Author's Notes: This is mostly a fluff chapter to make up for the loads of angst that is ahead for this story (I apologize in advance). Also, CoolestCatEva beta'd this chapter and will continue to do so until the end (she also has this awesome fanfic entitled "Clipped Wings & Hidden Demons" that you should look up if you want a kickass Destiel AU).
Look, Dean didn't have much experience to go on (after all, he and Cas had only been dating for about a month now), but he was pretty sure that Castiel Novak was the best damn boyfriend on the whole fucking planet. Sure, it was arguable that Dean might be bias to that belief, but he was sure even homophobic asshole would begrudgingly admit how much Cas kicked ass at romantic relationships. Seriously, he baked Dean pies when he'd had a shitty day, held Dean's hand when he needed an anchor to escape a stressful situation (like his parents' sinking relationship and Sam's growing independence), kissed him just the right way at just the right time, and was just all around badass (honestly, Dean didn't know why he didn't choose to be gay with Cas sooner; it would've seriously made his life so much easier). But Dean's favorite part of their relationship was when they were alone—with no outside force to keep them apart nor prying eyes to dance around—and they could truly be together as Dean knew they were destined to be.
Like right now, when they were stretched out in the backseat of the Impala at the edge of town with nothing between them but shared breaths and the thin layer of Dean's t-shirt. Castiel was shirtless and settled lazily on Dean's chest, his eyes shut and breathing slow; it was obvious he was almost fast asleep. With a soft smile, Dean simply admired the exquisite creature in his arms as he ran feathery fingertips up and down Castiel's plane of exposed skin.
Before he even realized he was thinking aloud, he found himself whispering in a low, almost inaudible voice, "God, you're so gorgeous."
He watched as Castiel's eyelashes fluttered open, an exasperated yet fond expression painted on his features as he scoffed and shook his head, "I am not. I look like a mutated bird-like humanoid."
Dean rolled his eyes, smiling endearingly, "You don't look like Big Bird, Cas. If you're any Sesame Street character, you're Bert and I'm Ernie."
Castiel stared up at him with a blank expression, "I have no idea what you just said to me."
"Dude, you never heard of Sesame Street?" At Castiel's confused look, Dean let out an astonished breath, "Your childhood sucked ass, didn't it?"
Castiel sighed, "My early childhood was wonderful. My family just didn't believe in television, and when I got here...well, you know how Naomi is."
"Why is she always up in your business anyway?" Dean asked, threading his fingers through Castiel's tousled hair, "What about your adoptive dad? I mean, he's the one who got you in the first place, right?"
"I don't see much of him," Cas admitted softly, "He's a 'busy' man, as Michael always told me. Personally, I believe he just thinks of us as toys. When he gets tired of one, he gets another, and the cycle repeats. Naomi's the only one that ever cared for us...in her own sick, twisted way, I suppose."
"Naomi just cares about control," Dean protested, not believing how Cas could take up for that bitch, "She doesn't love you, Cas. Love isn't like that."
"Sometimes love hurts, Dean," Castiel sighed out, like Dean was just a mere idealistic child that didn't understand how the real world worked yet, "And not just in the emotional way."
Dean's eyes flashed, "It doesn't have to."
"To people like me, it does." Cas told him sternly, abruptly sitting up, "People receive the love they deserve. You? You deserve all the good-natured, kind people that God has surrounded you with. Me? Well...even God knew I was nothing but a failure."
"If God honestly works like that, then he's just a dick," Dean snapped, sitting up and grasping Castiel's hand, "You don't deserve the shit people give you; especially the people that are supposed to love and protect you." He let out a long breath to calm himself and squeezed his hand, saying lowly but meaningfully, "Cas, just…stop acting like you're not important because you are to me."
Castiel stared at him long and hard before demanding brokenly, "But why?"
"Because everyone has their own definition of perfection," Dean said, eyes boring into Castiel's, "And my definition is you."
At his answer, Castiel's eyes burned brighter than Dean had ever seen.
That night, when Castiel was laying in his bed thinking hard about Dean's words, he heard his phone ding with a new message. With a sigh, he snatched it from his night-stand and glanced down at it, his heart skipping a beat when he realized it was from Dean.
If you still don't believe me, check your windowsill.
Confused, Castiel slowly rose to his feet and made his way to his window, opening it and noticing a slightly crinkled piece of notebook paper taped to the windowsill. Trying to quell the curiosity that plagued his stomach, Castiel delicately removed the tape and grabbed the paper, shutting the window and walking over to sit back down on his bed. When he positioned himself comfortably on his mattress, Castiel slowly unfolded the paper and scanned it, immediately recognizing it as Dean's report on him that Mr. Shurely had assigned to them at the beginning of the year. It'd been months since they turned in that assignment—back when he and Dean were still just friends—and Castiel wondered why Dean was giving this to him now. They'd agreed not to read each other's paper and had blindly turned them in, both secretly buzzing with curiosity at what the other wrote.
