" the nurse looked concernedly at him.
"What happen?"
Eyes flickered pointedly to a mirror.
"Oh," Castiel said lamely, staring at the gashes just under his shoulder blades. "It's nothing."
"Damn that looks bad," Dean hissed and his fingers twitched as if he wished to touch it. "What happened?"
The shirt was hastily and clumsily pulled over his torso and pride flashed over Castiel's face at the act. He looked up content with himself; his eyes locked with Dean's, Dean's unanswered question lingering like the aftertaste of wine on his lips and Castiel's blatant desire to leave it that way was flying back and forth.
"I have English next," Castiel said and picked up his bag.
"Really? Me, too!" Dean grinned widely and Castiel found his eyes lingering longer than they should have.
"Oh look, friends already," Nurse Mills smiled and shooed them off.
The classroom wasn't that far from the clinic, so it took nearly a minute to reach the door. Just before they entered, though, Dean still had one itch to scratch.
"So wha'dya even do to make those kids pick on you like that?"
Castiel turned to him as if he didn't expect him to ask. "I told him that his father is wrong to ever beat him."
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say since Dean looked like he'd been electrocuted.
"What the hell, man? You don't just say things like that!" he hissed and looked around as if it was a crime and they were two feet away from the imperial guard.
"He looked pained," Castiel said slowly, "I thought it would help him."
Dean gave a sigh and raked a hand through his hair. "First year in high school?" he asked, and Castiel nodded. "Freshman?"
Castiel tilted his head incomprehensibly.
"Y'know, ninth grade," Dean received the same blank stare. "You have been to school before," he joked.
But evidently Castiel was not joking, he still looked confused.
"How old are you?" Dean asked, getting frustrated.
"Eighteen—"
"Hey what are you boys doing? Get to class!" a teacher shouted as she passed the hall they were in.
"Shit, man, let's go," Dean rushed into the classroom.
"…Trillion, years old," Castiel finished absently and followed.
"Fight, fight, fight!"
Castiel found himself in a very similar situation the next week. Denying to fight back, his only defense being to curl in on himself and close his eyes, he withstood. This fight, however, Castiel wasn't so lucky to have a teacher cross their paths. He tasted the metallic tang of his own blood—blood, Castiel thought, it was so strange to have human blood— and he quickly found that he had no idea how to survive in this kind of environment.
He held his tongue the best he could in the presence of pained souls, trying his best not to make a mistake and say something he "shouldn't." This time, however, he wasn't sure he did anything. He did still look at souls and pray to Heaven for an angel to take care of them in some way. He didn't think he was heard.
Castiel was staring particularly long at one strangled soul when the soul turned around to face him, demanding to know why Castiel was staring at him, if he was a "fag," and then a few fists later—
"Fight, fight, fight!"
Ah, that's where we were.
Castiel felt needles stabbing him everywhere and he vaguely wondered how humans could handle this kind of pain regularly. A few seconds later, he found his vision blurring as black spots appeared and he was grateful for the numbness. He didn't know how long later did he hear a familiar voice.
"Cas? Cas? Shit, are you alive?"
"You know him? How can you recognize him?"
"Shut up, Sammy, help me sit him up."
He coughed up a few ounces of blood as his position changed and blinked his eyes open slowly. He heard Dean sigh in relief, and his tongue poked out of his battered mouth to lick over his chapped lips, grimacing at the taste of blood.
"Castiel? Holy shit, man, what'd you do this time?"
"Castiel? Like the angel Castiel?"
"Shut up Sam!"
Both blurry figures looked expectantly at Castiel as if they wanted him to answer something. Castiel spit out a bit more blood, coughing for a moment to get his voice back. It was hoarse and broken.
"What?"
He saw Dean smile at his voice. His soul brightened. Beautiful. "C'mon let's get you to the clinic. Sam, you get that side."
He felt himself getting lifted up by his arms and suddenly found his legs were sore and hard to use.
"Sam," Castiel said, testing the name.
"My lil' bro," Dean's face was blurred, but Castiel could hear his expression.
