Deo Gratias
Chapter One
"Guy said he was an angel."
"Did you ask to see his wings?" chuckles Bobby.
"Why encourage an obviously mentally ill person?"
"And you just let him wander out into the cold."
Dean leans back in his chair, arms crossed defiantly over his chest. "I assumed he came here by car. Cars have heaters. He'll be fine."
"I'm glad you answered the door. I'm not quite sure how I would handle that situation." Bobby downs the rest of his morning beer and slams the empty bottle on the table. "So whattya got planned for today, Dean? A nice trip into town to fetch a guy some groceries?"
"I suppose that could be arranged," concedes Dean with a smirk. "I don't have to work today so I can do that."
Dean grabs the Impala's keys off of the shelf and as he's going out the door Bobby says quietly, "Sam called the house last night. It was while you were out like a light so I didn't wake you up, but I said that I'd talk to you about talking to him."
Dean lets out an explosive sigh. "I'm not interested," He states flatly.
"Won't you atleast consider it? John wouldn't have wanted-"
"I don't really give a rat's ass what dad would have wanted. If he had really wanted Sammy and I to get along he wouldn't have-you know what? I'm not having this conversation. I know you're concerned 'n all but I've got enough on my plate," heatedly rebukes Dean. He slams the door behind him, stomping in the snow.
Dean knows damn well that he should be calling his little brother. This little feud of theirs can't last forever; two months is long enough, isn't it? But he can't bring himself to apologize. Their father was a selfish, self-absorbed man who couldn't be bothered with raising his own goddamned children. What would be the purpose of going to the man's funeral if he didn't feel any actual grief? The bastard was dead, rotting in the ground, and Dean would rather move on with his life than remember any of his younger years spent living with John Winchester.
Apparently, when you die, it erases all of the wrong things you've ever done in your life. All is forgiven! Suddenly you're remembered for your hits and not your misses. The misses don't even count anymore. People throw them aside, only recalling the good times, and what a "good father" he was after their mother died.
Good father my ass, Dean snarls internally. Dad knew damn well that I was raising Sammy, not him.
And Sam never acknowledged that Dean was the one who pratically fathered him. It was always "dad did his best" and "you don't know how hard it was for him, losing mom was a horrible blow". Dean almost wants to throw it all back in Sam's face and remind him of all the arguments he had with dad over the years about how he was never there for them. But it would only serve to make Sam feel more guilty than he already does, and then what kind of older brother would Dean be?
You're not much of an older brother right now anyway, an inner voice taunts him. Your little brother lost his girlfriend and his father within a six month time frame and you're still out in South Dakota fiddling with cars and hooking up with nameless chicks?
He never claimed to be the worlds best brother but dammit he's given enough of himself already.
Atleast he has Bobby, a constant in his life who has kept him sane these last few years.
Dean walks towards his precious car, preening at the sight of her. That's when he hears a crunching coming from behind him.
That better be Bobby.
But alas, it is not. It's the crazy fanatic from the night before and Dean groans out loud.
"What do you want?" he sighs.
"A little of your time."
"Well the clock's ticking. If I promise to listen to your bullshit, do you promise to leave me alone?"
"I cannot make such a promise," grimly replies Castiel.
"Then I guess I'm allergic to bullshit." Dean turns back around to walk to the Impala.
"I'm ultimately trying to save the human race, Dean. This isn't about you, this isn't about me. It's about making sure that the apocalypse doesn't happen," Castiel declares, sounding confident enough in his words that Dean could swear that the man thinks he's speaking the truth.
"Apocalypse. Right. Let me know how that goes." Dean opens the door to his car but it slams shut of it's own accord. He gapes at it for a moment, then glares at Castiel as though he knows he has something to do with this phenomena, and he tries to yank his car door back open. No such luck. No matter how hard he tries it won't budge an inch.
Castiel stares at him waiting for him to tire himself out.
