Also this story is coming to an end. one or two chapter left. Story prompted from a post I saw on Tumblr about how trippy angels look. I decided to run with it so thanks Tumblr and random people. Thanks for reading. Comments are appreciated and eaten for dinner. Tastes like chicken and Taco Bell. Wha? O_o
Dean found that he rather liked watching angels come and go. He preferred the celestial beings when they were far off though, streaking through the piece of star studded midnight that served as Castiel's throne room, the angels like strange comets. As they pinged from location to another, entering and exiting, they left bright, icy streaks of light in their wake in a myriad of colors. The errands of angels reminded Dean fondly of a children's movie that he had watched with Sam once or twice on those rare occasions when they were allowed to act their ages.
Up close though, angels were near horrific to witness. If Dean wasn't used to a lifetime of the strange and the weird, he might have been perturbed by it, as in 'heavily medicated while curled up in the corner wearing diapers and drooling on yourself' kind of bothered. As it was or maybe due to the changes in his brain by Castiel, it was just something interesting to note.
Every angel was different, everyone of them a new fresh face of what nightmares and fresh hells were made of. Some looked like concepts of life, jagged shards of light and sound solidified and pieced together with gossamer threads of strained reality. They hurt Dean's eyes if he looked at them for too long, their ever-changing colorings a kaleidoscope of an infinite dance in singing chaos.
Other angels looked more like a mixture of animals mish mashed together seemingly at random. Some had tentacles and beaks and feathers in a near unholy blend of earth and sky and sea. Others had the striped hides of jungle cats paired with the cloven hooves of goats and the leathery wings of bats, looking more demonic than angelic in Dean's opinion.
The seraphs were something to see though or not as the case may be. Dean was morbidly curiously about them, mostly because they always stayed hidden even before Castiel. They had six wings of immense size that were all covered in eyes. Their top most pair always covered their head and faces while the bottoms most pair shrouded feet that never touched down upon any surface. Dean didn't even want to begin to imagine what they looked like beneath their coverings but the tenaciously curious part of his being couldn't help but wonder what unimaginably horror or beauty lay beneath.
Cherubs were a near revelation in their grotesque, the lowest class of angels made mostly of blood and love, which sounds better when cited in one's own head. Personified, it was a hot mess in shades of wet and a spectrum of red Dean hadn't even know existed or wanted to.
They all came, from the lowest well guardian to the hosts of the Shining Choir, all to adore Castiel, sing to him in voices that made the marrow of Dean's bones tingle. The smart ones were polite to Dean, acknowledging his presence with song, though he preferred they would not. Angels didn't exactly communicate with things as simple as words.
True Enochian when spoken by angels in heaven was a mesh of signals and wavelengths braided together to send entire bursts of information at once. Getting an answer from an angel was like having an entire Wiki page downloaded directly into your brain all at once and that was about as comfortable as it sounded.
It was the reason that Enochian sounded so blocky and cumbersome when mangled through a human throat on Earth, almost vulgar sounding in its forced simplicity. True Enochian was a bitch to listen to though, having to dig through all the mass quantities of information to decipher the angel's meaning. It often left Dean with headache and sticking to 'yes and no' questions didn't seem to work either. Besides the ridiculous amount of TMI, it was also the pitch it was given in. Subtlety was not so much a foreign concept to angels as totally nonexistent, the ethereal beings seemed stuck on one universal setting of 'are your brain cells exploding yet?' loud. So while Dean would exchange greetings with certain angel like Inias and Samandriel, he usually tried to skip the small talk with them.
The other who failed to get on board with the program and even went so far as to complain about Dean and his presence in Heaven were short-lived, quite literally. They were promptly eaten by Castiel without warning or hesitation, and Dean was fine with that. Most angels were still feathered ass hats in his opinion. After Castiel unapologetically polished off a couple of naysayers, the rest of the Host seemed to wise up. Those who could not stand Dean simply ignored him now and he was fine with that too.
"Hey Cas….", Dean was scrawled out lazily in his usual spot on top of Castiel's paw, the god's head resting nearby on the other. Dean watched angel ping past them overhead through the flame shimmering feathers of his wings. "…..How did angel get the rep for being all fluffy and cute. No offense, but they're kinda fugly.".
"By human standards perhaps, which I might point out is extremely limited.", Castiel grumbled though Dean knew he wasn't asleep, just thinking deep thoughts of whatever god thought about in their down time.
"Well human standards or not, them some ugly mother fuckers. Did your dad drop a couple of them on their head or just beat them with ugly sticks?", Dean mused aloud, reaching up to shift his fingers through his feathers, the flames coming off of them, twisting around and over his skin as he caressed them.
"Dean, are you really questioning my Father's design?", Castiel cracked open an eye to regard the Righteous Man lounging on his paw, amusing himself with his wings.
"Um yeah. Human, remember?", Dean snorted, quitting his sport when he realized what he was doing and sat up to look at Castiel. "It's kinda what we do. Someone's got to tell the king he has no clothing on.".
"Your references are still unintelligent and odd.", Castiel grumbled. He watched in amusement as Dean took a running leap, which was totally unnecessary but the former human still had a firm belief in gravity and physics that no longer applied to him, to take off from Castiel's paw. Dean landed with a flutter of wings on top of Castiel's head in between his horned crest, sliding down it so that he came to a halt at the end of Castiel's draconian like snout so that the god had to look at Dean cross-eyed. It was something that amused Dean to no end.
"That whole omniscient thing still not kicking in for you?", Dean smirked in the face of duel blue suns bearing down on him.
"I could eat you.", Castiel growled, glaring down his snout at his passenger.
"Then who would be around to tell you that you're naked?", Dean laughed, taking a dive off of the end of Castiel's nose to flutter around the god on light wings. "Anyway, you wouldn't do that. I'm the best lay this side of heaven.". He playfully dodged and rolled as Castiel snapped at him in slow, lazy bites before giving up with an indignant puff of air that sent Dean floated away from him.
"That's debatable.", Castiel huffed, sounding particularly petulant.
"Ouch. Ditched by god.", Dean covered his heart, feigning injury as he nose dived swift and sure before pulling up again in front of the cranky god. "I don't think I'll be able to get over that one."
"You will manage, I am sure. You were very resistant even before I remade you.", Castiel said dryly as he watched Dean dip and weave through the air effortlessly on fiery wing.
"So?"
"So what?"
"Who's better than me? You can't say something like that and not tell me.", Dean pointed out, entertaining himself by floating in place simply because he could.
Castiel refrained from rolling his eyes, though he felt the human gesture was quite fitting in this moment. "Just on reputation alone, Casanova, Cleopatra, Lancelot…."
"Hold up, he was real?"
"Very. Triston, Napoleon, Eloise, Salim, Vātsyāyana…"
"What that last one even human?"
"He wrote the Karma Sutra.", Castiel supplied helpfully.
"Fair enough. Who else?", Dean nodded.
"Rasputin….", Castiel tried to begin again but was cut off.
"Rasputin? Like as in the Russian mad monk? Seriously, that nut job is in heaven?", Dean asked, "I would think for sure that he would be punching his ticket South of the border."
"He's devout. Trumps everything."