[DCBB-FIC] Castiel Rising; NC-17; The Fire
The Fire
The scene in front of Castiel is rather familiar. Red-brown stone-like walls surround them, blood sprays and stains on every surface. Dean, utterly nude, holds a long, thin blade with blood dripping from its tip. Bound to the wrack in front of him, arms strapped above his head instead of at his sides, is Sam Winchester. Gashes and cuts and bruises mar his naked torso, and his nose is crooked, broken.
“Dean,” the Sam whimpers, blood rolling down his face, and Dean simply slides the knife into his gut. Sam struggles, gasping, and his feet kick uselessly at their bindings. Dean withdraws from Sam’s body and moves the blade lower, dragging it over the surface of his skin and leaving a weeping slice in its wake. Then Sam laughs, tossing his head back, and Dean freezes, snapping his eyes up.
Sam sneers at him, eyes a murky yellow. “Look at what you’ve made me, Dean,” he says, breaking a hand free of the restraints and grabbing him around the throat. He easily rises from the wrack, the rest of the bindings simply fading away, and holds Dean in the air. “There’s nothing you can do,” he hisses, and turns them both around, slamming Dean against the wood. Dean’s wide green eyes are locked onto Sam’s snarling face, but then he blinks and looks over at Castiel, who hasn’t moved since he arrived.
“Who?” Dean starts, and the dream changes around them, from the bowels of Alistair’s torture crypt to a forested area in the dead of night. He pulls a handgun from his suddenly-there leather jacket and points it at Castiel, eyes narrowing. “Who the fuck are you?”
For a moment, Castiel wonders if a dream-weapon would actually hurt him, but then he shoves his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. “I told you names are useless,” he says. “We take too many faces for them to matter.”
Dean jerks back, immediately pointing his gun to the ground. The dream shifts again as understanding flares in Dean’s eyes, suddenly morphing into a generic motel room with dark green walls, like those Castiel had seen in Dean’s memories, and his clothing melts into just a white tank top and a pair of grey boxers. “Castiel,” Dean says, swallowing, and sits on the only bed in the dream. “The dragon-false dragon of Hell.”
Castiel nods, a small smile slipping onto his face. “Hello, Dean.”
Dean stares at him, running a hand over his face. “You’re an angel,” he says, eyes narrowing again. “A dick with wings.”
Castiel frowns, shuffling his wings. “I’ve always been a… dick with wings,” he says, tilting his head. “Even in Hell, you knew I wasn’t nice.”
Dean rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. “You know what I mean,” he snaps. “And not only that, but you’re also fighting for Lucifer?”
Castiel looks at him and furrows his brow. “You’re upset.”
“Shit,” Dean says, rubbing his face. “Yeah, I’m a little upset.” He sighs, looking away. “I don’t even fucking know why,” he grumbles, closing his eyes. Finally, he looks back at Castiel, and Castiel wonders how it’s possible to look tired while in the middle of a dream. “What do you want?”
“I assumed Sam had told you what Lucifer wants of me,” Castiel says, walking forward a few paces.
Dean stares at him. “He mentioned the lovely artwork we’ve got carved into our ribs,” he drawls, rubbing his chest. His eyes narrow. “They’re supposed to keep us hidden? From all angels and demons except you and your big brother, right?”
“No,” Castiel says, and Dean raises his eyebrows. Castiel frowns. “Why do you think I’ve come to you in your dreams? If I could find you, I would go to you.”
Dean smirks, tilting his head slightly. “So you’ve shot yourself in the foot?”
“I’ve never held a firearm before,” Castiel says, frowning harder. “And I don’t understand what that has to do with my hiding you from angels and demons.”
Dean blinks at him, shaking his head. “It’s a figure of-whatever, it’s not important.” He leans forward, turning his head slightly. “What are you doing here?”
Castiel stares at him until Dean starts fidgeting. “I told Sam not only about your markings,” he says, and Dean lifts his chin, “but also that Lucifer wanted me to watch over you. Both of you.”
Dean stares at him, slowly leaning back. “Like some type of guardian angel?”
“In a way,” Castiel says. “In order to do so, I must find out where you are.”
