Casfest assignment
Title: Not Human
Author/Artist: grimmalie
Recipient: vivhasarifle
Characters/Pairings: Unrequited Cas/Dean
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 2066
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers up to episode 18
Notes/Prompt: Written in a very roundabout way, it sort of created itself. Apologies to all those missing the adorable hookup such stories often have. This one's a tragedy,
Summary: Castiel feels human, feels so many things a human feels, but he's not human. And despite the warnings, he can't stop feeling this way.
o-o-o
Castiel was not a human. Of this much he had always been aware, from the moment he first took Jimmy Novak's body. Sometimes he could forget, of course. With his burning essence trapped in a prison of flesh, with that flesh and the desires and feelings that came with it, he could almost imagine what it must be like to truly be human. Sensations he had never known, never cared to feel, suddenly appealed to him. The taste of cow's flesh, the grease smearing his lips and the soft crunch of fresh lettuce and lightly toasted buns excited him in ways he had not suspected. Surely food was a burden, and yet humans had managed to make it so magnificent. Then there was alchohol, burning and unpleasant, and yet simultaneously exhilarating and releasing, or the softness of a freshly made bed to ease the pains of the body, or the strange oblivion of sleep.
But when he closed his eyes, he could feel the more important tug of what he was. There was a homesickness the human heart could not know, for no human could possibly comprehend the intimacy of angels, nor the ache of being, for all intents and purposes, eternally separated from them. It tore at him, burned and froze him and all he wanted to do was scream.
And so he pretended to be human. He opened himself to hunger and want, weariness and pride and, most frightening of all... desire. He should have seen it coming. The beauty of that soul which he saved, even soaked in the blood of sin, remained in his mind even after he returned it to its newly mended flesh. Dean Winchester made him doubt everything he assumed to be true, guided him down a path he knew to be righteous and taught him what it meant to fear, and how to use it to his advantage. More than anything else, he gave Castiel a home of sorts when his true home was closed to him. He could see it in Dean's eyes, too. The human treasured their time together, enjoying the company of a true friend for the first time in his life.
It was on a Friday that a name was put to his feelings.
Dean and Sam, back together at last (as they should be. He knew all to well that siblings were made to remain together.) had decided upon a 'night off'. As the plan went, they were to spend the weekend locked in their motel room, watching terrible monster films, eating pizza and popcorn, drinking beer and pretending that the world was not falling apart around them. They had invited him along, suggesting that so long as he was trapped on earth, he might as well enjoy it. Despite himself, he obliged.
When he arrived, there was some discomfort concerning where he ought to sit. There were no chairs in the room, and each of the beds were taken. With a grunt, however, Dean scooted over and motioned for Castiel to join him.
He had never been so close to the human before, for so very long. Dean's heat radiated off his skin, his every motion tearing Castiel's attention away from the movie. He was filled with the strange desire to touch him, for no reason whatsoever other than to touch him; to feel his calloused fingers, the unsmooth patches of fresh scars, to lay his hand on the raised handprint on Dean's arm for the first time since he had taken this human form.
Two movies later, Dean departed to fetch the pizza ("Extra cheese and pepperoni, Cas."), and he felt strangely forlorn at the loss of that closeness. Sam looked over at him, his brows furrowing in confusion. The expression was not unlike one Sam would wear when analyzing an unusual bit of research.
"Cas... what's up with you?" he asked, and Castiel really couldn't comprehend the slang language in which the brothers chose to speak.
"I don't think I understand," he replied uncertainly.
Sam sat up, his expression never changing.
"You... do you, I mean..." The younger Winchester paused and shook his head. "Do you realize you were getting closer to him?"
He had not. Nor had he realized that Dean had either not noticed or not minded it. It could very well have been the latter. He hoped it had been the latter. But Sam had noticed, and maybe he even minded.
"Cas, do you have feelings for my brother?"
"I'm not sure how to answer you," Castiel replied softly. "I do not understand my own feelings for anyone. Until now, they were not necessary."
"You should really figure that out, Cas," Sam urged. "And for your sake I hope you don't love him."
Love? Could Sam truly interpret love from so small an exchange?
At that point Dean returned, and the movie marathon continued. After the next movie, Castiel took his leave, praying to the Father that may or may not have been listening that he could determine the truth of these matters.
In the coming days, as his pretended humanity waxed, Dean was there to guide him. And, Father above, he yearned for it. His whole being ached for the chance to be near him, to offer what little comfort he could as Dean's world crumbled to ash. That was why, when Dean disappointed him the most, there was no hesitation in his righteous anger. He would not smite Dean. He never could. But it hurt so badly, and some small unreasonable part told him that yelling and raining blows down upon the human would ease the pain. It did not.
Apparently, even in his anger, he could not hide the truth behind his actions. Sam kept quiet, looking up at Castiel occasionally with sad eyes that said "I'm so sorry", while Adam scowled.
"What, do you have some kind of gay crush on Dean?" he scoffed. He didn't know anything. Castiel could tell. He was just bitter and confused, and this sort of lashing out was the only comfort he had. But the remark and Sam's piteous expression made Bobby mindful.
