"See, you hold it like this," Dean instructed. "And twist it around and through. Like that."
There was a brief moment of unsettled silence. "I'm not sure I can do that, Dean," Castiel hedged.
Dean's shoulders slumped slightly as he glanced up at the angel. "Seriously?" he asked with raised eyebrows.
Castiel's blue eyes glanced downward before meeting the elder Winchester's hazel-green gaze once more. "I don't want to hurt it," he said seriously.
"Dude, c'mon," Dean groused with a quick roll of his head. He held up his hand, and a thin, brown, wriggling creature fought for escape between his fingers. "It's a friggin' worm, Cass!"
The worm continued to struggle and squirm. Castiel's eyes got sadder and more uncertain. Dean sighed and picked up the second fishing pole. "'Warrior of God', my ass," Dean muttered as he baited the hook and pushed the pole into the angel's hands.
"Excuse me?" Castiel said, tilting his head and squinting his eyes.
"I'm just saying," Dean said as he grabbed his canvas chair and shook out the legs. "You've shivved the darkest demons. Taken down whole armies of angels. Monsters of every shape and size." Dean waved his hand nonchalantly before he transferred the pole to it and pulled his arm back. "No questions. No thought. No hesitation. Not a blink of an eye. But you won't bait a damn fish hook."
Dean followed through and let loose a near-perfect cast, giving a little laugh of triumph as he watched hook and worm sink below the gently rippling water. He looked over at Castiel, the grin on the hunter's face reminiscent of a child seeking an elder's approval for a job well done.
Castiel obliged. "You're very good," he announced matter-of-factly, despite the fact that he had no basis on which to provide an adequate analysis.
"Should be," Dean answered with a quick, satisfied nod as he settled himself down into the chair. He looked out across the lake, the grin on his face relaxing into something quieter. "Used to do this as a kid every chance I got."
The moment settled into hushed serenity - the cicadas calling out to one another, the water lapping up against the pier, the breeze rustling the leaves of the trees along the edge of the lake. Calm. Still. Life didn't get like that too often.
Dean glanced up at Castiel. The angel hadn't moved; the fishing pole sat awkwardly in his hands, his eyes gazing out across the water. With a small sigh, Dean reached over and shook the arm of an empty canvas chair until its feet settled against the boards of the pier. Still no response, not even a slight muscle twitch. Castiel just stood there, his trench coat flapping in the breeze.
"Hey," Dean finally said. "You come out here to fish or to have some sort of...silent inner monologue thing? 'Cause it's gettin' weird, man."
"Oh." Castiel blinked hard twice before looking down at the pole in his hands. "I'm sorry, Dean," he gruffed apologetically. "It's just-"
Dean waved Castiel down with a quietly murmured "okay, all right" before he stood up from his own chair and held out his hand. "Pass it over," he said simply. Castiel willingly turned over the fishing rod, and Dean hefted it carefully and turned to face out toward the lake.
"Well, you had the first step down," Dean said with a small huff and a half-grin. "Face the water, visualize where you're goin'. You can't get there if you can't see it. Now look." Castiel turned to watch as Dean reeled in the line to leave about a foot of slack past the tip of the pole. "Gotta give yourself a bit of room to play there," Dean instructed. He fell into the role of teacher rather easily and - oddly enough - with great patience, Castiel mused. The angel was certain, however, that if he were to ever mention it, Dean Winchester would protest vehemently and toss the entire fishing pole into the lake. So Castiel opted to stay quiet and watch.
"Hook the line with your finger," Dean continued, and Castiel watched as he flipped back a metal ring and shifted his body back around to face the lake. "Then pull on back-" Arm. Wrist. Flick. "-and let 'er fly!" Dean announced. He passed the fishing rod back to Castiel, who took it carefully in his hands and looked out at the plastic yellow and orange orb bouncing up and down in the water.
"Then what?" Castiel asked.
Dean flipped up the lid on the green cooler, pulled out a beer, and opened it. He took a long drink before passing another beer to his companion. "Then you sit," Dean said as he settled back into his canvas chair. "You sit. You drink. And you wait."
Castiel stood for a long moment - fishing pole in one hand, beer bottle in the other, trench coat still blowing in the light breeze. He looked down at Dean - fishing pole in one hand, beer bottle in the other, sandy brown hair blowing in the light breeze.
"And you find this practice...enjoyable?" Castiel asked.
Dean looked up. A puzzled expression passed over his features and settled into the lines forming around his mouth and eyes. "Well...yeah," he answered, pulling back with a shrug.
"I see," Castiel said. Looking behind him, Castiel took a seat in the empty canvas chair next to Dean. Sit, he thought. The angel looked down at the beer bottle in his left hand before lifting it to his lips. Drink. He risked a side-glance at Dean. The eldest Winchester was kicked back nonchalantly in his chair, beer bottle on the dock beside him. Castiel placed his own beer on the dock, shifted his shoulders, and did his best to mirror his mentor's posture. Wait.
Dean glanced at the angel only once with uncertainty, confusion, and, finally, slight amusement before he turned back to the water, and they both fell into a welcomed, companionable silence.
