Fic: Knocking on Heaven's Door (Dean/Cas, R)
On the first day, Castiel banished the Unfaithful from Heaven. On the second, he rewarded the Faithful and gave them their new missions. By the third day, he was already restless.
He strengthened the seals on Lucifer’s cage, sadly, because he knew Satan wasn’t its only occupant. On the fourth day he meant to meet with Joshua, but instead found himself at loose ends, shuffling papers around his desk without really making any progress. He called in a few of the cherubs, told them the Master Plan was off and they should focus their arrows on the endangered species in the zoos, and leave humanity to its own devices.
On days five and six, the angels lined up to swear their allegiance, and Castiel let them kiss his feet. He knew this was excessive, but it seemed to make them all feel better. He’d have preferred they swear their allegiance to their Father of course, but most of them had lost brothers and sisters in the war, and Castiel suspected they blamed God. Forgiveness was a virtue of course, but Castiel could give them some time.
On the seventh day, Castiel tried to rest. He found he could not. Despite a productive week, Castiel felt an overwhelming sense of aimlessness, as if he should be somewhere, doing something. There was a strange hollowness in his chest and he felt slightly cold, though Heaven was perfectly temperature-controlled. He briefly considered working overtime, but he’d given the rest of the Host the day off, and he suspected it might technically be against regulation to work on a Sunday.
Castiel was tempted to check in on Dean. It had been seven days in Heaven, but seven weeks or more would have passed on Earth. Castiel wondered if Dean was still with Lisa, if he had found the peace he was looking for. Castiel doubted it very much. If there was one thing he had learned about humans during his time on Earth, it was that they generally didn’t like staying in one place for long, and Dean Winchester least of all. Dean would choose freedom over tranquility, he was sure, and Dean’s destiny was truly his own now, Castiel would make sure of it.
Castiel felt very protective of Dean’s free will, would do everything in his power to preserve it though his brethren called for Dean to join them in Paradise. Some had called for his death, when Castiel had first arrived, as revenge for not consenting to being Michael’s vessel and thus costing them certain victory. Those angels had been the first Castiel had cast down to Earth, stripped of their powers. Castiel wondered if any of them had tried to exact their revenge anyway. That would be a sight Castiel would like to see.
Castiel knew Dean didn’t need his protection from bitter fallen angels, or from the legion of beasts and spirits aligning against him. Castiel had lost faith in Dean once before, and he didn’t intend to do it again. Besides, Dean had made it perfectly clear that he was finished with the “angels and demons crap.” It was best if Castiel didn’t visit, if he stayed out of Dean’s life and Dean’s way.
It was also best if he didn’t even look in on Dean, lest he be tempted to contact him. Castiel had felt confident in his abilities and his purpose since God had restored him to his full power and more, but he was not certain he would be able to resist speaking to Dean again if he laid eyes on him. There was no one to speak to in Heaven, not really. Castiel didn’t think “Yes, your worshipfulness!” counted as conversation.
Suddenly Castiel knew what to do with his Sunday.
It didn’t take long to adjust the algorithms to fit the living not the dead, and the angelic not the human. There was plenty of room, and Castiel chose a cell far into East Block, near the stillborn children and the virtuous suicides, where angels rarely had cause to visit. He did not adjoin his Heaven to anyone else’s. He simply adjusted the program, opened the green numbered door that appeared, and stepped inside.
~~~
Castiel did not like the brothel. It was garishly decorated, it reeked of loneliness and desperation, and it reminded him of just how little progress Heaven had made with the humans over the millennia. Castiel did not like the forced, transparent attention paid to him by the women working, but he did like having Dean’s focus. He like Dean’s eyes on him, Dean speaking to and for him, Dean doing him a favour - even one he didn’t want.
He’d gotten up to follow the woman - Chastity, she’d said - because Dean had threatened to push him. Dean had grabbed his arm to stop him, hand him the money, and Castiel felt pleased to have Dean’s attention again, despite all the scantily clad women in the room. Dean called him “tiger.” Castiel wasn’t sure what the name meant, but Dean’s tone indicated mocking with affection underneath.