As if sitting up was painful, walking was even worse. Castiel was sure Dean could tell since he kept looking apologetically to him. His breathing was rash and harsh, suddenly feeling a wave of disappointment and void of his healing advantage.
"Almost there," Dean said encouragingly, pulling Castiel along a little faster.
"I thought I said I never— Oh my God, what happened?!" Nurse Mills rushed over and helped to lay Castiel down on the cot. Only Sam noticed his flinch when the nurse used The Lord's name in vain.
Castiel's vision was starting to clear, but still a bit blurred. He could Dean saying, "Same story as last week. Just found 'im like that."
"Poor child," the nurse said sadly and rushed to get a cloth to clean his bruises and cuts.
Dean slumped over in his seat, sighing. "What the hell did you do man?"
Castiel made an incoherent noise which only dimmed Dean's soul. Sam was standing awkwardly at the door, Am I supposed to stay or go back to class?, resonated from him. Castiel jumped at the cold cloth now running over his cheek.
"Ah, there you are," Nurse Mills said sweetly when she cleaned off the blood from his face. "They really went for your face this time, huh?"
No one answered.
The check-up went as the week before, Castiel removed his shirt, hissing in pain when the nurse pressed into his torso ("Yes, that hurts,"). Dean's eyes kept drifting to his back. The scars weren't visible since he was lying down, but he kept wanting to see it again because what the heck did that?
"Next time sock 'em in the face. You don't look weak, c'mon, man, what are you waiting for?" Dean blurted.
While the nurse would normally say not to encourage fights, she sincerely didn't want to see Castiel like this again. Castiel would have shook his head, but instead he simply made a noise of disapproval.
"Seriously? Fine, what's the son of a bitch's name? I'll do it."
"Dean!" Sam interjected.
Dean shrugged and looked at him, What else am I supposed to do?
However, Castiel replied, "I do not know."
"Do something! You can't like being hurt like this!"
"I must turn the other cheek," Castiel said steadily. "The soul was tortured enough as it is."
Everyone was taken aback by the strange choice of words, but they shrugged it off. Sam's gaze lingered longest. Castiel let out a hiss of pain as he sat up, finding it easier than the first time. He was done, he could tell. That's all what he would have done (to a better extent) had he not…
The nurse had already left to get him a new shirt. Dean's eyes were already crawling over the violent red gashes on his back, at least an inch wide and a foot long.
"What the…" Sam looked at the marks in disbelief.
"Yeah, I freaked out when I first saw it, too," Dean said.
"Castiel," Sam said, though he wasn't calling, instead he was pieces things together. "You're... Are you an angel? The angel Castiel?"
Castiel looked at Sam in a mixture of surprise and sadness. Dean had already started laughing, ("He's religious and stupid, don't mind him,") and Castiel's eyes dropped down again.
"No," he said grimly, though his meaning was clear to Sam. Not anymore.
"Oh my—" Sam cut off, realizing it was insincere. "Do you mind me asking… How did you… You Fell." How?
Dean rolled his eyes.
Castiel smiled a small smile and looked fondly at Sam. "I'm happy my Father has such a follower to recognize me," he said softly. "I will tell you what you wish."
Sam looked stunned in place, in the presence of some giant celebrity, and Dean just looked at him like he was insane.
"You know you don't have to humor him," Dean said deadpan.
"I don't understand how this is humorous," Castiel tilted his head in confusion.
"You're serious."
"I am."
"You're insane."
"Dean—" Sam cut in.
"No, this is why everyone beats him up, he's insane."
"What other explanation do you have for him refusing to fight?"
"Pacifist!"
"Talking about souls all the time?"
"He's artistic—or insane!"
"Those giant scars on his back where wings would be!"
Castiel suddenly felt uncomfortable. Dean had no answer, quiet for a few moments.
After the longest time: "'You're bright.'"
And the others didn't understand.
"You said that to me," he turned to Castiel, "When you first saw me. You said 'You're bright.'"
Castiel nodded slowly.
"What the hell does that mean?"
The nurse was returning with the shirt now, handing it to Castiel and signing his name into the book. Dean was awaiting a response and Castiel looked down.
"Your soul is bright," he said fondly, "So bright."
