Have some sucky Dean/Cas fic
His mother told him he'd have an angel watching over him. That meant he'd never be alone. That meant that someone could watch out for him, leaving him free to look out for Sammy. When he was ten years old, Dean Winchester met his guardian angel.
Castiel had been alive for a long, long time before he met Dean Winchester. He had been created, sung into being by divine song, in the early days of everything. As angels go - because he was
an angel - he was young, but compared to the earthlings with life-spans little more than blips in the world's history he was ancient. Millenia had passed him by.
Castiel had always been fascinated by humans. They were his Father's prized creation; these squirming, angry, bestial, beautiful things. He did not understand them. But he did admire them - in a clinical, scientific way. He was a soldier. He was a trained tactician, a warrior of Heaven, and so while humanity might have fascinated him he never had cause to deal with any humans directly. Until one day in the late 20th century when he was called in to talk and Anna told him that he was going to be a guardian for a little boy named Dean.
It was never a punishment. This is what Anna told him and Anna would not lie. She was honest and kind and though Castiel felt like he was being punished he was not one to shirk his duty, or question his orders.
They gave him a body. To walk the earth, they said, because angels did not exist on the same plane, in the same way, that humans did. So he needed a body his charge would be able to see.
"You'll look just like a human," the brother who issued his vessel said to him. "Might feel a little tight, a little... contained, but." Cas' wings ruffled nervously and the angel smiled. "You get used to it."
"What about my wings?" Castiel asked. "My wings. Humans don't have those. The body won't have those. How can - "
"Don't worry. You'll have your wings if you need them. You can materialize them if you have to, and hey - even if you can't see them they'll still be there."
This gave Castiel no reassurance but he tried to appear grateful in spite of that. The vessel they gave him was male, aged a nudge past thirty, with dark hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. It was a good, serviceable vessel and it had been made specifically for Castiel, to fit him precisely and perfectly - a physical, earthly manifestation to travel in. So Dean could see him. But no matter how well it was supposed to fit, it never quite felt natural. It felt, Castiel discovered after a time spent earth, itchy.
And it didn't have a real place for his wings.
The wings were always one of the things Castiel worried about.
Dean had always been skeptical of angels. It was the wings that convinced him.
Dean appreciates Castiel's wings.
Sam Winchester was Dean's younger brother and the unequivocal focal point of Dean's life. If he knew nothing else he knew protect Sammy.
Sam Winchester was an intelligent, earnest boy - kind and a little sensitive. Dean did not understand why everyone couldn't love Sam as much as he did. He could not understand why the boys in the park picked on Sam, when he only wanted to join their game.
"It isn't fair," Dean said. There was a man standing beside him, dressed in a long, tan trench coat. Dean did not seem bothered by his presence, though his father taught him not to talk to strangers and had distilled distrust in him like it was one of the cardinal virtues. Dean pulled his legs up to his chest and put his chin on his knees. "Sammy's a good kid; he only wanted to play with them."
The wind picked up a little. Dean felt a little bit of the restless anger in him start to deflate. He sighed, pulling the head of a dandelion off its stem. "I am sorry," the man said. "They were cruel to your brother. And to you."
"Yeah well." Dean looked at the ground. His left sneaker was untied and the laces were brown from the dust on the playground. "I couldn't just let 'em keep teasing Sammy." He turned to look at his companion. "How come you couldn't have helped, huh? If they'd seen you, they would 'a' run away in a second."
"No one can see me but you," he said. "And if they had tried to hurt you I would have intervened."
Dean sighed again. When he turned again the man was gone.
"You're not real," Dean said, tapping the side of his cigarette with a finger tip. He was fifteen and angry, on a hill not far from his house. Castiel watched ash fall to the ground. Dean took another drag. "You're not real."
"You can believe that if you need to," Castiel said.
Dean laughed bitterly. "No," he said, laughter strung along his voice. He turned to Cas with a tight smile. "No, it has nothing to do with what I need to believe. It's what's true. You're not real."
"I am," Castiel said. "I'm real."
