Fic: Adventures in Solitude [8/11]
Title: Adventures in Soltiude [8/11]
Author: bloodism
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural/post-Season 4 canon-au, romance, hurt/comfort
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel, Sam/OC
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 30, 708
Warnings: fallen!cas, OC's, sexual content, canon-au
20th July 2010
There’s a lot of awkwardness all around the next morning.
Fae and Sam have this pleased, satisfied awkwardness around them, whereas Dean and Cas have a horrible, suffocating atmosphere. Cas knows that Jude knows something happened, but she’s not saying anything. Obviously she figures that Dean and Cas not talking to each other at all is better than sniping. Or she thinks it’s worse but isn’t saying anything.
Either way, Castiel is too frantic to care. Though his head hurts a little and he’s developed bruises, his mind focuses on the points that he’s picked up on.
Dean had one of his feathers. A feather he must have left behind as he departed. And he can see it.
He’d never considered it - kissing Dean, that is. It was such a human thing to do. But he’d needed to the night before, if only to confirm the suspicions that the feather had aroused in him. And he’d felt it, definitely. A buzz that drew him closer, made him want to push closer, press further, have skin on skin and heat with the feather rubbing between them-
He shuffles uncomfortably in the backseat, catching the conflicted stare that Dean’s giving him in the rear view mirror.
“You guys okay?” Jude asks as they near the end of their journey, Impala rumbling over the gravel towards Bobby’s shack.
“Fine,” they both reply simultaneously. Jude throws them a suspicious look but lets it go. When they clamber out of the car, they see Bobby leaning against his open front door and when he sees Cas, his eyebrows shoot up.
“You still wearin’ those rags?” is the first thing he says to him, jerking his head toward the trenchcoat and suit. Castiel hides the wave of relief he gets - he was sure Bobby would berate him or treat him coldly, as Dean had done following his sudden return.
“He’s got a bag full of suits. Freak,” Dean answers for him, though there’s no bite behind his insult. Cas ignores it, if only so that he can avoid confrontation. Confrontation with Dean would just lead to him wanting to rediscover the act of intimacy and see if what he had felt the night before had just been a fluke.
Bobby eyes Dean up in a way that suggests he knows there is something more behind the way he is acting and steps aside.
“Alright. Come on in, ya troublemakers. We got some readin’ to do.”
-
Eventually, they’re all buried in books. Jude’s sprawled across the sofa next to Bobby, her feet resting on his legs. She thinks Bobby’s awesome and doesn’t hide the fact that she does. Bobby acts like she’s a nuisance, but he seems quite content with having her feet atop his thighs.
Fae and Sam? Well, they’re just sickening. Huddled over together in the corner, legs intertwined, sneaky glances and books passed between them like secrets. Dean convinces himself that he disapproves of their overly-affectionate puppy love, but Sam looks so happy, he can’t help but feel a little warmed by it all.
He glances over to Cas, who’s hunched over in the corner by himself, flicking through a crusty, slightly charred book. Dean can almost convince himself that Cas is still an angel when he’s like that; brow furrowed in concentration, suit and trenchcoat tousled and uneven, lips pressed together in worry.
The frown intensifies and his fingers freeze on the page. Dean perks up.
“Found anything?” Dean asks him with forced casualness. Cas looks up and it’s all shot down again. Those eyes are too open, too hurt, too confused to belong to an angel.
“I... Might have.” Everyone looks up and their books flop in their hands. Castiel sucks in a breath and even before he speaks, Dean knows that whatever it is he’s found, it can’t be good. “It’s a very old method, used by those who went against Jesus and God. They forged weapons made of what we - the angels,” he corrects himself with a sad sigh, “believe to be ash of the phoenix and salt from the Red Sea, though they were never sure. These weapons were confiscated by the angels after one of these rebels managed to slaughter one and feed off its grace.”
“Yeah, okay, get to the point. How do we gank this son of a bitch?” Dean snaps impatiently. They didn’t have long before the seal Cas placed on Bobby’s shack wore off.
“I found some sigils we can place on the walls. It will mean the angel cannot attack unless they’re in their vessel. They’ll carry the weapon needed to kill other angels - I may have fallen, but I can only be killed by angels if they are uncontained, or have one of these weapons. I used to have one.”
Dean pretends that hearing Cas mention so easily that he had fallen doesn’t bother him.
“There’s a catch,” Jude says from across the room. She can read Cas almost as well as Dean, as the question had been on the tip of his tongue.
Castiel looks down at the book in his hands, fingers stroking the pages.
“This weapon would only be visible to those near death.” There’s more, Dean knows. Everyone else does too, so they wait. Castiel’s head is low, so his expression is hidden. “The energy that this weapon has would be too much for an ordinary human. There’s a fifty percent chance - at best - that they would survive. But if I-“
“-No way. That’s not gonna happen,” Dean interrupts, his heart jumping into his throat. He catches on quicker than the others, so he elaborates for them. “He wants to put his head on the choppin’ block.”
“Cas-“ Sam starts, but Castiel holds up a hand.
“Dean has a feather that came from my wings the night I fell. If we can both see it and if it warms in my presence, it means there’s still a fraction of my grace inside it. If I have that with me, I have a higher chance of survival than any of you.”
