Contingency 10
AN: Hello folks! This update is coming from my best friend's new little house in Maryland. I travel to such exotic places, don't I?
Anyways, the last chapter was pretty **INTENSE** So, we're going to need some downtime, but that doesn't mean Dean doesn't have time to shove his foot down his throat. He's Dean after all!
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sam glared at him and complained, "Come on, dude, are you even trying?"
"Bite me, bitch," Dean swore. His arm was getting tired and the cans on the rusted trunk of a 1996 Ford Escort, the red paint job sunbleached to pink, still weren't doing anything. No, that wasn't true: they were mocking him.
Dean let his arm drop and rolled his shoulder. "You're a shitty teacher."
"Can't be worse than Cas; at least I can explain it human-to-human." Sam crossed his arms and glanced at Cas. "No offense."
Cas, who sat on the trunk of another junker, hands clasped between his knees, conceded. "It's the truth. But Dean, it would help if you weren't being so...you...at the moment."
"I'm remembering all of this," Dean said. He lifted his arm back up and frowned at them. "Once I figure out how to move the damn can, you two are next."
~*~ EARLIER THAT DAY~*~
As dawn and birdsong broke over the misty scrapyard, Dean paused in his walk to take in the cloudy blue sky, covered by a glorious riot of pinks and purples streaked with gold. Before Hell, watching the sunrise meant he'd been up all night due to a hunt and was either drunk as a skunk or caffeinated to the point of heart failure. Now, however, sober sunrises were just part of Cas living in his head.
The sky reminded him of Cas's wings, the one time he'd shown them to prove his angelic nature. He wondered what had come into being first: Cas with his wings a cascade of colors reminiscent of the Aurora Borealis, or the Northern Lights themselves. He'd try to ask Cas next time he popped up, but Dean didn't expect that to be for a while. He puffed out his chest and wore a proud smile.
Obviously, Dean had no clue about the recovery time of angels, but he felt confident that giving an immortal being their first orgasm meant they'd be sleeping it off for a while. That was something he found he missed with Cas living in his head. He never got the chance to see him asleep or resting; he never got to see Cas with his guard completely down. The guy certainly deserved any rest he could get after everything he'd been through.
The thunderstorm had turned the sun-baked earth to mud from the torrential downpour. The clean smell of wet grass and dirt came on a cool morning breeze and mingled with the metallic, oily scents of the junkyard. Large, glistening water puddles dotted the property and forced Dean to pick his way carefully to the kitchen entrance. Though he'd seen the lights on from the kitchen window, he was still surprised to see Bobby already up and at 'em. Well, ish. Bobby wasn't the smoothest-looking guy on a good day, and the last few had been anything but good.
Currently, the older hunter sat at the kitchen table, the trucker's cap tossed in front of him, rubbing his hands over his face and eyes. "I need to fuckin' retire," Bobby grunted in irritation to Dean as he quietly closed the kitchen door. "Too old for this shit. Tempted to burn down the house, collect the insurance that ain't on it, and haul my pasty ass to the Yucatan."
"Ya know, most people start with 'Good morning,'" Dean quipped as he hit up the full Mr. Coffee pot that was as old as him. As he pulled down a couple of chipped mugs, he hummed to himself. Despite some hiccups along the way, Cas had a point about "physical release." No matter how badly he wanted to snicker at the phrasing, it had worked. He felt so much better: loose-limbed, clear-headed, and ready to take on the world.
When he turned around to hand Bobby a cup of coffee, the old man was staring at him. Hard. "Where'd you disappear to?" He asked gruffly as he took the mug of black coffee.
It was thanks to years of lying professionally that kept him from breaking out into a satisfied smile. Dean sat at the table and sipped on his coffee before he calmly explained, "Slept in the car."
Bobby was in desperate need of a nap and a shave-with the dark circles under his eyes and scruffy gray beard, he looked like an actual raccoon. Dean had to bite the inside of his cheek to not laugh at the thought.
The old man was still sharp enough to raise a critical eyebrow at Dean. "Storm didn't wake you?"
"Mother Nature had nothing on Sam's Pazuzu impression yesterday," Dean said offhandedly. Bobby snorted in agreement.
There was a creaking upstairs, and they both paused to hear Sam's bedroom door open. A few footsteps later and the door to the upstairs bathroom slammed shut. "It's ali~ve," Dean quoted.
On one of the walls in the kitchen was a line of different landline phones, each labeled with masking tape and sharpie labels for things like "FBI" and "Health Dept." Bobby had been around the block long enough that most hunters carried his various business cards. If any civilians got too suspicious of a working hunter, they were directed to Bobby, who would confirm the hunter's alias of the day. It was surprising how much crap people were willing to accept, so they didn't get yelled at by a cranky old bastard.
The phone labeled FBI started to ring, and Bobby winced. As he begrudgingly went to answer it he motioned upstairs. "Take your brother some tea and toast," he ordered.
"FBI Director Willis, what can I-goddammit Garth, I told you before. NOT ME. The REAL FBI." Bobby clapped his palm to his face and barked in exasperation, "How are you even still alive?!"
Dean immediately had a coughing fit because he'd accidentally snorted hot coffee into his lungs at the outburst.
Dean cracked open Sam's bedroom door to see his brother was conscious and sitting up against the too-small headboard. Since getting bigger beds had never been a priority on anyone's to-do list, he had outgrown his bed fairly early on but never complained about it. Around his shoulders, Sam had an old crocheted blanket that Dean suspected Bobby's dead wife, Karen, had made before her untimely demise. For some reason, it was his favorite, and he always picked it from the musty linen closet. Despite its age, the blanket was well-made, and the yarn was soft; it transitioned from off-white to gold and brown like a falcon's wing.
Dean hummed under his breath as he entered the room, a mug of green tea in one hand and a plate of toasted and buttered slices of white bread in the other.
Sam glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. "'Night Moves,'" He noted.
Dean bristled. "It's a classic. Shut up." He placed the breakfast on the bedside table and looked over Sam when he didn't respond. Sam was pale-faced with pronounced circles under his eyes, and his hair was stiff with sweat. His eyes, however, were clear as he focused on the open laptop in front of him.
"Dude, how are you conscious already?" Dean muttered, putting the back of his hand to Sam's head. No fever, and not clammy. Sam lifted one shoulder while not quite meeting his eye.