There was lingering silence and Castiel stood with effort to retrieve his shirt. He slipped it on and turned back, seeming dejected.
"You do not believe," he did not ask, it was a statement.
"No," Dean said as if it was obvious. The conversation could have been The sky is blue. Yes. and his tone would not have changed.
Castiel turned away sadly and then faced Sam.
"I have not sinned, but I have Fallen, and I do not know why," he answered his previous question. Sam clung to each and every word. "It was painful," he said slowly. "And it still hurts."
Castiel walked past both of them, continuing to his fifth period, Sam starstruck, Dean weirded-out, and the nurse hoping the next time she sees Castiel it won't be in the clinic.
After that, Sam made an effort to befriend Castiel and Dean to avoid him. Castiel was grateful for the change from punches to hugs from Sam, but still felt cold when Dean left the room when he entered. Sam told him not to mind Dean since he was just being a "little girl," but that didn't make Castiel feel any better.
Sam asked him what he did when he was an angel, and Castiel responded that he was a Guardian. He watched over tormented souls, bringing them happiness in the darkest places, after the shadow, but before the sunrise. He realized that was probably the reason he stared at souls in the school so much.
"You told Dean his soul was bright," Sam said cautiously, "I can't help but wondering… Is mine… Bright, too?"
Castiel looked contemplative for a moment. "It is very beautiful," he answered honestly. "However Dean's is… "Blinding" for lack of a better word. Obviously I'm not blind but the intensity of—"
"I get it," Sam cut him off. "Do you know what makes the soul brighter or dimmer? Tormented or blessed?"
Castiel's head tiled to the side, looking into Sam's eyes for a moment before answer slowly. "The more tormented the soul, the dimmer it is. The more blessed the brighter," he answered simply.
"So Dean is… Blessed?" Sam sounded strange as if he didn't believe Dean's life was blessed.
Castiel shook his head. "No," he said, "What makes his so bright is that his soul is so tormented, but he brings good upon others, so much happiness and elation and beauty to the world that the hatred that was cast upon him is simply shredded. He's taken something horrible and made it into something so magnificent and—" Castiel cut off, not sure where he was going with that.
It was quiet for the longest time, something Castiel had grown accustomed to. The periodic ticking of the clock filled the room and eased them of the silence. Eventually Sam spoke again.
"Can angels love humans?"
"All angels must love everything and everyone."
"That's not what I mean."
"Then what do you mean?"
"Can you fall in love—romantic love—with a human?"
A break of hush.
"I do not understand."
A silent melody.
"Just… What you were just saying. Had you been human, I would have no doubt in my mind that you were in love with him."
And beyond the untold whispers: "I am human now."
After that night Sam had started leaving Dean and Castiel alone together. At first, Dean would taunt and make jokes, calling Castiel insane or loony, ("I thought they had special homes for people like you,") and Castiel had taken none of it to heart if it meant to be in the presence of such a beautiful soul for just a minute longer. His eyes were a shade of green that set his heart running wildly. His fingers curled and uncurled—Please, I want to touch you—and then he looked away.
However, Dean's snarky remarks started to lose their poison. "You're nuts," he would say under a soft smile and make an excuse to brush against his arm.
Castiel never responded to the supposed-to-be insults, but the reply came before he could stop it, "I will be anything if it makes you smile like that."
He saw Dean freeze momentarily before brushing it off as if it was just a grain of sand on his eyelash. He laughed that—beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful—laugh and then touched Castiel's shoulder again. "Yeah, whatever."
There was something on fire inside Castiel, and at first, Castiel looked everywhere for an extinguisher.
But… this fire wasn't bad.
His eyes followed Dean's tongue as it ran over his bottom lip and hid back away inside his mouth. Dean didn't notice. Castiel sat closer to him than he had before, their knees knocking together, and if Dean noticed, he didn't show it. Castiel pulled out his homework and pretended to do the problems while he focused on the scent of Dean's breath—bubble gum— and then filled in random responses so that it didn't look too fake. He got the first F in his life.
Castiel still got teased and taunted in school, but somehow he didn't care anymore, and that's when he realized he actually cared in the first place. He only looked forward to afterschool when Sam would meet him and Dean call him crazy then they all go back to Dean's—Sam and Dean's house.
