"What the hell do you mean we have to leave?"
Gabriel was shouting at his friend in the corridor of Orlovsky Medical, garnering more than a few angry looks. Castiel looked at them apologetically and turned back to the fuming hybrid in front of him.
"He claims the U.S. Forces are going to annihilate our villages," Castiel explained calmly.
"So some drop dead gorgeous boys stumble in and you just believe them without question?" Gabriel cried, "Cassie, I thought you were smarter than that."
Castiel shifted uncomfortably and looked at the ground as if had the answers he needed. "I never said they were dr-"
"Shut up, I know," Gabriel stopped him and ran a hand through his hair. He looked through the tiny window of the Winchester's room. "What makes you so sure we can trust them?"
"You're saying he shot himself through the back of his knee?" Castiel asked.
Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck and finally nodded in agreement.
"Fine," he said, "so they're not lying. Now what?" Castiel bit his lip, wary that he had swayed his friend so easily. He pushed the thought away.
"We go to the Commisare," he finally said.
"We go to the Commisare," Gabriel repeated with an air of amazement, "I don't think lover boy's green eyes are gonna work on him, chief."
"He must see reason," Castiel said imploringly. The shorter hybrid sighed.
"You and the older one can go later today," Gabriel said, "but this wasn't my idea, and it's certainly not a god damn good one."
A doctor walked up to the room and entered it. A moment later, Dean emerged, shutting the door quietly behind them.
"How's it hangin', Chuckles?" he gave Gabriel as a greeting. He looked exhausted. Gabriel snorted, patted Castiel on the shoulder, and made to leave. Dean shrugged and turned to Castiel, a look of worry passing over his face.
"How about you, Cas?" he asked with a gentler tone, "how you holding up?"
"I'm as well as I can be," he replied, his wings rustling at the use of the nickname. Besides Gabriel, everyone called him Castiel. It left a strange hum in his bones. "We're going to see the Commisare shortly." Dean narrowed his eyes a bit at the word.
"Oh," he said, realizing this meant he was being taken to their leader, "well that sounds like a real treat." He flashed a smile at the hybrid, one of his best if you asked him, earning only a curious look. Dean shook his head. "You're not a social butterfly, I take it."
"I don't normally engage in conversations with people," Castiel said, swallowing hard at the fact that Dean was now a foot closer to him, "if that's what you mean."
"That's just too bad," Dean said quietly, taking another step towards him. The walking stick clacked on the floor softly, letting its presence not be forgotten. The hybrid swallowed again, his wings tensing unconsciously.
"Well," Castiel had to try twice to get anything out, "perhaps I'll be more vocal in our meeting with the Commisare." Dean grinned wickedly.
"Maybe I can help you to be more," Dean paused about a foot away from Castiel's face, which was now flushed red, "vocal." The corner of his mouth curled up and his eyes roamed over the hybrid's mouth. Castiel licked his lips automatically at the gesture.
The door behind them opened noisily and both men jumped, not realizing how quiet it had become. Castiel blinked a few times and tried to regain a normal blood pressure level. Dean merely felt disappointed.
"Dean?" the doctor asked looking between the two. Dean nodded at him. "Your brother is doing fine, except for the shattered kneecap which is causing intense pain. We've had to put him to sleep with morphine for the time being. He shouldn't leave his bed for at least a week."
Dean's expression became stony. Castiel shot him a worried glance.
"Thanks, doc," Dean said simply before gesturing to Castiel and limping down the hallway. "Let's go talk to the head honcho."
Castiel caught up with him and together they left the hospital. On the main road, Castiel decided to throw caution to the cold winds and start a conversation. It was partially because he was genuinely curious about the man's actions, but mainly because there was something about the man that implored Castiel to talk to him.
"Why did you come warn us?" he asked. Dean looked at him questioningly.
"Why?" he repeated, mulling it over. "Probably because I couldn't stand the thought of all of you being slaughtered." He said this as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Castiel frowned.
"You could have died trying to bring this information to us," he pointed out. Dean tilted his head.
"Yeah," he said finally. Castiel's frown persisted, albeit more pronounced.
"Why?" he asked again. This time, Dean laughed.
"You know you ask a lot of questions," he said. This warranted nothing but more staring from the blue eyed hybrid. Dean smiled gently. "I don't know, man. But I'm glad I'm here."