Once he was alone with Chastity and away from Dean’s warm reassurances things had been different. Castiel could see right through not only the woman’s nightclothes but also her false bravado. She was damaged, in pain and lost. Castiel wanted to help her, so he told her it wasn’t her fault her father had left her, it was the Post Office’s. Later, Dean would explain that the truth couldn’t save everyone, and that sometimes people needed to tell themselves lies in order to keep from falling apart.
Castiel hoped he hadn’t caused the woman any more pain, but he was glad they had come. As they left the brothel Dean had laughed so hard he couldn’t stand up straight, and Castiel had smiled to see Dean smile. Dean had put his hand on Castiel’s shoulder as they walked to the car, and Castiel wished he could freeze the moment.
~~~
Castiel must have replayed the memory twelve times before he finally returned to the Administrative Wing. Somehow it felt even colder than it had before, which was odd because the memory had made him feel warm. Castiel sat guiltily at his desk and shuffled through some papers. It was no doubt early Monday morning by now; he should get back to work.
The busier he kept during the work week, the sooner next Sunday would come.
~~~
Castiel could feel Dean’s warmth, even though he was only sitting on the edge of the bed. His vessel’s skin felt like ice, and if Castiel could move he probably would’ve tried to slide closer, so Dean could chase away the cold. As it was he could merely slump against the headboard, barely able to hold his head up.
“Here.” Dean pressed something cold and wet against his lips, and Castiel forced himself to swallow. The taste was strong and sweet, and it cleared his head a little. He took a gulp but started coughing, and Dean pulled the glass away. “Go slow, Cas. Hey! Don’t fall asleep.”
“Angels don’t sleep,” Castiel tried to correct Dean, but he was having trouble making his vessel’s lips and tongue move.
“I know, I know. But you had quite a trip and we’re worried you might not wake up. Like a concussion or something.” Though Castiel’s vision was blurred, he could see Dean’s brow furrow as he leaned over to peer into Castiel’s eyes. “Just don’t go back to sleep. Stay awake with me.”
“If you say so, Dean. I assume you were able to stop Anna?”
“Well, things didn’t go exactly as planned, but we’re all still here, I guess. Sammy and I have officially formed Team Free Will, wanna join?” Dean’s voice was softer than usual, as if he thought that if he spoke too loudly Castiel might shatter.
Castiel winced. The pain in his head was sudden and sharp; the motel room’s orange walls were blindingly bright. On instinct, he reached out to clutch at the sleeve of Dean’s shirt. The cotton was soft and warm between his fingers.
Dean didn’t pull away, but he looked alarmed. “Cas, are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m just tired. Are humans always this cold when they’re tired?”
Dean’s frown deepened. He shifted to lean back against the headboard next to Castiel, draping an arm loosely around his shoulders. The warmth of his body seemed to seep through Dean’s two layers and Castiel’s coat, and the touch inexplicably reminded Castiel of holding hands with his brothers and sisters during the prayer before a battle. Castiel let his head droop onto Dean’s shoulder.
“There. That better?” Dean’s voice was still quiet, but suddenly gruff. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Castiel realize this kind of intimacy was as alien to Dean as it was to him.
“Yes. Much.”
“Okay, Cas. Okay. Just don’t fall asleep.”
“Yes, Dean.”
~~~
Castiel often took Mondays off, then Tuesdays as well. He told the other angels he was studying Holy Scripture, and in a way he was, though his text wasn’t the Bible. He turned the pages of his memory instead, savouring his favourites, like re-reading his favourite passages over and over again.
He programmed his Heaven to show him every moment he’d ever spent with Dean, even the unhappy ones, even when he or Dean had been injured or otherwise in pain. Even the violence began to read as graceful, and Castiel discovered he found a drop of blood sliding down Dean’s temple just as beautiful as he did a bead of sweat.