“So you can come watch me sleep in your flasher-coat?” Dean scoffs, raising an eyebrow. “How ‘bout no.”
Castiel narrows his eyes and glances up, checking for the graces of his brothers. “That’s not all I want to do,” he says, and locks his gaze onto Dean’s. Dean blushes, his eyes widening, and Castiel frowns again. “I need to talk to you in person, because it’s not safe to discuss things in your dreams.”
Dean clears his throat, looking at ceiling of the dream motel room. “They, uh, they watch?”
“I have warded your dreams while I am here,” Castiel says, looking back up, “but keep in mind that they may not always be your own.”
He looks back at Dean, and the man is staring blankly back at him. “Obviously,” he says. Then he glances away. “So, you want to come where I am.”
“Yes,” Castiel says, and Dean sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.
He glares. “You swear you’re not going to turn me over to Lucifer?”
“Lucifer doesn’t care about you,” Castiel says, ignoring Dean’s opening mouth, “beyond that you are safe and alive.”
“So, no kidnapping?” Dean says.
Castiel can’t help but smile a little bit. “I swear.”
Dean grits his teeth, looking up at the ceiling, and then at the floor. Castiel can feel how at war he is with himself, how his soul wants to trust Castiel, recognizes his grace as the one comfort it had in Hell. It goes against everything Dean believes.
“Fuck,” Dean growls. “Fine.”
Castiel smiles even wider.
-----
Dean’s motel room looks much different from the dream one-the walls are yellow, and everything is brighter. Castiel can smell blood, recently spilled, and follows the scent with his eyes, and finds himself staring at the sink. Dean’s damp leather jacket hangs over a light fixture, a puddle of pink water beneath it. He walks over to it, laying a hand on the jacket, and frowns.
“Were you fighting vampires?” he asks, looking over his shoulder. Dean, dressed in clothes that are uncannily similar to the things he’d worn in his dreams, watches Castiel, leaning against the wall near the door.
“Yeah,” he says, shrugging, and Castiel narrows his eyes.
“Alone?” He’d known Sam wasn’t here-Lucifer had been following Sam’s dreams for some time, and Sam eagerly whispers all his secrets, fears, and regrets into the visage of his dead girlfriend. Or so Lucifer had said.
Dean makes a face at him. “I’ve killed tougher things than some overweight vamp.”
Castiel narrows his eyes at him. “If you would give me a way to contact you-”
“You’re lucky I told you where I’m staying this time,” Dean says. “Don’t push it.”
Castiel flares his wings, knowing that Dean can’t see them, which just frustrates him further. “Listen-”
“No,” Dean says, slashing a hand through the air. Castiel bows his head, narrowing his eyes, and Dean shakes his head. “No,” he says again. “I can’t afford to trust you that much.”
Castiel stares at him before nodding, lifting his chin. “One day, maybe.”
Dean smiles thinly. “Sure,” he says, pushing away from the wall. “Now, tell me what’s so important that you couldn’t share it in my own head.”
Castiel turns back to Dean’s leather jacket for a moment, using his grace to disintegrate the remaining blood, ectoplasm, and other contaminates hidden on it. “It’s dangerous, but I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t feel you weren’t able to handle it.” He pauses. “Of the two of us, it’s dangerous only for me.”
“Sounds terrible,” Dean mutters, and Castiel looks over his shoulder at him. Dean shrugs. “What are you talking about?”
“Lucifer wants me to capture and interrogate Raphael,” Castiel says. Dean’s eyes go wide, and Castiel adds, “The archangel.”
Dean stares at him. “What?”
Castiel turns around to fully face Dean, striding forward. “Of the forces Michael commands in Heaven, Raphael is his most-powerful ally. He would have complete knowledge of any and all plans that Michael has.” When Dean remains stunned-silent, Castiel continues. “He’s been sighted in a nearby city by several demons. Lucifer feels that this could be our greatest chance to gain the upper hand. I happen to agree.”
“Why should I help you? I’m not on your side,” Dean says, scowling.
