"How d'you think Dean and Castiel's getting on in there?" Bobby asked, binoculars held close to his eyes, scanning the front of the darkened antiques store closely.
"I should think they're getting on fine, Bobby," Sam replied, distracted, leafing through one of Bobby's old books in hopes of trying to find more clues.
Bobby mumbled something incoherent but remained largely silent. Then he said something that made Sam look up at him sharply.
"They seem pretty close, those two," the older hunter said, dropping the binoculars to his lap and turning to face Sam, a thoughtful expression clouding his bearded face.
Sam didn't know what to say, so just shrugged instead.
"Yeah, well, Castiel pulled Dean from hell, you know that. Dean's his charge. They're bound to be close," he hedged, evasively, uncertain as to how much to say to him.
"Don't treat me like I'm stupid, boy. I know what's going on. I've seen the way they look at each other, the way they touch each other when they think I ain't looking," Bobby said, unimpressed. "I suppose you think you're doing your brother a favor by keeping quiet, but I can see what's happening. I'm in a wheelchair, I ain't blind."
Sam shrugged, cleared his throat in discomfort, turned away and stared out of the windshield as though something out on the street was very interesting indeed. He remained silent, trying to think of which words to say without compromising his promise to Dean.
"You gonna talk, boy, or am I gonna have to beat it out of you?" Bobby prompted, reaching for his gun from the back seat.
Sam sighed, shoulders slumping beneath his hooded jumper, before nodding to Bobby reluctantly.
"If Dean asks you, I never told you this, right?" Sam asked, refusing to look at Bobby until the hunter had said something in return.
"Right," Bobby said, eyes intent on Sam's face.
"Dean and Castiel ... they're more than just friends," Sam said, lamely, pushing one hand through his hair in a nervous gesture, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "They're ... um - "
He fell silent, wondered what to say without sounding too crude, still remaining respectful to their relationship. He smiled, before continuing.
"They're in a relationship," he said, relieved that he'd found the right words to say to Bobby.
He turned to face Bobby, eyes skimming over the older hunter's expression, found it blank, unresponsive, unreadable. Sam remained silent, expecting a storm of anger to break from Bobby, flinched when Bobby shifted beside him as though expecting to be hit as though this was all his fault.
"You're okay with this?" Bobby asked, voice as blank as his expression.
"Sure, of course I am. Dean's my brother. I've never seen him so happy," and Sam made a kissy face beneath the stars shining through the windshield.
Bobby at least chuckled at the overblown display of love from Sam, but still he remained quiet on the subject. Sam continued to watch him, wanted to prod him for opinions, but was distracted by the sudden flare of light strobing out of the antique store windows in myriad sparkles of electric blue light.
Without exchanging further words, without even needing to, Sam climbed from the car, went round to the passenger side, helped Bobby into his wheelchair, all the while hoping that they weren't too late to do something if Dean and Castiel need their help ....
Dean sat on the floor of the antiques store, rolling a stray ball between ceaselessly moving fingers, needing the distraction of constant movement to occupy his mind and hands. Castiel, meanwhile, seemed content to remain silent, still, unmoving, eyes watchful, hand playing occasionally with Dean's hair in lazy, tender movements. Dean shuddered every time, leant in to the contact gratefully, eyes half closed and a smile curling the corners of his mouth, seeming like a petted cat with his movements.
Castiel smiled in turn, wound his fingers through the feather soft hair at the nape of Dean's neck and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips every time. Dean tried to deepen the kiss, wanted more than just the brief brush of soft lips against his own, but the angel always pulled away before they got carried away. Dean looked disappointed, but didn't complain; he knew that the job came first, pleasure would come later.
At the stroke of midnight, Castiel's patience and Dean's apparent impatience was rewarded. Movement began to stir at the other end of the store, scattering motes of dust in its path as a large object picked up speed, momentum, intent. Dean stood, gun upraised and ready, while Castiel stood quiet beside him, head raised, eyes searching the store in front of them.
Dean turned when a wind passed him, ruffling his hair and the edges of his shirt, fluttering his eyelashes closed against the draft. He whirled, crouched, pointed the gun everywhere in the hopes of finding something to shoot at but coming up short on all fronts. Castiel turned, crouched, hand outstretched before him as though ready to smite at a moment's notice.
"Where are you?" Dean called, waiting for response from an unknown, unseen adversary, yet receiving no immediate response.
Castiel frowned, before he said - "I think he's gone."
"I don't think so, Cas. He's playing with us. It would make me feel safer if you had a weapon or something," Dean said, turning to face the angel beside him, a look of concern and worry creasing his forehead for the briefest of instants.
It made the hunter uneasy to think that Castiel refused to rely on a knife, a sword, a gun, anything to defend and protect himself, when they both knew that the angel's powers were fading and patchy on a good day. Dean didn't like the idea of Castiel not being able to defend himself, perhaps being injured or, worse, killed, just because he wouldn't take a weapon. The hunter knew that if Castiel didn't survive, he wouldn't either.
He turned away, a troubled look clouding his face, knew that he must truly be in love with Castiel, if he knew that the angel's death would kill him too. He vowed to himself that if they survived this, if they made it through the night, then he would make Castiel take a weapon, even tell him why if that's what it took to get him to use one.
He didn't get a chance to think further on the subject because an unseen force slammed into him, pushed him aside and pinned him to the wall, separated him from Castiel who was pinned to an opposite wall. Dean couldn't move, couldn't even fight back and struggle against his invisible bonds; all he could do was watch Castiel try the same to little effect.
"Dean," Castiel called, gruff voice seeming deeper still with obvious strain. "Dean."
"What?" Dean called back, wondered why Castiel was being so insistent on talking to him right now when he should be concentrating on freeing himself, then Dean.
"Look away," Castiel demanded, eyes hot, commanding, intense against the darkened room around them.
"I can't, Cas, I'm trapped like this," Dean gritted out in frustration, unable to move even an inch.
"Close your eyes then," Castiel said, didn't do anything until he was satisfied that Dean had followed his commands, obediently for once.
Dean saw nothing past the private embrace of personal darkness afforded by his closed eyed state, saw the distinct burst of light coming from Castiel's direction as though the angelic essence of Castiel was being set free if only in brief fits and bursts, a strobing effect flickering across Dean's eyelids.
Dean wanted to look, felt the urge to at last see Castiel in his true form but resisted, found he couldn't go against Castiel's orders when he would cheerfully rebel against anyone else. He waited, impatiently until finally, he was released from his bonds, crashing to the floor suddenly in a limp heap ...
-tbc-
