More Supernatural Fic
Title: Conversations with Angels (3/?)
Author: Commodoresexual
Disclaimer: I do not own Sam, Dean, Castiel, or Macy's. Of these, Santa, I would like the first three, though. KTHXBAI.
Rating: PG-13, for language.
Genre/Pairing: Dean, Castiel, Sam, OC. Dean/Castiel UST
Warnings: Spoilers up through 4.10. Religious interpretation entirely of my own mind, and has nothing to do with any major faith or philosophy. So no smiting the Wren, please.
Notes: You know, I thought it was hard to write Sam? Dean is kinda harder, but the hardest was Castiel talking with his vessel. I'm thinking one more part before Christmas, but since I like this universe I've created so much, I might just keep it around for other things. The song for the headings is 'Everything' by Lifehouse, which I consider my Dean/Castiel song. Set after The First and Second Conversations.
Summary: There are three things that last forever - Faith, Hope, and Love.
The beauty of Angels are not their robes, halos, or harps. Their beauty is their intentions.
-- unknown
1. Find Me Here And Speak To Me
Weirdly enough, it turned out that angels did their shopping at Macy's.
Dean parked the Impala far enough from the other cars that he could safely leave his baby without it getting scratched, and eyed the depressingly large red brick structure before him. Macy's just didn't come separately, Oh No. They had to be attached to malls.
He transferred his glower from the mall itself, to his companion, as the angel stepped out of the car and looked at the mall with a distant, thoughtful expression. He felt his voice go curt, “You've gotta be frigging kidding me. A mall. You want me to go into a mall.”
Castiel turned towards him, frowning a little. “What is wrong with malls?”
“Jesus - sorry. Jeez.” Dean muttered, making sure to lock up the car tight. “What isn't wrong with them? Filled with people at their very fucking worst, big open spaces where any baddie can get you, and don't EVER order egg rolls from one of their eateries. Cardboard tubing with bad coleslaw stuffed inside. Blergh.”
The angel nodded his head slowly, before commenting blandly. “I find it hard to believe that a man such as you, who has faced every danger and obstacle with a spit-in-your-eye attitude, someone so fearless and so daring ... is actually afraid of a building where little old women shop for clothing.”
Dean stared at him, his mouth dropping open. Castiel held that gaze for a long, long moment, before he turned and moved towards the mall's entrance. Dean's shock melted into amusement, and he fought off a grin. The angel made a joke, an actual fucking joke! He smirked, pleased, before he yelled out after Castiel, “Well thank you! And HEY, MAN for the most backhanded compliment ever!”
Castiel didn't turn around, didn't pause, so Dean heaved out a sigh and jogged after him. When he caught up to him, he could see that little grin gracing Castiel's lips, and a soft 'heh' escaped the angel's mouth. Blue eyes glinted at him. “I see the warrior of God's choosing is ready to face his fears?”
Dean's own lips twitched, and he rolled his eyes. “Shut it, Divine One.” Aggravation and amusement led to curiosity. “So why Macy's, again? And if you say it's for the fabulous deals - so help me...”
Castiel paused at the end of the parking lot row, looking out for traffic as solemnly as he did anything else, before crossing. His answer was considered. “My vessel likes to shop here. It reminds him of better times.”
“Yeah, I remember the good old days of Macy's. Santa used to chill here and gave little girls real houses.” Dean snorted softly, as they headed towards the entrance. “He a big fan of Miracle on 34th Street?”
Castiel paused by the sets of double doors, giving Dean a considering look, before he shook his head. “Not exactly. He fell in love, here.”
Dean raised an eyebrow, as he followed the angel inside. “Seriously? He fell in love in a Macy's?” He looked around at the low-set lights, the decorations already set up for Christmas, the endless racks of clothing. His other eyebrow joined the first. “Oh yeaaaaah, I can see it. A regular Paris for the tax accountant crowd.”
Castiel gave him an unreadable look. “Love is not based on location, Dean.” He paused in one fluorescent lit center aisle, and peered around. “Love can creep up on you in a multitude of places.”
Dean gestured down the aisle, his tone caustic, “At the customer service desk? Wooing whilst returning one of his accountant sweaters?”
Castiel's lips puckered into a frown, and he turned around to face Dean head on. “It could have happened there. It could have happened on a street corner, or at a concert. Perhaps it could have happened in one of your grocery stores. Love is everywhere, Dean. Even in a Macy's.” He half turned, paused, and then looked back. “And John wishes me to inform you, rather sharply, that it happened in the sporting goods department.”
Dean felt a little uncomfortable, and he'd admit it, ashamed. He sighed, scrubbing the back of his neck. “All right, okay, I get it. I just didn't figure a big soldier of Heaven like you would fall to ... you know, girly-like soppy, emotional ... things.”
Castiel gave him a piercing once over that made Dean even twitchier, before he responded quietly, blue eyes flashing anger and maybe a touch of disappointment that cut Dean deep, “John has lost much, sacrificed his entire life, to help us win this war, Dean. I know I can't force you to respect me - at least not on the heels of dire threats to your person -- but at least respect his feelings on the matter.”
Dean's tongue got tied, so he answered with a nod. Castiel returned the nod curtly, and started to walk away again, when Dean managed to find his words again. “Hey, Divine One.” Castiel paused, only tilting his head towards Dean in response. Dean shoved his hands into his jacket, looking off at the rows of coats, before he said gruffly. “Don't have to force me. I already do.”
Castiel looked confused, and he did that head tilt that put Dean a little off-kilter himself. “You do?”
Dean shrugged, as he walked over to him. “You hold the line. No matter what happens, no matter what you have to do, you hold the line. Maybe I don't always agree with it, maybe it drives me up the fucking wall, but there's no going around it. You're hardcore because you have to be, not because you are. I mean, Jesus, giving me grief for mocking your vessel? Not exactly something I expect from soldiers of God, either. But I get it - you shoulder shit-jobs but underneath all the terrifying smiting stuff .... you're a good guy.” He paused. “Angel. Whatever.”
Castiel's eyes glimmered, unreadable as always, but his answer was a simple nod, and a gesture for Dean to walk again, by his side.
Dean relaxed, and because he could never resist the last jibe, added, “Besides, you put up with Uriel. Anyone who does that for two thousand years deserves a Sainthood. No to mention all the pie he can eat.” He gave Castiel one of his shit-eating grins. “Bet you've won Employee of the Month since the Garden of Eden, for dealing with that guy, am I right?”
He knew he was forgiven by the way Castiel's lips quirked, ever so slightly. Maybe Macy's wasn't such a bad place to be, after all.
2.I Want To Feel You, I Want To Hear You
Please God Please God just help me make it easier it hurts so much so much without ... I just need a sign. A sign that You're there, that You hear me, that all I've believed is not for nothing. Just show me what I can do. All I want is Your light and Your understanding...
John...
Who ... who said that? Who's there?
John, you have been Chosen.
I have been ...Where are you? Why are you here? Why can't I see you?
I am here, right at your side. You cannot see me, because the very sight of me would burn your eyes from your face, and I would not bring harm to you.
Wh ... why? What do you want?
Do you truly wish to show your love to God? Your devotion?
... Yes. Yes I do! I want that more than anything. Just give me a direction, whoever you are!
I am Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord.
An angel ... Oh, Thank You, Lord. Thank You ... what do you need? What can I do?
I need your form, your body.
My body?
We cannot walk amongst your kind as we are - and I require --
Take it.
What?
Take it. Take my body. If the Lord and his Angels have any use of what's left of me, then I'm glad to give it.
John, you do not know what this entails. You, and your form, will be shown many of life's true horrors. You - We will be fighting the very demons of Hell....
Castiel - Angel ... you've just given me what I waited my whole life to know. There is a God. There is a Heaven. That means ... that means ... it means everything. So, take my body. It's the very least I can do. You're the answer to my prayers.
Very well. Your sacrifice and your devotion will forever be remembered in the annals of Heaven, John. I am ... most, most grateful to you.
...are you grateful enough to answer one question for me? I don't want to presume, and I don't want to pressure. I just - I need to know -
The one you love, John Adams, walks in Heaven and is even now waiting for you.
...Thank you. Thank you so, so much.
John ... John, your eyes are wet.
That's because I'm crying.
Because you are unhappy?
No, because I am happy. It's a ... it's a human thing. I'm not sure if I could explain it in a way for you to understand it right away. It's complicated.
We'll be together for quite some time, John. You shall have plenty of opportunity to.
3. You Are The Light That's Leading Me
Men's shirts were in rows and rows of neatly presented sterility, either hung on hangers or compressed into plastic bags. Dean shook his head, staring at the little cubbyholes filled to the brim white shirts. Or at least, that's what they looked like to him He picked up two shirts, eying them closely. “So, uh. How the hell do you tell the difference between white and eggshell white, anyways?”
“The world is made of shades, Dean.” Castiel murmured, and while Dean watched him, the angel flexed his fingers over the fabrics caressingly. “Humans would be quite dull if they were all one shade.”
Dean turned abruptly away, making himself stare back at the ridiculous cubbyholes of white shirts. He had no idea what the hell was wrong with him. He wasn't gay - at a far stretch he could call himself a highly disinterested bisexual, because let's face it, girls were usually safer to score with. They usually smelled better, too. He liked women - he liked their smiles, their curves, their wicked little smiles and their wicked little ways.
So he was pretty sure he Was. Not. Gay.
He half-twisted towards to the angel, watching him as sneakily as he could. The angel was rubbing a shirt sleeve between two fingers, his eyes skimming down the front of the shirt, as if it held some sort of goddamned mystery of life. God, Castiel drove him up the wall - with his weird mis-understandings of the human world, and then he'd turn around and smack Dean in the face with his uncanny insight of it. His crayola-blue eyes saw too much, said too much, while his mouth didn't that say much at all. He could be fucking frightening - a wrathful creature than reminded Dean that in the Bible, angels took care of all God's dirty work. Dean felt should hate him, or at least fear the angel more, which would probably just be taken as hate anyways because Dean had been fighting his fears head-on since he was four.