The Host began to wonder about Castiel’s frequent disappearances. He heard the whispered rumours of Camael’s mutiny, but he ignored them. He buried himself in figures and symbols, rewriting Heaven’s code. He had been chosen by God to renew Heaven, hadn’t he? It was time that they stopped living in the past; there was room for a little creativity now.
~~~
“You absolutely need a new wardrobe.” There was laughter in Dean’s voice already, as if he was explaining the obvious to a small child. He pulled Castiel by the sleeve into the Good As New thrift shop.
“You’ve never complained about my clothing before.” Castiel was surprised at how petulant he sounded, and cleared his throat. “I mean, I just think we should have other priorities right now.”
Dean moved purposely through the racks; he’d obviously visited places like this many times before. He pulled out a plaid cotton button-down shirt and held it up, presumably for Castiel’s inspection. “What, a guy can’t look good for the Apocalypse?”
Castiel shrugged. “That looks like something you would wear.”
Dean’s smile was all white teeth and full lips, and he leaned his head briefly on Castiel’s shoulder. “We’ll make quite a pair, you and I.”
Castiel suddenly found he wanted that shirt very much.
~~~
Castiel couldn’t control the fictional memories as they happened, of course, but his Heaven knew him well. It wove tiny, true details through the false scenarios so tightly that it was sometimes difficult to separate what was real from what was illusion. Soon enough Castiel didn’t bother trying to tell the difference, what did it matter anyway?
He was out of the office most Wednesdays now, too.
~~~
Sam slept in Bobby’s bed, and Bobby in the demon-proof safe room, leaving Castiel and Dean the couch and armchair. Even as his connection with Heaven slowly faded, Castiel still didn’t need more than few hours of sleep each night, so he was glad to take the worn leather chair. If Dean put his pillow at the far end of the couch, Castiel would even get a clear view of his face as he slept.
“You sure you’re okay with the chair?” Dean tugged at the sleeves of his overshirt as he pulled it off, leaving him in nothing but a grey cotton t-shirt and his boxer shorts. Castiel was momentarily struck dumb by the strip of surprisingly pale flesh visible as the t-shirt rode up Dean’s stomach. Dean caught his eye and Castiel turned away, embarrassed to be caught looking.
“Isn’t that a sin?” Dean whispered so as not to wake the other occupants of the house, and his voice was nearly drowned out by the squeaking of springs as he lowered himself onto the old couch.
“Is what a sin?” Castiel tried to muster up the last vestiges of his angelic authority voice, and failed miserably when he turned back to Dean, and saw his feet hanging a few inches off the end of the couch, quilt pulled up to his chin like an overgrown child.
Even in the near darkness, Castiel could see Dean’s blush. He dropped the quilt and gestured to the room at large. “This. You. The way you just looked at me.”
“I don’t really have much faith in God’s word anymore, Dean.” Castiel had been thinking it for a long time, but he had never said the words aloud. Somehow hearing them made his loss of faith all the more real, and he felt suddenly small.
“I’m sorry, Cas.” There was sympathy in Dean’s eyes, though Dean had always been a sceptic and couldn’t understand. “Hey. C’mere.”
Castiel held his breath as he joined Dean on the couch, half on top of him because there was barely room for one, let alone two. Dean pulled the quilt over them both, then splayed his hand across Castiel’s stomach. Castiel could feel Dean’s pulse pounding through his fingers, syncing itself to the race of his own heart.
“You good?” Castiel wan’t sure what Dean’s question is, but he knew his answer.
“Yes. I am very good.”
~~~
Castiel hadn’t been seen in two weeks and Heaven was gradually falling out of balance. The cherubs had run out of endangered species and were petitioning for a second Valentine’s Day each year, a gang of rebels in the West Block (heroes and martyrs) had figured out how to travel between one another’s cells and were slowly creating anarchy, and limbo was filling up with souls whose admissions had yet to be rubber-stamped.