"No! No you're not," Dean said. "You're just come creepy fucking pervert or something. Not a..." He looked at Castiel again. "What was it you said again? An angel?"
"Yes," he said. "Your guardian angel."
"Bull shit," Dean said. "Angels aren't real."
"They are. I am real," Castiel said again. "I am Castiel, angel of the Lord." He stared at Dean and it made Dean fidget, shifting his weight from foot to foot, shoving a hand in his pocket.
"Oh yeah?" Dean said. He dropped the cigarette he'd been smoking - and he'd probably stop soon, it hadn't pissed his dad off as much as he'd hoped - and crossed his arms. His body was wild, young: resting in an eased disbelief, bold and confident. The physicality of him always surprised Castiel, though he'd encountered it time and time again every time he'd visited Dean. "Then prove it."
"Prove it?" Castiel repeated.
"Yeah," Dean said, smiling. He was smug, Castiel could tell. "If you expect me to believe you I'm going to need some sort of proof." Something changed subtly on Dean's face. "Let me see your wings."
Castiel twitched. "They are not... That is not as simple as you might think," he said.
"Oh I think it is Castiel." Dean moved a little closer to him, growing more confident and pushing further. "You're a figment of my imagination. A hallucination. A dream. And on the off chance that you are real." He shrugged. "You sure as hell aren't an angel."
Castiel stared at Dean. It was an annoying habit. The few times Dean could remember seeing him (those few times he convinced himself had all been in his imagination) he'd always stared - hard and intense like no one had ever told him before that it was rude. With precision and a deliberate sort of calmness Castiel removed his trench coat. He fumbled with the knot of his tie until it came apart and he slid it off his collar.
Dean coughed. "Need me to hold any of that?"
"Thank you," Castiel said, never doubting Dean's sincerity. He tossed the coat and then the tie over to Dean; he caught them and bundled them into his arms, wrapping the tie around his wrist to keep it from falling. A moment later, after the buttons of his shirt were undone, he threw the suit coat and the white dress shirt over as well.
Dean stared, a little uncomfortable. He was willing to let the crazy go only so far, because it was fucking hilarious that someone could actually believe he was an angel. But getting caught, after dark, on a hilltop with a half-naked man wasn't exactly going to end well for him, especially if he tried to say it was because he wanted to see the guy try to prove he was an angel. That would probably only piss his father off more.
So he stared, and Cas stared. And that was all that happened for a string of long seconds. But then Castiel's body hitched up and his shoulders tensed. The muscles bunched up by his neck. They were thick, bigger than they had been before, and Cas' arms extended, his hands clenched into hard fists. His neck shifted, one side then the other, and his shoulders rolled backwards.
"What the hell are you doing?" Dean asked. He took a step back, rolling the clothes in his arms into a tighter ball. "What are you - "
"Look," Castiel said. He threw his head back and Dean could see the 'v' of muscle in his neck hard, stuck out against the skin. The air shimmered around him like the wavy lines of heat and Dean stared as Castiel's back began to grow, the skin bubbling up around his shoulders in hard, bumpy nodes. He screamed, so loud Dean's ears throbbed, and his skin split open. Wings - huge, feathery, full wings burst from his back, dripping with blood and dark, viscous strands of a syrupy fluid. Cas' jaw was clinched tight, his nose bent down to his clavicle. His whole body was a tight line, strained and tense like a coiled spring. The wings flapped, slowly, feathers twitching with latent power. His chest rose and the wings snapped out full span.
Dean took a step back. Panic bubbled in his throat and he tamped down the build of fear and awe clawing at him. "What the fuck," he whispered. "What the fuck. I'm imagining this. This isn't real."
"This is real," Castiel said, his voice wrecked. "These... are very real." The wings flapped once, hard, and Dean felt a gust of air rush past him. He shivered.
"Castiel," he said. "You're... You're really an angel. An angel?"
"Yes."
"And you're here for me. You're my..." He hesitated, blinking, trying to wrap his mind around the creature in front of him. "My guardian angel."