"You should try to get something in your system."
Sam made a non-committal sound but didn't move to set his computer aside or make for the food. Though tempted to close the laptop's lid, Dean instead grabbed one of the pieces of toast, folded it in half, then proceeded to devour it in two giant bites. Even his loud chipmunk impression did nothing to earn any sort of reaction from his brother.
Rolling his eyes, Dean turned to leave when Sam cleared his throat. He messed with a fraying thread of the blanket before ultimately pulling it closed around his chest. "I...thank you."
"Ain't no thing, man," Dean said. "Don't mention it. Just get your ass better before I take advantage of you being stationary and buzz your head."
"De, seriously." Sam only broke the nickname out when things were, well, serious. "I'm...God, I'm so sorry for being such a stubborn dick and getting into this mess." He sniffled repentantly, unable to look him in the eyes. "Thank you for sticking by me. Cas and Bobby too."
Dean held his hand up because Sam looked about two seconds away from tears, and it was way too early for that shit. "Sammy, forget it, alright?" He spoke firmly. "New leaf and all. Just don't go to the extreme end and go vegan. That I may have to disown you over."
It spoke to Sam's lack of energy that he could barely direct a scowl at Dean. Still, the attempt at all on Sam's part meant his brother was on the mend.
As he started to pull the door closed behind him, Dean turned back, but the quip on the tip of his tongue died. He blanched when Sam, who was still scouring his laptop, reached over for the mug of tea several inches out of reach, and it gently slid into his hand.
As he blew over the top, he glanced up at Dean's pale face. "Dude, I know I need a shower; leave it alone."
Dean blinked hard and rubbed his eyes, but, no, there weren't any tendrils on Sam's skin. Nothing demonic left, he could tell that clear as day, so he shouldn't have any powers...right?
Dean swallowed harshly. "Yeah, uh, I'll...catch you later."
When Sam made his way down to the kitchen around lunchtime, Bobby had kicked his feet up at his desk, pulled his hat over his face, and was snoring quietly. Dean had been tag-teaming the phones all morning with him, and the second they quit ringing, he shoved Bobby into his study to sleep.
"Hey, Sammy, hungry?"
Sam nodded before he dropped into a chair at the kitchen table. His hair was wet from a shower, and he was casually dressed in sweats and a hoodie. Sam looked pretty damn good for someone who had reenacted a shitty horror movie climax less than 12 hours prior.
When Dean pulled down another can of soup from the pantry, Sam complained, nose wrinkling, "Ugh, please no more sick people food; it's starting to have the opposite effect."
"Picky bitch." Dean grumbled but replaced the soup and instead made him a sandwich with all the fixings, loading up on the meat and cheese to get some protein in him. He presented the plate with a flourish.
Sam raised an eyebrow, not giving his brother an inch as he took it. "Jerk," he pronounced as he took a bite.
Dean kicked his shin before he flopped down in the opposite chair-only to have to get back to his feet immediately because the phone started going off again. "Jesus, it's been nonstop," Dean explained to Sam's curious face as he walked over to the wall of phones. This one was unlabeled, so he didn't have to take on any persona to answer it.
"Bobby's place," Dean answered and immediately rolled his eyes. "Garth, come on, man, I thought you were a professional."
Sam laughed. He knew about Garth. Everyone knew about Garth.
What nobody knew was how the man, with the body of twig and the personality of a sweet but slightly stupid hound dog, had not been killed twenty times over already.
"A what?" Dean asked, completely perplexed. "A...haven hawker? Dude, you're making that up."
Sam waved frantically to Dean to get his attention as he swallowed the rest of his sandwich. He quickly strode to the phone with Dean and grabbed it out of his hands. "Hey!"
"Garth, did you ask about a Raven Mocker?" He could hear Garth agree, and Sam covered the mouthpiece to tell Dean, "I've read up on these guys, I've got it." When Dean didn't move, Sam physically pushed him towards the garage door. "Not like I can do much else at the moment besides handle the phones. Something out there needs a tune-up, right?"
Dean pouted, but Sam did have a point. Reading lore all morning meant his brain was overflowing, and his body felt antsy. Best to do some physical work for a while to recalibrate. He gave Sam a salute and headed out towards the garage, already making a mental list of tasks he could work on while outside.
After giving Bobby's Chevelle a complete tune-up, Dean was covered in sweat and debris while oil and grease stained his hands black. He was sweating like a sinner in church in the heat and humidity of the summer afternoon. The previous night's rain had either been absorbed in the ground or evaporated, so the air felt soupy. Dean was, in general, a gross mess as his stained clothes stuck to him; despite all that, he was humming cheerfully.
As he swapped from Bobby's car to the Impala, he felt relaxed and centered. He supposed the work could be considered its own kind of mediation (though he'd never admit such a thing to Sam). Except this didn't require yoga mats or crystals, just a creeper board, some basic tools, and his hands.
Bent over Baby's engine, he checked her fluids when he noticed a shadow over his shoulder. He grinned in delight when he caught sight of the angel watching him. "Hey, Cas." He used the rag hanging from his back pocket to carefully close the Impala's hood without smudging everything with greasy fingerprints.
"Wasn't expecting you back so soon," Dean said teasingly. "Guess I'm losing my-"
Cas gently but firmly twisted him around until his ass landed on the edge of the hood, grabbed his waist, and proceeded to kiss him as if his life depended on finding Dean's tonsils. Dean jerked back after a couple of seconds, wide-eyed in shock.
"Hello, Dean," Cas greeted, eyes bright and warm.
"Jesus, where'd that come from?" He asked, wiping the extra saliva off his face with the tail of his shirt. His eyes quickly darted around, and his cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. "You can't just do that," Dean hissed.
"Why not?"
"Someone might have seen us!"
Cas made a show of scanning the area pointedly. "Dean, there's no one out here."
"Luckily. How the fuck would I explain that a hallucination has its tongue down my throat?"
"You would explain that Cas had his tongue down your throat," he said easily. "Just so there's no confusion."
How did Cas manage to sound both sarcastic and entirely clueless at the same time?
Dean pushed himself off his car and away from Cas. "Dude, you might not care about genders and shit, but other people do! Plus, if someone sees me making out with thin air, they're going to get me carted off to the mental ward!"
