Names are an entirely human concept, a sense of individualism. As an angel, names are assigned purely for humanity's sake. Apparently, "Hey you, wavelength of celestial intent!" is too wordy for humans. Angels work as a whole, a massive force that exists to carry out God's will. Because of this, the principle of possession is foreign to an angel. Usually.
Cas slumps backwards into the wooden mass of his snow-white bench, his favorite object when Dean gives him yet another confusing emotion to mull over. The angel finds himself perched on this wooden piece of furniture more often than he cares to admit. This time, the emotion of choice is lust.
Lust isn't new to Castiel. He's felt his vessel react to numerous images over the years, but each time, he's been able to chalk it up to Jimmy's perferences. Always scantly clad women. But, Jimmy didn't survive the(extremely one-sided) fight with Lucifer, his body slowly but surely merging with Castiel's essence. The connection stretches beyond the spiritual level; sure, his grace is completely laced into this body. But, the figure also feelslike it belongs to him. His mannerisms flow freely, like the frame has always been accomodating his being. Plus, there's the fact that this is the face that Dean thinks of when the name 'Castiel' is mentioned.. The bench, and this body, have become Castiel's possessions. Both largely because of the oldest Winchester.
He can't blame the erratic breathing, that has yet to dissipate, on Jimmy this time. A gentle tremble racks his body as his traitorous mind replays the scene; Rough wall biting his back, an invisible force holding him in place. Dean's emerald eyes gleam with defiance and oddly placed hunger, being his typical self and ignoring the angel's warning. Unable to move, the promise of having to endure whatever it is Dean wants to doto him... is extremely alluring. Even to someone who is less sensual than a rusty nail.
Castiel fights off the smile threatening to break free, it's so like Dean to do the opposite of what God wants. Hell, the elder Winchester often does the opposite of what hewants for himself. God knows this, so why is he willing distance between them? Everyone that knows Dean, knows that he'll just rebel for the hell of it. And then shoot you in the face for thinking that you can tell him what to do.
Soul-searching complete(for now), Castiel decides that there's one thing he knows for certain; it's all Lucifer's fault. Castiel wouldn't be sitting on this bench right now if Jimmy were still alive. He wouldn't be falling headfirst into humanity.
With a sigh, Castiel wills his grace to reach for Dean's soul; contact he's been yearning for since he flew away from the hunter. It's a deeper form of empathy, emotions shared fluidly from charge to angel. It's nice just being able to feelDean, but it's usually counter-productive. 11 times out of 10, it's Dean that turns Castiel into this angelic mess of need. Regardless, the sensation of Dean's soul gripping back is always enough to soothe Castiel's deepest worries, an intense calm blanketing his trenchcoat-clad body. He doubts Dean even realizes that he does it.
The angel has formed a habit of watching for any signs of distress coming from his charge. Basically, anything negative forcing its way through the connection between them. Well, more negative than usual, anyway. A strong tug of frustration courses through their spiritual link, and Castiel's by Dean's side in a heartbeat. He hides his presence, knowing Dean would grill him with lots of questions about the supposed "invisible to angels" sigils carved into his ribs if he knew the angel can still sense him.
He's greeted by the sight of a busty brunette storming away from his charge, anger creasing her manicured eyebrows. Dean just shrugs, pulling more beer through his lips while expert eyes hunt for another beautiful woman. An unfamiliar emotion coils in Castiel's gut as a pretty blonde saunters over to Dean, instantly capturing the hunter's attention. The angel can smell the alcohol radiating from her, making him roll his eyes. Something he's learned from Sam, much to Dean's amusement. The woman grins, tugging Dean to his feet and ushering him towards the door. Panic overcomes Castiel's angelic rationality, forcing him to do the only thing he can think of. A gentle touch of his index and middle finger, and her limp body falls to the floor. Considering the amount of alcohol she's obviously drank, it just looks like she passed out.
Defeat washes over Dean's masculine features, arms flying up in exasperation.
"Screw this noise, I give up." Sapphire eyes follow the man, watching him climb into his beloved Impala with a dramatic door slam that he immediately regrets. Dean drives off, leaving his angel to stand there with only one thing running through his mind. The love that he knows he feels for Dean can no longer be written off as "purely angelic." And that thought scares the hell out of Castiel.
"And she just, fell over? You didn't think to check on her?" Sam eyes his brother incredulously, not sure what to make of Dean's sudden need to be a douche.
"I'm too tired to care, Sammy." Dean's propped up against the wall behind his bed, wishing Sam would shut the hell up and let him get some sleep. A little voice in the back of his head reminds him that sleep could just bring more annoying dreams, but he's also too tired to care about that. All he's been doing since Cas disappeared is think, and now he's more confused than he was to begin with. Denial tends to do that. Hopefully his mind will treat him to a steamy dream about his best friend. Then he can wake up and say, "Oh, good. I have the hots for Castiel. That's awesome." At least that would make sense, because Dean understands lust. He understands the mystery that stares him in the eye every time the angel is around, begging to quite literally be unraveled. While there's certainly a such thing astoo muchclothing, Cas takes it to a whole new level. And dammit, now he's thinking about this whole mess again. Nothing's ever easy, he should know that by now.
Dean turns his back to his brother, hoping he'll get the hint. He must, because the silence quickly lulls Dean to unconsciousness. Hundreds of miles away, a victorious grin radiates from Chuck's core.
Author's Note: I don't know why I'm having so much trouble making these chapters longer. Either way, this was an important chapter! Thanks for all of the follows/favorites, perhaps I can get a review or two?