And then Castiel would do something, just look at him with awe and confusion, like he was seeing something beautiful in Dean and he just didn't get why Dean didn't see it too. He would open those big, gorgeous blue eyes wide, part his full lips and just look at Dean, like Don't you get it? Don't you understand how wonderful I think you are?
That lead to Dean doing things like frigging clothes shopping. Bonding on benches. Trying to make the angel laugh. Hitting Alastair upside the head with a tire iron. Little insane things that made him think he was acting like he was in the fifth grade again, shuffling his sneakered feet and trying to get Missy Wolinski to let him carry her books for her, so she'd let him kiss her behind the cafeteria.
See the thing ... the thing was, Dean liked that look. He had definitely liked it on Anna, but he liked it more on Castiel. He liked Cas getting hard-ass on him when he was being a bitch, or backing down when the angel knew he was wrong. He liked that the angel was more than just an angel - he was ... he was Dean's angel, for chrissakes. Lifted him up from perdition, yadda yadda. He liked the confused head-tilt, the intensity, that stupid looking trench-coat, that askew tie, and the low, gravely voice that could be angry one second and soft the next.
He liked Castiel's mouth, God did he like that mouth, but he liked Castiel's eyes best. They were the most human and the most angelic part of Castiel. He wouldn't say anything retarded like he got lost in them, but maybe he got a little distracted. Like when you're driving and saw a really pretty girl, or a truly bitching ride. You just wanted to keep looking, even though you knew any minute you could end up hitting a curb, or maybe a tree.
He liked the whole goddamned, holier-than-he, black-fluttery-wing, intense and scary as fuck, divine tax accountant package.
But. He. Was. Not. Gay.
Across the way, Castiel dropped the sleeve he was rubbing between his two fingers and frowned, rubbing his thumb along the lower part of his lip. He dug into his trench-coat pocket, and pulled out a small tube of Chapstick and applied it carefully, and throughly, to his lips. Dean looked quickly away.
...maybe there was such thing as an AngeloftheLordsexual?
4.Into the Place, Where I Find Peace Again
He SHOT us.
Yes.
He SHOT us, repeatedly. In the CHEST.
Yes, John, I know.
And then he STABBED us.
I ... was also present for that, as well.
And ... finally, to top it all off? He doesn't even believe in GOD.
That is not necessarily the truth.
CASTIEL! Are you serious? You reached into Hell to pull this guy out, and he ends up being a trigger happy, psychopathic atheist! He Ventilated An Angel Of The Lord.
John, you must calm yourself. You are making our heart-rate rise unhealthily.
I'm sorry. I'm just. I can't. Really? Why him? Why Dean Winchester?
Because when faced with an unknown and unseen source of power beyond his imagination, when he thought it meant to do harm to him and to those he loved, he fought back. He stood there and held his ground against the glory of Heaven, despite the odds. Despite everything.
...Huh.
Just imagine all that fury and bravery put face to face before the hoards of demon-kind.
That is ... wow. Yeah. Okay.
Have faith, John. The plan is righteous. No matter how ... upsetting it is, to be confronted with his complete lack of faith in God, and that he deserves to be saved, I am sure we will persevere. Dean Winchester is more than worthy.
You like him?
I ...do not understand.
Uhm, do you ... look favorably upon him?
I raised him from Hell, John. God looks favorably on him. That is more than enough for me.
I mean - well - okay. You have faith in his abilities. You have faith in his strength. You have faith in the fact that God thinks him worthy. Do you have faith, in him? In his ability to do the right thing?
I do. I honestly do. That is liking?
It's part of it. There are other things. You know, if you have things in common. If he makes you smile. Of course, that sometimes leads to other things ... but eh. Probably not something you have to worry about. God, I'm tired.
The healing has taken a lot out of you. I will let you sleep.
Thanks ... and Castiel?
Yes, John?
If you really trust this Dean, then that's good enough for me.
He is good, John. I have seen his heart, as closely as I have seen yours. It is... special. He is everything I hoped he would be.
5. You Are The Strength That Keeps Me Walking
“What did you say?” Castiel's question cut into Dean's thoughts, where he suddenly found the angel looking at him, a perplexed look on his face. The Chapstick was mercifully put away.
Dean's mouth opened and then shut. See, this is why he couldn't be trusted alone with the frigging angel. His inside-head voice more than often liked to make itself be known outside. If Sam was here, he would have gotten a good solid slap to the back of the head, and inside-Dean-head voice would have been silenced. He cleared his throat, as he walked towards Castiel, speaking rapidly, “Nothing. You must be hearing ... ah ... spiritual, angel-like voices. Here. Shirts. They're crisp, and kinda-sorta white.”
Castiel's eyes narrowed a fraction. “...You're lying to me.”
He pushed the shirts into Castiel's hands, then all but shoved him towards the changing room, “Ye-ep. Hey, why don't you tell me about John?”
Castiel must have been allowing himself to be hustled along, because Dean seriously didn't think an angel of the Lord would let himself be corralled like a cow. Castiel's voice became a note lower, a touch more doubting. “Now, you are deflecting.”
Dean managed to get him all the way to the door to the changing room, before Castiel simply planted his feet against the ground. Dean huffed, and puffed, and could not make the angel budge another inch. He glared at the back of Castiel's head, and the angel attached to it, who seemed to be standing there, waiting. He let out a short, harsh noise, taking both shirts from Castiel. He tore one open, and pushed it into the angel's hands. His tone was brusque. “Yes. I'm deflecting, avoiding, the whole she-bang. Satisfied?”
Castiel half-turned, sighed, and headed into the changing room, speaking shortly over his shoulder. “No.”
Dean squeezed the remaining shirt in his hands, and echoed Castiel's sigh, as he muttered. “Yeah, me neither.” He raised his voice, “I'm gonna go pay for these.”
There was no response. He knew Castiel didn't sulk - not in the angel's purview. Probably annoyed though. There never seemed to be any middle ground for the both of them to stand on. Either they were on - or they were definitely off.
Christ. He was going to kill Sam.
He paid for the shirts, half-heartedly flirting with the salesgirl so she'd give him a discount. He took the bag, and headed back towards the changing room, fighting with himself. This is stupid. There was no reason for this to be seriously messing him up in the head, because goddamnit, it wasn't like Castiel understood what the hell he was doing. Sure, Uriel said he was Castiel's weakness, that Castiel liked him - but that could be in a friendly, hey-buddy-you're-alright way.
No reason about getting sent back to Hell for messing with angels, especially when angels don't want to be messing with you. So he'd smooth this over, they'd have their talk, and maybe - Just Maybe - he'd get out of today without letting porn overcome reality. Again.
He walked back into the changing rooms, as Castiel wasn't waiting outside. He called out, “Cas?”
“Back here, Dean.” Castiel's voice came from the last room on the right. Dean approached, it, bag in hand, noting that the door was half open, half closed. He pushed it open, finding Castiel buttoning up the new shirt over a pale expansion of a chest that had seen at least a Bowflex machine somewhat regularly.
Aw, Hell.
“Dean.” Yep, that was his name. “Dean?” He blinked, then blinked again as he focused on Castiel's face. The angel was frowning at him. “Are you feeling well?”
“Peachy.” He rubbed his face, before holding out the bag. “Here, you can stick the bloody shirt in there.”
“Thank you.” Castiel nodded his head, as he picked up the tie and faced the mirror, frowned at it for a moment, then made an 'Ah!' face as his fingers seemed to move on their own accord. He glanced over at Dean's reflection in the mirror. “Something is weighing on your thoughts.”
Dean had to snort at that understatement. “A little.” He shrugged. “I didn't mean to snap. Don't worry, I'll figure out myself.”
Castiel tied the tie loosely, in that same askew fashion that makes Dean suddenly smile, but the sad look in those blue eyes was enough to wipe it away. “That Dean, is your other problem.” Blue eyes meet hazel ones in the mirror. “You shoulder all these burdens - and I know - some of these are yours alone to bear. But the smaller things, the things that people can pick up, and carry for you, you refuse to let go.”
Dean huffed softly, feeling disjointed again. “What, going to help me pick up the slack?”
Castiel picked up his coat, sliding one arm and the other through, and the snap of the fabric hit the air singularly. He faced Dean, his voice far from the distant tones of the angry angel, but that place when he came to see them earlier. Tired and at peace, he answered. “If you'll let me.”
Dean was momentarily struck dumb. He searched the angel's face, but there was nothing there but the same impassivity - strike that. There was something, deep in that face. Kinda made him want to go over there and search out the answer.
You know, with his lips.
He breathed out, slowly, and said with as much control as Dean Winchester could ever have, “You want to go and get a pretzel?”
6.You Are The Hope That Keeps Me Trusting
Castiel?
Hm?
Nothing. It's just - your thoughts are all over the place. It woke me up.
I apologize, John. I was, what is the phrase, wool gathering.
Dean again?
He is much on my thoughts, yes.
He did good work, in that town. Saving all those people.
Uriel did not seem to think so.
Uriel is not the end all and be all of what is a success. Dean saved lives. Innocent people survived, all because one man - well, two men - stood up to angels and did what was right.
He and his brother are truly something.
They really are.
Dean, I thought, was most impressive making his point for us not to destroy the town. He will not make unjust orders, when the time comes.
No. God knows how to pick them.
Yes, yes He does.
You're really fond of Dean, aren't you?
I ... like him, as we have said before.
Heh. Yeah, but that was just friendly-like. Now, you have a bit of a crush on him.
I don't understand? I am not putting physical pressure on him.
Oh, it's something we humans say when we're younger. When we like someone, and I mean when we have stronger feelings for them - in a ... passionate way, I guess I should say. It's that place that's more than just friends, and less than love.
I do not think it is that. I do ... feel strongly, for Dean, but I do not think I have a crush, as you say.
Oh yeah? Then tell me, on a normal day, how do you see him?
I see strength. I see pain. I see a soul so beautiful and layered that it brings me to tears to see how much he disregards that beauty within himself. I see devotion to a brother who is equally devoted to him. I see a pig-headed stubborn attitude that I sometimes feel like taking him to task for, and then feel ... shamed for afterwards. I see a love of people. I see why people feel love for him. I see how he struggles, and I wish I could .. I could ...