"Yes," Castiel said again. He was exhausted from materializing the wings. And they weren't just shadows - they were real, physical things. If Dean wanted to, he could walk up and touch them. His back ached from the weight of them.
"So what does that mean exactly. You protect me? You can do shit for me?"
"No," Castiel said. He was not pleased that a Dean who believed him seemed to be just as bad as a Dean who did not. "I am not here to serve you, Dean Winchester. I am here to guard you."
"Right." Dean nodded. "So. Protect me. Like I said."
Castiel sighed. "Yes."
Dean had never seen anything as beautiful as those wings in his life.
Even though they were bloody, feathers matted and red, with bits of what he assumed was Cas' skin hanging off in disgusting strings, those wings were fucking magnificent.
He went to bed every night for a solid month afterwards dreaming about them. And even when he was awake his mind would drift to them sometimes. He had never seen wings like that. He had never seen anything like that.
And they were on an angel - his angel. He couldn't really describe them well, even though he tried. Beautiful. Big. He imagined they were soft. And strong. Powerful. Gorgeous. Functional. Weird.
"Awesome," he said to himself, and he doodled wings on the margin of his page as he sat beside Sam while they worked on their schoolwork.
Dean broke his arm when he was sixteen. The doctor said it was a miracle that he hadn't gotten hurt any worse than that.
At nineteen Dean went on a date with a woman he'd met at a bar. He'd gotten food poisoning and left early. He'd been upset because she had been beautiful, but two months later she'd been arrested for murdering the man she'd been seen with the night before. Dean hadn't really complained much after that.
At twenty-five, Dean could hardly remember the last time he'd seen Castiel.
At twenty-seven he stopped believing in Cas at all, except for every once in a while when he'd see something out of the corner of his eye, or hear something he thought were wings. He never forgot those wings.
~~~
I have over 2000 words and pretty much... nothing. I'm not even sure where this is going. Finals week is soon. LET ME DIE. ;_;
I have a 15 page research paper due Monday. GUESS WHAT I WILL SPEND ALL DAY TOMORROW FINISHING? Then a paper due Tuesday (only five pages). Then another ten pages due Thursday.
WHAT IS MY LIFE.
Castiel had been alive for a long, long time before he met Dean Winchester. He had been created, sung into being by divine song, in the early days of everything. As angels go - because he was
an angel - he was young, but compared to the earthlings with life-spans little more than blips in the world's history he was ancient. Millenia had passed him by.
Castiel had always been fascinated by humans. They were his Father's prized creation; these squirming, angry, bestial, beautiful things. He did not understand them. But he did admire them - in a clinical, scientific way. He was a soldier. He was a trained tactician, a warrior of Heaven, and so while humanity might have fascinated him he never had cause to deal with any humans directly. Until one day in the late 20th century when he was called in to talk and Anna told him that he was going to be a guardian for a little boy named Dean.
It was never a punishment. This is what Anna told him and Anna would not lie. She was honest and kind and though Castiel felt like he was being punished he was not one to shirk his duty, or question his orders.
They gave him a body. To walk the earth, they said, because angels did not exist on the same plane, in the same way, that humans did. So he needed a body his charge would be able to see.
"You'll look just like a human," the brother who issued his vessel said to him. "Might feel a little tight, a little... contained, but." Cas' wings ruffled nervously and the angel smiled. "You get used to it."
"What about my wings?" Castiel asked. "My wings. Humans don't have those. The body won't have those. How can - "
"Don't worry. You'll have your wings if you need them. You can materialize them if you have to, and hey - even if you can't see them they'll still be there."
This gave Castiel no reassurance but he tried to appear grateful in spite of that. The vessel they gave him was male, aged a nudge past thirty, with dark hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. It was a good, serviceable vessel and it had been made specifically for Castiel, to fit him precisely and perfectly - a physical, earthly manifestation to travel in. So Dean could see him. But no matter how well it was supposed to fit, it never quite felt natural. It felt, Castiel discovered after a time spent earth, itchy.
And it didn't have a real place for his wings.
The wings were always one of the things Castiel worried about.