Cas tilted his head and squinted at Dean. "Earlier, you were fine with my appearance. I understand your concern about others not seeing me, but nothing can be done about that. There's no one present, so, what's the problem?"
Dean had no idea how to respond to that, so he didn't. Kissing Cas in the back of his car on a rainy night was way different than doing it out in the open on a sunny afternoon. What if Sam or Bobby had walked out right then? Shit, they put up with Dean having Cas already, but this was too far, him being a guy or incorporeal or both. Dean didn't want to push his luck and possibly lose the only family he had. Never mind the fact that Dean usually didn't have to continue dealing with a girl in the morning; usually, he'd left town by now.
"I've made you uncomfortable," Cas murmured, and his shoulders dropped. He cleared his throat and withdrew to a respectable distance. When Cas returned his gaze, his eyes were cool and closed off. The stoic mask Cas usually wore, which had slipped ever so slightly, slammed back into place. "My apologies, Dean."
Despite the heat and humidity, Dean felt the temperature drop a few degrees around them. Before he could do or say anything, Cas crossed his arms and fixed his eyes on the house. "How's Sam?"
"Sam's fine," Dean said, glad for the distraction. "Shit, I've seen him look worse from a regular hangover, so he's damned lucky."
"Not damned," Cas corrected. "That's what we were trying to avoid happening."
"Right." Dean rubbed the back of his head. "Well, either way, he seems on the mend."
"I'm happy to hear that," Cas said in genuine relief. He watched while Dean headed deeper into the garage before he took up residence sitting on the Impala's hood, arms still crossed.
As Dean rummaged around for a quart of motor oil, Cas said, "I wish to discuss something with you."
Dean grabbed the first bottle he found and shook it, then grunted in annoyance that it was empty before he tucked it in his arm. "What's that?" He moved to another shelf.
"I was contemplating the fight with the demons at the bar, considering ways it could have gone better."
"Better?" Dean huffed, shaking another old bottle and also finding it empty. Shit, Bobby, when did you become such a damn hoarder? "We lived, and no one died. What's to improve-that's a fucking win."
"Your bar for improvement is low."
"It's six feet underground, yet I still trip over the damn thing." Finally, he found one with the perfect amount of oil for the job. "Yahtzee!"
He dumped the three bottles he'd collected on the empty picnic table. Dean had to do a double-take because just past the table, he could still see most of the remnants of his haphazard salt circle on the ground. From that first night, they'd talked to each other. Shit, that wasn't even a month ago. Dean was struck dumb at that realization.
Since Cas was studying him, he waved at the salt on the ground. "It's been less than a month."
"Time doesn't mean much to an immortal angel. When a second can feel like an eon and eon like a second, we don't keep much track," Cas remarked. He made sure to look Dean dead in the eye when he followed up with, "However, that day I'll always remember."
"Yeah, I suppose the day you busted out of Hell is worth marking the calendar."
Dean couldn't help but compare Cas from then and now. Castiel back then had been on a mission, come hell or high water; dressed in all black as he conscripted Dean to his side against destiny. He'd been a terrifying creature, something Dean didn't even know existed, and caustically bitter towards the whole universe.
Now, Cas lounged against his Impala in an outfit he'd created for himself. Not as caustic, more prickly in his irritation. He was still on a mission, but he wasn't just a Heavenly Terminator anymore. He was Dean's (and Sam's) best friend, a hell of an arcade game player, liked to watch dryers rotate, and was a fan of Freddie Mercury. He was a badass fighter with a chronic sense of dry humor that Dean found hilarious and endearing (sometimes he needled the angel just to see how'd he react). It was hard to remember a time when Cas wasn't around, either in his line of sight or as a tiny hum in the back of his head.
Cas was also the one who moaned my name in my head while we-
Unsure if a casual thought like that might trigger them both, Dean forcefully coughed a couple of times to clear his head. "So, uh, what's your plan?"
None the wiser, Cas continued. "Remember my suggestion of practicing that emergency maneuver?"
"The one where I let you sorta possess me?" Dean was surprised at how calm he felt. Compared to the paranoia he felt from the last time Cas had suggested it, Dean knew that he'd say yes, easily, if asked again.
Cas nodded solemnly. "While us fighting separately worked, I could have protected you better from Nextus and the other demons."
Dean scratched his jaw. "Not a damsel-in-distress Cas. We talked about this before." It wasn't a rebuke, just a reminder.
"Which is why, along with the partial possession, I have a second idea." He stood up and dropped his arms. "If I can't help you in a fight, I want you to be able to defend yourself. I want you to be able to use my abilities whenever the need arises."
Dean stood next to the picnic table, motor oil plopped on top and forgotten. His mouth fell open. "Use your powers? Literally, like how Sam chucked those demons around the bar?"
"Yes. However, your power would come from my grace."
Dean broke into a grin a mile wide. Without a word, he grabbed the empty motor oil bottles and bounded past Cas into the junkyard.
"Dean? Was that a yes?" Cas called out, unsure.
Dean never stopped smiling as he called over his shoulder with child-like enthusiasm. "Who the fuck would turn down the ability to use the Force? Come ON, Cas!"
He led them out to a corner of the junkyard where some of the metal skeletons of cars were older than him. Bobby hadn't visited the secluded spot in years. Plants like poison ivy and various weeds were encroaching on the cars. Dean cracked his neck and knuckles before he grinned in excitement. "Alright, let's go, Professor X!"
Cas opened his mouth but then closed it. "Well, I think it might be easier if you let me 'drive,' first?" When Dean's face fell, Cas quickly clarified, "Just enough for you to get a sense of what it feels like so you can copy it?"
"What if I change my mind?" Dean asked hesitantly, old concerns trying to flair up.
"Then we switch back; I return control to you. You call the shots, Dean. My promise last night still stands: I won't do anything without your permission."
Soothed, Dean swallowed hard and nodded. "Alright. Let's do it."
Cas took a few steps forward and vanished like he'd done during the ghost sickness, fading and then passing through into his chest. The familiar warmth was back, but it radiated out until his entire body felt like there was a sun inside him. Dean took a few breaths as he felt the warmth sink into every nook and cranny.
Just like that, he couldn't move.