Comfort him? Maybe do as the humans do, and hold him? Try to make it all better?
I ... yes. Yes, exactly like that. But that is normal, correct?
Ah. Yes. In many ways, that's very normal.
I do not do those things, though. I look into his eyes, and I am ... uncertain of myself. I do not want him to push me away. That would cause me ... pain.
Uh, would anything happen, if you did? I know God is amazingly tolerant of many things, but is He really all right with angels - ah, with angels ... comforting their charges? You wouldn't Fall for, say. Embracing?
No ... to Fall would require me ripping out my Grace - my very divinity - and there is no reason to do that. God wants me to love Dean, to show him that he's worthy of being saved.
Are you telling me that God is sanctioning all that you're feeling towards Dean right now?
I believe so. No angel has ever been reprimanded for simply loving. God gave angels everything that he gave man. We can love - we just cannot put that love before our love of God. Why do you ask?
No reason! Just - noting that for future reference. In fact, things are starting to make a lot more sense. Of course, God would be fine with you loving Dean.
Yes, and so you see, I do not have a crush.
Of course you don't. It's strictly professional. You don't act any differently with Dean than you do with Uriel.
I ...
It's not like you share things with Dean that you don't share with Uriel. It's not like Dean isn't the first being who has ever made you laugh. I know it can't be the way that you keep staring into his big, brown eyes.
Well ... that is not the point, John.
It's not.
No. It is not. And his eyes are green.
Green-green or-?
Sea-green. The ocean after a storm, green... what are you implying, John?
Not a darn thing, Castiel. Listen, since you're being lulled to the thought of sea-green eyes? I'm going back to sleep, and let you wool-gather some more.
Ah. Yes. Of course, John...thank you.
7.You Are The Light To My Soul
He couldn't believe he had let himself get into this fucking situation, but he had to open his mouth, didn't he? Pretzels. For fuck's sake, pretzels. He sighed as he bought three of them, grabbed mustard packets for all three, and headed back where he had left Castiel, looking around carefully as he did so. The mall was fairly empty this time of day, with just a few shoppers getting the jump on their Christmas gifting, wandering from store to store. Which was probably why there was plenty of room at the ornamental fountain in the middle of the mall for him and Castiel to sit in peace and relative private.
The angel looked at the fountain with a frown. It was the typical sort - lots of fancy gilt and water flowing everywhere. Dean sat down next to Castiel, arching an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“I just. I never understood why humans need to have these things inside.” Castiel muttered, turning around to look at Dean. “Is not water flowing everywhere in nature?”
Dean felt a flicker of warmth, deep inside. Angel after his own heart. “Well, yeah. But people are lazy - they don't want to go and find it.”
Castiel shook his head, before turning to look at the pretzel in front of him. He frowned, picking up the packet of mustard. “What is this for?”
Dean snorted softly. “It's mustard. It goes on the pretzel, like this.” He squirted it in a neat line around the edge of one big, soft pretzel. “Makes 'em tastier.”
Castiel followed the movement intently, and with gravity, carefully opened his mustard package and applied it. His concentration was so focused - Dean felt like he was watching a painter instead of an angel mustarding up his pretzel. Kinda hilarious.
One corner of his mouth curved upwards, before he cleared his throat. “...All right. Let's say I buy into this Helpful Angel Shit. Let's say, I am now open to discussion on the topic of you not being a completely heartless son of a bitch. Let's say, I let you help me - us. What's the package deal?”
The angel pursued his lips, as he finished his Mona Lisa of mustard spreading. “That depends entirely on you. What you want. What you need.”
A variety of answers flipped through Dean's head. Half of them were dirty. One or two included the phrase, 'and don't let the door hit you on your fine ass on your way out.' He focused on the reasonable ones. “Well, wouldn't mind some actual back-up from you, on Seal issues. I mean, that is what you're here for, and I know I'm pretty frigging badass...” He smirked for the angel, who nodded his head with the lightest lift of his lips, but then Dean sobered. “But I know we can't take on someone like Alastair, on our own.”
Castiel managed to tear off a section of his pretzel without getting mustard on himself or his new shirt, a miracle within itself, considering how violent the action was. His eyes darkened dangerously. “He could have killed you.” The angel glared at the pretzel, as if it was Alastair's limb, and he wanted to tear it off with his teeth.
Dean chewed a piece of pretzel, surprised. He had seen the angel angry before, no lie. He'd never seen him go protective, though. Food for fucking thought, how pissed the angel seemed. He finally swallowed and responded. “Yeah, well. He could have killed you too.”
The angel shook his head. “I allowed myself to become ... distracted, with events. It will not happen again. However, in answer to your question, yes, my sword is at your disposal.” A pause. “Within reason.”
Sword? Maybe that's what the angels called their hand-fu. “When you say, within reason, you mean when we actually need help. No using the red Angel-phone for a paper-cut or something.” Castiel nodded, and Dean nodded back. “Cool. Okay. Second thing, keep Uriel away from us.”
Castiel arched both eyebrows. “A tall order.”
Dean shrugged. “Listen, you want to take some stress off my shoulders? Keep that guy away from me, and my brother. He's a danger to both of us.”
“He's an angel of the Lord.” Castiel protested, his eyebrows knitting together.
“He's a racist prick.” Dean said grimly, “I wouldn't put it past him to gack me or Sam just because he can't play nice with the 'mud monkeys'. You I trust. Him, not at all.”
“I will do my best, Dean, but understand some situations will require Uriel to be there as well.” Castiel looked at him, having still not bitten down into his pretzel, his expression suddenly intent on Dean. “You trust me?”
“Hell yeah, I do.” Dean said, and the fervent look that suddenly appeared in the angel's eyes totally didn't just make his day. Really. He cleared his throat. “Like I said. You're good people, when you want to be. Eat your pretzel - they're not as good cold.” He waited until Castiel had bitten down, a curious yet pleased look on his face. “Third thing and last...when we talk, and dude I want to have actual conversations like we're having now, I want you to be honest. Save all that cryptic shit for the Bible thumpers.”
Castiel finished chewing, swallowed, one eyebrow lifting . “I have never lied to you, Dean.”
“No, but you've edited yourself down to a mysterious line or two in my dreams. I don't want that. I want you to come, to me, and we talk. Face to face.” Dean gestured to himself, then to the angel.
The angel seemed to contemplate this, before he gave Dean one of his intent looks. “With one caveat. You are as honest with me, as you wish me to be with you.”
Dean scrunched up his face, rubbing one hand through his hair, giving Castiel an aggravated look, which was met with a single eyebrow, and a patient beyond all reason expression. Dean sighed, tore off another hunk of his pretzel, and chewed it fiercely. Yeah, like there was no way this was going to get awkward, oh no. He sighed, swallowed, then nodded. “Okay. Honesty. Only way to go, they say.”
Castiel picked up another piece of pretzel, a flicker of a smile on his face. “Oh yes.”
Dean watched Castiel for a moment, before he asked quietly, “What happened with Anna?”
Blue eyes lifted to meet his, as the angel chewed. Dean, for once, didn't look for an excuse to look away. Just waited, feeling his stomach twist inside. He didn't know what was going to happen, if the answer was something bad ...
Castiel continued to chew, as he lifted on hand, as if he was going to wave to someone behind Dean. Wordlessly, he turned his arm until his forearm was pointing horizontally, and he raised one finger to point to the ceiling. No. Not the ceiling. Beyond the ceiling.
Dean sat back a little, blinking. “Wait. Wait ... she's in Heaven? How the hell did she get into Heaven? I thought she was Fallen - tainted - that kind of thing. Even with her Grace intact ... God let that slide?”
Castiel looked at him, blue eyes focused and intent, as he tore off another pretzel piece, his voice low. “Angels are heartless, unfeeling bastards.” He put the pretzel at eye level, and quite suddenly the little smile surfaced, and grew a few millimeters, “God, ... not so much, Dean.”
There was silence, as Castiel digested his next bite, and Dean sat back and digested that little tidbit of news. Anna, in Heaven. Cold, emotionless statue Anna. Never enjoy chocolate cake or sex again, Anna. Anna in Heaven. He played with his empty mustard package, “Is she ... I don't know. Is she content?”
Castiel finished swallowing, the light in his eyes curious one, before he pushed the pretzel away, putting his hands together. “Dean ... she's happy. Our Lord - He showed himself to us. He opened up the clouds, and sent light down, showing mercy, forgiveness ... love. To go so long, without it. Without knowing if you matter. Then to find out that you do. It's all Anna wanted. It's all any of us want.” He sighed, looking up. “I'm ... not sure if you understand.”
Dean looked at the angel, feeling that creepy sense of deja vu. Except Anna had been hard and bitter, and Castiel was soft, and open. Both of them tugged his heart, in strangely similar ways. He saw his father's ghost, smiling as he melted into a bright light. Up to Heaven, he had hoped. Now he knew. “I do. It's like ...coming home. Chocolate chip cookies, warm from the oven, with milk kind of comfort. Knowing that your father loves you is like that.”
“Yes, exactly.” Castiel said softly, and there was that look again. All gentle wonder, in eyes so blue that made Dean think of the open sky at dusk. Weird, he never thought as twilight as a color before, just a time of day.
He found himself smiling back, a little sadly. “Careful, Divine One. Your Heartless Bastard Halo is slipping. You're looking downright feeling-heavy.”
Castiel looked down at his pretzel, his brows drawing together. “It is not true, you know. Well - not entirely. Angels feel. We could not love our Father, if we didn't. It is just ... our emotions are so large, so encompassing. In our true forms, we can only feel one thing at a time. When in Heaven, mostly that feeling is the love for our Father. ”
Dean's eyebrows quirked, quizzically. “So what - you're giant, Heavenly Tinkerbells? If I clap my hands three times, and say, I believe in angels, will you, I don't know, emote more?”
The angel's lips flickered upwards, and the blue eyes flashed. “Perhaps. But I sincerely doubt you have enough fairy dust available to you, Dean.”