Dean grunts, "Damn car." He tries all the other doors but those are stuck also.
Ultimately the Winchester throws his hands up in defeat and declares, "Fine! You win! Somehow you control my car and I can't get in it. What are you gonna do for your next trick, pull a bunny out of a hat?"
"Animals do not take shelter in hats," simply states Castiel.
Dean leans against his car and huffs, "Alright. It's storytime. Tell me whatever it is you're going to tell me and then I can be on my merry way."
"Your brother is in severe danger. He-"
"How do you even know I have a brother?" Dean inquires. "And why would he be in danger? As far as I know, he's doing fine at Standford."
"It's not what's happening right now. It's what's going to happen. Demons are going to try and rally him, Dean. They're going to try to get him to be Lucifer's vessel. There are demons at work right now trying to break the seals which hold him in the pits of Hell. They're getting closer every hour."
"You lost me at 'demons'. Are we talking 'Hell' kind of demons or what?"
"Demons come from Hell, yes," says Castiel slowly, as if he's stating the obvious. "And they're coming for Sam."
"I don't know who the hell you think you are but if you're stalking my brother you're barking up the wrong tree, man. He's too into his studies to make time for anyone."
"You believe this includes you," says Castiel. It isn't a question.
Dean scoffs. "Of course that includes me."
"Your father's death has affected you both-"
"Do not even try to pretend that you know about our father's death," growls Dean vehemently. He walks up to Castiel, pointing a finger in his face, "I don't know what you think you know but you aren't going to talk about my family like you know us. As far as I'm concerned you're just a screwed up stranger who twisted himself into thinking he's some sort of angel sent from Heaven to stop the apocalypse."
"I'm apologize. I should not have spoken of your father so abruptly," sympathizes Castiel softly.
Dean hadn't been expecting a reaction like that. It was worse than shouting curse words back at him. He hates being pitied. He backs off, anger still contorting his facial features into something fierce and spiteful.
"You're right. My father's death has affected me," Dean agrees. "It makes me hate him even more."
"You don't hate your father, Dean. You loved him."
"Yeah, well, I get the two mixed up easily enough. There's not much of a difference anyway." Dean shrugs it off like it's nothing. "I guess I should become you used to making statements you shouldn't be making. You're an angel. You should know everybody's problems, right? So tell me, are Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt on the rocks yet? Cause I could totally snatch her up."
Castiel forces himself not to scowl. Dean seems to want to turn everything into a joke when this is serious business he's talking about. He remains unagitated and unaffected, the way he should be. Emotionless.
"I'm a mind reader, Dean. I can tell you what you're thinking right now."
"Oh, and what's that?"
Castiel gets a distressed look on his visage as he says distastefully, "Fornicating with this Angelina Jolie woman."
"That was too easy! Okay, okay. What am I thinking of now?"
"I'm not going to keep playing these games with you. I'm here to aid you and your brother, not to play guessing games. And stop thinking that, it's disgraceful."
"Sorry," He says insincerely. "So, is that it? That's your big message? Demons are out to get my brother? Sorry. Not convinced."
"Dean," Castiel says shortly, "I'm going to do what I can to convince you. Do you want to see what my angelic powers allow me to do?"
Dean crosses his arms and stares cooly at Castiel, a mocking tone in his voice. "Suuure, angel boy. Lets see what you can do."
The warrior asks, "Do you have a knife?"
"You are not asking me for my pocket knife, right? I mean c'mon! How do I know you won't try to stab me and steal my car?"
"'Thou shalt not steal'," recites Castiel. "And I have no intention of hurting you. But if you wish to see what I can do with my Grace then you will hand over your knife."
Curiosity killed the cat, wryly thinks Dean as he reaches into the depths of his jeans pockets and digs it out. He warily hands it over to Castiel who stares at it as though he's never seen such a contraption.
"Where is the knife?" Castiel asks.
The Winchester doesn't know whether to laugh or to slap a hand to his forehead. If this guy were to be an angel, shouldn't they be all-knowing?