He fell silent and set his gaze in front of him, being careful not to trip over the pebble encrusted sidewalk. Castiel decided to let it go for now. Clearly, the man's intentions were being hidden for reasons unknown. He couldn't bring himself to believe they were bad ones, so he was safe for the time being. Dean was clearly an man of honor and made his word to be taken as truth. In addition to judging his character, if Castiel didn't know any better, he would have assumed Dean had been attempting to make a pass at him. True, whenever he found himself staring at the hardened jaw line dotted with stubble or the green eyes that had been spattered with flecks of gold, Castiel would need to remind himself that taking in air was crucial to his survival, but truly the hybrid had no god damn clue how to flirt back.
Meanwhile, Dean began to let his thoughts drift to the curious behavior of the hybrid. He had talked to people who couldn't recognize social cues, but this guy was completely and utterly blind to anything. Idly, he toyed with the idea that maybe Castiel didn't know what it was like to be flirted with. Or maybe Dean was barking up the wrong tree. Either way, he needed an answer stat because the thought of the perfectly constructed man not being underneath him was becoming unbearable.
Shortly after their conversation, it began to rain. It started as a light drizzle, spraying everything it hit with a fine mist, but soon it was steady. The pair turned up the collars to their respective coats and quickened their pace. Soon enough, their destination came into view.
The village hall was indistinguishable from the other pale stone buildings around it. There were no defining characteristics other than a worn wooden sign on the front door that read "COMMISARE". When they reached the foot of the three deep stone stairs, Castiel stopped and straightened his coat. He made to take the first step but paused and looked at Dean, tilting his head and studying him. He was unkempt, his clothes wrinkled from sleeping in chair and his hair stood up at all angles but the right ones. Castiel pursed his lips slightly and began smoothing it down. Dean froze.
"What are you…what is this?" he asked as the hybrid continued to pat his head. The rain water that had settled there made it much simpler. For his own amusement, Castiel pushed the hair on the top of his head to one side, making him seem much more respectable.
"You look like a tatterdemalion," Castiel said, now straightening the man's shirt collar.
"A what?" Dean asked.
"You look bedraggled," Castiel tried again.
"I look…" Dean trailed off.
"You look like shit, Dean," Castiel said evenly. Dean's eyes widened. He let out a disbelieving laugh as Castiel finished his preening and pushed open the door.
Inside was no different from the outside. The paint on the walls was peeling and the dingy red carpet could have used a good scrub. In front of them was a large wooden desk that spanned the width of the room, dividing it into two parts. Behind it was a petite blonde hybrid who was deeply engrossed in a hand held video game. Her ivory wings were tucked neatly around her, making the need for a heating unit unnecessary.
"Hello, Meg," Castiel said, making her jump. One look at the tall man before her and her face split into a grin, her wings shivering.
"Cassie!" she cried, throwing her game clean across the desk, "what can I do for you today?" As she said this, her arms folded gracefully across her chest and she leaned forward, showing off her choice assets. Dean rolled his eyes. If Castiel couldn't see that this girl wanted to jump all of his bones right there on that desk, Dean was shit out of luck in the woo Castiel department.
"I need to speak with the Commisare," he said, employing the same stoic tone he used when explaining how the weather was acting on a particular day. Dean nearly stumbled back in shock.
"Sure thing, doll," Meg purred, pressing a button on her phone. "Commisare, Castiel requests an audience. He's brought a human with him." A voice cut through the air sharply stating that it was perfectly acceptable and to let them in. She pushed another button and a door behind her opened in a way that did not resemble grace.
Castiel nodded his gratitude and headed through the door, beckoning Dean to follow him. The man stared after him a moment before doing so, still preoccupied by the thought that maybe he had a chance with the hybrid. It was entirely too obvious that Castiel had no clue what romantic interaction was, so Dean would just have to hold his hand the entire way.
Dean caught up with Castiel in the long hallway.
"Dude, that girl wants you, but hard," he laughed.
"What do you mean?" Castiel asked, genuinely concerned he should go back and see what Meg wanted.
"Seriously?" Dean replied. When it was clear that Castiel had exactly zero clues as to what Dean was getting at, he sighed and put the car into park.
"Jeez, man, she wanted to have sex with you," he explained with an air of incredible patience he had never shown before.
Castiel would have blushed furiously, but that wasn't the kind of man he was, so he babbled like an idiot instead.
"You can't tell me you've never noticed before," Dean said.