“Brothers and sisters,” Camael’s voice boomed across the gold-paved square, “a search party has been sent for our brother but I must admit I am not optimistic about the odds of his return. I hereby declare myself interim leader.”
Behind the green door, Castiel’s Heaven held him safe and warm.
~~~
Human bodies were fascinating. Castiel loved to watch the sweat form on Dean’s neck, and then to lick it out of his collarbone. He loved the sounds of their breathing, fast and punctuated by sharp gasps and low moans. He loved the feel of blood rushing through his veins, and he liked to see how fast he could make Dean’s heart beat.
Castiel loved the heat. Whoever had thought to make angels as beautiful as marble statues had gotten beauty all wrong. Castiel lived for Dean’s hot breath against his cheek, for his fingernails gripping his hips, for the surrender of being inside Dean, or of Dean inside him. Making wet, warm love with Dean made the world slow down, and Castiel forgot his thousands of cold, dry years.
Castiel was cut off from Heaven, but he and Dean made their own in the weeks before the Apocalypse. And Castiel was absolutely certain it was even better than the real thing.
~~~
“Cas!” Castiel felt blurred, as if he had gone soft around the edges. He wondered vaguely if Sunday was over, if he should go back to his stack of paperwork. Someone was shaking his shoulder. “Cas! Wake up! C’mon, man, what’s wrong with you?”
The voice was almost too familiar. It made his throat burn to listen to it. He rubbed his eyes.
Dean stood over him, brow furrowed, biting his lip. He pinched Castiel hard on the shoulder. “What are you doing here, Cas? You’re not dead. Ash says you can’t stay in Heaven this long if you’re not dead.”
Castiel smiled. He was glad his Heaven was coming up with something new, something inventive. The old memories were starting to wear a little thin. “Hi Dean. You aren’t dead, are you?” Castiel didn’t like the memories where Dean was dead very much.
“No, Cas, I’m not. Just visiting. But we have to get you out of this place.” Dean wrapped his arms awkwardly around Castiel’s waist and started to drag him towards the green door. He was struggling, and Castiel came to the sudden realization that Dean was aging, though he was beautiful as ever.
When Dean kicked open the door, a blast of shockingly cold, dry wind struck Castiel’s face. It was Heaven’s wind, and he hated it. Suddenly he was afraid to leave warm safety of his Heaven, currently, as it often was, in the form of a battered motel room. He wanted to fight out of Dean’s arms, to push him out of the room and slam the door behind him, lock the bolt. But Dean’s grip was strong and Castiel was more tired than he had ever been.
Castiel could not fight to stay, and so he fought to take one last memory with him.
Dean’s hand burned on Castiel’s thigh. Castiel had always felt comfortable in Jimmy’s clothing - it served its purpose in keeping him covered. Suddenly, though, the fabric felt thin and insubstantial, as if Castiel were naked. Dean drove with only one hand, pulling the car smoothly onto the shoulder of the highway. He switched off the headlights and it was perfectly dark; there was no one else on the road tonight.
“Cas.” Dean’s voice was low. “I thought I’d lost you too. All that blood, Cas.”
Castiel put his hand over Dean’s, still resting on his thigh. “I’m here, Dean.”He stared into Dean’s eyes, trying to tell him everything words couldn’t.
“But not for long,” Dean’s tone was harsh, accusatory. “You need to go play sheriff upstairs, right? Everybody leaves me.”
Dean moved so quickly Castiel broke eye contact for a moment, and then the back of his head was pushed firm against the headrest and Dean was on the passenger’s side, straddling Castiel. His eyes were still wet with tears for his brother, but they burned bright with another kind of grief as well. His kiss was fierce and his face was hot and wet with tears. Castiel fought to pull Dean closer, to capture Dean’s tongue with his own and hold him close and still, but he could already feel Dean pulling away. Dean climbed back to the driver’s seat, much less graceful this time.
“I have a duty, Dean, a calling. Someone needs to restore peace to Heaven.” Castiel’s words sounded hollow and insincere, even to his own ears.
“Yeah? Which would you rather have, Cas, peace or freedom?”