He tried to move his hand, but nothing happened. Same for blinking, taking a breath. Nothing was happening. His senses were still online. He could hear from his ears and see out of his eyes, but no matter how hard he tried to struggle
nothing changed he was untethered in his own skin he was floating he was gone he was panicking he was worse than dead he was trapped he was
Cas Cas CAS!
I'm here. Cas's voice was calm and apologetic. Sorry, everything's fine. There was, what Dean could only really mentally interrupt, as Cas holding his hand and stroking the back of it. Usually, the vessel's owner is asleep at this point, but I still can't manage that. Is this too much?
It might have just been in his head, but the hand, the point of tether between them, felt good. No, I'm fine. Cas's mental hand pulled away, and Dean missed it instantly.
He was quickly distracted from the sensation that his body was moving. Cas was at the controls now, and they looked down at their hands as Cas opened and closed the fists. He cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, and curiously looked down at himself before around the junkyard. Dean felt nauseous from the disconnect.
"Hello, Dean." Dean's voice spoke, but it was deeper, closer to Cas's raspy monotone, coming from his own throat. It was jarring.
Dean could feel Cas inside him, his grace a spider's web spread thin amongst his nerves, muscles, and bones. It should have felt alien and invasive. Hot and burning. Instead, Cas's essence was comfortable and soothing, like a heating pad on sore muscles.
"Dean?" Cas asked aloud. "Are you ok?"
This is fucking weird, Cas. It was very much like sitting in the passenger seat of his car. Unable to do more than look out of the windows and offer commentary on the world around them.
Cas made a circuit around the area, his steps getting more sure and confident as he went. It's been a long time since I've had a vessel. Feeling Cas settle into him like a new suit made Dean unconsciously shudder.
"Dean, this is your body," Cas said, freezing in place, sensing his discomfort. "Anytime you want to switch back, we'll switch."
He shook his head; he trusted Cas. Don't worry. I haven't safe-worded yet; we're good.
Dean could feel a landslide's worth of question marks heading his way. Ah, shit. He did NOT want to open that can of worms yet, so he course-corrected to something more angel-friendly.
Uh, I mean, like a tag-team wrestling match! He imagined WWE to illustrate his point and hoped for the best.
Cas nodded in understanding. "Ah, yes, like that," Cas said. "You're picking up on this remarkably, Dean."
Dean beamed, unable to help himself. Okay, okay, so what's next?
Cas turned around until they were back at Dean's empty motor oil bottles set up on the trunk of a car. Now, we move the bottles.
Striking a similar pose to Sam, Cas held out his right hand with his fingers splayed out. Dean felt a warmth in his skin vibrate. When Cas crushed his hand into a fist, one of the bottles was destroyed in an invisible grip. Okay, that's awesome, Dean commented.
The warmth stopped vibrating, and gently he felt Cas back off enough to let him at the controls. Now you try.
Dean took the steering wheel back; being in control of his body was jarring after those few short moments. But, look at that-Cas drove, and we didn't crash. His curiosity and enthusiasm for this entire endeavor started to overtake his paranoia.
He lifted his hand in the same way Cas had done and splayed out his fingers towards the bottles.
Nothing happened. After several moments, the muscles in his arm grew weary and started shaking, but no matter how he strained, nothing changed. Dean dropped his arm and shook it out. "Cas, you didn't tell me what to do."
He heard the hum in his mind. Interesting. I wasn't sure if you could intuit it. Alright, let's try again.
Cas took back over, and Dean noticed a tiny flash of blue light flickered over his eyes when they swapped controls. Wonder if anyone could see that?
Though Cas repeated the motions several times, Dean was still just as lost.
Are you actually going to explain how you do this crap, or am I supposed to figure it out from the charades?
I...am not exactly sure how to do that, Cas admitted.
Dean did the equivalent of crossing his arms and huffing in annoyance. Seriously? You are a crappy teacher, Cas.
I've never had to explain to my vessel how to harness my powers before, Cas objected. And I don't think trying to break down how celestial wavelengths interact is going to help.
Yeah, well, I've never tried having powers before. Guess we're the blind leading the visually impaired here.
Cas gave the controls back to Dean, and his form reappeared in front of him. Dean blinked hard a couple of times as he settled back into himself.
Cas glowered at the bottles as if they had personally thrown him in Hell. Dean couldn't help but let out a little snort of laughter.
The angel whirled on him. "This isn't funny, Dean," Cas snapped.
"Come on, man, it's a little funny."
"You try explaining an intuitive part of your biology to an alien and get back to me on how easy it is."
Dean held up his hand to stop Cas from getting anymore riled up. A sudden realization had him snap his fingers. "If we're both blind, then we need someone who can read braille."
Sam cracked open his bedroom door to see Dean standing there, biting his lip. "What's up?"
"We need you to be our Yoda," Dean blurted out.
Sam looked over his shoulder but didn't see Bobby within hearing distance. He ushered Dean into his room and shut the door. He slipped his hands into the front pocket of his old hoodie and studied his brother. "What are you talking about?"
Dean tried to run a hand through his hair, but they were still pretty greasy despite his best efforts. He refrained and wiped his hand on his thigh instead. "Cas is trying to get me to learn how to use his telekinetic crap, but he's a shitty teacher."
Cas appeared on Sam's other side with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed. "And Dean is being Dean about...everything."
"Yeah, he does that," Sam chuckled sympathetically.
"Hey!" Dean pointed from Sam to Cas. "Since when can you see Cas without having to lay hands on me?"
Sam's eyes grew wide. "Oh! I didn't even notice. Yeah, Cas, what gives?"
With both brothers staring at him, Cas cleared his throat and ducked his head. "I had to use a little of my grace to help stabilize you," he admitted. "I guess it's enough for you to perceive me now."
"I have an angel's grace inside me?"
Dean coughed. "Don't make it sound weird." He ignored their annoyed expressions."Look, I'll do the dishes for a week."
Sam opened his mouth but then closed it slowly. Carefully, he first studied Dean and then Cas, face scrunched up in thought. Coming to some conclusion, Sam turned back to Dean, and he realized he'd fucked up somewhere. "When the hell did that happen?" Sam accused.
Dean schooled his face. "What?"
Sam waved to Cas. "That."
Cas peered down at himself, brows drawn together in evident confusion.