Now it was Dean's turn to chuckle softly. “Fair enough. So you guys are big balls of intense emotion - in Uriel's case, pure distilled asshole. Kind of makes me wonder how John's faring up there in your noggin, sharing his head with a guy with only one thing on his mind.” He paused, his eyes widening. “Not that I'm saying that you've got one thing on your mind. Probably got a lot of things.” He winced. “...that aren't ...other things.” That aren't porn, like yours truly.
The angel had a puzzled expression on his face, before he answered slowly. “No, John is well accustomed to such things. He loved, truly, and was loved truly in return. Such a love is all encompassing, in its own way. When his lover died, he was devastated. That is why he called out to Heaven, for help and guidance, to help him deal with his grief. He never was quite whole again, after his tragedy.”
“Soulmates, huh?” Dean snorted a little, but he found himself feeling a little wistful, too. Bah, too goddamned chick-flick-tacular. “I guess a few people are lucky enough.”
Castiel nodded his head in silent agreement, something odd about the way he tilted his head and looked off. “Yes. John and Bryan were truly blessed.”
“John and ... Bryan? John's gay?” Dean said, startled. “God's down with the man on man love?” He realized how that sounded, and quickly interjected. “Not that I'm not totally down with man-love. Man-love is good. Great, in fact. Guys .. and other guys. Awesome. Dean approves. Two thumbs up.” He paused, and then realized what he said, and felt his ears start to turn bright fucking red. “Uh. I'm not gay.”
“John knows what you mean, Dean, and yes, God is ... down. God has always been down.” Castiel opened his hands wide, “That is one of the pecularities of some of your faiths. God is about Love. Between a man and a woman, or a woman and a woman, or a man and a man. God urges us all to do nothing but feel love for one another - angel, human, and beast. What care He if they are male or female? Dean, those are human distinctions. Not the ones of Our Lord.”
Dean licked his bottom lip, fiddling with his pretzel. “So ... John can love Bryan, and Mary can love Sue, and I could ... I could fall in love with whoever I wanted, and God ... God wouldn't get mad and go smiting?” He clenched his hands into fists. “No one would have be - you know - kicked downstairs?”
Castiel's hands closed, and his gaze suddenly focused on Dean, half confusion, half something else. Dean couldn't read it - horror, anger, ... hope? “No, Dean. No one would go to Hell.”
Dean scanned Castiel's face, clenching his fingers and then loosening them again. “I can love anyone? Anyone at all?”
Castiel nodded his head slowly, his eyes never leaving Dean's own. “Anyone ... you want.”
Dean could feel his heart rabbiting against his chest - so fast and so painful that he was afraid it was going to pop out of his chest, like in some twisted John Hurt moment. He could - he could - it was like his birthday all over again. Can I keep you? Can I keep you, can I can I? He wasn't sure what he should do - he couldn't think but he wanted - and maybe if he just, if he pulled Castiel over here and answered that question in those eyes that are almost night, almost day- and showed him how he wanted...
Who he wanted.
That crazy, insane, flying off the seat of his pants feeling was shaken off abruptly when Castiel suddenly jerked upright. The angel half-turned, and frowned, before he looked towards Dean. Something like regret colored his words. “I have to go. My brothers have need of me.”
Dean tasted regret and bitterness, he was sure, wasn't far behind. He sat back, waving his hand, and tried to play it off. “Yeah, yeah. The Angel signal has arisen. Get out of here, defend humanity already. I'll finish off your pretzel.” He took an almost vicious bite out of the pretzel and chewed throughly.
Castiel rose to his feet, looking skyward for a moment, before he looked back at Dean. There was a sense of frustration, and other things unsaid, as the angel spoke firmly, “I'll be back as soon as I can. Until then, if we could table this discussion?”
Dean reached for Castiel's pretzel, lifting one shoulder up as he tried not to think girly-sad-thoughts. He was not getting rejected. Cas had to work. Other understandable male shit. Oh no, he didn't have abandonment issues, why do you ask? “Yeah, sure. If you want.”
A hand slid underneath his chin; a masculine hand, with slightly calloused fingertips. Dean found himself staring at the mouth, still looking a little dry but full, and the intense, complete attention of one rather pointed angelic-stare. Castiel breathed out, as soft as a feather and as firm as stone. “I shall return. We will discuss this.” His thumb traced along Dean's bottom lip.
Dean stared, because something those eyes made everything crystal clear how Castiel might feel in this situation. It wasn't exactly negative. His voice came out low and a little rough. “Taking time from the front lines to wipe mustard off my cheek, Cas?'
Castiel's lips quirked up again, as the angel straightened. He pressed the thumb that had so shortly been touching Dean's mouth against his own, taking it away long enough to say. “There is no mustard, Dean.”
Dean blinked once, and the angel was gone. Leaving Dean with a ton of jumbled feelings and lusts, two half-eaten pretzels, and a bag from Macy's. Figured. Just when things were getting interesting. He glared at the ceiling, and said aloud, “And we're not having any more of this disappearing crap, either, David Copperfield! I forgot to add it to the list but it's THERE NOW!”
People around him turned to stare, and he decided to beat feet, before mall security decided to start breathing down his neck for yelling at the ceiling tiles. The last thing he needed today was for Sam to bail him out of Mall Security prison. He picked up his bag, and after a moment, the pretzel that Cas had been eating. He took a bite of it, right where Castiel's mouth had been.
It was probably just his imagination, but the pretzel? Kinda tasted heavenly.
Epilogue - You're My Purpose, You're Everything
Sam looked up from his laptop when Dean walked into the motel room, nodding with an expectant smile. “Hey - where's Cas?”
“He, ah, had to go.” Dean cleared his throat and tried not to lick his bottom lip again. He could swear he could still feel the imprint of Castiel's thumb on his mouth, burning like the mark on his shoulder. He dug into the Macy's bag, still in his hand, drawing out the packaged shirt and tossed the other, with the bag still wrapped around it, into the garbage can. “Saving the world stuff. That or his brothers are having problems working a blender. I didn't really ask.”
“Ah-hah... well, it looks like we've got work of our own to do.” Although his brother looked curious, Sam nodded towards his laptop, right back on the job. Dean felt a surge of pride. “Some teenagers have been disappearing near this small town in South Dakota.”
Dean rolled his eyes, even as he went to grab his duffel bag. “I think you just answered the problem right there. Small town, South Dakota. I'm not even there yet and I wanna to run away.”
“Well, here's the interesting part.” Sam said, rising to his feet, wiggling his fingers for Dean to toss him his own bag, which Dean did. “The victims are all virgins.”
Dean had finished shoving all his clothes into his duffel, and was looking around to make sure he had packed everything else. But at Sam's comment, he turned, blinking. “Virgins. Seriously? Huh!” He frowned. “That could be anything. Demonic ritual, vampire with a particular feeding habit, some sort of witch-sex-orgy thing...which would be so fucking cool...”
“Dragon. A dragon seems more likely.” Sam added tartly, before a curious tone entered his voice. “Dean - what the hell is that in your hand?”
Dean looked down, where the second packaged shirt he had bought for Castiel was currently still being gripped. “Ah. Yeah. I bought an extra shirt, for Cas. Figured I might as well carry it with me, just in case. You know, he could accidentally get himself stabbed again. So poof, extra shirt.”
“Which means ... he's going to come to us, when he gets his clothes dirty and needs a wardrobe change?” Sam said slowly.
“Well, no. We'd have to buy him more clothes for that to make sense, Sam.” Dean scoffed, as he put the shirt on top of the duffel, as he went into the bathroom and grabbed their toothbrushes and toothpaste. “Like, I don't know. More shirts. Pants.” He swallowed, looking at himself in the mirror as he said quietly, “Boxers.” He cleared his throat, stepping out, tossing Sam his own stuff. “Maybe some jeans - and some winter-gear, because seriously that trench-coat is not gonna cut it in -”
He stopped when he finally looked up at Sam, who was standing there, staring at him with a fond, amused look. He abruptly pushed the last of his things inside his bag, being a little more careful with the still plastic wrapped shirt, speaking shortly, “What?”
“Nothing, Dean. Just ... nothing.” Sam grinned, tucking his clothes away. “It's a good point. Cas probably doesn't have anyone to consider these small matters of clothing for him, like say, his vessel?”
“Hey, John's got a lot going on. He's riding shot-gun to the Apocalypse. He's sacrificed enough for Castiel that I think the least we can do, Samuel, is make sure Castiel is well taken care of, ergo, so John is.” Dean said, wondering if his brother was going to buy all this bullshit.
Sam arched an eyebrow at him and snorted, so clearly not. After a moment though, he sighed. “So I'm guessing right now we're going to be avoiding the awkward questions of 'so how did your talk go', 'how did you and Cas get along', 'how did you find out Castiel's vessel's name?', and replace it with, 'would you like me to find some clothing outlet places near this town, so when we leave we can make sure that Castiel's vessel is well-clothed for the winter?'”
“Yes Sam, that'd be great. I'm gonna load up the car while you do that.” Dean smirked, as he picked up his duffel, and moved around his bed to pick up Sam's bag. “Two more trips, and we should be outta here.”
“Awesome.” Sam said, as he started typing back into his laptop. “We can grab some lunch on the road. Should be a nice, long drive.” Dean paused by the door, hearing the smirk in Sam's voice. “Plenty of time to ask how your day went.”
Dean winced, ever so slightly, and hurriedly went to the back of the Impala to shove their stuff inside the trunk. He knew damned well that Sam was probably still smirking at his back. Christ-on-fucking-pogstick. This day had started off so frigging well, too.
Dreams of Hell, followed by stabbing the angel that he may or may not have to redefine human sexuality for.
Middle of the day featuring malls, realizing that angels had feelings too, and getting interrupted in the middle of almost-not-quite-a-fucking-hot-moment by a holy bunch of angel cock-blockers.
Finished off with still trying to figure out where angels fell on the 'Not Being Gay' o'meter, and a long, long drive to South Dakota with his little brother who was going to drag everything out of him, including the fact that the angel made him go to Macy's, and like it.
Yeah, somewhere between Ohio and South fucking Dakota? There was going to be some frigging pie. Delicious pie, with ice cream. Hopefully blueberry. Seeing all he had on his mind these days was blue.