“You’d gain just as much knowledge as I would, and, if it comes to it, Raphael’s death would benefit you more than it would us.” When Dean simply raises an eyebrow at him, Castiel sighs. “Heaven’s battle plans won’t change, except for the loss of a powerful piece. As you have managed to take out almost all of our most powerful demons, it evens the fight. Without Raphael, however, their search for you and Sam will be greatly crippled.”
Dean’s new smile looks entirely fake. “Oh,” he says lightly, “so we’re not just going to trap and interrogate an archangel, we’re also going to kill him.”
“I have a plan.”
“Care to share with the rest of the class?”
Castiel looks away, at the bedspread. “You don’t need to know. Your part is small.”
“Then what the fuck do you need me for?” Dean snaps, throwing his arms out. “Couldn’t you just use one of your demon pals?”
“I told you, Dean,” he starts, frustration building. You’re untouchable, and that makes you useful for this. I’m also supposed to keep watch over you. Plus I…” He hesitates, and Dean’s brow furrows a little.
“What?”
Castiel swallows, and slowly looks back at him. “I… want to gain your trust,” he says. “A mission like this would be good for that.”
Dean grits his teeth, warring with himself again, and hope flares anew in Castiel. “Fuck,” he says at last. “Where is it?”
Castiel’s wings relax, and he smiles a little. “Waterville, Maine.”
“Maine?” Dean says, eyes slipping shut. “Mother… Fine. Fine. But we’re driving there, though. No angel mojo, got it?”
“Of course, Dean,” Castiel says. “Thank you.”
Dean grabs his car keys from the bedside table and glares over his shoulder. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he says, and reaches under his pillow and lifts an angel sword. He smirks and wiggles it, saying, “You left a couple of these behind.”
Castiel nods, holding his hands in the air. “I understand,” he says. He wonders if Dean could actually use it on him, if he could be fast enough. With a jolt, he realizes Dean could strike and kill him in ambush. He curls his wings closer to his body and stares at the blade. “I understand perfectly.”
“Good,” Dean says with a smile, and walks around Castiel and to where his leather jacket hangs. He grabs it and freezes, his fingers brushing over the material. He looks back and pulls the jacket down. “Did you do something to this?” he asks.
Castiel nods, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “I noticed the blood on it,” he says. “So I cleaned it for you.”
Dean looks down at it, running his fingers over the jacket. He swallows loudly, and glances up at Castiel. “Thanks,” he says, and pulls it on. He still tucks the angel sword into an inside pocket, though.
“My pleasure,” Castiel says, staring at the barely-there lump exposing the sword. He looks up at Dean who smirks when their eyes meet.
He walks by Castiel again and back into the main room where he grabs his already-packed bags. He tosses one to Castiel, and Castiel nearly drops it. He looks down at the squishy duffle before staring back at Dean with wide eyes. Dean’s smirk widens into an actual smile and he laughs a little, hoisting his own clanking duffle over his shoulder. “C’mon, we’ve gotta bit of a drive to go.”
Castiel is tempted to just grab Dean and fly them to where they need to be-Raphael isn’t likely to stay in one place for long-but he just takes the bag and follows him out of the motel room and into the night. Trust must be built, Castiel thinks. If Dean needs these displays of power over Castiel to feel comfortable with him, then Castiel will do what he must. As Dean jams the weapons duffle in the trunk of the car as quickly as he can, Castiel calmly opens the back door and sets the clothing bag on the backseat. He raises his eyes as the trunk closes and watches Dean point at him.
“Wait for me here,” Dean says, walking around the car. “I gotta drop off the keys.” Castiel closes the door and stands still, waiting. Dean rolls his eyes and stalks off, muttering under his breath about the stupidity of his actions. Castiel only smiles faintly after him.
Several minutes later, Castiel finds himself jammed into a small metal box, wings tucked as close to his body as he can. He grits his teeth and tightly grips his bent knees as he stares out the glass window ahead of him, watching the world come at him so slowly. He wants to escape and fly far, far away from this man-made cage.
Dean has the nerve to laugh at him, and Castiel looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “A little claustrophobic?” he drawls, and Castiel glowers.