~~~
Dean pulled Castiel out of the dark room, through the motel door, and into the light.
He strengthened the seals on Lucifer’s cage, sadly, because he knew Satan wasn’t its only occupant. On the fourth day he meant to meet with Joshua, but instead found himself at loose ends, shuffling papers around his desk without really making any progress. He called in a few of the cherubs, told them the Master Plan was off and they should focus their arrows on the endangered species in the zoos, and leave humanity to its own devices.
On days five and six, the angels lined up to swear their allegiance, and Castiel let them kiss his feet. He knew this was excessive, but it seemed to make them all feel better. He’d have preferred they swear their allegiance to their Father of course, but most of them had lost brothers and sisters in the war, and Castiel suspected they blamed God. Forgiveness was a virtue of course, but Castiel could give them some time.
On the seventh day, Castiel tried to rest. He found he could not. Despite a productive week, Castiel felt an overwhelming sense of aimlessness, as if he should be somewhere, doing something. There was a strange hollowness in his chest and he felt slightly cold, though Heaven was perfectly temperature-controlled. He briefly considered working overtime, but he’d given the rest of the Host the day off, and he suspected it might technically be against regulation to work on a Sunday.
Castiel was tempted to check in on Dean. It had been seven days in Heaven, but seven weeks or more would have passed on Earth. Castiel wondered if Dean was still with Lisa, if he had found the peace he was looking for. Castiel doubted it very much. If there was one thing he had learned about humans during his time on Earth, it was that they generally didn’t like staying in one place for long, and Dean Winchester least of all. Dean would choose freedom over tranquility, he was sure, and Dean’s destiny was truly his own now, Castiel would make sure of it.
Castiel felt very protective of Dean’s free will, would do everything in his power to preserve it though his brethren called for Dean to join them in Paradise. Some had called for his death, when Castiel had first arrived, as revenge for not consenting to being Michael’s vessel and thus costing them certain victory. Those angels had been the first Castiel had cast down to Earth, stripped of their powers. Castiel wondered if any of them had tried to exact their revenge anyway. That would be a sight Castiel would like to see.
Castiel knew Dean didn’t need his protection from bitter fallen angels, or from the legion of beasts and spirits aligning against him. Castiel had lost faith in Dean once before, and he didn’t intend to do it again. Besides, Dean had made it perfectly clear that he was finished with the “angels and demons crap.” It was best if Castiel didn’t visit, if he stayed out of Dean’s life and Dean’s way.
It was also best if he didn’t even look in on Dean, lest he be tempted to contact him. Castiel had felt confident in his abilities and his purpose since God had restored him to his full power and more, but he was not certain he would be able to resist speaking to Dean again if he laid eyes on him. There was no one to speak to in Heaven, not really. Castiel didn’t think “Yes, your worshipfulness!” counted as conversation.
Suddenly Castiel knew what to do with his Sunday.
It didn’t take long to adjust the algorithms to fit the living not the dead, and the angelic not the human. There was plenty of room, and Castiel chose a cell far into East Block, near the stillborn children and the virtuous suicides, where angels rarely had cause to visit. He did not adjoin his Heaven to anyone else’s. He simply adjusted the program, opened the green numbered door that appeared, and stepped inside.
~~~
Castiel did not like the brothel. It was garishly decorated, it reeked of loneliness and desperation, and it reminded him of just how little progress Heaven had made with the humans over the millennia. Castiel did not like the forced, transparent attention paid to him by the women working, but he did like having Dean’s focus. He like Dean’s eyes on him, Dean speaking to and for him, Dean doing him a favour - even one he didn’t want.
He’d gotten up to follow the woman - Chastity, she’d said - because Dean had threatened to push him. Dean had grabbed his arm to stop him, hand him the money, and Castiel felt pleased to have Dean’s attention again, despite all the scantily clad women in the room. Dean called him “tiger.” Castiel wasn’t sure what the name meant, but Dean’s tone indicated mocking with affection underneath.