Still didn't make him gay, though.
Author: Commodoresexual
Disclaimer: I do not own Sam, Dean, Castiel, or Macy's. Of these, Santa, I would like the first three, though. KTHXBAI.
Rating: PG-13, for language.
Genre/Pairing: Dean, Castiel, Sam, OC. Dean/Castiel UST
Warnings: Spoilers up through 4.10. Religious interpretation entirely of my own mind, and has nothing to do with any major faith or philosophy. So no smiting the Wren, please.
Notes: You know, I thought it was hard to write Sam? Dean is kinda harder, but the hardest was Castiel talking with his vessel. I'm thinking one more part before Christmas, but since I like this universe I've created so much, I might just keep it around for other things. The song for the headings is 'Everything' by Lifehouse, which I consider my Dean/Castiel song. Set after The First and Second Conversations.
Summary: There are three things that last forever - Faith, Hope, and Love.
The beauty of Angels are not their robes, halos, or harps. Their beauty is their intentions.
-- unknown
1. Find Me Here And Speak To Me
Weirdly enough, it turned out that angels did their shopping at Macy's.
Dean parked the Impala far enough from the other cars that he could safely leave his baby without it getting scratched, and eyed the depressingly large red brick structure before him. Macy's just didn't come separately, Oh No. They had to be attached to malls.
He transferred his glower from the mall itself, to his companion, as the angel stepped out of the car and looked at the mall with a distant, thoughtful expression. He felt his voice go curt, “You've gotta be frigging kidding me. A mall. You want me to go into a mall.”
Castiel turned towards him, frowning a little. “What is wrong with malls?”
“Jesus - sorry. Jeez.” Dean muttered, making sure to lock up the car tight. “What isn't wrong with them? Filled with people at their very fucking worst, big open spaces where any baddie can get you, and don't EVER order egg rolls from one of their eateries. Cardboard tubing with bad coleslaw stuffed inside. Blergh.”
The angel nodded his head slowly, before commenting blandly. “I find it hard to believe that a man such as you, who has faced every danger and obstacle with a spit-in-your-eye attitude, someone so fearless and so daring ... is actually afraid of a building where little old women shop for clothing.”
Dean stared at him, his mouth dropping open. Castiel held that gaze for a long, long moment, before he turned and moved towards the mall's entrance. Dean's shock melted into amusement, and he fought off a grin. The angel made a joke, an actual fucking joke! He smirked, pleased, before he yelled out after Castiel, “Well thank you! And HEY, MAN for the most backhanded compliment ever!”
Castiel didn't turn around, didn't pause, so Dean heaved out a sigh and jogged after him. When he caught up to him, he could see that little grin gracing Castiel's lips, and a soft 'heh' escaped the angel's mouth. Blue eyes glinted at him. “I see the warrior of God's choosing is ready to face his fears?”
Dean's own lips twitched, and he rolled his eyes. “Shut it, Divine One.” Aggravation and amusement led to curiosity. “So why Macy's, again? And if you say it's for the fabulous deals - so help me...”
Castiel paused at the end of the parking lot row, looking out for traffic as solemnly as he did anything else, before crossing. His answer was considered. “My vessel likes to shop here. It reminds him of better times.”
“Yeah, I remember the good old days of Macy's. Santa used to chill here and gave little girls real houses.” Dean snorted softly, as they headed towards the entrance. “He a big fan of Miracle on 34th Street?”
Castiel paused by the sets of double doors, giving Dean a considering look, before he shook his head. “Not exactly. He fell in love, here.”
Dean raised an eyebrow, as he followed the angel inside. “Seriously? He fell in love in a Macy's?” He looked around at the low-set lights, the decorations already set up for Christmas, the endless racks of clothing. His other eyebrow joined the first. “Oh yeaaaaah, I can see it. A regular Paris for the tax accountant crowd.”
Castiel gave him an unreadable look. “Love is not based on location, Dean.” He paused in one fluorescent lit center aisle, and peered around. “Love can creep up on you in a multitude of places.”
Dean gestured down the aisle, his tone caustic, “At the customer service desk? Wooing whilst returning one of his accountant sweaters?”
Castiel's lips puckered into a frown, and he turned around to face Dean head on. “It could have happened there. It could have happened on a street corner, or at a concert. Perhaps it could have happened in one of your grocery stores. Love is everywhere, Dean. Even in a Macy's.” He half turned, paused, and then looked back. “And John wishes me to inform you, rather sharply, that it happened in the sporting goods department.”
Dean felt a little uncomfortable, and he'd admit it, ashamed. He sighed, scrubbing the back of his neck. “All right, okay, I get it. I just didn't figure a big soldier of Heaven like you would fall to ... you know, girly-like soppy, emotional ... things.”
Castiel gave him a piercing once over that made Dean even twitchier, before he responded quietly, blue eyes flashing anger and maybe a touch of disappointment that cut Dean deep, “John has lost much, sacrificed his entire life, to help us win this war, Dean. I know I can't force you to respect me - at least not on the heels of dire threats to your person -- but at least respect his feelings on the matter.”
Dean's tongue got tied, so he answered with a nod. Castiel returned the nod curtly, and started to walk away again, when Dean managed to find his words again. “Hey, Divine One.” Castiel paused, only tilting his head towards Dean in response. Dean shoved his hands into his jacket, looking off at the rows of coats, before he said gruffly. “Don't have to force me. I already do.”
Castiel looked confused, and he did that head tilt that put Dean a little off-kilter himself. “You do?”
Dean shrugged, as he walked over to him. “You hold the line. No matter what happens, no matter what you have to do, you hold the line. Maybe I don't always agree with it, maybe it drives me up the fucking wall, but there's no going around it. You're hardcore because you have to be, not because you are. I mean, Jesus, giving me grief for mocking your vessel? Not exactly something I expect from soldiers of God, either. But I get it - you shoulder shit-jobs but underneath all the terrifying smiting stuff .... you're a good guy.” He paused. “Angel. Whatever.”
Castiel's eyes glimmered, unreadable as always, but his answer was a simple nod, and a gesture for Dean to walk again, by his side.
Dean relaxed, and because he could never resist the last jibe, added, “Besides, you put up with Uriel. Anyone who does that for two thousand years deserves a Sainthood. No to mention all the pie he can eat.” He gave Castiel one of his shit-eating grins. “Bet you've won Employee of the Month since the Garden of Eden, for dealing with that guy, am I right?”
He knew he was forgiven by the way Castiel's lips quirked, ever so slightly. Maybe Macy's wasn't such a bad place to be, after all.
2.I Want To Feel You, I Want To Hear You
Please God Please God just help me make it easier it hurts so much so much without ... I just need a sign. A sign that You're there, that You hear me, that all I've believed is not for nothing. Just show me what I can do. All I want is Your light and Your understanding...
John...
Who ... who said that? Who's there?
John, you have been Chosen.
I have been ...Where are you? Why are you here? Why can't I see you?
I am here, right at your side. You cannot see me, because the very sight of me would burn your eyes from your face, and I would not bring harm to you.
Wh ... why? What do you want?
Do you truly wish to show your love to God? Your devotion?
... Yes. Yes I do! I want that more than anything. Just give me a direction, whoever you are!
I am Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord.
An angel ... Oh, Thank You, Lord. Thank You ... what do you need? What can I do?
I need your form, your body.
My body?
We cannot walk amongst your kind as we are - and I require --
Take it.
What?
Take it. Take my body. If the Lord and his Angels have any use of what's left of me, then I'm glad to give it.
John, you do not know what this entails. You, and your form, will be shown many of life's true horrors. You - We will be fighting the very demons of Hell....
Castiel - Angel ... you've just given me what I waited my whole life to know. There is a God. There is a Heaven. That means ... that means ... it means everything. So, take my body. It's the very least I can do. You're the answer to my prayers.
Very well. Your sacrifice and your devotion will forever be remembered in the annals of Heaven, John. I am ... most, most grateful to you.
...are you grateful enough to answer one question for me? I don't want to presume, and I don't want to pressure. I just - I need to know -
The one you love, John Adams, walks in Heaven and is even now waiting for you.
...Thank you. Thank you so, so much.
John ... John, your eyes are wet.
That's because I'm crying.
Because you are unhappy?
No, because I am happy. It's a ... it's a human thing. I'm not sure if I could explain it in a way for you to understand it right away. It's complicated.
We'll be together for quite some time, John. You shall have plenty of opportunity to.
3. You Are The Light That's Leading Me
Men's shirts were in rows and rows of neatly presented sterility, either hung on hangers or compressed into plastic bags. Dean shook his head, staring at the little cubbyholes filled to the brim white shirts. Or at least, that's what they looked like to him He picked up two shirts, eying them closely. “So, uh. How the hell do you tell the difference between white and eggshell white, anyways?”
“The world is made of shades, Dean.” Castiel murmured, and while Dean watched him, the angel flexed his fingers over the fabrics caressingly. “Humans would be quite dull if they were all one shade.”
Dean turned abruptly away, making himself stare back at the ridiculous cubbyholes of white shirts. He had no idea what the hell was wrong with him. He wasn't gay - at a far stretch he could call himself a highly disinterested bisexual, because let's face it, girls were usually safer to score with. They usually smelled better, too. He liked women - he liked their smiles, their curves, their wicked little smiles and their wicked little ways.
So he was pretty sure he Was. Not. Gay.
He half-twisted towards to the angel, watching him as sneakily as he could. The angel was rubbing a shirt sleeve between two fingers, his eyes skimming down the front of the shirt, as if it held some sort of goddamned mystery of life. God, Castiel drove him up the wall - with his weird mis-understandings of the human world, and then he'd turn around and smack Dean in the face with his uncanny insight of it. His crayola-blue eyes saw too much, said too much, while his mouth didn't that say much at all. He could be fucking frightening - a wrathful creature than reminded Dean that in the Bible, angels took care of all God's dirty work. Dean felt should hate him, or at least fear the angel more, which would probably just be taken as hate anyways because Dean had been fighting his fears head-on since he was four.
