For theangel_cas
Dean didn't sleep through the night, not even at Bobby's. It was somewhere in the predawn hours, and Dean was out of bed, pulling on his jeans and a tee-shirt to wander into the kitchen. He was planning on grabbing a glass and some whiskey and then looking into this mess that was the seals breaking. However, he didn't even quite make it to the
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Castiel studied the man before him. He would be the first to admit that Dean was not the most worthy of being saved out of all the souls in creation, but certainly he was worthy. He devoted his life to protecting other humans and went to Hell to save his brother. It was quite noble, even if he had accidentally shed blood in Hell and broken the first seal. He was a fascinating man. Castiel did not find many men interesting. Jimmy certainly wasn't very interesting to him. Dean was a strange man, though. He was complex in ways that Castiel did not understand.
He nearly forgot that he had come for a reason.
"Tomorrow, you should head to Indiana. There is a seal there that the demons intend to break."
Castiel would tell him to leave now, but he was clearly about to drink and pass out and those did not lend themselves well to safe driving. If Dean got himself killed, Castiel would have to rebuild his body again. It would be... inconvenient.
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He rolled his eyes, his words coming out even more spiteful than usual. It had been a particularly bad dream. Cutting up souls and enjoying it, the blood, the pain, the crunch of bones and the sharp snap of tendons beneath his gleeful instruments. Alastair behind him; not in the guise of the Dentist he'd been wearing, but with his true face, what he looked like in the Pit. Pressed close, with fingers on Dean's bare hip that were slick with someone's innards...
He didn't deserve to be here, and at the moment taking it out on the creature that couldn't be an angel seemed to be the best course of action. He remembered light and warmth and-- he refused to think about that. Tried not to think about the distant screams of demons, of light reaching out to grab him as he fought and struggled until he couldn't, of touch that burned through him to his core ( ... )
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Dean needed to learn to listen. He was terrible at taking orders, questioning every small thing, even the ones that were not difficult or inconvenient. He wondered if he told Dean to do something he was already planning to do if Dean wouldn't question it and do the opposite just to be spiteful.
Dean had no faith in anyone, not even himself. Castiel didn't understand how a creature could have such little faith. He didn't even know what could prove what he was to Dean, since showing his wings hadn't done it, nor had the fact that he'd raised Dean's soul from the pit. Though he didn't know what the thoughts were, that Dean's were troubled was almost palpable in the air and he wasn't even sure if that was from his time in the pit or if Dean had just always been like this. His brother didn't act as if Dean was behaving strangely.
"It's not a request, Dean. It's an order."
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"I'm not your little soldier toy, Cas," he scowled, his brow furrowing deeply as he held the bottle of whiskey he'd been hitting at his side. There was a tension on the air, almost singing between them, and Dean chose to believe that it was only conflict, only a result of standing too close and kind of wanting to hit him. "I don't take orders from you." The words were breathed low, tossed sharp with venom as Dean seemed to forget just what sort of creature he was arguing with, here ( ... )
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