"You should tell him," Sam whispered one day. "I see the way you guys look at each other, come on, it's obvious."
Castiel looked down at his shoes. "I am uncertain of his reaction," he admitted.
"Just go for it," Sam encouraged, "I'm pretty sure he won't reject you."
Castiel nodded once, still looking pensive and robotic. Just as they entered the house, Castiel turned back to Sam.
"Actually, I don't—"
But Sam wouldn't have it, "DEAN! CASTIEL HAS SOMETHING TO TELL YOU!"
Dean turned abruptly, his eyes piercing as ever and his stance strong and valiant even though they weren't in any battle. He had the vague thought that Dean would make a good fighter. Sam shouted something else, probably an excuse to leave the room since that's what he did. Dean was still staring at Castiel.
Castiel felt his mouth go dry.
"Well? Spit it out, Crazy-Cas."
Castiel swallowed. "Sam was joking," he lied. "I have nothing to say." He turned to the door.
"C'mon, man," Dean said and grabbed his shoulder—hold me longer— "You can tell me anything."
Castiel couldn't bring himself to say it, "What do you think of me?" he substituted.
Dean didn't reply, and Castiel's back still to him, he couldn't see his expression. "What do I think of you? What's that supposed to mean?"
Castiel's eyes dropped, unsure of how to continue. "When you address me, you only say that I am of mental incompetence," Castiel decided on, realizing this was bothering him more than it should. "Am I just the 'insane' friend of your brother?"
Again, Dean did not reply immediately, and Castiel felt his heart drop. Of course that's all he ever was. He discovered the worst thing about being human: heartbreak.
"Apologies," Castiel said in a shaky voice, "I will leave."
But before he could take a step Dean's voice was rushed: "Whoa! Wait! Hold on! You know that's not true. I just… Come on you're not an angel."
Every time the topic was brought up, Castiel felt even more ripped apart. "I'm not."
"You never have been," Dean corrected.
This is when Castiel turned to face him. He didn't speak. He just looked at him in way that made Dean just squirm under his gaze. His eyes were so intense and screaming, just screaming to say that same thing over again. Dean's foolish.
"Angels don't exist."
"You are faithless," Castiel spat as if it was the worst insult one could inflict upon another. And in the way he said it, Dean felt the same.
"You're seriously claiming you're an angel?!"
Castiel looked at him in hurt and disbelief. That there was this huge chunk of him that Dean wouldn't believe. How could he fall in love with someone who would not accept him? Why didn't this fact make him love Dean any less?
"All I am to you is insane," Castiel stated again, "So all you are to me will be the brother of a friend of mine."
Castiel abruptly turned away and stormed out, feeling a prickling sensation in his eyes and he rubbed them furiously to get it to stop. Sam rushed to him.
"What happened?!" he demanded concernedly.
Castiel's hands came back wet with tears. "I cannot," he said in a shuddering voice, "I cannot be in love with someone who does not believe in who I am."
Castiel buried his face in his hands again and Sam gave him a tight hug from the side, trying to comfort best he could but knowing it would never compare to the hurt Castiel was feeling. He didn't expect Castiel to keep talking.
"So why am I?" he finished in a voice broken like a dropped vase.
Neither of them saw Dean standing at the top of the staircase.
The next morning Castiel woke up he felt strange. He felt weightless, divine and pure; a million feelings all at once and anything negative counteracted. His bruises and cuts were nowhere to be seen. Castiel sat up quickly, eyes wide and suddenly feeling no fatigue at all. He rushed to the bathroom.
His shirt was stripped off quickly and he dropped it aimlessly. He turned around.
The scars on his back were gone.
"Castiel," he heard his sister's name. "Castiel, we've finally come to take you from your mission."
"Mission?" Castiel asked back in utter bemusement. "I am not on a mission, am I?"
The response came immediately, "You have committed no sin, of course you have not Fallen. You were on a mission, but we mustn't tell you of it now. You will return to Heaven now and we will relay the information received."