"Damn angel," he snorted, taking a healthy swig of whiskey. He wasn't angry. Not at him, anyway. "You really have no idea what kind of shit creek you've paddled up, do you?"
"I'm less concerned with that, now."
"So, when you and the boys took on Famine, that didn't distract you at all?"
He thought back to that time, with the hunger and the need for meat burning in in his belly. But beneath it, a different need... one that was far easier to ignore, for he knew on some level that it was wrong. Far easier to focus on the desperate hunger of Jimmy's body than the pounding desire that Famine could awake even in him, an angel. The desire lingered, even now, but it remained as inappropriate as ever.
"That is not of import," he insisted.
"Bullshit," Bobby snorted. "This is more than you being let down by a friend or a comrade. The idea of Dean saying yes to Michael, of losing him? Feels like a betrayal, don't it? Problem is, Cas, that ain't how Dean sees it. In his mind he's makin' the right choice, and he ain't hurtin' you anymore than anyone else. Cause he don't see you like that."
"I wouldn't expect him to-"
"But you want him to," Bobby interrupted. "Ya gotta understand... the way he sees it, you ain't human. That would be enough, but you're also a man. Pretty sure he don't swing that way."
"I..." But Castiel had no response. Not really, what could he possibly say? After all, Bobby Singer was wise, and absolutely right. More than simply being an angel, Castiel was ignorant and he knew it. But that didn't change anything, even though Bobby and Sam wished it would.
Then Adam disappeared, and they had to save him because that was the Winchester way, and despite all his many misgivings, he agreed to go. But not before he had the chance to sort one thing out. Maybe if he told him, maybe if he confessed the truth, Dean would reconsider.
Heart throbbing against his chest, Castiel opened the door of the panic room and stood on the threshhold. Dean scowled up at him, his wounds standing out sharply, testaments to the bitter power of Castiel's feelings.
"Not having second thoughts, are you?" Dean challenged. "Cause I think I have a few places you didn't manage to bruise."
"You angered me," Castiel murmured.
"Yeah, got that," Dean grunted. "So, what? You here to tell me what a bad idea this is, too?"
"I would prefer that the world remain as it is," he admitted. "As you would have it. But if it is as hopeless as you think it is, I would have Adam lose himself before you do."
"Like hell I'm gonna let my brother be some angel's meatsuit!" Dean snapped, rising to his feet.
"And like hell I'm going to let you do this to yourself," Castiel roared, making to move forward, but the wards on the room stopped him.
Dean glared at him, clenching his fists.
"Why the hell do you even care, Cas? You wanted this before."
"You changed my mind."
"Yeah, well, let me change it back."
"No!" Castiel interrupted with unexpected ferocity. Even Dean seemed taken aback by it.
Castiel's heart pounded, and no wonder humans lived such a pained existence, if this was what it meant to know love. But he had to confess it now, or he never would.
"Dean, you have changed everything about my world. I have never felt..." He took a breath and glanced away, wishing for the words that were so reluctant to come. "As an angel, I felt so little because I did not wish it. You made me feel that which I never dreamed I would. Something that I saw in every culture, for so many people, and yet for my kind it seemed so unnecessary..."
Dean drew back, eyes wide and face contorted with discomfort.
"What the hell, Cas?"
"I'm told these feelings are wrong, and foolish. I am not a human, and I am not a woman, and yet I cannot deny that I wish I was so that you would look my way-"
"Jesus, Cas," Dean hissed, turning away and running one hand through his hair.
Castiel fell silent while Dean paced the panic room.
"I... dammit, Cas, you can't tell me something like this, not now." He raised his head, baffled and perhaps even a little bit frightened. "Was that the point? Tell me this right now, see if maybe it would change my mind?"
"It seemed the only time to do it."
Dean closed his eyes, his expression hardening.
"I'm sorry, Cas, but I have to do this. I can't choose you over the world, my brother... hell, not sure I could choose you to begin with." He opened his eyes and glanced over, and Castiel wished only to strike out at the sincerity in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Cas, I'm not... I'm sorry."
But, for once, the honest guilt in Dean's voice could do nothing to soften the growing fury in Castiel's heart. Here was a man who wanted to die because he saw neither hope nor beauty in his world. And here, Castiel had offered it all to him, and he spurned it.
He did not speak as they trudged out of Bobby's house, nor when he felt the sad, sympathetic eyes on his back. On the long car drive to Palo Alto, he did not think of his concern for Dean or his own aching, inhuman heart, but of his bitter anger. He knew what the best course of action would be long before they arrived, knew what he would have to do, and damned if he would do it because, though he hated Dean Winchester right now, he still loved him.
Pulling the exacto-knife out of his pocket as the entrance to the warehouse, he handed it to Dean with the simple instructions to carve an angel-banishing sigil on his chest. Dean glanced up at him, revolted at the thought, but they both knew that dean could never hurt him anymore than he already had. If he was lucky, he would die here. He was weary of this charade.