“You can see it, too?” Sam asks, seemingly unbothered by the fact he suddenly changes the topic. “But... why can only Dean see it? Why not us?”
“Hey,” Dean snaps. “We got a suicidal fallen angel over here, save your questions for later.” He turns back to Cas, opens his mouth, but someone else speaks over him.
“I’m all in.” Everyone turns to Bobby. He throws a book onto the ground in defeat and shrugs. “Best idea we’ve had yet, and probably the only one that’ll work. I got faith in sad little flapless over there.”
“Me too,” Fae says strongly, grinning at Cas. “The pup’s a fighter.”
“I...” Jude looks worried and nervous, but something shifts, and she straightens. “It makes sense for Cas to do it. It’s his family.”
Sam nods. They’re all in. Except for Dean.
“You don’t realise how off the rails this is? You’re gonna risk your life so you can save it? Does that make any sense to you?” He’s trying to put up an argument, but he knows that Cas’s decision is made.
“This is the best way. This is the only way.” Cas shuts the book and places it carefully on the table. He makes a move, as if to stand, but Dean’s already storming out of the lounge and slamming the front door shut, leaving behind an atmosphere that’s dark, nervous, and scared.
“Alright,” Bobby claps his hands together and shoves Jude’s feet off of his legs. “Let’s get paintin’”
-
21st July 2010
Sam’s been curious since he was a child. He’d research things about a place before John Winchester hustled him out onto the road; he’d find out every detail about the monster they were going to hunt; he’d read through textbooks instead of storybooks; and when he wore out the textbooks, he’d move to the stories. He needed to know so much.
It was fortunate, then, that Jude was the same. Sam had noticed, during their travels, that she and Dean shared many traits. She was stubborn, always joking, covering up something dark underneath it all. And it was sad, because she was so much younger, and yet was just as haunted. Sam didn’t try and bring it up with Fae - he may have outed Dean’s story, but Sam was sure Fae wouldn’t out Jude’s.
So, Sam’s curious nature had him in Bobby’s lounge at two am in the morning, looking up cherubs, feathers, wings, angels - everything. And he’d hit the jackpot.
“Nerd.”
Sam looks over his shoulder and see’s Jude grinning down at him from the kitchen, a glass of water in her hands. Her eyes are red and her voice is breathless with exhaustion. She hasn’t slept.
“You sound just like my brother,” Sam responds with a smile. She scoffs and seats herself opposite him at the table. Her eyes run over all the books laid out and propped up on the table. She raises an eyebrow, but keeps her question to herself.
“A lotta people’ve been sayin’ that lately. Dunno whether to say thanks or be insulted,” she responds to his previous comment.
“It’s not a bad thing, trust me. You two got a lot in common.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
Sam wants to say ‘you both look like you got a bucket load of darkness knocking around inside you’ but the words won’t come out. In the end, it doesn’t matter: Jude finally lets slip what she wanted to ask.
“So, I’m guessin’ you’re working out the riddle involving a certain angel’s feather?”
Sam sits back in his chair and taps his index finger on the book he has in front of him.
“Solved it.”
Jude’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
“No kidding?”
His face loses some its satisfaction and he shakes his head, unsure.
“I dunno, I guess. Doesn’t make sense though.”
“How so?”
He turns the book around and points at a picture above a block of writing. It’s faded, but Jude can still make it out. There’s a rough drawing of an angel, its wings torn and shredded behind it. Opposite it is an ordinary man, a feather grasped tightly in his hand.
“It says there’s a prophecy, one that goes way back. It’s not exactly clear, but I think it says something about a fallen angel’s soul being bonded with the soul of a... good man?” Sam frowns, still unsure of the translation. Jude’s finger finds the word.
“’Righteous’,” she says. “It says ‘righteous’.”
Sam throws her an impressed glance, but it collapses into one of realisation.
“Righteous man? Is that...” He lets out a sharp laugh, then another one, more smooth and defined. “Oh man, Dean’s gonna love this.”
“Love what?”
Sam shakes his head. “The angels... they said Dean was the ‘righteous man’. Keep reading.”
Jude ducks her head low and scans the text, translating it quickly in her mind. Her mouth opens and closes again and she lets out an ugly snort that she attempts to stifle with her hand.
“’Once the righteous man and the fallen are aware of the feathers presence, they will begin to form an impossible bond. One of,” she chokes, “love, and passion, and thirst-“ She has to stop and she and Sam spend a few minutes attempting to muffle their laughing. “This is a joke, right?”
Sam sighs, shoulders loose and satisfied smile on his face. His stomach aches from the extremely unmanly giggles he had been spurting out earlier.
“It’d explain why they’re constantly pissing each other off. It says when souls start to connect, it messes with emotions. But, I dunno... Dean’s straighter than any guy I know. It can’t be right. Even if it is, Dean and I went off the rails the last time we were given a prophecy. It could happen again.”
“Another prophecy? What one?”
“Apocalypse.” Neither Sam nor Jude had spoken, so they turn to look at the owner of the new voice. Dean’s leaning against the doorframe - like he had in the motel a few days ago - and he raises his eyebrows at Sam, who’s throwing him a warning look.