"Nothing happened," Dean asserted.
Sam rolled his eyes as he laid out his evidence. "Dude, you were humming 'Night Moves' to yourself when you brought me breakfast, which you only sing when you get laid. Then Cas shows up looking like that?"
Great, his insecurities had outed him. Because the way too realistic sex hair and loosened collar/tie combo were definitely out of place on the stoic angel. Also, Cas seemed relaxed. Instead of looking constipated, now he just looked slightly concerned, which Dean counted as a win.
Still, his brother might have called him out, but that didn't mean he had to admit to it.
Dean poked Sam in the chest. "That's entrapment, asshole."
"It's not entrapment when you do it to yourself, stupid!"
"How do you know, nerd?"
"Because I was going to LAW SCHOOL, DEAN."
Cas cleared his throat and explained helpfully, "Dean said that since 'I'd gotten laid, I should lighten up.'"
Sam slowly turned from Cas to Dean. "He did, huh?"
Dean wondered what could kill him first, jumping headfirst out of the second-story window or throwing himself bodily down the rickety stairs.
Still, legitimate fears about Sam's real reaction made him clench his jaw. "Come on, Sam, drop it."
Sam drew himself up to his full height. "Drop it? First of all, you're a friggin' hypocrite for sleeping with something nonhuman when you've done nothing but give me crap about Madison! Also, how the fuck do you sleep with a hallucination?"
When Cas opened his mouth, Sam cut him off. "I don't actually want to know, Cas. It's a rhetorical question." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know what? I don't wanna know. Just, no PDA, please, for the love of God."
Cas opened his mouth, but Dean cleared his throat. Means no public displays of affection.
You've already made that clear.
Sam saw them silently glaring at each other and rubbed his temples. "Alright, now, what are you actually here for? And please don't say couple's counseling."
The nonchalance threw Dean for a loop. That's it? Sam doesn't care Cas was a guy, or an angel or...not real? He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Guess that liberal college experience actually came in handy.
Dean rubbed the back of his neck and continued as nothing fundamentally changed between them. "As I said, Cas wants me to learn how to bend spoons, but he's awful at explaining it."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "You think I can do a better job explaining because of the demon blood stuff?"
"Not only," Dean admitted. He tilted his head over to the table where Sam's empty breakfast dishes still sat. "You moved that cup this morning."
Sam pulled his hands out of his hoodie pouch and frowned at them. "I did...?" He glanced up at Dean, then at Cas, trying to keep his voice steady. "I, but how, I...I thought I was clean?" His voice cracked on the last word.
Cas put a hand on Sam's forearm. "There's nothing demonic left, Sam. Both your brother and I can verify that; he sees what I see."
Sam turned to the angel for guidance. "Then, how?"
"Honestly, I think those powers are innately your own. The demon blood was simply an amplifier."
"So, if Sam's an athlete, demon blood is like his steroid of choice? Dude, please, NEVER roid rage again. I'm good with less levitating and speaking in tongues, thanks."
His brother paled in horror and slapped a hand over his mouth. "I did what now?!"
"Ah, shit," Dean muttered, waving his concerns away. "Seriously, Sammy, it's over. You're good."
Turning back to Cas, Sam gave him a searching glance. "Don't you think I should leave well enough alone?"
Cas sighed and tilted his head from side to side. "If you had asked me that question a few thousand years ago, my answer would have been to agree with you. Nothing good could come from power like that."
Sam hung his head. "Yeah, that makes-"
"However, I've had time to realize things aren't black-and-white," Cas added thoughtfully. "Sam, these abilities are, for better or worse, part of you. In the grand scheme of things, what you do is more important than what you are."
There was a moment of quiet contemplation on Sam's part before he broke out into a genuinely sunny smile. "Thank you, Cas." He wrapped Cas in a heartfelt bear hug.
The sincerity of the moment was ruined slightly when Cas stood there stiff as a board, wide-eyed and uncertain. Sam cleared his throat. "You're supposed to hug back."
"Oh. Right." Like a Tin Man with ungreased joints, Cas haltingly reached around and tried to hug Sam back but only ended doing a couple of awkward shoulder pats. Dean had no problem cackling like a hyena over it and was met with matching glares.
"You'll figure it out," Sam promised the angel when he pulled away, and then he turned back to Dean. "So, you want me to try and teach you how to use Cas's powers?"
"Yeah, Cas isn't a good Professor X."
Sam snorted. "Well, there's your first problem." At Dean's blank stare, he sighed. "Dude, Professor X was a telepath. He could read minds. Jean Gray was the one with the telekinetic abilities."
Dean responded like a mature adult by mimicking Sam's words in a ridiculous falsetto. Sam just waited him out. "You done?"
His shoulders slumped. "Yeah, fine, whatever. Will you help?"
"I mean, I can try to be your Yoda." San ran a hand through his hair. "But, I'm pretty sure I'm too big to be worn like a backpack," he joked.
Cas frowned in confusion, which only grew when Dean looked his brother up and down appraisingly and made a chopping motion to his kneecaps. "Not if I cut you off here, ya big bastard."
"That seems a bit extreme, Dean," Cas cut in with legitimate concern and actually stepped between them.
Both the brothers laughed until they could barely breathe.
They returned to the same overgrown corner of the junkyard when the sun had dipped low enough that the metal sign for "Singer's Salvage" blocked the afternoon light from their spot. Dean's plastic bottles were replaced with metal beer cans lined up on the trunk of a 1996 Ford Escort, the red paint job sunbleached to pink.
"Alright, let me try first, and I'll walk you through what I'm doing," Sam began.
Cas sat on the trunk of a 1991 Pontiac 6k, hands loosely clasped together as he watched.
Dean had to pause as the scene really hit him. Cas, the hallucinangel on his shoulder, who he devirginized in the back of his car, was watching his recovering demon blood junkie of a brother try to teach him how to embrace his inner Carrie and use the aforementioned angel's powers...when did my life become so fucking weird?
He snapped out of his musing when he noticed they were watching him. Dean clapped his hands and waved towards the setup. "Alright, Matilda, let's go."
Closing his eyes, Sam took a few deep breaths then opened them with determination. He zeroed in on the cans about ten feet away and very slightly tilted his head to the side. A can was crushed into a ball in sync with his movement before it fell to the ground. He blinked several times and shook his head.