"Those thoughts don't cross my mind often," Castiel admitted, "suffice it to say, I never notice when it crosses others'."
Dean merely nodded, a peculiar smirk on his face. Castiel furrowed his brow, unsure if he should feel embarrassed or not. Before he could make a decision, they turned a corner to face a large door with the word "COMMISARE" emblazoned above it. Castiel pushed it open and the two men stepped inside. The Commisare's office was brightly lit and significantly better kept than the rest of the building. A window on the far side of the room allowed sunlight to filter through relentlessly.
"Castiel," came a warm voice from the desk. The owner was the Commisare himself, a handsome man who looked to be in late 30s. He had short blonde hair with a neat beard to match. His eyes were small and bright, a paler shade of blue than most hybrids. At the moment, he looked incredibly overworked.
"Hello, Balthazar," Castiel greeting, with a small smile.
"And who is your friend?" Balthazar asked amiably. Dean traced the hybrid's subtle accent to the region west of Russia, near the Great Isles of the United Kingdom. It was starkly different than the normal regional accent the rest of the village had.
"This is Dean Winchester," Castiel offered, moving slightly so Dean could move forward. He stepped lightly, his walking stick muffled by the carpet. He raised a hand up in salutation. The two hybrids stared at him. Dean needed no more prompting and cleared his throat.
"I'm from the 107th division of the U.S. Forces stationed in Russia," he began, "we were placed in a newly constructed outpost about ten miles from here. Me and my brother were there for a couple weeks before we found out they were planning on invading a city about a hundred miles east of here. On the way, they were going to destroy every town they came across and this was their first stop."
Balthazar tilted his head and considered this, his light yellow wings resting easily around him.
"What do you suggest we do, then, Mr. Winchester?" he finally asked.
"I say you guys pack up and get the hell out of Dodge," Dean replied. Balthazar leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.
"Leave?" he repeated. "You want one thousand of us, mostly children and elderly, to just pack up our bags and leave? Where would we go?" Dean shifted uncomfortably and chanced a look at Castiel. He hadn't thought that far ahead. He had been so wrapped up in his knight in shining armor role that he'd completely forgotten to come up with a plan. He mentally kicked himself; he usually wasn't this dim.
"Um…" he fumbled.
"Exactly, you have no fucking clue," Balthazar shot, leaning forward again and placing his hands on the desk, "and neither do I. I'm going to blindly take your word for it since I trust Castiel, and if indeed a whole platoon of U.S. Forces is arriving at our gates come morning, we are all royally screwed." He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dean was taken aback, determined to help but entirely unsure how.
"Well then we'll fight," he said suddenly. Castiel and Balthazar looked at him in disbelief. The Commisare let out a laugh and Castiel just stared at Dean with a fierce look that was genuinely unreadable. When Balthazar was certain the human wasn't joking, he stopped, the smile still gracing his face.
"Where in the hell did you find him, Castiel?" he asked. The hybrid didn't answer, still fixing Dean with that same piercing look. He snapped out of it after Dean cleared his throat, having the good grace to look ashamed. Balthazar shook his head in disbelief, although the ghost of a smile was still there.
"Well," he began, "I won't abandon my village on such short notice. So as asinine as your idea is, Dean, we have no choice but to try and fight them." Dean hesitated.
"Do we have a chance?" he asked. Balthazar looked on him with pity.
"No," he said, "I don't think we do."
The Commisare of Orlovsky banged his tumbler of vodka on the table for the umpteenth time that evening.
"That leaves us wide open to an assault from the western gate," he cried.
The village had not been set up to withstand an assault of this nature, a fact all three men had quickly learned. Dean was working on his fifth scotch and Castiel was still nursing his bottle of Stoli, a fact that just Dean was appreciating with much gusto. So far, they had come up with as many plans of action as there were deer that could fly.
Balthazar had sent out word quickly throughout the village, urging the hybrids to begin packing and separating into groups of fifty or so. There was a small hybrid town twenty miles to their north that he had done business with on more than one occasion. After a heated argument with its leader, Balthazar had convinced them to let their village migrate there as refugees. Any survivors left from tomorrow's battle would join up later, provided there were any.
It only took two hours to come up with a decent plan, one that would at least fend off the U.S. Forces long enough to give the refugees time to escape. Twenty miles wasn't the worst trek, but when it was being made by eight hundred terrified hybrids, it became considerably more precarious.