“What? Their asses are stuck here, may as well tell them. Let’s start with the one least likely to shoot us in the face.”
“The apocalypse? What?” Jude looks between the two of them, hoping that it’s a joke, but she’s been with them long enough to know that it’s not something they do often. Not when their faces look like that.
“You wanna go into details?” Sam asks, and he’s scared, because he knows he should tell Fae soon about... that before they get in deeper. Dean can hear the wariness in his brother’s tone, and shrugs one shoulder.
“Don’t need to if you don’t feel like it. Want the low down?” He flips the water bottle in his hand and smirks humourlessly at Jude. “Sammy died, I made a deal, went to Hell after a year, Cas pulled me out, told me God needed my help to stop seals from breaking or Lucifer’d break outta his cage and start a party. Turns out Cas’s douchebag family were the ones jumpstarting the apocalypse, so Cas went rogue and helped me out. I got to Sam before Lucifer could pop out of his box and locked him in nice and tight,” Dean grimaces at the memory but slaps on a humourless smile. “One of the angels happened to let slip that there was a prophecy. My bro and I were supposed to be Lucifer and Michael’s meatsuits so they could have a showdown and destroy the world. We shoved it up their asses and now everything’s peachy.”
Jude’s gaping at him, but he pays her no notice.
“So, what’s this new prophecy you two are drilling about at two am in the morning, huh? Wanna let me in on your little secret?”
Sam sends Jude a worried look - she’s still frozen, eyes unblinking, unsure how to absorb so much information - but he smiles when he catches Dean’s unknowing, intrigued expression.
“You sure you wanna know? It involves a certain righteous man and a fallen angel.”
Dean’s eyebrows raise and he leans forwards, running a hand through his already-haphazard hair.
“Oh yeah?”
Sam shows him. And, well, Dean’s reaction knocks Jude out of her stupor. He looks frightened. Very frightened. And it’s absolutely hysterical.
“That’s bogus,” he attempts to say aggressively, but his voice quivers, and it just makes Jude laugh harder.
“Relax, Dean, this stuff isn’t always true.” Sam turns over the page, and leans back. “Says there that if you acknowledge the bond, you and Cas can be archangels after you die. Sounds pretty awesome.”
Dean’s fear falls from face and he purses his lips, nodding his head in approval. “That is pretty awesome. If I was still me, and I was allowed to order those dicks about, then here’s to hoping it’s not all phoney. I’d make a kickass archangel.”
Sam and Jude share a look.
“And the sexual passion and thirst? You’re not bothered that-“
“-Seriously?” Dean cuts Jude off, and waves a finger into her direction. “You really need to stop. Me and Cas aren’t a couple of Barbie dolls you can string together and force to act dirty to please yourself.”
“No, you’re better. You’re real and there’s already chemistry.” Jude grins when Dean lets out a groan of defeat.
“What even is that? Just ‘cos Cas has some whacked out staring problem? Is that it? That ain’t chemistry, that’s an angel-to-human transition issue.”
Sam folds his arms and watches the banter between Jude and Dean. Jude’s got that bright, alive twinkle in her eye that Dean gets when he winds up Sam and Dean’s got that irritated yet loving expression on his face when he looks over to Jude, meeting her joke for joke, insult to insult.
He wants to freeze this moment, because he thought it’d never happen. Dean had found the woman of his dreams, though not quite in the way he’d expected to. Dean had a little sister he could protect and look after; who hadn’t made a mistake; whose trust he had given wholly and completely. And it was amazing.
-
The next morning, Cas comes downstairs with another hangover.
Bobby watches him stumble over to the table and slip into it, thumb and forefinger pressing into the temples of his brow. His eyes squint and shy away from the light.
“Well, ain’t you just sunshine this mornin’”
“You been drinking again?” Dean kicks Cas in the shin from the other side of the table and Cas glares up at him through the gaps in his fingers.
“Yes,” he replies, not bothering to lie. Dean nods, jaw tightening.
“Right. Okay. We’re confiscating your alcohol.”
Cas’s hands fall to the table and he stares at Dean in shock.
“What-“
“-No. There is no way I’m lettin’ you turn into some binge drinking alcoholic. I’m gonna get the blame.”
“You can’t tell me what to do, Dean.”
“Yeah, well, I’m callin’ this an intervention. Nice of you to come along, Bobby.” Dean nods at Bobby on the other side of the living room, and the old man responds with a roll of his eyes.
“I’m outta here.” Bobby walks out.
Cas lets his head drop onto the table and he rubs at the back of his neck. Dean pretends he isn’t distracted by this movement and gets up from his seat to head into the kitchen. He comes back in with a two saucepan lids and starts to slam them together.
When Jude bursts through the door to the living room - Bobby had warned her outside that the boys were alone next to a room full of sharp objects - Cas is wrestling with Dean. The saucepan lids are still clutched tightly in Dean’s hands.
“Hey. Hey!” She shouts and pulls them off each other. They don’t relent on their glaring and she looks between the two of them. “How old are you?”
“As old as the Earth,” Cas responds casually, though he narrows his eyes at Dean. He’s trying to sound threatening, and it just makes Dean snort.
“Frickin’ show off.”
“What started all this?” she asks, peeling the saucepan lids away from Dean’s grasp. Castiel spares her a glance and it’s enough to make his eyes soften a little.