"Wait!" Castiel shouted immediately, then his voice dying in his body—vessel, he corrected himself—"Two hours. Two hours to say goodbye to the friends I have made."
"Of course."
Castiel felt something rush through him and he smiled again. He didn't walk out the door that morning.
He flew out that door.
Sam was asleep when Castiel found himself in his bedroom. He hesitated, not wishing to wake up a friend from such a peaceful sleep, but he knew his time was limited. A hand found Sam's shoulder and he gently shook him awake. Sam rolled over lazily, swatting an arm at the figure trying to deprive him of precious sleep.
"Five more minutes," he slurred in a sleepy drawl, turning his back to Castiel.
"Sam."
Upon hearing Castiel's voice, Sam blinked his eyes open. His movements were sloppy and misaimed. He fumbled with the alarm clock by his bed, glaring at it for a few minutes before he could finally see clearly.
"Cas? It's like—Six, thirty-two AM," he said, obviously the kindest way to say Go away let me sleep.
Castiel nodded, going through in his head how to say what had to be said. But no matter how many times it was rehearsed, it came out sloppy and ragged.
"I have to leave," he said softly without meeting Sam's gaze. "I have… I have my Grace back."
Sam was fully awake now, sitting up on his bed and pushing his hair out of his face. He probably looked like a wreck, but he knew Castiel never cared much for physical appearances. His eyes gradually widened as he realized what Castiel's words meant. Castiel expected sadness, betrayal, abandon, or even anger. Sam grinned.
"That's so cool! So like you're an angel again?" his words were accented with a bounce on his bed. "You have wings and everything? Like you can fly? Oh! Can you do miracles again?"
Sam's questions came firing, his voice getting louder and louder the more he spoke. Castiel smiled fondly, feeling silly for worrying about how Sam might have reacted. Yes, he would definitely miss Sam.
"So could you like—"
"What the hell are you doing up so—" Dean yelled through the hall as he stomped angrily into the room, bed head and all. His voice stopped as he saw Castiel, his heart still as well. "…Early?" he finished in a smaller voice.
"Dean," Castiel acknowledged indifferently.
"Hey Cas," he said weakly. No Crazy-Cas?
But then Castiel turned away. It would have been less painful to punch Dean in the face. He felt a pang of hurt and jealousy as Castiel started to speak with Sam again. He restrained himself from pushing Castiel into the wall and forcing his eyes up to his own. His fists clenched. Was all of yesterday just a lie?
"Sam," it was Castiel's voice, "I only have two—" his eyes flickered to the clock, "—one hour."
Sam's smile wilted, but stayed in place. It was fake.
"Oh… Well you'll be up doing Guardian stuff again. That's cool," he said softly.
Castiel smiled again and—Don't look at him like that. Look at me like that— said, "I'll miss you, too, Sam."
Sam nodded and sighed to himself. Dean felt his mind running away from him and no matter how he tried he could never catch it. It seemed Sam was completely fine. Castiel had no problem. Why was he the only one that felt something so wrong about Castiel leaving? He wasn't supposed to leave.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Dean bit in a sharp tone that shocked both Castiel and himself.
Castiel didn't even look at him. Dean dug his fingernails into his palm. "It is not of import," Castiel said dismissively. Dean bit his tongue.
"You're fucking abandoning me—us—" he corrected, "and wherever you're going is not of import? What the hell kind of friend are you?!" he shouted.
"Your insane friend," Castiel said in equal anger, turning to look at him, but somehow his presence was so much bigger.
"You aren't insane!" Dean fought back, "I was just a stupid kid!"
"You are faithless," he repeated in the same venomous way and though there were clear skies there was thunder.
"I am not! I believe you're a friggin' angel! I was just teasing you!" Dean yelled.
"Lying is a sin."
"I'M NOT A LIAR!"
"YOU ARE."
There was another flash of thunder and a cast shadow of wings appeared for a half second. Dean flinched back, eyes wide as two dark ebony wings unfurled from Castiel's back. They glistened brightly with luster unimaginable and Dean felt the urge to run his fingers between the feathers. His fingers twitched by his sides.
"What the hell..?" he said in both awe and shock. "They're—" But no word would come close to describing them.