And then Castiel would do something, just look at him with awe and confusion, like he was seeing something beautiful in Dean and he just didn't get why Dean didn't see it too. He would open those big, gorgeous blue eyes wide, part his full lips and just look at Dean, like Don't you get it? Don't you understand how wonderful I think you are?
That lead to Dean doing things like frigging clothes shopping. Bonding on benches. Trying to make the angel laugh. Hitting Alastair upside the head with a tire iron. Little insane things that made him think he was acting like he was in the fifth grade again, shuffling his sneakered feet and trying to get Missy Wolinski to let him carry her books for her, so she'd let him kiss her behind the cafeteria.
See the thing ... the thing was, Dean liked that look. He had definitely liked it on Anna, but he liked it more on Castiel. He liked Cas getting hard-ass on him when he was being a bitch, or backing down when the angel knew he was wrong. He liked that the angel was more than just an angel - he was ... he was Dean's angel, for chrissakes. Lifted him up from perdition, yadda yadda. He liked the confused head-tilt, the intensity, that stupid looking trench-coat, that askew tie, and the low, gravely voice that could be angry one second and soft the next.
He liked Castiel's mouth, God did he like that mouth, but he liked Castiel's eyes best. They were the most human and the most angelic part of Castiel. He wouldn't say anything retarded like he got lost in them, but maybe he got a little distracted. Like when you're driving and saw a really pretty girl, or a truly bitching ride. You just wanted to keep looking, even though you knew any minute you could end up hitting a curb, or maybe a tree.
He liked the whole goddamned, holier-than-he, black-fluttery-wing, intense and scary as fuck, divine tax accountant package.
But. He. Was. Not. Gay.
Across the way, Castiel dropped the sleeve he was rubbing between his two fingers and frowned, rubbing his thumb along the lower part of his lip. He dug into his trench-coat pocket, and pulled out a small tube of Chapstick and applied it carefully, and throughly, to his lips. Dean looked quickly away.
...maybe there was such thing as an AngeloftheLordsexual?
4.Into the Place, Where I Find Peace Again
He SHOT us.
Yes.
He SHOT us, repeatedly. In the CHEST.
Yes, John, I know.
And then he STABBED us.
I ... was also present for that, as well.
And ... finally, to top it all off? He doesn't even believe in GOD.
That is not necessarily the truth.
CASTIEL! Are you serious? You reached into Hell to pull this guy out, and he ends up being a trigger happy, psychopathic atheist! He Ventilated An Angel Of The Lord.
John, you must calm yourself. You are making our heart-rate rise unhealthily.
I'm sorry. I'm just. I can't. Really? Why him? Why Dean Winchester?
Because when faced with an unknown and unseen source of power beyond his imagination, when he thought it meant to do harm to him and to those he loved, he fought back. He stood there and held his ground against the glory of Heaven, despite the odds. Despite everything.
...Huh.
Just imagine all that fury and bravery put face to face before the hoards of demon-kind.
That is ... wow. Yeah. Okay.
Have faith, John. The plan is righteous. No matter how ... upsetting it is, to be confronted with his complete lack of faith in God, and that he deserves to be saved, I am sure we will persevere. Dean Winchester is more than worthy.
You like him?
I ...do not understand.
Uhm, do you ... look favorably upon him?
I raised him from Hell, John. God looks favorably on him. That is more than enough for me.
I mean - well - okay. You have faith in his abilities. You have faith in his strength. You have faith in the fact that God thinks him worthy. Do you have faith, in him? In his ability to do the right thing?
I do. I honestly do. That is liking?
It's part of it. There are other things. You know, if you have things in common. If he makes you smile. Of course, that sometimes leads to other things ... but eh. Probably not something you have to worry about. God, I'm tired.
The healing has taken a lot out of you. I will let you sleep.
Thanks ... and Castiel?
Yes, John?
If you really trust this Dean, then that's good enough for me.
He is good, John. I have seen his heart, as closely as I have seen yours. It is... special. He is everything I hoped he would be.
5. You Are The Strength That Keeps Me Walking
“What did you say?” Castiel's question cut into Dean's thoughts, where he suddenly found the angel looking at him, a perplexed look on his face. The Chapstick was mercifully put away.
Dean's mouth opened and then shut. See, this is why he couldn't be trusted alone with the frigging angel. His inside-head voice more than often liked to make itself be known outside. If Sam was here, he would have gotten a good solid slap to the back of the head, and inside-Dean-head voice would have been silenced. He cleared his throat, as he walked towards Castiel, speaking rapidly, “Nothing. You must be hearing ... ah ... spiritual, angel-like voices. Here. Shirts. They're crisp, and kinda-sorta white.”
Castiel's eyes narrowed a fraction. “...You're lying to me.”
He pushed the shirts into Castiel's hands, then all but shoved him towards the changing room, “Ye-ep. Hey, why don't you tell me about John?”
Castiel must have been allowing himself to be hustled along, because Dean seriously didn't think an angel of the Lord would let himself be corralled like a cow. Castiel's voice became a note lower, a touch more doubting. “Now, you are deflecting.”
Dean managed to get him all the way to the door to the changing room, before Castiel simply planted his feet against the ground. Dean huffed, and puffed, and could not make the angel budge another inch. He glared at the back of Castiel's head, and the angel attached to it, who seemed to be standing there, waiting. He let out a short, harsh noise, taking both shirts from Castiel. He tore one open, and pushed it into the angel's hands. His tone was brusque. “Yes. I'm deflecting, avoiding, the whole she-bang. Satisfied?”
Castiel half-turned, sighed, and headed into the changing room, speaking shortly over his shoulder. “No.”
Dean squeezed the remaining shirt in his hands, and echoed Castiel's sigh, as he muttered. “Yeah, me neither.” He raised his voice, “I'm gonna go pay for these.”
There was no response. He knew Castiel didn't sulk - not in the angel's purview. Probably annoyed though. There never seemed to be any middle ground for the both of them to stand on. Either they were on - or they were definitely off.
Christ. He was going to kill Sam.
He paid for the shirts, half-heartedly flirting with the salesgirl so she'd give him a discount. He took the bag, and headed back towards the changing room, fighting with himself. This is stupid. There was no reason for this to be seriously messing him up in the head, because goddamnit, it wasn't like Castiel understood what the hell he was doing. Sure, Uriel said he was Castiel's weakness, that Castiel liked him - but that could be in a friendly, hey-buddy-you're-alright way.
No reason about getting sent back to Hell for messing with angels, especially when angels don't want to be messing with you. So he'd smooth this over, they'd have their talk, and maybe - Just Maybe - he'd get out of today without letting porn overcome reality. Again.
He walked back into the changing rooms, as Castiel wasn't waiting outside. He called out, “Cas?”
“Back here, Dean.” Castiel's voice came from the last room on the right. Dean approached, it, bag in hand, noting that the door was half open, half closed. He pushed it open, finding Castiel buttoning up the new shirt over a pale expansion of a chest that had seen at least a Bowflex machine somewhat regularly.
Aw, Hell.
“Dean.” Yep, that was his name. “Dean?” He blinked, then blinked again as he focused on Castiel's face. The angel was frowning at him. “Are you feeling well?”
“Peachy.” He rubbed his face, before holding out the bag. “Here, you can stick the bloody shirt in there.”
“Thank you.” Castiel nodded his head, as he picked up the tie and faced the mirror, frowned at it for a moment, then made an 'Ah!' face as his fingers seemed to move on their own accord. He glanced over at Dean's reflection in the mirror. “Something is weighing on your thoughts.”
Dean had to snort at that understatement. “A little.” He shrugged. “I didn't mean to snap. Don't worry, I'll figure out myself.”
Castiel tied the tie loosely, in that same askew fashion that makes Dean suddenly smile, but the sad look in those blue eyes was enough to wipe it away. “That Dean, is your other problem.” Blue eyes meet hazel ones in the mirror. “You shoulder all these burdens - and I know - some of these are yours alone to bear. But the smaller things, the things that people can pick up, and carry for you, you refuse to let go.”
Dean huffed softly, feeling disjointed again. “What, going to help me pick up the slack?”
Castiel picked up his coat, sliding one arm and the other through, and the snap of the fabric hit the air singularly. He faced Dean, his voice far from the distant tones of the angry angel, but that place when he came to see them earlier. Tired and at peace, he answered. “If you'll let me.”
Dean was momentarily struck dumb. He searched the angel's face, but there was nothing there but the same impassivity - strike that. There was something, deep in that face. Kinda made him want to go over there and search out the answer.
You know, with his lips.
He breathed out, slowly, and said with as much control as Dean Winchester could ever have, “You want to go and get a pretzel?”
6.You Are The Hope That Keeps Me Trusting
Castiel?
Hm?
Nothing. It's just - your thoughts are all over the place. It woke me up.
I apologize, John. I was, what is the phrase, wool gathering.
Dean again?
He is much on my thoughts, yes.
He did good work, in that town. Saving all those people.
Uriel did not seem to think so.
Uriel is not the end all and be all of what is a success. Dean saved lives. Innocent people survived, all because one man - well, two men - stood up to angels and did what was right.
He and his brother are truly something.
They really are.
Dean, I thought, was most impressive making his point for us not to destroy the town. He will not make unjust orders, when the time comes.
No. God knows how to pick them.
Yes, yes He does.
You're really fond of Dean, aren't you?
I ... like him, as we have said before.
Heh. Yeah, but that was just friendly-like. Now, you have a bit of a crush on him.
I don't understand? I am not putting physical pressure on him.
Oh, it's something we humans say when we're younger. When we like someone, and I mean when we have stronger feelings for them - in a ... passionate way, I guess I should say. It's that place that's more than just friends, and less than love.
I do not think it is that. I do ... feel strongly, for Dean, but I do not think I have a crush, as you say.
Oh yeah? Then tell me, on a normal day, how do you see him?
I see strength. I see pain. I see a soul so beautiful and layered that it brings me to tears to see how much he disregards that beauty within himself. I see devotion to a brother who is equally devoted to him. I see a pig-headed stubborn attitude that I sometimes feel like taking him to task for, and then feel ... shamed for afterwards. I see a love of people. I see why people feel love for him. I see how he struggles, and I wish I could .. I could ...