“Dean wishes to stop me drinking alcohol.”
“You’re gonna crash and burn, man. Once you’re in, it’s hard to get out. Trust me.” Dean says and there’s no bite to it now. It’s serious, and concerned, and knowing. Cas visibly sinks at his words.
“You could have told me this before.”
“Well, I haven’t exactly got top marks for emotional stability right now.” Dean relaxes too.
Jude’s silent. Had she... Was that her? Did she just fix the problem, or did they?
“Good. Well... good.” She nods and places the pan lids onto the sofa. “Okay well, Cas? Wanna get the haircut now?” He blinks at her, as though staring at Dean had mulled his senses and he’d missed her words. “You said we got a week before the angel can find its vessel, right? May as well trim you up a bit. You’re kinda rockin’ the hobo look, but I think it’s time to get rid of it.”
Cas looks down at himself and his hands come up to run through his hair. It’s past his ears now, brushing the edge of his jaw line. Dean watches his fingers wind through the strands and his own fingers twitch.
Jude catches his interested gaze and scratches the back of her neck in forced casualness.
“You know what? Dee, why don’t you do it? I didn’t really do a good job at it last time.” She hands him the scissors that she draws out of her pocket and then flees before Dean can even register what she’d asked of him.
They’re left alone.
“So,” Dean begins, twirling the scissors in his hands. “Let’s get chopping.”
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you being near me with those,” Cas says, and the thing that stops Dean retorting with an insult is the humour laced through Cas’s voice.
“Did you just make a joke?” Dean asks in mock disbelief. Castiel doesn’t reply, just smiles. Shaking his head, Dean points at the table. “Get a chair and sit your ass down.”
It’s when Dean is standing behind Cas, looking down at his mop of hair, that he starts to feel... nervous? His palms sweat, he’s overwhelmed with the urge to swallow and his legs feel weak, like that nerdy kid that’s about to try and ask the head cheerleader to dance.
He shakes himself and sets his jaw. With careful fingers, he reaches forward and brushes some of Cas’s hair, telling himself that it’s just so he can measure the length. He’d cut Sam’s hair when he was younger, but the moment his hand touches the hair on Cas’s head, he knows this is different.
His fingers brush at the hair on the nape of Cas’s neck, and he swallows again, because Cas lets out a heavy breath. Blinking away his disorientation, Dean starts to cut, the rough pads of his fingers stroking Cas’s scalp as he does so.
He takes his time, running his hand through Cas’s hair at every opportunity. When he moves around to cut the long fringe that’s brushing against Cas’s temple, he slips in between Cas’s legs, and their eyes meet.
There’s something fizzling between them now. Dean can’t figure out what it is - they’re not angry at each other... not any more than they usually are. Whatever it is that’s captured the two, it’s sending waves after waves of bubbling warmth into Dean’s stomach. With unsure fingers, he tilts Cas’s head to the side and starts to cut away the hair. Cas’s eyes roam around his face and it’s distracting as hell. He has to stop his thumb from stroking slow circles along Cas’s jaw line.
To keep his head sturdy, Dean uses his free hand to cup Cas’s cheek and he swallows again, because Cas almost nuzzles into his palm. He finishes, and with relief, he throws the scissors onto the table, not quite able to take his hand away yet. Cas sighs when the fingers on the hand he’s resting on start to slip through a few strands of his hair.
“This is very relaxing,” Cas says breathlessly, eyes closing. Dean wants to say something, but everything just sticks in his throat and he has to swallow down the words so he doesn’t let out an indignant squeak. Relaxing? Right. Seeing Cas’s expression so slack and pleased... it was wrong in so many different ways. He doesn’t pull away though. He lifts his other hand, and both hands start to twine and tug on Cas’s hair. Dean’s close and he gets to watch how each different movement sends a flicker of different emotions over Cas’s face.
Dean knows he’s gone over the line when he tugs too hard. Cas’s eyes jerk open and the pupils are blown, his sharp intake of breath saying a thousand things.
“Jesus,” Dean curses under his breath and it’s subconscious. He’s a little hot under the collar and he doesn’t know how, because this is Cas staring at him with big eyes, and an open, perfect mouth...
“I...” Cas slips forward on his chair and his hands grasp Dean’s bent elbows. Dean’s cupping Cas’s face, and it’d be so easy to just stretch forwards and press their lips together, like they’d done in the motel room. Could he teach Cas how to do it properly? How good could he make Cas feel? How would Cas look at the tip of an orgasm that he’d caused?
Dean is dizzy and he forgets about the prophecy that Sam had told him the night before. That this was supposed to happen. His eyes flutter and he moves closer, and closer, and closer. Their lips brush and Cas’s fingers tighten on his arms-
The door opens.
They both jump apart and Dean looks around for something to look busy with. He can’t find anything, so he stands in the corner of the room, scratching awkwardly at the back of his head.
“Am I... interrupting something?” Fae looks genuinely surprised at the tense atmosphere the room holds. Dean clears his throat.
“Just cutting his hair. We’re all done here.” He slaps Cas too hard on the shoulder and leaves as fast as he can, past Fae and into the hot morning air.