Once he was alone with Chastity and away from Dean’s warm reassurances things had been different. Castiel could see right through not only the woman’s nightclothes but also her false bravado. She was damaged, in pain and lost. Castiel wanted to help her, so he told her it wasn’t her fault her father had left her, it was the Post Office’s. Later, Dean would explain that the truth couldn’t save everyone, and that sometimes people needed to tell themselves lies in order to keep from falling apart.
Castiel hoped he hadn’t caused the woman any more pain, but he was glad they had come. As they left the brothel Dean had laughed so hard he couldn’t stand up straight, and Castiel had smiled to see Dean smile. Dean had put his hand on Castiel’s shoulder as they walked to the car, and Castiel wished he could freeze the moment.
~~~
Castiel must have replayed the memory twelve times before he finally returned to the Administrative Wing. Somehow it felt even colder than it had before, which was odd because the memory had made him feel warm. Castiel sat guiltily at his desk and shuffled through some papers. It was no doubt early Monday morning by now; he should get back to work.
The busier he kept during the work week, the sooner next Sunday would come.
~~~
Castiel could feel Dean’s warmth, even though he was only sitting on the edge of the bed. His vessel’s skin felt like ice, and if Castiel could move he probably would’ve tried to slide closer, so Dean could chase away the cold. As it was he could merely slump against the headboard, barely able to hold his head up.
“Here.” Dean pressed something cold and wet against his lips, and Castiel forced himself to swallow. The taste was strong and sweet, and it cleared his head a little. He took a gulp but started coughing, and Dean pulled the glass away. “Go slow, Cas. Hey! Don’t fall asleep.”
“Angels don’t sleep,” Castiel tried to correct Dean, but he was having trouble making his vessel’s lips and tongue move.
“I know, I know. But you had quite a trip and we’re worried you might not wake up. Like a concussion or something.” Though Castiel’s vision was blurred, he could see Dean’s brow furrow as he leaned over to peer into Castiel’s eyes. “Just don’t go back to sleep. Stay awake with me.”
“If you say so, Dean. I assume you were able to stop Anna?”
“Well, things didn’t go exactly as planned, but we’re all still here, I guess. Sammy and I have officially formed Team Free Will, wanna join?” Dean’s voice was softer than usual, as if he thought that if he spoke too loudly Castiel might shatter.
Castiel winced. The pain in his head was sudden and sharp; the motel room’s orange walls were blindingly bright. On instinct, he reached out to clutch at the sleeve of Dean’s shirt. The cotton was soft and warm between his fingers.
Dean didn’t pull away, but he looked alarmed. “Cas, are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m just tired. Are humans always this cold when they’re tired?”
Dean’s frown deepened. He shifted to lean back against the headboard next to Castiel, draping an arm loosely around his shoulders. The warmth of his body seemed to seep through Dean’s two layers and Castiel’s coat, and the touch inexplicably reminded Castiel of holding hands with his brothers and sisters during the prayer before a battle. Castiel let his head droop onto Dean’s shoulder.
“There. That better?” Dean’s voice was still quiet, but suddenly gruff. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Castiel realize this kind of intimacy was as alien to Dean as it was to him.
“Yes. Much.”
“Okay, Cas. Okay. Just don’t fall asleep.”
“Yes, Dean.”
~~~
Castiel often took Mondays off, then Tuesdays as well. He told the other angels he was studying Holy Scripture, and in a way he was, though his text wasn’t the Bible. He turned the pages of his memory instead, savouring his favourites, like re-reading his favourite passages over and over again.
He programmed his Heaven to show him every moment he’d ever spent with Dean, even the unhappy ones, even when he or Dean had been injured or otherwise in pain. Even the violence began to read as graceful, and Castiel discovered he found a drop of blood sliding down Dean’s temple just as beautiful as he did a bead of sweat.