“No,” he says through his gritted teeth. At Dean’s continued look, Castiel huffs and narrows his eyes at the windshield. “This is very… confining,” he says. “Like being forced into a bodysuit already too small, and then forced into a box.”
Castiel glances back at Dean, and sees his brows furrow. “I didn’t think of it like that,” he says at last. He looks over at Castiel, frowning. “I remember a little from when you rode me,” Dean says, and his cheeks flush, grip tightening on the steering wheel. “Wore me. Whatever.” He clears his throat, the color fading. “I remember that you felt… enormous.”
“I used to be much bigger,” Castiel says, loosening the grip on his knees. “More than a thousand feet tall. But that was too large for Hell.”
Dean goes quiet for a moment. Then he looks over as asks, “You knew that before you went there?” Castiel nods, and Dean shakes his head, looking out the windshield. “I don’t get it.”
“Why are you confused?” Castiel asks, tilting his head. “You went to Hell for your brother. Our reasons were similar.” He looks down at his hands. “I wasn’t going to leave my most beloved brother in the solitude and torture of Hell for all eternity.”
Dean taps his fingers on his steering wheel. “So, you believe what Lucifer believes, then? Humanity is scum and should be wiped off the planet?” His tone is light, but Castiel can feel the tenseness under his skin. He frowns.
“I do feel superior to humanity,” Castiel admits, and Dean tightens his grip on the steering wheel. He ignores it. “But I am indifferent to them.” He looks over at Dean. “What Lucifer did to Lilith was terrible, and there were moments during my time in Hell when all I could do is think about how I wish I stopped him. But he hadn’t done it simply because he hated humanity.”
“Oh?” Dean drawls, giving Castiel a half-lidded look. “I’m sure he was doing it for the betterment of us all.”
Castiel smiles a little, chuckling to himself. “Hardly,” he says, eyeing Dean. “But the phrase ‘the road to Hell is paved with good intentions’ will never be as apt or true ever again.”
Dean goes silent again, and Castiel attempts to relax. “That’s all well and good,” Dean says, drawing Castiel away from shifting his wings, “but what about you?”
“What about me?” he asks, frowning. “I serve and follow Lucifer.”
“Yeah, but, is that what you want?” Dean asks. Castiel furrows his brow and Dean scowls. “Do you want what he wants?”
Castiel blinks and leans back in his chair. He… doesn’t know. “I want Lucifer to be free. And happy. I want that for all my brothers,” he says at last, slowly, and looks over at Dean. He doesn’t expect the pity in his eyes.
“What do you want for yourself?” Dean asks, and Castiel can only stare at him, drawing a blank.
“I…” he starts, then closes his mouth again. “I don’t know,” he admits, looking away.
Dean makes a small noise beside him. “You should think about it,” he says. “For your own sake.”
Castiel doesn’t know where to start, what he’s allowed to want. He frowns, looking at Dean. “I want to get out of this car. I want to fly us there.”
Dean lets out a started laugh, glancing at Castiel. “There we go, start small,” he says, and Castiel feels a little proud. Dean then smirks. “Of course,” he starts, eyeing him, “you’ve got to learn your first lesson about wanting.”
Castiel narrows his eyes. “What?”
Dean’s smirk grows meaner, and his eyes turn sad. “We rarely get what we want.”
‘Then why want at all?’ Castiel’s about to ask, but Dean’s already turned the car stereo on and music blares to drown out the uncomfortable silence.
-----
They arrive at Waterville’s police station with the sun high in the sky. Castiel flees to the other plane as he goes through the door and blurs several feet away. He stands there, stretching his wings and feeling the space around his already too-cramped vessel. He hears Dean approaching him and looks over at him, frowning at his amused face. He’s changed into a suit like the one under Castiel’s trench coat, although it looks in far better shape.
“Are you sure you’re not claustrophobic?” Dean asks, grinning, and Castiel draws his wings up.
“I’m fine,” he says. “I just have to get used to it.”
Dean holds his hands up in surrender and leans away. “If you say so,” he says. Then he looks over his shoulder and at the police station. “Are you now up for telling me why we had to come here?”
“The deputy,” Castiel says. “One of the few demons that survived the battle here said he saw the entire thing. If anyone would know Raphael’s vessel, it would be him.”