He doesn’t come back to Bobby’s until the sun’s rising for the next morning.
Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
Author: bloodism
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural/post-Season 4 canon-au, romance, hurt/comfort
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel, Sam/OC
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 30, 708
Warnings: fallen!cas, OC's, sexual content, canon-au
20th July 2010
There’s a lot of awkwardness all around the next morning.
Fae and Sam have this pleased, satisfied awkwardness around them, whereas Dean and Cas have a horrible, suffocating atmosphere. Cas knows that Jude knows something happened, but she’s not saying anything. Obviously she figures that Dean and Cas not talking to each other at all is better than sniping. Or she thinks it’s worse but isn’t saying anything.
Either way, Castiel is too frantic to care. Though his head hurts a little and he’s developed bruises, his mind focuses on the points that he’s picked up on.
Dean had one of his feathers. A feather he must have left behind as he departed. And he can see it.
He’d never considered it - kissing Dean, that is. It was such a human thing to do. But he’d needed to the night before, if only to confirm the suspicions that the feather had aroused in him. And he’d felt it, definitely. A buzz that drew him closer, made him want to push closer, press further, have skin on skin and heat with the feather rubbing between them-
He shuffles uncomfortably in the backseat, catching the conflicted stare that Dean’s giving him in the rear view mirror.
“You guys okay?” Jude asks as they near the end of their journey, Impala rumbling over the gravel towards Bobby’s shack.
“Fine,” they both reply simultaneously. Jude throws them a suspicious look but lets it go. When they clamber out of the car, they see Bobby leaning against his open front door and when he sees Cas, his eyebrows shoot up.
“You still wearin’ those rags?” is the first thing he says to him, jerking his head toward the trenchcoat and suit. Castiel hides the wave of relief he gets - he was sure Bobby would berate him or treat him coldly, as Dean had done following his sudden return.
“He’s got a bag full of suits. Freak,” Dean answers for him, though there’s no bite behind his insult. Cas ignores it, if only so that he can avoid confrontation. Confrontation with Dean would just lead to him wanting to rediscover the act of intimacy and see if what he had felt the night before had just been a fluke.
Bobby eyes Dean up in a way that suggests he knows there is something more behind the way he is acting and steps aside.
“Alright. Come on in, ya troublemakers. We got some readin’ to do.”
-
Eventually, they’re all buried in books. Jude’s sprawled across the sofa next to Bobby, her feet resting on his legs. She thinks Bobby’s awesome and doesn’t hide the fact that she does. Bobby acts like she’s a nuisance, but he seems quite content with having her feet atop his thighs.
Fae and Sam? Well, they’re just sickening. Huddled over together in the corner, legs intertwined, sneaky glances and books passed between them like secrets. Dean convinces himself that he disapproves of their overly-affectionate puppy love, but Sam looks so happy, he can’t help but feel a little warmed by it all.
He glances over to Cas, who’s hunched over in the corner by himself, flicking through a crusty, slightly charred book. Dean can almost convince himself that Cas is still an angel when he’s like that; brow furrowed in concentration, suit and trenchcoat tousled and uneven, lips pressed together in worry.
The frown intensifies and his fingers freeze on the page. Dean perks up.
“Found anything?” Dean asks him with forced casualness. Cas looks up and it’s all shot down again. Those eyes are too open, too hurt, too confused to belong to an angel.
“I... Might have.” Everyone looks up and their books flop in their hands. Castiel sucks in a breath and even before he speaks, Dean knows that whatever it is he’s found, it can’t be good. “It’s a very old method, used by those who went against Jesus and God. They forged weapons made of what we - the angels,” he corrects himself with a sad sigh, “believe to be ash of the phoenix and salt from the Red Sea, though they were never sure. These weapons were confiscated by the angels after one of these rebels managed to slaughter one and feed off its grace.”
“Yeah, okay, get to the point. How do we gank this son of a bitch?” Dean snaps impatiently. They didn’t have long before the seal Cas placed on Bobby’s shack wore off.
“I found some sigils we can place on the walls. It will mean the angel cannot attack unless they’re in their vessel. They’ll carry the weapon needed to kill other angels - I may have fallen, but I can only be killed by angels if they are uncontained, or have one of these weapons. I used to have one.”
Dean pretends that hearing Cas mention so easily that he had fallen doesn’t bother him.
“There’s a catch,” Jude says from across the room. She can read Cas almost as well as Dean, as the question had been on the tip of his tongue.
Castiel looks down at the book in his hands, fingers stroking the pages.
“This weapon would only be visible to those near death.” There’s more, Dean knows. Everyone else does too, so they wait. Castiel’s head is low, so his expression is hidden. “The energy that this weapon has would be too much for an ordinary human. There’s a fifty percent chance - at best - that they would survive. But if I-“
“-No way. That’s not gonna happen,” Dean interrupts, his heart jumping into his throat. He catches on quicker than the others, so he elaborates for them. “He wants to put his head on the choppin’ block.”
“Cas-“ Sam starts, but Castiel holds up a hand.
“Dean has a feather that came from my wings the night I fell. If we can both see it and if it warms in my presence, it means there’s still a fraction of my grace inside it. If I have that with me, I have a higher chance of survival than any of you.”