The Host began to wonder about Castiel’s frequent disappearances. He heard the whispered rumours of Camael’s mutiny, but he ignored them. He buried himself in figures and symbols, rewriting Heaven’s code. He had been chosen by God to renew Heaven, hadn’t he? It was time that they stopped living in the past; there was room for a little creativity now.
~~~
“You absolutely need a new wardrobe.” There was laughter in Dean’s voice already, as if he was explaining the obvious to a small child. He pulled Castiel by the sleeve into the Good As New thrift shop.
“You’ve never complained about my clothing before.” Castiel was surprised at how petulant he sounded, and cleared his throat. “I mean, I just think we should have other priorities right now.”
Dean moved purposely through the racks; he’d obviously visited places like this many times before. He pulled out a plaid cotton button-down shirt and held it up, presumably for Castiel’s inspection. “What, a guy can’t look good for the Apocalypse?”
Castiel shrugged. “That looks like something you would wear.”
Dean’s smile was all white teeth and full lips, and he leaned his head briefly on Castiel’s shoulder. “We’ll make quite a pair, you and I.”
Castiel suddenly found he wanted that shirt very much.
~~~
Castiel couldn’t control the fictional memories as they happened, of course, but his Heaven knew him well. It wove tiny, true details through the false scenarios so tightly that it was sometimes difficult to separate what was real from what was illusion. Soon enough Castiel didn’t bother trying to tell the difference, what did it matter anyway?
He was out of the office most Wednesdays now, too.
~~~
Sam slept in Bobby’s bed, and Bobby in the demon-proof safe room, leaving Castiel and Dean the couch and armchair. Even as his connection with Heaven slowly faded, Castiel still didn’t need more than few hours of sleep each night, so he was glad to take the worn leather chair. If Dean put his pillow at the far end of the couch, Castiel would even get a clear view of his face as he slept.
“You sure you’re okay with the chair?” Dean tugged at the sleeves of his overshirt as he pulled it off, leaving him in nothing but a grey cotton t-shirt and his boxer shorts. Castiel was momentarily struck dumb by the strip of surprisingly pale flesh visible as the t-shirt rode up Dean’s stomach. Dean caught his eye and Castiel turned away, embarrassed to be caught looking.
“Isn’t that a sin?” Dean whispered so as not to wake the other occupants of the house, and his voice was nearly drowned out by the squeaking of springs as he lowered himself onto the old couch.
“Is what a sin?” Castiel tried to muster up the last vestiges of his angelic authority voice, and failed miserably when he turned back to Dean, and saw his feet hanging a few inches off the end of the couch, quilt pulled up to his chin like an overgrown child.
Even in the near darkness, Castiel could see Dean’s blush. He dropped the quilt and gestured to the room at large. “This. You. The way you just looked at me.”
“I don’t really have much faith in God’s word anymore, Dean.” Castiel had been thinking it for a long time, but he had never said the words aloud. Somehow hearing them made his loss of faith all the more real, and he felt suddenly small.
“I’m sorry, Cas.” There was sympathy in Dean’s eyes, though Dean had always been a sceptic and couldn’t understand. “Hey. C’mere.”
Castiel held his breath as he joined Dean on the couch, half on top of him because there was barely room for one, let alone two. Dean pulled the quilt over them both, then splayed his hand across Castiel’s stomach. Castiel could feel Dean’s pulse pounding through his fingers, syncing itself to the race of his own heart.
“You good?” Castiel wan’t sure what Dean’s question is, but he knew his answer.
“Yes. I am very good.”
~~~
Castiel hadn’t been seen in two weeks and Heaven was gradually falling out of balance. The cherubs had run out of endangered species and were petitioning for a second Valentine’s Day each year, a gang of rebels in the West Block (heroes and martyrs) had figured out how to travel between one another’s cells and were slowly creating anarchy, and limbo was filling up with souls whose admissions had yet to be rubber-stamped.
“Brothers and sisters,” Camael’s voice boomed across the gold-paved square, “a search party has been sent for our brother but I must admit I am not optimistic about the odds of his return. I hereby declare myself interim leader.”