Cracking his neck, he struck his typical exorcism pose-feet spread, right arm up, hand open, exactly like Cas, which was odd in itself. Once again, he focused on a can, but the cans fell to the ground because the car started shaking. The three doors still attached, the trunk and hood all popped open at once. Sam pulled his hand back, looking impressed with himself.
"Show-off," Dean muttered.
"Wasn't sure how far I could go without the blood," Sam admitted. "It's still there, but yeah, definitely a smaller pool to draw from. Practicing might boost it back up."
He put his hands on his hips as he studied Dean. "So, what do you feel? Can you feel any sort of power?"
"Yeah, I can feel Cas. He feels…" Like hot food on a winter's day, like the first rays of sunshine on my face after Hell. "...warm," Dean finished lamely.
"A real poet," Sam huffed. "Alright, get into position and see if you can you take hold of it? Or manipulate it?"
Once again, standing with his right arm up and hand open, he closed his eyes tightly. For a few moments, Dean tried to figure out how to grab the warm grace that curled up inside him. It was nestled into his muscles. It was everywhere, yet when he tried to grab it would slip away. "Cas, what, are you ticklish, dude? Stop moving."
"I'm not ticklish, and I'm not moving," Cas grunted from across the space.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sam glared at Dean and complained, "Come on, dude, are you even trying?"
"Bite me, bitch," Dean swore, but his arm was getting tired, and the cans on the rusted trunk still weren't doing anything. No, that wasn't true: they were mocking him.
Dean let his arm drop and rolled his shoulder. "You're a shitty teacher."
"Can't be worse than Cas; at least I can explain it human-to-human." Sam crossed his arms and glanced at Cas. "No offense."
Cas, who sat on the trunk of another junker, hands clasped between his knees, conceded. "It's the truth. But Dean, it would help if you weren't so...you...at the moment."
"I'm remembering all of this," Dean said. He lifted his arm back up and frowned at them. "Once I figure out how to move the damn can, you two are next."
Sam looked between them. "My God, isn't there supposed to be a honeymoon period? Or did you two seriously skip to the old, bitchy, married assholes part already?"
"Shut up, Sam," they said together.
Sam scrubbed his face and pushed his hair from his face, deeply regretting every life decision that got him to this point. "Try again. Keep trying until you can hold onto it."
Dean closed his eyes and felt around for the grace again. Still there, yet he saw as he reached for it, it wasn't the grace moving. It was him. He shook like a leaf in a hurricane; the closer he got to touching that pulsating bluish-white lightning, the klaxons in his head became deafening.
He was terrified, plain and simple.
Terrified that he would be just another Jack Montgomery, one bite away from becoming a full-fledged monster. Or, in this case, one touch. Would he still be Dean at that point?
Dean?
I, shit, I need a minute alone. Don't come after me
Without a word to Sam, Dean opened his eyes and darted away until he was in another row of cars. He could just make out Cas and Sam talking to each other.
The walls of cars suddenly felt like they were pressing in on him, so Dean forced himself to sit down on the ground and look up at the light blue sky above him. To prove it wasn't actually trying to cave in on him.
Powers don't make the monster, he told himself. Sam has powers, and he's not a monster. Well, not anymore. Still can be a dick, though.
But Cas has powers, and he's a fucking angel! He's done more for this world as a supposed 'bad guy' than it sounds like any of the 'good' angels did.
He cradled his head in his hands.
Cas being in my head has already changed me. Being able to use his grace can only be a good thing.
I don't sleep, can't drink, yet I'm still the same man. Same Dean Winchester, with the same stupid hang-ups and issues. Being touched by an angel hasn't changed me all that much.
In his mind's eye, Dean could see the disapproving figure of John, standing in the aisle before him, glaring down at him. His heart rate picked up at that familiar expression.
"What the hell are you doing?" His father snapped.
"You're dead," Dean dismissed. Instead of vanishing, John strode forward, eyes flashing.
"And yet you still manage to disappoint me," he said coldly. He motioned to the other side of the junkyard, where Dean could just barely hear quiet talking. "You were supposed to protect Sam. Or deal with him. Not become something like him!"
John towered over Dean, but those words made him leap to his feet. "How dare you ask that of me!" Dean argued, hackles raised. "You wanted me to kill him? My entire life has been to watch out for Sam, take care of Sam, keep his nose clean. Yet the second things get hairy you expect me to just-"
"Yes! I expect you to listen to your old man because that's what good sons do. He's gone bad, Dean. You tried, but Sam was always broken. He's always been a monster."
"Takes one to know one!" Dean snapped back, stepping right up to John, their chests touching. "You put us through Hell, Dad! How exactly were we supposed to come out the other side normal?"
John glowered at him and bit off every word acidly: "If you two weren't my kids, I'd want to hunt you. Both of you."
Dean refused to give one more goddamn inch to the man in front of him. "Between you or Sam on demon blood, I'd pick Sam every time. He has more decency in him while high on pure evil than you ever did." Dean snarled unblinkingly. "Fuck you."
The words seemed to act like an exorcism because John's visage disappeared from his mind. Opening his eyes, Dean was still sitting on the ground in Bobby's scrapyard. The sky overhead was clear, and so was his head. The fears that had tried to rear up grew quiet. Dean stood up and dusted himself off.
It was like Cas had told Sam earlier. It mattered what you did, not what you were. Cas was a fallen angel on paper. Sam was Lucifer's vessel. Both had powers, and yet they were some of the best men Dean had ever known, questionable life choices aside.
Dean took a steadying breath, threw his shoulders back, held his head high, and strode back to his brother and angel. Let's learn me some fucking powers.
When he came back around the wall of cars, Sam and Cas were observing him. "Everything okay?" Sam asked casually.
Dean wiped his hand over his eyes and nodded. "Allergies, man. That's all." He cracked his knuckles and closed his eyes. "Let's do this."
This time when he found the tendrils of lightning that made up Cas, he wasn't shaking. He was steady as a rock as he grabbed the lightning that made up the angelic grace. Being so foreign, it should have burned when he touched it. Instead, as the grace curled around him, Dean just got an overwhelming sense of Cas from it. Like recognizing someone by their gait or the sound of their footsteps, Dean could recognize the lightning as Cas.