“You can see it, too?” Sam asks, seemingly unbothered by the fact he suddenly changes the topic. “But... why can only Dean see it? Why not us?”
“Hey,” Dean snaps. “We got a suicidal fallen angel over here, save your questions for later.” He turns back to Cas, opens his mouth, but someone else speaks over him.
“I’m all in.” Everyone turns to Bobby. He throws a book onto the ground in defeat and shrugs. “Best idea we’ve had yet, and probably the only one that’ll work. I got faith in sad little flapless over there.”
“Me too,” Fae says strongly, grinning at Cas. “The pup’s a fighter.”
“I...” Jude looks worried and nervous, but something shifts, and she straightens. “It makes sense for Cas to do it. It’s his family.”
Sam nods. They’re all in. Except for Dean.
“You don’t realise how off the rails this is? You’re gonna risk your life so you can save it? Does that make any sense to you?” He’s trying to put up an argument, but he knows that Cas’s decision is made.
“This is the best way. This is the only way.” Cas shuts the book and places it carefully on the table. He makes a move, as if to stand, but Dean’s already storming out of the lounge and slamming the front door shut, leaving behind an atmosphere that’s dark, nervous, and scared.
“Alright,” Bobby claps his hands together and shoves Jude’s feet off of his legs. “Let’s get paintin’”
-
21st July 2010
Sam’s been curious since he was a child. He’d research things about a place before John Winchester hustled him out onto the road; he’d find out every detail about the monster they were going to hunt; he’d read through textbooks instead of storybooks; and when he wore out the textbooks, he’d move to the stories. He needed to know so much.
It was fortunate, then, that Jude was the same. Sam had noticed, during their travels, that she and Dean shared many traits. She was stubborn, always joking, covering up something dark underneath it all. And it was sad, because she was so much younger, and yet was just as haunted. Sam didn’t try and bring it up with Fae - he may have outed Dean’s story, but Sam was sure Fae wouldn’t out Jude’s.
So, Sam’s curious nature had him in Bobby’s lounge at two am in the morning, looking up cherubs, feathers, wings, angels - everything. And he’d hit the jackpot.
“Nerd.”
Sam looks over his shoulder and see’s Jude grinning down at him from the kitchen, a glass of water in her hands. Her eyes are red and her voice is breathless with exhaustion. She hasn’t slept.
“You sound just like my brother,” Sam responds with a smile. She scoffs and seats herself opposite him at the table. Her eyes run over all the books laid out and propped up on the table. She raises an eyebrow, but keeps her question to herself.
“A lotta people’ve been sayin’ that lately. Dunno whether to say thanks or be insulted,” she responds to his previous comment.
“It’s not a bad thing, trust me. You two got a lot in common.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
Sam wants to say ‘you both look like you got a bucket load of darkness knocking around inside you’ but the words won’t come out. In the end, it doesn’t matter: Jude finally lets slip what she wanted to ask.
“So, I’m guessin’ you’re working out the riddle involving a certain angel’s feather?”
Sam sits back in his chair and taps his index finger on the book he has in front of him.
“Solved it.”
Jude’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
“No kidding?”
His face loses some its satisfaction and he shakes his head, unsure.
“I dunno, I guess. Doesn’t make sense though.”
“How so?”
He turns the book around and points at a picture above a block of writing. It’s faded, but Jude can still make it out. There’s a rough drawing of an angel, its wings torn and shredded behind it. Opposite it is an ordinary man, a feather grasped tightly in his hand.
“It says there’s a prophecy, one that goes way back. It’s not exactly clear, but I think it says something about a fallen angel’s soul being bonded with the soul of a... good man?” Sam frowns, still unsure of the translation. Jude’s finger finds the word.
“’Righteous’,” she says. “It says ‘righteous’.”
Sam throws her an impressed glance, but it collapses into one of realisation.
“Righteous man? Is that...” He lets out a sharp laugh, then another one, more smooth and defined. “Oh man, Dean’s gonna love this.”
“Love what?”
Sam shakes his head. “The angels... they said Dean was the ‘righteous man’. Keep reading.”
Jude ducks her head low and scans the text, translating it quickly in her mind. Her mouth opens and closes again and she lets out an ugly snort that she attempts to stifle with her hand.
“’Once the righteous man and the fallen are aware of the feathers presence, they will begin to form an impossible bond. One of,” she chokes, “love, and passion, and thirst-“ She has to stop and she and Sam spend a few minutes attempting to muffle their laughing. “This is a joke, right?”
Sam sighs, shoulders loose and satisfied smile on his face. His stomach aches from the extremely unmanly giggles he had been spurting out earlier.
“It’d explain why they’re constantly pissing each other off. It says when souls start to connect, it messes with emotions. But, I dunno... Dean’s straighter than any guy I know. It can’t be right. Even if it is, Dean and I went off the rails the last time we were given a prophecy. It could happen again.”
“Another prophecy? What one?”
“Apocalypse.” Neither Sam nor Jude had spoken, so they turn to look at the owner of the new voice. Dean’s leaning against the doorframe - like he had in the motel a few days ago - and he raises his eyebrows at Sam, who’s throwing him a warning look.
“What? Their asses are stuck here, may as well tell them. Let’s start with the one least likely to shoot us in the face.”