Behind the green door, Castiel’s Heaven held him safe and warm.
~~~
Human bodies were fascinating. Castiel loved to watch the sweat form on Dean’s neck, and then to lick it out of his collarbone. He loved the sounds of their breathing, fast and punctuated by sharp gasps and low moans. He loved the feel of blood rushing through his veins, and he liked to see how fast he could make Dean’s heart beat.
Castiel loved the heat. Whoever had thought to make angels as beautiful as marble statues had gotten beauty all wrong. Castiel lived for Dean’s hot breath against his cheek, for his fingernails gripping his hips, for the surrender of being inside Dean, or of Dean inside him. Making wet, warm love with Dean made the world slow down, and Castiel forgot his thousands of cold, dry years.
Castiel was cut off from Heaven, but he and Dean made their own in the weeks before the Apocalypse. And Castiel was absolutely certain it was even better than the real thing.
~~~
“Cas!” Castiel felt blurred, as if he had gone soft around the edges. He wondered vaguely if Sunday was over, if he should go back to his stack of paperwork. Someone was shaking his shoulder. “Cas! Wake up! C’mon, man, what’s wrong with you?”
The voice was almost too familiar. It made his throat burn to listen to it. He rubbed his eyes.
Dean stood over him, brow furrowed, biting his lip. He pinched Castiel hard on the shoulder. “What are you doing here, Cas? You’re not dead. Ash says you can’t stay in Heaven this long if you’re not dead.”
Castiel smiled. He was glad his Heaven was coming up with something new, something inventive. The old memories were starting to wear a little thin. “Hi Dean. You aren’t dead, are you?” Castiel didn’t like the memories where Dean was dead very much.
“No, Cas, I’m not. Just visiting. But we have to get you out of this place.” Dean wrapped his arms awkwardly around Castiel’s waist and started to drag him towards the green door. He was struggling, and Castiel came to the sudden realization that Dean was aging, though he was beautiful as ever.
When Dean kicked open the door, a blast of shockingly cold, dry wind struck Castiel’s face. It was Heaven’s wind, and he hated it. Suddenly he was afraid to leave warm safety of his Heaven, currently, as it often was, in the form of a battered motel room. He wanted to fight out of Dean’s arms, to push him out of the room and slam the door behind him, lock the bolt. But Dean’s grip was strong and Castiel was more tired than he had ever been.
Castiel could not fight to stay, and so he fought to take one last memory with him.
Dean’s hand burned on Castiel’s thigh. Castiel had always felt comfortable in Jimmy’s clothing - it served its purpose in keeping him covered. Suddenly, though, the fabric felt thin and insubstantial, as if Castiel were naked. Dean drove with only one hand, pulling the car smoothly onto the shoulder of the highway. He switched off the headlights and it was perfectly dark; there was no one else on the road tonight.
“Cas.” Dean’s voice was low. “I thought I’d lost you too. All that blood, Cas.”
Castiel put his hand over Dean’s, still resting on his thigh. “I’m here, Dean.”He stared into Dean’s eyes, trying to tell him everything words couldn’t.
“But not for long,” Dean’s tone was harsh, accusatory. “You need to go play sheriff upstairs, right? Everybody leaves me.”
Dean moved so quickly Castiel broke eye contact for a moment, and then the back of his head was pushed firm against the headrest and Dean was on the passenger’s side, straddling Castiel. His eyes were still wet with tears for his brother, but they burned bright with another kind of grief as well. His kiss was fierce and his face was hot and wet with tears. Castiel fought to pull Dean closer, to capture Dean’s tongue with his own and hold him close and still, but he could already feel Dean pulling away. Dean climbed back to the driver’s seat, much less graceful this time.
“I have a duty, Dean, a calling. Someone needs to restore peace to Heaven.” Castiel’s words sounded hollow and insincere, even to his own ears.
“Yeah? Which would you rather have, Cas, peace or freedom?”
~~~
Dean pulled Castiel out of the dark room, through the motel door, and into the light.