"There is only one Being who is all-knowing and that is God," the angel responds to his thoughts while examining the pocket knife thoroughly.
Dean decides not to address the creepy mind-reading technique and holds out his hand impatiently. "Give me that damn knife. I'll open it. But whatever you're going to do with it, once it's over, you're out of here and you stop doing that voodoo on the Impala, alright?"
The angel hands over the knife and Dean flips it open. He hesitates momentarily before handing it back and is horrified at what Castiel does: He slices into the palm of his hand, blood pouring out of the wound and onto the pure white snow, dirtying it with his vessel's blood.
"Are you nuts?" snaps Dean, taking Castiel's hand into his own to assess the damage. "This is going to need fucking stitches, man, and I don't really feel liking driving you to the hospital!"
Castiel removes his hand from Dean's and drops the knife into the snow seeing as he's not going to use it anymore. As the twenty four year old leans down to pick it back up Castiel uses his Grace to heal the gash, leaving behind nothing more than a slightly puckered pink mark on his hand. He could heal it all the way but he wants to leave behind proof to Dean that he had actually cut himself.
Dean looks up from cleaning the blood on a rag he keeps in his back pocket and furrows his brow. "Um, weren't you bleeding just a second ago?"
"Yes, I was."
"And did you have a deep cut on your left palm just a second ago?"
"Yes, I did."
"You know what, I don't remember taking any LSD this morning but maybe Bobby slipped some into my drink this morning just for shits and giggles. I must be going on one bad trip . . . fucking self-mutilating, self-healing angels and shit . . . " Dean mutters to himself in frustration.
"Do you believe me now?" questions Castiel.
"No I don't believe you! How can I? You're not an angel, you're just a crazy person with some freaky powers that no one should have. Angels do not exist, niether do demons. When we die we all rot in the ground and that's that."
"You find comfort in believing that this is it, that there is nothing beyond this?" His tone is full of blatant disbelief.
"No," says Dean, "I find comfort in the knowledge that this isn't all just a test."
"It's not a test," agrees Castiel, "your life is my Father's gift to you. How you choose to use it is your responsibility."
"Riiight," chuckles the cynic. "So how did you do that trick, healing your hand? Was the whole cutting just an illusion?"
"I assure you it was not a trick. What you've witnessed is my Grace, which allows me to do many things. I am an angel, Dean, and it's crucial that we save your brother from Lucifer."
"Not that I would wish you on anyone else but why aren't you talking to my brother if this is so important?" Dean argues.
"Because if I were to tell him he is Lucifer's vessel he wouldn't listen to me."
"Of course he wouldn't listen to you. Do you even realize how ridiculous you sound?" Dean shakes his head, not believing what he's hearing, nor what he's seen. This man must really be psychologically disturbed to go to these lengths to get him to agree with him. "Of course, there's no arguing with a crazy man."
"I am not crazy. When I say that your brother would not listen to me I don't mean that he would not believe me. He just doesn't want the truth confirmed. You see, he's already conversed with a demon, which is why I was sent to Earth. There's a secret struggle going on to convert your brother to one side or the other and right now. The demons are winning."
"Sammy is a normal college student. He doesn't talk to demons, he is not a vessel, and he certainly isn't going over to 'the dark side'," Dean says, using air quotes.
"What is that gesture you're making with your fingers? Should I be offended?"
Dean sighs, massaging his temples. "Look, this is all fun and games until my brain decides to shut down on me. I'm going now and you're welcome to stand here in your bare feet in freezing temperatures until your happy-ass decides you've had enough and leaves. So go ahead and fly away or whatever it is that you do."
Castiel can't force back a scowl this time. What is it going to take to convince Dean Winchester of the existence of angels, demons, God, and Lucifer?
Dean makes the mistake of blinking and Castiel is gone.
. . . That's strange.
Dean could have sworn he heard the flutter of wings.