“The apocalypse? What?” Jude looks between the two of them, hoping that it’s a joke, but she’s been with them long enough to know that it’s not something they do often. Not when their faces look like that.
“You wanna go into details?” Sam asks, and he’s scared, because he knows he should tell Fae soon about... that before they get in deeper. Dean can hear the wariness in his brother’s tone, and shrugs one shoulder.
“Don’t need to if you don’t feel like it. Want the low down?” He flips the water bottle in his hand and smirks humourlessly at Jude. “Sammy died, I made a deal, went to Hell after a year, Cas pulled me out, told me God needed my help to stop seals from breaking or Lucifer’d break outta his cage and start a party. Turns out Cas’s douchebag family were the ones jumpstarting the apocalypse, so Cas went rogue and helped me out. I got to Sam before Lucifer could pop out of his box and locked him in nice and tight,” Dean grimaces at the memory but slaps on a humourless smile. “One of the angels happened to let slip that there was a prophecy. My bro and I were supposed to be Lucifer and Michael’s meatsuits so they could have a showdown and destroy the world. We shoved it up their asses and now everything’s peachy.”
Jude’s gaping at him, but he pays her no notice.
“So, what’s this new prophecy you two are drilling about at two am in the morning, huh? Wanna let me in on your little secret?”
Sam sends Jude a worried look - she’s still frozen, eyes unblinking, unsure how to absorb so much information - but he smiles when he catches Dean’s unknowing, intrigued expression.
“You sure you wanna know? It involves a certain righteous man and a fallen angel.”
Dean’s eyebrows raise and he leans forwards, running a hand through his already-haphazard hair.
“Oh yeah?”
Sam shows him. And, well, Dean’s reaction knocks Jude out of her stupor. He looks frightened. Very frightened. And it’s absolutely hysterical.
“That’s bogus,” he attempts to say aggressively, but his voice quivers, and it just makes Jude laugh harder.
“Relax, Dean, this stuff isn’t always true.” Sam turns over the page, and leans back. “Says there that if you acknowledge the bond, you and Cas can be archangels after you die. Sounds pretty awesome.”
Dean’s fear falls from face and he purses his lips, nodding his head in approval. “That is pretty awesome. If I was still me, and I was allowed to order those dicks about, then here’s to hoping it’s not all phoney. I’d make a kickass archangel.”
Sam and Jude share a look.
“And the sexual passion and thirst? You’re not bothered that-“
“-Seriously?” Dean cuts Jude off, and waves a finger into her direction. “You really need to stop. Me and Cas aren’t a couple of Barbie dolls you can string together and force to act dirty to please yourself.”
“No, you’re better. You’re real and there’s already chemistry.” Jude grins when Dean lets out a groan of defeat.
“What even is that? Just ‘cos Cas has some whacked out staring problem? Is that it? That ain’t chemistry, that’s an angel-to-human transition issue.”
Sam folds his arms and watches the banter between Jude and Dean. Jude’s got that bright, alive twinkle in her eye that Dean gets when he winds up Sam and Dean’s got that irritated yet loving expression on his face when he looks over to Jude, meeting her joke for joke, insult to insult.
He wants to freeze this moment, because he thought it’d never happen. Dean had found the woman of his dreams, though not quite in the way he’d expected to. Dean had a little sister he could protect and look after; who hadn’t made a mistake; whose trust he had given wholly and completely. And it was amazing.
-
The next morning, Cas comes downstairs with another hangover.
Bobby watches him stumble over to the table and slip into it, thumb and forefinger pressing into the temples of his brow. His eyes squint and shy away from the light.
“Well, ain’t you just sunshine this mornin’”
“You been drinking again?” Dean kicks Cas in the shin from the other side of the table and Cas glares up at him through the gaps in his fingers.
“Yes,” he replies, not bothering to lie. Dean nods, jaw tightening.
“Right. Okay. We’re confiscating your alcohol.”
Cas’s hands fall to the table and he stares at Dean in shock.
“What-“
“-No. There is no way I’m lettin’ you turn into some binge drinking alcoholic. I’m gonna get the blame.”
“You can’t tell me what to do, Dean.”
“Yeah, well, I’m callin’ this an intervention. Nice of you to come along, Bobby.” Dean nods at Bobby on the other side of the living room, and the old man responds with a roll of his eyes.
“I’m outta here.” Bobby walks out.
Cas lets his head drop onto the table and he rubs at the back of his neck. Dean pretends he isn’t distracted by this movement and gets up from his seat to head into the kitchen. He comes back in with a two saucepan lids and starts to slam them together.
When Jude bursts through the door to the living room - Bobby had warned her outside that the boys were alone next to a room full of sharp objects - Cas is wrestling with Dean. The saucepan lids are still clutched tightly in Dean’s hands.
“Hey. Hey!” She shouts and pulls them off each other. They don’t relent on their glaring and she looks between the two of them. “How old are you?”
“As old as the Earth,” Cas responds casually, though he narrows his eyes at Dean. He’s trying to sound threatening, and it just makes Dean snort.
“Frickin’ show off.”
“What started all this?” she asks, peeling the saucepan lids away from Dean’s grasp. Castiel spares her a glance and it’s enough to make his eyes soften a little.
