It was like the entire world was standing still, the moment the man in the trench coat walked through those barn doors. Dean could remember how there seemed to be no air. He was looking around curiously, the sparks from the exploding lights forming and makeshift halo around his messy brown hair. Thick lips and those indescribable blue eyes were all he seemed to see. It was like time and space were nothing and the meaning of life was to simply exist with this man by his side.
But Bobby was in the room, and Dean could never admit to this feeling with him there. As suddenly as time had slowed, it sped back up when he heard the shotgun go off and realized it had been his finger that had slipped and fired the first shot. The round hit him directly in the chest, but still the man in the trench coat walked on. Bobby followed quickly with another shot, and Dean followed suit. They both shot two times until they looked at each other and realized this wasn't working. Silently, Dean had been happy about this, though he tried his best to make it seem otherwise.
He grabbed the knife, hoping it wouldn't work either, and hid it behind his back. The man stared directly in his eyes, and it felt like he was gazing into his soul. Surprised at how even his voice was, he said, "Who are you?"
"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."
Could it have been more perfect of a response? Dean's heart was pounding rapidly against his chest. It began to hurt. Every emotion he had ever felt seemed nothing compared to this.
That had been the first time they'd met. Dean remembered it clear as day, going over it in his mind as he drove through the rainy night, the low hum of music and Sam's light snores the only sounds he could hear. His mind was racing, trying so hard to think of anything but that beautiful and mysterious man in the trench coat. But his face and smell were stuck in Dean's mind, almost as if they'd been imprinted there. The memory was so strong, it was almost as if he could smell him now; the smell of the outdoors, of innocence in its prime. Even the memory of his presence intoxicated him.
Dean drove on silently, his mind pulling him deep into the memory of his angel as he the rain continued to softly pour on the windshield of the Impala. He hoped the somewhere, the man in the trench coat was thinking of him, too…
Invisible in the back seat and watching him intently, the man in the trench coat recalled the very same scenario with breathtaking clarity. He recalled the first true feeling he ever felt, the sudden urge to abandon order and design and jump into the chaos of rebellion. The desire to be in Dean's arms was overwhelming.
It went on like this for a very long time, Dean driving through the stormy night with an angel in his mind, and the man in the trench coat watching every move of those broad, strong shoulders and the shine from his green eyes in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. The two men lost in thoughts of each other, dreaming that the other was dreaming of them too.
Dean and his guardian angel.
The man in the trench coat.
Castiel.