Comfort him? Maybe do as the humans do, and hold him? Try to make it all better?
I ... yes. Yes, exactly like that. But that is normal, correct?
Ah. Yes. In many ways, that's very normal.
I do not do those things, though. I look into his eyes, and I am ... uncertain of myself. I do not want him to push me away. That would cause me ... pain.
Uh, would anything happen, if you did? I know God is amazingly tolerant of many things, but is He really all right with angels - ah, with angels ... comforting their charges? You wouldn't Fall for, say. Embracing?
No ... to Fall would require me ripping out my Grace - my very divinity - and there is no reason to do that. God wants me to love Dean, to show him that he's worthy of being saved.
Are you telling me that God is sanctioning all that you're feeling towards Dean right now?
I believe so. No angel has ever been reprimanded for simply loving. God gave angels everything that he gave man. We can love - we just cannot put that love before our love of God. Why do you ask?
No reason! Just - noting that for future reference. In fact, things are starting to make a lot more sense. Of course, God would be fine with you loving Dean.
Yes, and so you see, I do not have a crush.
Of course you don't. It's strictly professional. You don't act any differently with Dean than you do with Uriel.
I ...
It's not like you share things with Dean that you don't share with Uriel. It's not like Dean isn't the first being who has ever made you laugh. I know it can't be the way that you keep staring into his big, brown eyes.
Well ... that is not the point, John.
It's not.
No. It is not. And his eyes are green.
Green-green or-?
Sea-green. The ocean after a storm, green... what are you implying, John?
Not a darn thing, Castiel. Listen, since you're being lulled to the thought of sea-green eyes? I'm going back to sleep, and let you wool-gather some more.
Ah. Yes. Of course, John...thank you.
7.You Are The Light To My Soul
He couldn't believe he had let himself get into this fucking situation, but he had to open his mouth, didn't he? Pretzels. For fuck's sake, pretzels. He sighed as he bought three of them, grabbed mustard packets for all three, and headed back where he had left Castiel, looking around carefully as he did so. The mall was fairly empty this time of day, with just a few shoppers getting the jump on their Christmas gifting, wandering from store to store. Which was probably why there was plenty of room at the ornamental fountain in the middle of the mall for him and Castiel to sit in peace and relative private.
The angel looked at the fountain with a frown. It was the typical sort - lots of fancy gilt and water flowing everywhere. Dean sat down next to Castiel, arching an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“I just. I never understood why humans need to have these things inside.” Castiel muttered, turning around to look at Dean. “Is not water flowing everywhere in nature?”
Dean felt a flicker of warmth, deep inside. Angel after his own heart. “Well, yeah. But people are lazy - they don't want to go and find it.”
Castiel shook his head, before turning to look at the pretzel in front of him. He frowned, picking up the packet of mustard. “What is this for?”
Dean snorted softly. “It's mustard. It goes on the pretzel, like this.” He squirted it in a neat line around the edge of one big, soft pretzel. “Makes 'em tastier.”
Castiel followed the movement intently, and with gravity, carefully opened his mustard package and applied it. His concentration was so focused - Dean felt like he was watching a painter instead of an angel mustarding up his pretzel. Kinda hilarious.
One corner of his mouth curved upwards, before he cleared his throat. “...All right. Let's say I buy into this Helpful Angel Shit. Let's say, I am now open to discussion on the topic of you not being a completely heartless son of a bitch. Let's say, I let you help me - us. What's the package deal?”
The angel pursued his lips, as he finished his Mona Lisa of mustard spreading. “That depends entirely on you. What you want. What you need.”
A variety of answers flipped through Dean's head. Half of them were dirty. One or two included the phrase, 'and don't let the door hit you on your fine ass on your way out.' He focused on the reasonable ones. “Well, wouldn't mind some actual back-up from you, on Seal issues. I mean, that is what you're here for, and I know I'm pretty frigging badass...” He smirked for the angel, who nodded his head with the lightest lift of his lips, but then Dean sobered. “But I know we can't take on someone like Alastair, on our own.”
Castiel managed to tear off a section of his pretzel without getting mustard on himself or his new shirt, a miracle within itself, considering how violent the action was. His eyes darkened dangerously. “He could have killed you.” The angel glared at the pretzel, as if it was Alastair's limb, and he wanted to tear it off with his teeth.
Dean chewed a piece of pretzel, surprised. He had seen the angel angry before, no lie. He'd never seen him go protective, though. Food for fucking thought, how pissed the angel seemed. He finally swallowed and responded. “Yeah, well. He could have killed you too.”
The angel shook his head. “I allowed myself to become ... distracted, with events. It will not happen again. However, in answer to your question, yes, my sword is at your disposal.” A pause. “Within reason.”
Sword? Maybe that's what the angels called their hand-fu. “When you say, within reason, you mean when we actually need help. No using the red Angel-phone for a paper-cut or something.” Castiel nodded, and Dean nodded back. “Cool. Okay. Second thing, keep Uriel away from us.”
Castiel arched both eyebrows. “A tall order.”
Dean shrugged. “Listen, you want to take some stress off my shoulders? Keep that guy away from me, and my brother. He's a danger to both of us.”
“He's an angel of the Lord.” Castiel protested, his eyebrows knitting together.
“He's a racist prick.” Dean said grimly, “I wouldn't put it past him to gack me or Sam just because he can't play nice with the 'mud monkeys'. You I trust. Him, not at all.”
“I will do my best, Dean, but understand some situations will require Uriel to be there as well.” Castiel looked at him, having still not bitten down into his pretzel, his expression suddenly intent on Dean. “You trust me?”
“Hell yeah, I do.” Dean said, and the fervent look that suddenly appeared in the angel's eyes totally didn't just make his day. Really. He cleared his throat. “Like I said. You're good people, when you want to be. Eat your pretzel - they're not as good cold.” He waited until Castiel had bitten down, a curious yet pleased look on his face. “Third thing and last...when we talk, and dude I want to have actual conversations like we're having now, I want you to be honest. Save all that cryptic shit for the Bible thumpers.”
Castiel finished chewing, swallowed, one eyebrow lifting . “I have never lied to you, Dean.”
“No, but you've edited yourself down to a mysterious line or two in my dreams. I don't want that. I want you to come, to me, and we talk. Face to face.” Dean gestured to himself, then to the angel.
The angel seemed to contemplate this, before he gave Dean one of his intent looks. “With one caveat. You are as honest with me, as you wish me to be with you.”
Dean scrunched up his face, rubbing one hand through his hair, giving Castiel an aggravated look, which was met with a single eyebrow, and a patient beyond all reason expression. Dean sighed, tore off another hunk of his pretzel, and chewed it fiercely. Yeah, like there was no way this was going to get awkward, oh no. He sighed, swallowed, then nodded. “Okay. Honesty. Only way to go, they say.”
Castiel picked up another piece of pretzel, a flicker of a smile on his face. “Oh yes.”
Dean watched Castiel for a moment, before he asked quietly, “What happened with Anna?”
Blue eyes lifted to meet his, as the angel chewed. Dean, for once, didn't look for an excuse to look away. Just waited, feeling his stomach twist inside. He didn't know what was going to happen, if the answer was something bad ...
Castiel continued to chew, as he lifted on hand, as if he was going to wave to someone behind Dean. Wordlessly, he turned his arm until his forearm was pointing horizontally, and he raised one finger to point to the ceiling. No. Not the ceiling. Beyond the ceiling.
Dean sat back a little, blinking. “Wait. Wait ... she's in Heaven? How the hell did she get into Heaven? I thought she was Fallen - tainted - that kind of thing. Even with her Grace intact ... God let that slide?”
Castiel looked at him, blue eyes focused and intent, as he tore off another pretzel piece, his voice low. “Angels are heartless, unfeeling bastards.” He put the pretzel at eye level, and quite suddenly the little smile surfaced, and grew a few millimeters, “God, ... not so much, Dean.”
There was silence, as Castiel digested his next bite, and Dean sat back and digested that little tidbit of news. Anna, in Heaven. Cold, emotionless statue Anna. Never enjoy chocolate cake or sex again, Anna. Anna in Heaven. He played with his empty mustard package, “Is she ... I don't know. Is she content?”
Castiel finished swallowing, the light in his eyes curious one, before he pushed the pretzel away, putting his hands together. “Dean ... she's happy. Our Lord - He showed himself to us. He opened up the clouds, and sent light down, showing mercy, forgiveness ... love. To go so long, without it. Without knowing if you matter. Then to find out that you do. It's all Anna wanted. It's all any of us want.” He sighed, looking up. “I'm ... not sure if you understand.”
Dean looked at the angel, feeling that creepy sense of deja vu. Except Anna had been hard and bitter, and Castiel was soft, and open. Both of them tugged his heart, in strangely similar ways. He saw his father's ghost, smiling as he melted into a bright light. Up to Heaven, he had hoped. Now he knew. “I do. It's like ...coming home. Chocolate chip cookies, warm from the oven, with milk kind of comfort. Knowing that your father loves you is like that.”
“Yes, exactly.” Castiel said softly, and there was that look again. All gentle wonder, in eyes so blue that made Dean think of the open sky at dusk. Weird, he never thought as twilight as a color before, just a time of day.
He found himself smiling back, a little sadly. “Careful, Divine One. Your Heartless Bastard Halo is slipping. You're looking downright feeling-heavy.”
Castiel looked down at his pretzel, his brows drawing together. “It is not true, you know. Well - not entirely. Angels feel. We could not love our Father, if we didn't. It is just ... our emotions are so large, so encompassing. In our true forms, we can only feel one thing at a time. When in Heaven, mostly that feeling is the love for our Father. ”
Dean's eyebrows quirked, quizzically. “So what - you're giant, Heavenly Tinkerbells? If I clap my hands three times, and say, I believe in angels, will you, I don't know, emote more?”
The angel's lips flickered upwards, and the blue eyes flashed. “Perhaps. But I sincerely doubt you have enough fairy dust available to you, Dean.”