Castiel's livid expression softened immediately, replaced with one of disbelief. Dean rambled about how he couldn't believe what was right in front of him and Sam watched the scene silently from the bed, unable to bring himself to interrupt. Castiel had to gather himself to speak.
"You see them," he said breathlessly.
Dean looked at him incredulously. "Who wouldn't? They're like—friggin'—" he waved his arms around as if to show the measure of the massive wingspan. "Huge!"
"You have faith," Castiel said softly, saying the words he most wanted to believe for all his time. His expression lifted into a smile of elation and ecstasy, as if the fact that Dean had faith in him was the greatest prize to ever be won. Greatest trophy to be held or medal to be worn.
But time had passed too quickly for he heard his sister's voice.
"Castiel, are you ready?"
"Naomi, please, may I have more time?"
"Cas?
"We cannot wait any longer."
"I'm out of time," Castiel said in a desperate apology to Dean.
Dean rushed forward and fisted his hands in Castiel's shirt. "Don't you leave me! Don't you friggin' try!" he shouted at him.
"Dean, I must," Castiel said unconvincingly.
"Stay," Dean pled.
"Castiel!"
And despite everything crying out for Castiel not to say it—
"Naomi, I don't want to leave!" he shouted back to the Heavens and pulled Dean into his arms, burying his face in Dean's shoulder.
"You will Fall, Castiel. We cannot sustain your Grace while away."
Castiel held Dean tighter.
"I can't leave," he said in a voice just a step away from breaking.
It wasn't one minute later Castiel broke apart.
Castiel let out a loud scream and fell to his knees, and away from the comfort of Dean's arms. Sam rushed over, shouting his name because what was wrong with Castiel? Castiel was writhing on the ground, trying not to keep shouting but the yelps just forced themselves out, what's more was the searing pain in his back. He curled in on himself. He withstood the pain. He'd done it before but when had it felt like this?
"Oh shit, get a towel, Sam," Dean ordered harshly and ripped Castiel's shirt off, hissing at the newly made scars. "Cas, what the hell's going on?!"
But Castiel was in too much pain to answer, tears falling from his eyes and shouting as his Grace was being pulled farther and farther away. No matter how much he reached, his fingers grabbed at empty air and he gave up, gasping and trying to cling to Dean again. Dean felt suddenly worried Castiel wasn't going to make it, his jean's tainted a sickening red of his lover's blood and Sam finally returned with a towel. It was hastily wrapped around Castiel's torso and the beige towel was being tarnished crimson.
Castiel's shouts had died down and now he was just a deafening kind of silence. His cheeks, tearstained and feeling broken all over again. It hurt worse the second time if you were to ask him. He let out a small whimper and held onto Dean like a vice.
"What just happened?" Dean asked in a hollow voice.
"Stay," Castiel said in a very small voice. "I'm staying," he clarified.
Dean cursed under his breath and pulled Castiel farther into his lap. "I didn't… I didn't mean for you to…"
"I wanted to," Castiel said softly. "Please just…" Castiel leaned into Dean's lap more dependently. Sam pulled the towel back away, noticing the gashes had already closed. Dean wanted to pull Castiel into the bathroom to wash him from all the blood, but he looked so content as he was he couldn't bring himself to move him. There was time later.
His hands ran through Castiel's hair lovingly and he pulls Castiel farther into his lap. He doesn't notice when Sam leaves the room. He can only watch the Fallen angel on his lap, beautiful eyes closed in a peaceful sleep and for whatever reason, he chose him over being an angel. But he wouldn't argue. Instead he would make sure Castiel never lives to regret it. Despite everything telling him not to, he couldn't stop himself from bending over and brushing his lips against Castiel's softly, chastely.
"I know I can't see your soul," Dean whispered into his mouth. "But I'm willing to bet anything yours is brighter than mine."
A/N Welp that's that I guess... XD I might or might not write more of this. I still have a few ideas but idk. It's likely I'll write another chapter describing what Castiel's mission was (because yah I actually did think that far XD) but Idunno do you guys want to read it? XD Hehe thanks for reading, Psssst I love to get reviews~