He had no idea why his brain was interpreting all this like his body was inside his body and interacting with things, but that at least made a tiny bit of sense. Dean hummed when the grace curled around him. "Ok, now what?"
"The grace is an extension of you, now. Imagine the power as invisible limbs: extra arms, legs, or hands you can direct mentally." Sam paused. "I know you're a DC guy, but think of it like having Spider-Man's Doc Ock's octopus arms, only invisible."
That visual helped. Dean closed his eyes in concentration. He lifted his hand, stared down the cans, and made a fist, imagining one of those arms coming from him and grabbing the can as he did.
The can, very gently, tipped over.
Dean pumped his fist as he screamed in triumph. "FUCK YEAH!"
"Good job, Dean." Seeing the proud grin curl Cas's lip was worth it.
Sam patted his back, almost just as excited as Dean, but he kept his tone calm. "You've still got a long way to go, padawan."
For three days, they trained non-stop in the forgotten corner of the junkyard. Once he could take hold of the grace under his skin and woven through his bones and muscles, manipulating it to move objects wasn't complicated. It was trying to fight while using the grace that was the tricky part.
Each day Dean face-planted in his too-small, musty bed and slept without nightmares due to sheer exhaustion. As the days progressed, Cas went from extra snappy to distant. He'd appear once out in the junkyard, and they'd get back to work. They didn't talk about it or anything else, and then Cas would disappear at night. Dean recognized all too well he was being avoided.
Cas hadn't initiated anything else with Dean since he'd panicked about the kiss. It had been a knee-jerk reaction, but he was deeply regretting it. Even if Cas was only interested in a physical thing, why should Dean tempt the bastard then get pissed he wanted more? Sex was awesome, and sex with Cas had been...well, that was the hang-up, wasn't it?
It hadn't been just sex. Well, in the beginning, yeah, but not by the end. Not while those beautiful eyes watched him in wonder as Dean took them in hand and got them to the finish line. Not as he experienced Cas falling apart both in his lap and in surround sound in his head. Not after seeing this badass angel break into a goofy little smile that made crinkles at the edges of his eyes. Not after he cracked a joke to make Dean laugh.
Dean could be dense and cavalier to a fault, but he recognized Cas had given him a gift. He might have wrapped it up under the guise of simple, biological need, but Cas didn't have to do that. He could've let Dean handle things on his end, and they could have moved along. Instead, Cas had given him something very precious. He'd let Dean in.
Then Dean had gone and slammed the door in his face. Now wonder Cas was pissed.
Typically, this kind of fallout wasn't a big deal; Dean was gone by this point. But neither he nor Cas could take off. And the worst part was, Dean now found himself mired deep in unnamed emotions when it came to the angel in his head and had no clue what to do about it.
So, in typical Dean Winchester fashion, he didn't do anything. Just continued to bail out the Titanic with a mop bucket and hoped for the best.
Or, when the inevitable happened, pray the end came fast.
Under the noonday sun, Dean stood a few paces in front of Cas, both watching each other warily. Cas had his arms clasped behind his back. God, it was distracting to see Cas like that; they might not have been talking much but that didn't stop his avatar from doing things to Dean.
"Come on, Dean," He commanded.
Out of his long-sleeve, the angel blade slid into Dean's hand. "You asked for it." He threw the blade, but Cas quickly sidestepped it. However, he hadn't expected the blade to flip over and come flying back like a boomerang. Cas barely managed to dodge it, and that was the opening Dean wanted. He strode up, summoned the blade back into his hand, and went to stab Cas.
Cas ducked and kicked Dean's leg out from under him. "Shit!" Dean landed on his back but flipped back up onto his feet and returned to standing.
"I trained fledglings who fought better than that," Cas taunted.
Dean rolled his eyes but shook out his arms and bounced on his feet like a boxer. His easy movements contrasted to Cas's contemplative stillness as they sized each other up.
Dean was getting distracted seeing him in commander mode. Back ramrod straight, expecting his orders to be followed at once, hat Dom brow up when Dean didn't exactly follow his orders.
It was a rookie fucking mistake, getting distracted by his opponent while in the ring with them. It had never happened before, not with a guy at least.
Still, how it happened didn't matter. What mattered was that Dean decided to throw Cas completely. As soon as Cas tilted his head slightly, clearly waiting on Dean to attack, he ran.
As fast and as hard as possible Dean took off into the junkyard. He knew it better than the back of his own hand, him and Sam having played it in it for years. He ducked into an aisle but Cas was immediately there, striding forward like a demon from hell itself. Head lowered, eyes hooded and furious. He wasn't sure if the running had triggered Cas or what but the guy was out for blood. His blood.
Dean threw out his hand and concentrated: Any doors on the cars between them all opened in Cas's way. A bolt of pain ripped through Dean's head at the overextension of his abilities, but it was enough. Were Cas corporeal the doors would have acted as gates in front of him.
Unfortunately, Dean forgot Cas wasn't affected by such a tactic; when he whipped around to run, Cas was behind him. Before he knew what happened Cas, without touching him, kicked his legs out and pinned him to the ground hard. The air was knocked from his lungs. "Shit, Cas," he gasped, pain radiating from the back of his head and spine where it struck the ground.
Cas straddled Dean's stomach and laid the edge of his angel blade across the base of Dean's neck.
Dean's eyes grew wide and his stomach dropped to his toes. Because the blue eyes boring into his weren't Cas anymore-they were the cold, calculating look Castiel gave him when they first met. Did I seriously piss him off that badly?
That idea horrified Dean. He couldn't see his best friend anywhere behind that mask of cold indifference, and it frightened him more than he wanted to admit. Dean grabbed his arm, training forgotten, and blurted out, "Cas, I fucked up!"
For just a second, Cas faltered; Dean saw the crack in the facade as they stared at each other. The blade was still at his neck.
"I shouldn't have flipped out on you, Cas." He spoke quickly before he lost his nerve. "I was an asshole, I was worrying over shit that doesn't really apply to our, uh, situation. Hell, the only person who can actually see you is Sam and he doesn't care what we do."
Cas blinked. "Dean, you had legitimate concerns." He phrased it more like a question, though.
Dean shook his head ever so slightly. "You didn't deserve that. You were good to me and I was a dick in return. No wonder you wanna kill me." He glanced down at the blade pointedly as he awkwardly laughed. "I'd want to."
