AN: Written for a dear friend and inspired by Misha's antics at a con we were both at recently.
It had been nearly two months since the skies had been filled with angels falling from heaven, and Castiel and the Winchester brothers had been on the run since. With Abaddon, the fallen host and pretty much every demon, monster and other nightmarish danger on their tails, they had been forced to abandon the bunker and flee. Even though it was heavily trapped and protected, there was no way they could have kept coming and going from it without being tracked down eventually, and after much arguing it was decided that keeping ahead of the creatures trying to hunt them was the only way they were going to survive. They had managed to go undetected so far, constantly moving and staying off any kind of radar, but it was getting harder and harder with each passing day. The Impala was too easily identified and had been hidden shortly after they had began to run, replaced by a crappy old minivan, and over the weeks it was getting tougher for Dean to keep his focus and keep pushing forward.
Sam was still very weak from the effects of the failed final trial, having horrific nightmares and waking up screaming loud enough to wake everyone else. He was barely eating, just about able to keep his wits about him, but his spirit did seem to be slowly starting to improve. He was going out on food runs on his own, taking short turns behind the wheel of the minivan to give Dean a break and generally seeming to be on a bit of an upswing.
It was Cas that Dean was the most worried about.
At first Castiel had been clearly terrified, all too aware of his new mortality and running from his brothers and sisters who were hunting him down. He was a human now, an orphan from heaven, and had confessed that he felt he was to blame for the fate of his siblings despite Dean's constant reassurance that he had been manipulated by Metatron into causing the fall of his kind. As Sam was slowly spiralling upwards Cas was plummeting down, and Dean knew full well how poorly the angel handled his desperation and misery.
"Hey buddy, you doing okay?" Dean slumped onto the motel couch beside Cas, holding out a beer towards the fallen angel. Cas barely moved, just letting out a soft sigh as he continued to sit staring at his interlinked hands resting on his knees. Sam was out on a grocery run and Dean was determined to try to break through some of Castiel's sadness before his kid brother got back. He knew it was going to be a long process and that Cas might never be able to fully recover from the shock of what had happened to him, but this apathy he was falling into wasn't helping anybody. He was getting slower, losing any care or hope, and in this world that could be catastrophic for all of them.
When Cas failed to take the beer Dean rolled his eyes, taking a long swig himself before leaning forward to place it on the table. "Cas, quit sitting there like that. It ain't helping anyone, least of all you. You need to do... something." Green eyes flicked around the cheap motel room, looking for something, anything, that could help grab Castiel's attention and get him to focus on something other than his misery. They settled on a small stack of boxes perched on top of the cabinet and Dean stood and went to investigate.
The boxes were quite old and dusty, clearly dumped up there and forgotten about long ago. They were board games; The Game of Life, Monopoly, Sorry and one other. Looking at the box, Dean smiled and used his sleeve to wipe the heavy of the dust off, shoving the coffee table out of the way and setting up the mat and automatic speaker on the faded blue carpet. "C'mon, we're gonna play this. It'll help get your head back where we need it."
Very slowly Castiel looked up from his hands, the pain and misery agonisingly clear in blue eyes that had lost all hope and life. "I don't want to play a game, Dean. That will not help anyone."
The hunter gave a small shrug, mostly ignoring the fallen angel's comment. "Come on, we'll both go at the same time." Dean leant down and flicked the top of the speaker with a fingertip, a crackly voice coming out of the tired old speaker a few seconds later. Right hand yellow.
Castiel watched Dean bending over and laying his right hand flat onto a yellow circle on the mat before looking up expectantly. Castiel knew that look, had seen it a thousand times before. Arguing would be pointless, Dean's stubbornness matched only by that of the metaphorical mule, so with a tired sigh Cas stood and walked over to the mat before bending down and placing his own right hand flat onto the mat. A few moments later the voice crackled to life again. Left hand red.
Both men moved, placing their left hands onto red dots. Castiel was on the shorter side of the mat and could comfortably squat with his hands a little more than shoulder width apart on the dots, but Dean was on the longer side and already stretching across the mat. Right hand green. Kneeling down, Cas stretched his arms apart to cover the dots on opposite sides of the mat but Dean had to lean forward, shifting his legs to balance himself at the awkward angle. Left foot red.
The move was much easier for Dean, the shift putting his left leg bent under him and helping him balance easier. Cas however had to walk his hands forwards onto the dots closer to the centre of the mat so he could get his left foot where his left hand had been. This put his head next to Dean's side as the voice crackled again. Right foot blue.
Several minutes later and the two men were a tangle of limbs, each keeping their balance by sheer determination and unwillingness to be the first to slip or give up. It was clear to Dean that the more they played the more Castiel became focussed on what he was doing, the fallen angel calculating each move to work out the best angle to put himself at, and he felt a little of his own tension easing from his overburdened shoulders. When the next spot was called Castiel obviously felt no hesitation to half-lean on Dean so he could get to the spot that worked best for his own balance.
The hunter laughed, gently shoving Cas' hips to the side a fraction so he could get his own left foot on a green spot. The angle was an acutely uncomfortable one, but he was determined to keep the game going as long as he could so he did not give up. However, the next spot to get called out was an exceedingly awkward one, making him stretch out with his back to the mat with most of his weight on his arms, Castiel hovering mere inches over him. Dean was surprised by the look in Castiel's eyes, one of conviction to win whatever it took. It was so unlike any other glance he had seen in the past few months. It was so driven but with a hint of mischief, almost like the fallen angel was quietly enjoying himself. It was so... human.
Left hand yellow.
From the angle he was at Dean was just about able to slide his left hand from a blue spot to a yellow one, though it was now directly under him with most of his weight on it and rather painful. However, because of how Dean was positioned, Cas was completely unable to get his hand to any of the yellow dots, they were all directly underneath Dean. Dean gave a small smirk. "Looks like I win."
Dean couldn't have predicted the sudden movement from Cas, the press of warm, dry lips against the bare skin of his neck, and his arm buckled under him as a shocked breath jumped from between his lips. Dean went down onto the Twister mat with a thud, his left leg slipping out from under him and catching Cas' right one, sending the other man tumbling on top of him. The seconds passed slowly, both men staring at each other in silence as they took in what had just occurred. Then a truly remarkable thing happened.
Castiel smiled. "I win."
The hunter lay on his back, looking up at the fallen angel on top of him, and he returned the smile. "Sure. You win."