A very brief silence.
"Does Sam not find the practice of fishing enjoyable?" Castiel asked.
Dean groaned and put a hand to his forehead. "Seriously, dude," he breathed out, "what the hell?"
Castiel tilted his head, noticing the reaction, but he pressed on regardless. "You asked me to go fishing with you, but you didn't ask Sam."
"It's not Sam's thing," Dean explained. He sat up and tapped his chest lightly with the tips of his fingers as he readjusted in his seat. "It's my thing. Sam's got his own thing."
"A thing?" Castiel asked. "What kind of thing?"
Dean wrinkled his nose in annoyance and shook his head slightly. "Dude, I don't know. His thing. Nerd things."
Castiel thought it over momentarily. "Like his books?" he asked. When Dean tilted his head back, opened his eyes wide, and let out an exasperated groan, the angel wondered if he might be asking too many questions.
But instead of the explosive reaction he thought might be coming, Castiel was surprised when Dean simply inhaled deeply before answering, "Yeah, Cass, like his books."
The angel looked down at the fishing pole in his hands before lifting his face to the sky. The sun was bright, and Castiel closed his eyes as the light bathed over him. It was warm here, a different warmth than he was used to. He had been out there once - beyond the sky, past the clouds, looking down on the world, watching as they all milled around in life. These humans - struggling to find their place, eke out their niche, find their "thing".
True, they were capable of great evil and atrocity as some of his brothers and sisters took delight in recalling. But Castiel saw more. Humans could dream. They had the ability to see what could be instead of what was only. They could create their own bright wonders even amidst terrible darkness. It had fascinated him day after day, year after year, century after century as he watched over them from Heaven.
But he wasn't in Heaven now. He wasn't watching. He was living. He wasn't following orders or studying doctrine or wondering what his Father might ask of him next. Instead, he was here - sitting on a dock by the lake with the sun on his face. Looking up. Looking out.
Waiting.
"I don't think I have a thing," Castiel said simply, his tone soft. It was the first time he felt remorse over breaking the silence shared between them.
Dean was quick to turn his head. The action was so fast that Castiel felt sure a curse would follow close behind. Or a reprimand. Or perhaps now would be the time for Dean Winchester to toss the fishing pole into the lake with the angel still attached to it. It was a valid estimation of future events given the circumstances and the factors at play.
However, Castiel found he had estimated incorrectly when he turned to find Dean simply staring at him. There was no animosity in his eyes. No annoyance. No skepticism. Just...something else entirely human that Castiel couldn't quite understand.
"Everybody's got a thing," Dean said, his voice serious. "Don't matter if you're human, angel, demon. It's the stuff that matters to you. The stuff that keeps you going even when you don't want to go anymore."
"How do you know it's yours when you find it?" Castiel asked.
Dean blinked his hazel-green eyes a couple of times, thinking it over, before finally giving his head a small shake. "Dude, I don't know. No one asks that," he said. "You just...know. You try a thing. It makes you happy. It makes stuff...a little more light when everything else makes you feel like shi…" Dean's voice dropped off abruptly and he cleared his throat. "Okay," he said as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, "this is getting a little chick-flicky for me, y'know." The hunter drew himself up, squared his shoulders, and settled back down with a snort. "Just fish, okay?"
"Okay," Castiel agreed.
The breeze rippled the water. The cicadas hummed. Somewhere in the distance a bird called to its mate. Dean's beer bottle clinked on the deck once. Twice. Until finally, to Castiel's surprise, it was Dean's voice that broke the silence.
"Look," Dean said simply, quietly. He turned to look at the angel with a small shrug of his shoulder and a shake of his head. "You'll just know, Cass. Okay?" Castiel looked at the hunter and noted there was no anger or sarcasm there - just honesty, which Castiel appreciated more than he could say. "You'll know. Just...give it time," Dean said.
Castiel nodded. He still didn't fully understand. A light in the darkness. A thing that made him happy. Those weren't very clear definitions, just vague tendrils of hope that didn't give him much to go on. With that information, Castiel wasn't even sure what he should be looking for. He admitted it was mildly frustrating. The uncertainty. The unwritten aspect of...everything.
And these humans - these persistent, stubborn, beautiful humans lived with that uncertainty every day of their lives.
Castiel looked over at Dean. The hunter sat contentedly in the sunshine on the one peaceful day that he painfully carved out of the chaos to call his own. It was his day, his thing. This moment right now. Even when everything else around him was uncertain, this one moment was as clear as it could be.
If the humans could be patient - if Dean Winchester himself could be patient - Castiel decided so could he. Perhaps in time it would all be clear, just like Dean said. Perhaps one day, finally, he would know.
"I can do that," Castiel answered. Dean turned to look at him, offering a brief but genuine smile and a quiet huff of approval before reaching down to retrieve his beer once more and settle back into his chair. Comfortable. Content.
Happy. Truly happy.
So the angel leaned back in the chair on the dock, fishing pole in hand, and took his friend's advice.
He sat. He drank. And he waited.