It felt like centuries ago when he wrote that paper on Dean, how much of his heart he poured into it when he described Dean's bright, glowing soul and his many talents and faults that made him the great man he was today. Honestly, Castiel had been relieved when Dean proposed the idea of not reading the paper they wrote on the each other, fearing that what he wrote could possibly lead to Dean discovering his true feelings and ending their friendship. But in the back of his mind, he was always suspicious of why Dean wanted their reports to stay private, what awful, sickening things he must have written about him. With all that had happened between him and Dean, Castiel had forgotten all about it. Which begged the question: why did he give this to me now, of all times?
Not able to keep his curiosity at bay any longer, Castiel began reading.
An Essay on Cas Novak (otherwise known as Castiel Milton), By Dean Winchester
Unlike how everyone else believes, I didn't meet Castiel on the first day of school; I met him in a hospital, back when he was just an eccentric yet endearing boy with the biggest blue eyes I'd ever seen. Even at first glance, I was entranced by him, and the want of getting to know this sad eyed, lonely boy that was unlike anybody I'd ever met burned in my gut brighter than the sun. There was something so different about him, and I instantly wanted to get to know the boy behind those shy, small smiles and bright, aching eyes. But as I've come to discover, he's much more than that sickly ghost of a boy lying on that hospital bed next to mine.
In almost no time, Castiel became Cas; he became my friend, an honor I still don't believe I even deserve. And as he and I grew closer, I learned many things about him:
One was that to say Castiel was a strange creature would be a definite understatement. Every single pop culture reference and dirty joke goes right over his head (so he pretty much only understands half I usually say). He's very unique in his mannerisms—every time he gets confused, he tilts his head to the side as if the new angle could possibly help him better understand the situation in front of him. He's also baffled at the most simple acts of kindness, like they're this rare gift that only comes around once in a blue moon. He wears these weird, baggy clothes and talks like he's some sophisticated, educated graduate from Harvard. He doesn't always smile sincerely, but when he does, it's like the whole world just stops. He has this controlling family that treats him like shit but has friends that actually give a damn about him. I don't like Meg or Balthazar, but I don't doubt they care deeply about him…almost as deeply and madly as I do. I discovered he likes to be called by the last name of "Novak"—his real last name, the last name of a family that actually treated him like he deserves—and is way too awesome to be associated with a pretentious, pompous family like the Miltons.
When I had first met Cas, I'd thought he was perfect…but as I've come to discover, he's not. He's emotionally damaged, too trusting, self-loathing, and just doesn't know when to finally put the blame on someone other than himself. And to me, that's perfectly imperfect.
With shaking hands, Castiel neatly folded the paper back and shoved it under his mattress so Naomi wouldn't find it. When he was sure the item was carefully hidden and protected, he sighed and stretched back out on his mattress. Smiling to himself, he reached under his pillow and took out the gift Ms. Missouri had given him in that hospital, the gift he kept under his pillow every night as he slept. He twirled the fragile, glass king chess piece in his hand, her meaning haunting the back of his mind, "It's time to be your own king in the chess game of life, Boy. Don't let those pawns tell you want to do." Ms. Missouri was a kind woman; he made a mental note to take time one day and visit her. He'd have to ask Dean if he wanted to come with him.
Dean. The thought of him made Castiel's heart race, his palms sweat, his lips tingle. He had one word to describe what he felt for the boy; one word he wondered when would be the right time to say. He knew he couldn't keep it in any longer, the desperate need of saying it and the selfish hope of hearing it back was almost enough to make his heart burst with every quaking beat.
He jerked out of his thoughts when his bedroom door opened. Knowing Naomi was out of the house, Castiel felt fear course through in his veins at the very notion of Michael seeking him out. Any attention from Michael was never good; Cas knew from experience.
Which was why he was abruptly relieved when he glanced over and saw Anna leaning in the doorway, a soft smile tugging at her lips, "You still up?"
Castiel sighed and turned his gaze to the ceiling, "My mind won't let me succumb to sleep." He was quiet for a moment before he whispered, "Anna?"
"Yea, Cas?"
"I'm in love with Dean Winchester." He felt so overwhelmingly relieved after he said that Castiel didn't notice the concerned frown that planted on Anna's face at the declaration. He missed the dark look in her eye, the worry in her pinched brow.
After a beat of silence, she cleared her throat and nodded, saying numbly, "I know. Goodnight Cas."
"Pleasant dreams, Anna." Castiel said with a yawn, putting the chess piece back under his pillow and closing his eyes. He fell asleep almost instantly—the exhaustion of staying up most nights talking quietly to Dean on the phone in the dead of night while everyone else was asleep finally catching up with him. He didn't know that Anna lingered at the doorway after he slipped into unconscious bliss, watching him with tender eyes. Anna failed to protect him last time, and he almost died because of it. But she would not fail him again; even if it meant making him hate her for the rest of her life, Anna would not allow Dean Winchester to break her vulnerable brother's heart.
Author's Note: Next chapter will reveal more about Castiel's past (aka the reason why he tried to commit suicide among other things), and I hope that little announcement will persuade you to stick around until the next update!
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