Now it was Dean's turn to chuckle softly. “Fair enough. So you guys are big balls of intense emotion - in Uriel's case, pure distilled asshole. Kind of makes me wonder how John's faring up there in your noggin, sharing his head with a guy with only one thing on his mind.” He paused, his eyes widening. “Not that I'm saying that you've got one thing on your mind. Probably got a lot of things.” He winced. “...that aren't ...other things.” That aren't porn, like yours truly.
The angel had a puzzled expression on his face, before he answered slowly. “No, John is well accustomed to such things. He loved, truly, and was loved truly in return. Such a love is all encompassing, in its own way. When his lover died, he was devastated. That is why he called out to Heaven, for help and guidance, to help him deal with his grief. He never was quite whole again, after his tragedy.”
“Soulmates, huh?” Dean snorted a little, but he found himself feeling a little wistful, too. Bah, too goddamned chick-flick-tacular. “I guess a few people are lucky enough.”
Castiel nodded his head in silent agreement, something odd about the way he tilted his head and looked off. “Yes. John and Bryan were truly blessed.”
“John and ... Bryan? John's gay?” Dean said, startled. “God's down with the man on man love?” He realized how that sounded, and quickly interjected. “Not that I'm not totally down with man-love. Man-love is good. Great, in fact. Guys .. and other guys. Awesome. Dean approves. Two thumbs up.” He paused, and then realized what he said, and felt his ears start to turn bright fucking red. “Uh. I'm not gay.”
“John knows what you mean, Dean, and yes, God is ... down. God has always been down.” Castiel opened his hands wide, “That is one of the pecularities of some of your faiths. God is about Love. Between a man and a woman, or a woman and a woman, or a man and a man. God urges us all to do nothing but feel love for one another - angel, human, and beast. What care He if they are male or female? Dean, those are human distinctions. Not the ones of Our Lord.”
Dean licked his bottom lip, fiddling with his pretzel. “So ... John can love Bryan, and Mary can love Sue, and I could ... I could fall in love with whoever I wanted, and God ... God wouldn't get mad and go smiting?” He clenched his hands into fists. “No one would have be - you know - kicked downstairs?”
Castiel's hands closed, and his gaze suddenly focused on Dean, half confusion, half something else. Dean couldn't read it - horror, anger, ... hope? “No, Dean. No one would go to Hell.”
Dean scanned Castiel's face, clenching his fingers and then loosening them again. “I can love anyone? Anyone at all?”
Castiel nodded his head slowly, his eyes never leaving Dean's own. “Anyone ... you want.”
Dean could feel his heart rabbiting against his chest - so fast and so painful that he was afraid it was going to pop out of his chest, like in some twisted John Hurt moment. He could - he could - it was like his birthday all over again. Can I keep you? Can I keep you, can I can I? He wasn't sure what he should do - he couldn't think but he wanted - and maybe if he just, if he pulled Castiel over here and answered that question in those eyes that are almost night, almost day- and showed him how he wanted...
Who he wanted.
That crazy, insane, flying off the seat of his pants feeling was shaken off abruptly when Castiel suddenly jerked upright. The angel half-turned, and frowned, before he looked towards Dean. Something like regret colored his words. “I have to go. My brothers have need of me.”
Dean tasted regret and bitterness, he was sure, wasn't far behind. He sat back, waving his hand, and tried to play it off. “Yeah, yeah. The Angel signal has arisen. Get out of here, defend humanity already. I'll finish off your pretzel.” He took an almost vicious bite out of the pretzel and chewed throughly.
Castiel rose to his feet, looking skyward for a moment, before he looked back at Dean. There was a sense of frustration, and other things unsaid, as the angel spoke firmly, “I'll be back as soon as I can. Until then, if we could table this discussion?”
Dean reached for Castiel's pretzel, lifting one shoulder up as he tried not to think girly-sad-thoughts. He was not getting rejected. Cas had to work. Other understandable male shit. Oh no, he didn't have abandonment issues, why do you ask? “Yeah, sure. If you want.”
A hand slid underneath his chin; a masculine hand, with slightly calloused fingertips. Dean found himself staring at the mouth, still looking a little dry but full, and the intense, complete attention of one rather pointed angelic-stare. Castiel breathed out, as soft as a feather and as firm as stone. “I shall return. We will discuss this.” His thumb traced along Dean's bottom lip.
Dean stared, because something those eyes made everything crystal clear how Castiel might feel in this situation. It wasn't exactly negative. His voice came out low and a little rough. “Taking time from the front lines to wipe mustard off my cheek, Cas?'
Castiel's lips quirked up again, as the angel straightened. He pressed the thumb that had so shortly been touching Dean's mouth against his own, taking it away long enough to say. “There is no mustard, Dean.”
Dean blinked once, and the angel was gone. Leaving Dean with a ton of jumbled feelings and lusts, two half-eaten pretzels, and a bag from Macy's. Figured. Just when things were getting interesting. He glared at the ceiling, and said aloud, “And we're not having any more of this disappearing crap, either, David Copperfield! I forgot to add it to the list but it's THERE NOW!”
People around him turned to stare, and he decided to beat feet, before mall security decided to start breathing down his neck for yelling at the ceiling tiles. The last thing he needed today was for Sam to bail him out of Mall Security prison. He picked up his bag, and after a moment, the pretzel that Cas had been eating. He took a bite of it, right where Castiel's mouth had been.
It was probably just his imagination, but the pretzel? Kinda tasted heavenly.
Epilogue - You're My Purpose, You're Everything
Sam looked up from his laptop when Dean walked into the motel room, nodding with an expectant smile. “Hey - where's Cas?”
“He, ah, had to go.” Dean cleared his throat and tried not to lick his bottom lip again. He could swear he could still feel the imprint of Castiel's thumb on his mouth, burning like the mark on his shoulder. He dug into the Macy's bag, still in his hand, drawing out the packaged shirt and tossed the other, with the bag still wrapped around it, into the garbage can. “Saving the world stuff. That or his brothers are having problems working a blender. I didn't really ask.”
“Ah-hah... well, it looks like we've got work of our own to do.” Although his brother looked curious, Sam nodded towards his laptop, right back on the job. Dean felt a surge of pride. “Some teenagers have been disappearing near this small town in South Dakota.”
Dean rolled his eyes, even as he went to grab his duffel bag. “I think you just answered the problem right there. Small town, South Dakota. I'm not even there yet and I wanna to run away.”
“Well, here's the interesting part.” Sam said, rising to his feet, wiggling his fingers for Dean to toss him his own bag, which Dean did. “The victims are all virgins.”
Dean had finished shoving all his clothes into his duffel, and was looking around to make sure he had packed everything else. But at Sam's comment, he turned, blinking. “Virgins. Seriously? Huh!” He frowned. “That could be anything. Demonic ritual, vampire with a particular feeding habit, some sort of witch-sex-orgy thing...which would be so fucking cool...”
“Dragon. A dragon seems more likely.” Sam added tartly, before a curious tone entered his voice. “Dean - what the hell is that in your hand?”
Dean looked down, where the second packaged shirt he had bought for Castiel was currently still being gripped. “Ah. Yeah. I bought an extra shirt, for Cas. Figured I might as well carry it with me, just in case. You know, he could accidentally get himself stabbed again. So poof, extra shirt.”
“Which means ... he's going to come to us, when he gets his clothes dirty and needs a wardrobe change?” Sam said slowly.
“Well, no. We'd have to buy him more clothes for that to make sense, Sam.” Dean scoffed, as he put the shirt on top of the duffel, as he went into the bathroom and grabbed their toothbrushes and toothpaste. “Like, I don't know. More shirts. Pants.” He swallowed, looking at himself in the mirror as he said quietly, “Boxers.” He cleared his throat, stepping out, tossing Sam his own stuff. “Maybe some jeans - and some winter-gear, because seriously that trench-coat is not gonna cut it in -”
He stopped when he finally looked up at Sam, who was standing there, staring at him with a fond, amused look. He abruptly pushed the last of his things inside his bag, being a little more careful with the still plastic wrapped shirt, speaking shortly, “What?”
“Nothing, Dean. Just ... nothing.” Sam grinned, tucking his clothes away. “It's a good point. Cas probably doesn't have anyone to consider these small matters of clothing for him, like say, his vessel?”
“Hey, John's got a lot going on. He's riding shot-gun to the Apocalypse. He's sacrificed enough for Castiel that I think the least we can do, Samuel, is make sure Castiel is well taken care of, ergo, so John is.” Dean said, wondering if his brother was going to buy all this bullshit.
Sam arched an eyebrow at him and snorted, so clearly not. After a moment though, he sighed. “So I'm guessing right now we're going to be avoiding the awkward questions of 'so how did your talk go', 'how did you and Cas get along', 'how did you find out Castiel's vessel's name?', and replace it with, 'would you like me to find some clothing outlet places near this town, so when we leave we can make sure that Castiel's vessel is well-clothed for the winter?'”
“Yes Sam, that'd be great. I'm gonna load up the car while you do that.” Dean smirked, as he picked up his duffel, and moved around his bed to pick up Sam's bag. “Two more trips, and we should be outta here.”
“Awesome.” Sam said, as he started typing back into his laptop. “We can grab some lunch on the road. Should be a nice, long drive.” Dean paused by the door, hearing the smirk in Sam's voice. “Plenty of time to ask how your day went.”
Dean winced, ever so slightly, and hurriedly went to the back of the Impala to shove their stuff inside the trunk. He knew damned well that Sam was probably still smirking at his back. Christ-on-fucking-pogstick. This day had started off so frigging well, too.
Dreams of Hell, followed by stabbing the angel that he may or may not have to redefine human sexuality for.
Middle of the day featuring malls, realizing that angels had feelings too, and getting interrupted in the middle of almost-not-quite-a-fucking-hot-moment by a holy bunch of angel cock-blockers.
Finished off with still trying to figure out where angels fell on the 'Not Being Gay' o'meter, and a long, long drive to South Dakota with his little brother who was going to drag everything out of him, including the fact that the angel made him go to Macy's, and like it.
Yeah, somewhere between Ohio and South fucking Dakota? There was going to be some frigging pie. Delicious pie, with ice cream. Hopefully blueberry. Seeing all he had on his mind these days was blue.
Still didn't make him gay, though.