“Dean wishes to stop me drinking alcohol.”
“You’re gonna crash and burn, man. Once you’re in, it’s hard to get out. Trust me.” Dean says and there’s no bite to it now. It’s serious, and concerned, and knowing. Cas visibly sinks at his words.
“You could have told me this before.”
“Well, I haven’t exactly got top marks for emotional stability right now.” Dean relaxes too.
Jude’s silent. Had she... Was that her? Did she just fix the problem, or did they?
“Good. Well... good.” She nods and places the pan lids onto the sofa. “Okay well, Cas? Wanna get the haircut now?” He blinks at her, as though staring at Dean had mulled his senses and he’d missed her words. “You said we got a week before the angel can find its vessel, right? May as well trim you up a bit. You’re kinda rockin’ the hobo look, but I think it’s time to get rid of it.”
Cas looks down at himself and his hands come up to run through his hair. It’s past his ears now, brushing the edge of his jaw line. Dean watches his fingers wind through the strands and his own fingers twitch.
Jude catches his interested gaze and scratches the back of her neck in forced casualness.
“You know what? Dee, why don’t you do it? I didn’t really do a good job at it last time.” She hands him the scissors that she draws out of her pocket and then flees before Dean can even register what she’d asked of him.
They’re left alone.
“So,” Dean begins, twirling the scissors in his hands. “Let’s get chopping.”
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you being near me with those,” Cas says, and the thing that stops Dean retorting with an insult is the humour laced through Cas’s voice.
“Did you just make a joke?” Dean asks in mock disbelief. Castiel doesn’t reply, just smiles. Shaking his head, Dean points at the table. “Get a chair and sit your ass down.”
It’s when Dean is standing behind Cas, looking down at his mop of hair, that he starts to feel... nervous? His palms sweat, he’s overwhelmed with the urge to swallow and his legs feel weak, like that nerdy kid that’s about to try and ask the head cheerleader to dance.
He shakes himself and sets his jaw. With careful fingers, he reaches forward and brushes some of Cas’s hair, telling himself that it’s just so he can measure the length. He’d cut Sam’s hair when he was younger, but the moment his hand touches the hair on Cas’s head, he knows this is different.
His fingers brush at the hair on the nape of Cas’s neck, and he swallows again, because Cas lets out a heavy breath. Blinking away his disorientation, Dean starts to cut, the rough pads of his fingers stroking Cas’s scalp as he does so.
He takes his time, running his hand through Cas’s hair at every opportunity. When he moves around to cut the long fringe that’s brushing against Cas’s temple, he slips in between Cas’s legs, and their eyes meet.
There’s something fizzling between them now. Dean can’t figure out what it is - they’re not angry at each other... not any more than they usually are. Whatever it is that’s captured the two, it’s sending waves after waves of bubbling warmth into Dean’s stomach. With unsure fingers, he tilts Cas’s head to the side and starts to cut away the hair. Cas’s eyes roam around his face and it’s distracting as hell. He has to stop his thumb from stroking slow circles along Cas’s jaw line.
To keep his head sturdy, Dean uses his free hand to cup Cas’s cheek and he swallows again, because Cas almost nuzzles into his palm. He finishes, and with relief, he throws the scissors onto the table, not quite able to take his hand away yet. Cas sighs when the fingers on the hand he’s resting on start to slip through a few strands of his hair.
“This is very relaxing,” Cas says breathlessly, eyes closing. Dean wants to say something, but everything just sticks in his throat and he has to swallow down the words so he doesn’t let out an indignant squeak. Relaxing? Right. Seeing Cas’s expression so slack and pleased... it was wrong in so many different ways. He doesn’t pull away though. He lifts his other hand, and both hands start to twine and tug on Cas’s hair. Dean’s close and he gets to watch how each different movement sends a flicker of different emotions over Cas’s face.
Dean knows he’s gone over the line when he tugs too hard. Cas’s eyes jerk open and the pupils are blown, his sharp intake of breath saying a thousand things.
“Jesus,” Dean curses under his breath and it’s subconscious. He’s a little hot under the collar and he doesn’t know how, because this is Cas staring at him with big eyes, and an open, perfect mouth...
“I...” Cas slips forward on his chair and his hands grasp Dean’s bent elbows. Dean’s cupping Cas’s face, and it’d be so easy to just stretch forwards and press their lips together, like they’d done in the motel room. Could he teach Cas how to do it properly? How good could he make Cas feel? How would Cas look at the tip of an orgasm that he’d caused?
Dean is dizzy and he forgets about the prophecy that Sam had told him the night before. That this was supposed to happen. His eyes flutter and he moves closer, and closer, and closer. Their lips brush and Cas’s fingers tighten on his arms-
The door opens.
They both jump apart and Dean looks around for something to look busy with. He can’t find anything, so he stands in the corner of the room, scratching awkwardly at the back of his head.
“Am I... interrupting something?” Fae looks genuinely surprised at the tense atmosphere the room holds. Dean clears his throat.
“Just cutting his hair. We’re all done here.” He slaps Cas too hard on the shoulder and leaves as fast as he can, past Fae and into the hot morning air.
He doesn’t come back to Bobby’s until the sun’s rising for the next morning.
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