Dean looks away, eyebrows flinching upwards. “Alright,” he says, grinning lightly at Castiel, “what’re going to ask him? What’s the story?”
Castiel furrows his brow and draws back, shaking his head. “‘Story’?”
“Yeah,” Dean says, frowning. “We’re not just going to waltz in there and tell the guy the truth.”
“You want to lie,” Castiel says, narrowing his eyes. “That’s a sin. The one that Lucifer finds most useless. I won’t do it.”
Dean stares at him. “Says the fallen angels.”
Castiel holds himself taller, and Dean flinches back. “I fell for good reasons,” he says tightly. “I fail to see what that has to do with this.”
Dean holds his hands out, eyebrows darting upwards. “It’ll keep them from throwing us out on our asses, or into the loony-bin.” Castiel just narrows his eyes further, and Dean sighs, running a hand over his mouth. “Look, do you have a problem with me lying? Are you gonna get smitey on my ass?”
“No,” Castiel says, folding his wings back. “As a human being, you are expected to sin, and these sins can be forgiven.”
Dean blinks at him a few times before shaking his head. “Okay, whatever,” he grunts, straightening out his coat. “This works out better anyway, because I don’t have an ID for you to use. Not that you’d use it anyway.” He sighs, looking around. “Can you, like, hide? Or go invisible? Without an ID, I can’t exactly bluff a reason for you being there.”
Castiel nods. “I’ll be watching,” he says, and shifts onto the other plane. Dean blinks, looking around, and reaches out. His hand fades through Castiel’s gut before Dean turns away, feeling the air.
“This really is kinda creepy,” Dean mumbles. “How the fuck am I supposed to know if you’re watching me?”
Castiel smiles a little and beats his wings at Dean, blowing his hair back. Dean jerks, blinking, and he grins back, laughing. Then he scowls, as if angered by his own emotions, and sets about adjusting his suit again. “Thanks,” he grumps, turning around, and walks to police station.
Castiel shadows Dean as he goes through the police station, and can’t help but be impressed by how easily he lies, and how quickly the people around him believe what he says. Dean smiles and the deputy relaxes, he tells him his false name, hands him a false ID, and gives him a false reason for investigating-a steep increase in gang wars springing up over the country.
Castiel can see now how lying could be useful. Perhaps the truth is a convenience of the past, and lying is now how the world runs. It disturbs him how these half-truths (“Yeah, the gangs call themselves Angels and Demons. Figures they’d start taking each other apart.”) get people to open up. It doesn’t take long for Deputy Framingham to finally say what they’d wanted to hear:
“Then there was this… explosion,” Framingham says, and Dean leans forward.
“What did it look like?”
Framingham exhales. “It was pure white,” he says, looking away. “And afterward, everyone was… dead. In pieces. Everywhere. I’ll never forget it.” He closes his eyes, shaking his head. “Except one man. He was… kneeling. At the center of it all. Untouched.”
Dean’s quiet for a moment. “Do you know him? Where is he now?”
Framingham shakes himself from his memories and looks back at Dean. “His name is Donnie Finneman, and he’s at Saint Pete’s, the hospital.”
Dean excuses himself after getting directions, ignoring Framingham’s assertions that he won’t get anything out of Donnie, and Castiel flies back to Dean’s car and tries not to sulk. It becomes much more difficult when Dean struts over to him and smirks.
“That is how we get things done,” Dean says, slapping him on the shoulder, and slides into the car. When Castiel hesitates, Dean smirks wider. “Hey, this wild and wacky trip was your idea, so get in.”
Castiel scowls and phases into the car, settling into the seat. He jerkily pulls his seatbelt across his body and grits his teeth as it tightens. “I’m ready,” he grunts.
Dean stares at him. “Yeah, you’re fine with tight spaces,” he says, and pulls out of the parking lot. Castiel clutches his knees once again, staring out the windows, and tries not to let his wings fall outside the car. Dean clears his throat, and Castiel twitches. “So,” he starts as Castiel turns to him, “what’s the thing with you and lying?”