Dean had always been skeptical of angels. It was the wings that convinced him.
Dean appreciates Castiel's wings.
Sam Winchester was Dean's younger brother and the unequivocal focal point of Dean's life. If he knew nothing else he knew protect Sammy.
Sam Winchester was an intelligent, earnest boy - kind and a little sensitive. Dean did not understand why everyone couldn't love Sam as much as he did. He could not understand why the boys in the park picked on Sam, when he only wanted to join their game.
"It isn't fair," Dean said. There was a man standing beside him, dressed in a long, tan trench coat. Dean did not seem bothered by his presence, though his father taught him not to talk to strangers and had distilled distrust in him like it was one of the cardinal virtues. Dean pulled his legs up to his chest and put his chin on his knees. "Sammy's a good kid; he only wanted to play with them."
The wind picked up a little. Dean felt a little bit of the restless anger in him start to deflate. He sighed, pulling the head of a dandelion off its stem. "I am sorry," the man said. "They were cruel to your brother. And to you."
"Yeah well." Dean looked at the ground. His left sneaker was untied and the laces were brown from the dust on the playground. "I couldn't just let 'em keep teasing Sammy." He turned to look at his companion. "How come you couldn't have helped, huh? If they'd seen you, they would 'a' run away in a second."
"No one can see me but you," he said. "And if they had tried to hurt you I would have intervened."
Dean sighed again. When he turned again the man was gone.
"You're not real," Dean said, tapping the side of his cigarette with a finger tip. He was fifteen and angry, on a hill not far from his house. Castiel watched ash fall to the ground. Dean took another drag. "You're not real."
"You can believe that if you need to," Castiel said.
Dean laughed bitterly. "No," he said, laughter strung along his voice. He turned to Cas with a tight smile. "No, it has nothing to do with what I need to believe. It's what's true. You're not real."
"I am," Castiel said. "I'm real."
"No! No you're not," Dean said. "You're just come creepy fucking pervert or something. Not a..." He looked at Castiel again. "What was it you said again? An angel?"
"Yes," he said. "Your guardian angel."
"Bull shit," Dean said. "Angels aren't real."
"They are. I am real," Castiel said again. "I am Castiel, angel of the Lord." He stared at Dean and it made Dean fidget, shifting his weight from foot to foot, shoving a hand in his pocket.
"Oh yeah?" Dean said. He dropped the cigarette he'd been smoking - and he'd probably stop soon, it hadn't pissed his dad off as much as he'd hoped - and crossed his arms. His body was wild, young: resting in an eased disbelief, bold and confident. The physicality of him always surprised Castiel, though he'd encountered it time and time again every time he'd visited Dean. "Then prove it."
"Prove it?" Castiel repeated.
"Yeah," Dean said, smiling. He was smug, Castiel could tell. "If you expect me to believe you I'm going to need some sort of proof." Something changed subtly on Dean's face. "Let me see your wings."
Castiel twitched. "They are not... That is not as simple as you might think," he said.
"Oh I think it is Castiel." Dean moved a little closer to him, growing more confident and pushing further. "You're a figment of my imagination. A hallucination. A dream. And on the off chance that you are real." He shrugged. "You sure as hell aren't an angel."
Castiel stared at Dean. It was an annoying habit. The few times Dean could remember seeing him (those few times he convinced himself had all been in his imagination) he'd always stared - hard and intense like no one had ever told him before that it was rude. With precision and a deliberate sort of calmness Castiel removed his trench coat. He fumbled with the knot of his tie until it came apart and he slid it off his collar.
Dean coughed. "Need me to hold any of that?"
"Thank you," Castiel said, never doubting Dean's sincerity. He tossed the coat and then the tie over to Dean; he caught them and bundled them into his arms, wrapping the tie around his wrist to keep it from falling. A moment later, after the buttons of his shirt were undone, he threw the suit coat and the white dress shirt over as well.