The blade disappeared but Cas's hand splayed out over Dean's chest to keep him pinned. Dean really tried not to show how much he appreciated that little display of strength.
"Not kill you." Cas amended, thawing slightly. "Knock some sense into you, perhaps. But not kill you."
Dean licked his lips and swallowed nervously. Cas's eyes followed the movement. "So, uh, Cas, are we good?"
Cas watched him. "I don't know, Dean, are we?"
I don't wanna lose my best friend over such a dumb hang-up. Dean admitted.
Nor I. I've never had a friend like you, Dean, best or otherwise. Next time something happens, can you promise to talk to me about it?
His instinct was to crack a joke or laugh away the soulful sincerity in Cas's eyes. It was too damn overwhelming to see such earnestness pointed at him. Remembering Robo-Cas made him nod.
"I promise, Cas." Dean made sure to speak it aloud; it seemed to mean more once it was in the air between them. He put his hand over Cas's, which was still just casually pinning him to the ground. "I'll try to do better."
"Then, I'd say we're 'good,'" Cas didn't relax, but his eyes softened and he glanced from Dean's eyes to his lips and back up. "Is now an acceptable time to kiss you, Dean? Or, should I make an appointment first?"
"Smartass," Dean grumbled affectionately. He grabbed the back of Cas's head and brought it down until their lips met in a quick little peck. Cas pulled back, eyes darting between Dean's; with no objections from him, Cas dove back in recklessly, kissing hard and fast.
Dean couldn't help the little moan when Cas licked into his mouth, that salty honey taste on Cas's tongue like a drug. Too soon he pulled back and Dean was left panting like he'd run a mile.
"Shit, Cas," he gulped. "Should piss you off more often."
"You like me bring angry with you?" He asked incredulously, raising that eyebrow.
"Oh, fuck no; you're scary. The make-up sex would probably be epic, though-"
One of Cas's tanned hands curled around Dean's head and guided their lips back together; Dean was content to take the hint and they just made out for several minutes. Hands roamed, getting more frantic as Dean's jeans started to get uncomfortable. The idea of make-up sex (even on the ground of Bobby's junkyard) was becoming more and more appealing when-
"Hey! Dean! Cas!" Sam's voice echoed around them and they broke apart like awkward teenagers caught by their parents.
Dean rolled his eyes and let his head thump back to the ground. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"We could ignore him," Cas suggested solemnly, eyes dark.
"Guys, you better not be ignoring me! I found something!"
They both broke into defeated chuckles. Cas still couldn't help pressing one last kiss to Dean's lip before he stood and helped the hunter to his feet. Dean tried to brush the dirt off but gave up. Instead, he readjusted his jeans and hoped by the time they got to the house he was back to normal.
When they entered the kitchen, Sam had his laptop in front of him at the table, and Bobby was drinking a beer. He handed a cold one to Dean as he sat down. Cas leaned against the counter, arms casually gripping the edge.
Sam slid the laptop towards his brother. "I've been keeping my eye out for a specific type of case, and I finally got a match."
"Mkay, I'll bite." Dean cracked open his beer and read the article aloud as he skimmed it. "Wellington, Ohio...wife says the husband was killed by a bear?"
"A bear that ran up into his bedroom and beat the guy to death. A guy who had a history of spousal abuse." When Dean just blinked at him, Sam nodded and sipped his beer. "Keep reading."
"Let's see… the wife says that-" Dean's eyes cut to Sam, who nodded in confirmation. "That Lou fucking Ferrigno as the Incredible Hulk killed her husband? Jesus, what the hell is in the water at Wellington, and can we get some?"
"Not what," Sam corrected. "Who. A hothead killed by TV's greatest hothead. Sounds like just desserts, doesn't it?"
Dean pushed the laptop back and thunked his forehead against the table. "Sam, no! We are not getting tangled up with the Trickster again. You do remember he killed me a million times, right? Or did all that Heat of the Moment melt your remaining brain cells?"
"Yeah, Dean, I was there," Sam snapped. "But he's the most powerful being we've ever dealt with. I mean, if anyone could make 'a box that can't open,' it'd be him."
There was a moment of silence. "Seriously, Sam, this has been your big, secret plan?" Dean asked.
"He's like the Hugh Hefner type, right? He probably doesn't want the party to end, so he might be willing to prevent this entire mess from coming to pass."
Dean rubbed his temples and squinted an eye at Bobby. "Thoughts?"
Bobby scratched under his trucker's cap and sighed. "Not like we got a lot of options. Do have to admit that he is the strongest Trickster I've ever come across, so it could be worth a shot. Just make sure you take a forest's worth of bloody pine branches with you."
Cas disappeared and internally gently tapped Dean's hand on the controls. Tap tap. They swapped and Cas took over. He sat up slightly straighter and did his little inquisitive head tilt. "Do you know this trickster's name?"
Dean's voice dropped into a mimicry of Cas's raspy monotone. Bobby was visibly startled at the change.
"What the hell?" Bobby demanded, staring hard at them.
"We've been practicing being able to 'switch drivers,'" Cas said, using air quotes.
"Is Dean ok?" Bobby asked, frowning in concern.
Tap tap. Dean's cavalier grin was back. "Yep, all good. Like a tag-team wrestling duo. We tag in and out."
Bobby watched Sam, who seemed unbothered by the switch. "You knew?"
Sam shrugged. "Yeah. It's still weird but I like being able to talk to Cas normally."
"Did you know you're eyes flash blue when you do that?"
Both Dean and Cas made a surprised hum. "That's kinda cool," Dean said. "Anyways, I'm gonna let Cas have the floor again."
Tap tap. "As I was asking, do you know this trickster's name?"
Bobby and Sam shook their heads. "We were usually trying to stab it, not ask it out to dinner," the old hunter groused.
Cas rolled his eyes. "While on Earth, I crossed paths with some tricksters like Coyote and Anansi. They had power, but the reason they resorted to deceit and duplicity was because they weren't that powerful in of themselves. Based on Dean's memories, this trickster seems out of place."
That was an intriguing idea. Tap tap. "Welp, it's not like we got a lot of options." Dean groaned. "It's the only lead we have, so I guess we'll be heading out to Wellington."