At around midnight, they adjourned. Balthazar intended on powering through the rest of the night to make sure everything was ready for the morning. The Commisare insisted they both rest because tomorrow would demand more from them than anything ever had.
The village was quiet when they stepped out on the street. The rain had stopped and had been replaced with a fine flurry of snow. It seemed too peaceful to be the eve of a battle that could be their last. Dean's scotch finally smacked him in the face and he stumbled over a particularly slippery patch of ice. Castiel caught him under the arm and pulled him back up, giggling.
"You should stay at my place tonight," he rumbled with the likeness of a storm. Dean's breath hitched and he looked at the hybrid with surprise.
"Only because," Castiel said quickly, not wanting to seem too forward, "the hospital is much further and my house is not as far and tomorrow will be very awful." He was swaying slightly. Dean laughed to himself, now supporting the hybrid.
"Whatever you say, angel-boy," he murmured, "lead the way." Castiel stumbled off into the dark, Dean limping by his side. For a while, they walked in silence.
"What's with you, Dean?" Castiel asked suddenly, feeling his usual shyness ebb away. He let his guard down, something that was becoming a common thing around Dean.
"What do you mean?" It was Dean's turn to feel confused. He tried to not feel like a ten car highway wreck being rubbernecked at. He failed.
"I mean, what makes you want to stand and fight?" Castiel clarified. Dean froze up at the question, unsure of how to answer. It seemed like such a natural instinct to fight that he never stopped to notice that Castiel, and indeed the village of Orlovsky, wasn't human.
"I just didn't see any other option," he said simply, "you're saying fighting never crossed your mind?"
"No," Castiel said honestly, "as a race, hybrids are peaceful. We are more likely to submit to a threat than to fight it." Dean nodded in understanding.
"Humans are the exact opposite," he observed.
"I've noticed," the hybrid said with a sly smile, casting him a sideways look, "every time something comes to light that you find undesirable, you fight it to your death." He paused and tilted his head, the same fierce look in his eyes that was there earlier. "It's actually quite admirable." Dean laughed at this.
"I don't know if fighting everything that's different is admirable," Dean said skeptically. Castiel shrugged and looked at him.
"But you," he said, shaking his head, "you seem to fight because of an injustice. And not an injustice against you, but against a completely different race. I find it strange, is all." Dean chuckled, mostly to himself.
"It's wrong," he began, "to destroy a race or species just because they're different, especially when they're no threat to you."
They arrived at Castiel's house and paused for a moment while he unlocked the door and let them both inside. Dean closed the door behind them and leaned the walking stick against the couch before falling into it, throwing his head back against the soft pillows, wanting nothing more than to sleep. Preferably with-
"I want to save you," Dean said suddenly. Castiel removed his coat and loosened his tie, collapsing in the chair opposite. "I want to save all of you. And I want to do it because what the hell kind of person would I be if just sat back and did nothing?" Castiel fixed him with that odd, ardent look again, the one that made him wonder how the hybrid couldn't hold the entire univer-
Stop it, Dean.
For a moment, they just sat there looking at each other. Dean was lounging with his arms spread across the back of the sofa, his injured leg stretched out on the table in front of him. His jacket was unzipped, revealing a tight fitting white shirt underneath. He had the beginnings of a beard, as he hadn't had time to shave in several days. Castiel was sitting straight up in the chair, his hands clasped in his lap. His head was leaning to the left, his chin jutting forward slightly, eyes narrowed in either thought or curiosity. He blinked a few time and noticed Dean's gaze had become more pronounced.
"We should sleep," he said, standing up suddenly. He grabbed a blanket from the closet behind them and handed it to Dean, who carefully made sure that his fingers grazed the back of the hybrid's hand. It made his feathers stand on end and sent fire through his muscles. Dean felt a shiver run through his veins and involuntarily leaned his head back.
"Good night, Dean," Castiel said finally, making his way quickly to his room. After shutting his door with a mighty kick, he tore off his tie and sent it flying across the room. He found himself in the bathroom, white shirt unbuttoned and fluttering around him. In the mirror, a flushed man looked back at him, pupils blown for some reason. Castiel decided it was because of the lighting and went to bed completely ignoring the fact that he had never experienced such a strong desire to completely dominate someone before.
"Night, Cas," Dean said a while later as he let his body make itself at home on the couch. He closed his eyes and took comfort in the fact that he had never seen anyone more painfully aroused than the man in the room next to him.