Dean stared, a little uncomfortable. He was willing to let the crazy go only so far, because it was fucking hilarious that someone could actually believe he was an angel. But getting caught, after dark, on a hilltop with a half-naked man wasn't exactly going to end well for him, especially if he tried to say it was because he wanted to see the guy try to prove he was an angel. That would probably only piss his father off more.
So he stared, and Cas stared. And that was all that happened for a string of long seconds. But then Castiel's body hitched up and his shoulders tensed. The muscles bunched up by his neck. They were thick, bigger than they had been before, and Cas' arms extended, his hands clenched into hard fists. His neck shifted, one side then the other, and his shoulders rolled backwards.
"What the hell are you doing?" Dean asked. He took a step back, rolling the clothes in his arms into a tighter ball. "What are you - "
"Look," Castiel said. He threw his head back and Dean could see the 'v' of muscle in his neck hard, stuck out against the skin. The air shimmered around him like the wavy lines of heat and Dean stared as Castiel's back began to grow, the skin bubbling up around his shoulders in hard, bumpy nodes. He screamed, so loud Dean's ears throbbed, and his skin split open. Wings - huge, feathery, full wings burst from his back, dripping with blood and dark, viscous strands of a syrupy fluid. Cas' jaw was clinched tight, his nose bent down to his clavicle. His whole body was a tight line, strained and tense like a coiled spring. The wings flapped, slowly, feathers twitching with latent power. His chest rose and the wings snapped out full span.
Dean took a step back. Panic bubbled in his throat and he tamped down the build of fear and awe clawing at him. "What the fuck," he whispered. "What the fuck. I'm imagining this. This isn't real."
"This is real," Castiel said, his voice wrecked. "These... are very real." The wings flapped once, hard, and Dean felt a gust of air rush past him. He shivered.
"Castiel," he said. "You're... You're really an angel. An angel?"
"Yes."
"And you're here for me. You're my..." He hesitated, blinking, trying to wrap his mind around the creature in front of him. "My guardian angel."
"Yes," Castiel said again. He was exhausted from materializing the wings. And they weren't just shadows - they were real, physical things. If Dean wanted to, he could walk up and touch them. His back ached from the weight of them.
"So what does that mean exactly. You protect me? You can do shit for me?"
"No," Castiel said. He was not pleased that a Dean who believed him seemed to be just as bad as a Dean who did not. "I am not here to serve you, Dean Winchester. I am here to guard you."
"Right." Dean nodded. "So. Protect me. Like I said."
Castiel sighed. "Yes."
Dean had never seen anything as beautiful as those wings in his life.
Even though they were bloody, feathers matted and red, with bits of what he assumed was Cas' skin hanging off in disgusting strings, those wings were fucking magnificent.
He went to bed every night for a solid month afterwards dreaming about them. And even when he was awake his mind would drift to them sometimes. He had never seen wings like that. He had never seen anything like that.
And they were on an angel - his angel. He couldn't really describe them well, even though he tried. Beautiful. Big. He imagined they were soft. And strong. Powerful. Gorgeous. Functional. Weird.
"Awesome," he said to himself, and he doodled wings on the margin of his page as he sat beside Sam while they worked on their schoolwork.
Dean broke his arm when he was sixteen. The doctor said it was a miracle that he hadn't gotten hurt any worse than that.
At nineteen Dean went on a date with a woman he'd met at a bar. He'd gotten food poisoning and left early. He'd been upset because she had been beautiful, but two months later she'd been arrested for murdering the man she'd been seen with the night before. Dean hadn't really complained much after that.
At twenty-five, Dean could hardly remember the last time he'd seen Castiel.
At twenty-seven he stopped believing in Cas at all, except for every once in a while when he'd see something out of the corner of his eye, or hear something he thought were wings. He never forgot those wings.
~~~
I have over 2000 words and pretty much... nothing. I'm not even sure where this is going. Finals week is soon. LET ME DIE. ;_;
I have a 15 page research paper due Monday. GUESS WHAT I WILL SPEND ALL DAY TOMORROW FINISHING? Then a paper due Tuesday (only five pages). Then another ten pages due Thursday.
WHAT IS MY LIFE.