Don't be shocked that people die.
Be surprised you're still alive.
"Cassie (Acoustic)" by Flyleaf
Castiel was completely healed.
Dean's heart skidded to a stop in his chest. It felt, for a moment, like his mind was a cement truck reeling into the metal siding on the freeway. He blinked once, mouth open.
"Cass?"
Dr. Crowley looked mildly shocked. Sam, behind him, rested his hands on his hips and rocked back with the look of a kid who had just walked in on his parents kissing.
"Cass, what the hell is this?"
Castiel shifted slightly on the mint hospital sheets. He fiddled with the neon admission wrist band, still not looking at Dean. After a moment, he turned around fully, eyes squinted in confusion.
"I fail to see what is the matter, Dean," he said, after a pause, his voice low and innocent. Dean threw his hands in the air, glancing furiously at Sam for some back-up. When he received nothing but a numb shrug in return, he turned to face Cass again.
"The matter, Cass? The matter? When I left you, you had no friggin' jaw bone. And now you're...you're..." he gestured wildly at Castiel.
"I believe the term you are looking for is 'smashing'," Dr. Crowley yawned from the doorway. He smirked lightly at the frown from Castiel. "What? I happen to like the silent and mysterious type."
Dean waved the doctor away frantically, still not registering the obvious fact.
"Cass, dude. You completely healed in less than an hour. What the hell is that?" He didn't wait for a response, instead stomping forward to grab Castiel's arm and drag him forward. He noticed the bloody tie with a flash of confusion, but ignored it as he pulled Cass towards the door. "You know what? We're leaving. And when we get in the car, you better explain your nerdy ass or I swear to God, or whatever, that I will leave you at the next tourist trap we see."
"Dean calm down–" Sam started forward, but Dean brushed past him. He shut the door loudly, slamming it in his brother and Dr. Crowley's faces with a bang. He turned then to face Cass, letting go of his arm.
"Okay. Ten minutes to explain. Go."
Castiel just stared at him. There was a spark of anger there, the same anger Dean had seen aimed at Meg and Lucifer, and the same anger undoubtedly used to kill Alastair in the gas station bathroom. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by a narrowing of very blue eyes.
"I have no explanation."
"Really. None? Because that seems like a load of bull, Cass."
"Do not call me that."
"I'll call you whatever I damn well please," Dean snapped before he could stop himself. What the hell am I doing? He wondered vaguely to himself. This is not the smooth Dean I want to be around this guy. He took a deep breath, wishing then he had a cold beer and a loud bar to calm his nerves. "Okay. Sorry, Castiel," (he tried not to be too sarcastic, tried not to sneer to much). "I'm just a little freaked, that's all. I mean, first your mission to kill me, or Sam, or whoever, and then your creepy-ass brother. Who is a total douchebag, BTW. And then when you get obliterated by some Hell-bent demon you just...I dunno, magic it all away? It just doesn't make sense to me, alright?"
Castiel was silent a moment. He kept tugging at the band around his wrist until Dean rolled his eyes and flicked his hand around.
"You kissed me," he said after a minute. "You kissed me, Dean."
"Yeah. I suppose I did." Funny thing, memory. Stupid, stupid Dean! He mentally slapped himself. "So what?"
"Dean, I am in a relationship." Castiel snarled suddenly.
"You said he ditched you!"
"I said he was missing," Cass looked away. "And I never asked for your help anyhow," he snarled.
"Oh, c'mon, Cass! Just tell me why you healed that fast!" Dean felt his nerves start to fray, panic setting in once more. He didn't want Cass to have secrets. He wanted him to be perfect, the best friend Dean had never had.
"Why must you know? I am fine, is that not what you came for?"
Dean couldn't answer that right away.
Castiel turned away, his shoulders hunched in his oversized trench-coat, his hair sticking up slightly in the back.
"Goodbye, Dean," he said without turning around. "I hope you and Sam live a long, blessed life."
It was ten whole seconds before Dean realized what that entailed. In a single panic-driven movement, he caught up with Cass, whirled him around, and wrapped his arms around him in the girliest hug he'd ever let himself unleash.
"I want to know because I think I love you, dumbass," he said into Castiel's hair. "And so I can kill the son of a bitch bitch who made you the friggin' X-Men."
Castiel squinted in confusion, canting his head.
"I don't understand that reference."
Dean pulled away to ruffle Cass' dark hair. No matter how mysteriously powerful the guy was, it seemed he would never be able to fix his perpetual case of "Disgruntled Owl Hair".
"Yeah, man, I get that. You were raised a hippie slash Bible-worshipper."
"I was not!"
"Pshh. You quote friggin' Megatron, dude!"
"It's Metatron, Dean, and I don't–"
The door opened slowly. Sam poked his head out, bangs flopping.
"Guys? You okay? 'Cause this Crowley guy is starting to creep me out," he hissed desperately. With a smirk, he noticed Dean's hand in Castiel's hair, a single eyebrow creeping up his face. "Um..am I interrupting something, lovebirds?"
Dean responded simply by sticking his tongue out.
...
In the quiet of a park at night, the man in black sat with his eyes closed on a park bench.
The park was in some affluent community, adjacent to San Francisco, and dotted with redwoods and aging artists. He'd chosen the place carefully, seated himself on a bench shaped like a turtle. There, a line of thin moonlight illuminated him.
He flicked carefully through his mind, shifting through memories and dates and information fed to him by the angry woman named Anna Milton. Technically, thought the man, I'm the superior. The king. But technically, she has more intel.
"Angel Blue," he muttered to himself. "The Winchesters still live, huh?"
Vaguely, he remembered a fire. Twenty-two years ago, meant to starch those nasty hunters out forever. One was killed, burned to death in front of her children. Three escaped, accursed with the memory forever.
And now, one was being hunted as he fell in love.
One was being tortured slowly through the deaths of those he loved already.
And one was already dead, having drank himself into a stupor he could not undo.
The man smiled, and shifted on the turtle bench. Across from him, the destitute whine of a dying creek echoed throughout the old park.
"Azazel failed," he muttered, standing slowly. "Azazel failed."
He shoved his hands into his pockets, head twisted down as a car rolled by, and exited the park still chuckling.
"I won't fail."
As he left, he pulled his left hand from his pocket, slicing the pad of his ring finger sharply against the zipper of his jacket, and frowning deeply at the tiny scarlet cut.
He twitched his finger.
The cut disappeared.
And the man continued his walk with a satisfied hum on his lips.
...
A/N: Hey! Just so you know (for future reference), Dean and Sam are the same ages as they were in S1. Like, twenty-six and twenty-two (ish). So, Castiel should be a little older than Dean. Why S1? 'Cause Sammy had adorable bangs :D.
Virtual pie for those who guess the new baddie.
Love ya. -chaoswalking