“Lucifer doesn’t,” Castiel says immediately. “And you can’t build trust when you lie.”
Dean frowns. “Are you talking about me? Dude, just don’t lie to me. Or Sam,” he says, eyes flicking between the road and Castiel. “And, in this line of work, you never see a person more than once, so building up trust is impossible.”
“So I see,” Castiel says, watching the houses go by. Is this really a speed that humans find dangerous? It’s nearly maddening. “I still don’t like it.”
Dean shrugs, eyes firmly on the road again. “It’s not about liking it, really,” he says. “We just… do what we have to, to get the job done.” Dean smirks at Castiel. “Would you lie for Lucifer?”
“Yes,” Castiel says without hesitation, and it startles him. Dean just smiles as Castiel turns away, and they ride in silence to the hospital. When Dean pulls into the parking lot, Castiel turns to him. “Can I fly us to his room?” he asks, wings quivering.
Dean stops the car at the far end of the parking lot and shuts the engine off. He frowns down at himself, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, and exhales. “Okay,” he says. Castiel grabs his arm before he can change his mind.
“Jesus!” Dean shouts when Castiel lands them inside Donnie Finneman’s room. He tears away from Castiel’s grasp, glaring. “You give a guy a moment, alright?”
Castiel blinks, stepping back, and nods. “I apologize,” he says. “I just… wanted out.”
Dean rolls his eyes and turns away. “Just… whatever,” he sighs. As he looks around the sterile white room, he says, “So where did you… oh.”
Donnie Finneman sits in a wheelchair at the center of the room, staring vacantly into space. Castiel stares at him, not wanting to get too close. “His soul has been severely damaged from contact with Raphael,” he says, looking over at Dean. Dean keeps staring at Donnie, fear and anger in his heart.
“Is this what I’d have to look forward too?” he asks. “If I let Michael hop on in?”
Castiel frowns. “No. Worse.” Dean jerks around to look at him. “Michael is far more powerful than Raphael, and vessels these days have far less faith,” he says, looking back at Donnie. “After he was done with you, I doubt you’d be able to function this well. You’d probably require machines.”
Dean goes silent.
-----
“Tomorrow,” Castiel says, looking over as Dean lines another window with salt, “We will implement my plan.”
Dean glances back at him, raising an eyebrow. “You sound like a Bond villain. You gonna cackle? Does your plan involve giant lasers attached to the moon?”
Castiel stares at him, narrowing his eyes. “No,” he says, thinking of the holy oil he’ll need to get soon. “Lucifer doesn’t-”
“It’s a joke,” Dean says, a small grin twitching onto his face. Castiel blinks and Dean grins wider. “Thought you’d take in some of my pop culture knowledge while you were digging in my brain.”
There’s a note in Dean’s voice that Castiel doesn’t like. “Since you aren’t my true vessel, not like this one, I couldn’t gain full control, or go freely into your head.”
Dean crosses his arms and leans against the wall. “But you got a peek, didn’t you?”
Castiel nods. “Yes,” he says. “Enough to tell me about the world.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Right,” he says. “And what about the poor sap you’re wearing now? He okay with you rifling through all his precious moments?”
Castiel turns away, staring at the wall across from him. He feels his grace thrumming through the body, keeping it alive. “James is dead,” he says. He can feel Dean freeze, his muscles tightening. “Angels had gone to his home, murdered his wife and young daughter to take away my bloodline of vessels, and he barely managed to survive.” Castiel turns back to him, eyes narrowing. “He begged me for death, Dean. Don’t mock his choice or his pain.”
Dean swallows, and looks away. “I… I didn’t mean it like that,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.”
Castiel stares at him. “I know,” he says and walks away, back to a small table in the house’s kitchen. He hears Dean follow after him.
“Look,” Dean starts, “why won’t you tell me about this plan? Is it dangerous? Am I not gonna like it?”
Castiel smirks at the tabletop. “Both,” he says. “Although, it won’t be nearly so dangerous for you.”
“Hey now,” Dean says, walking beside Castiel and grabbing the shoulder of his trench coat. He pulls Castiel around, and Castiel meets his gaze. “You keep talking like this could get you killed.”
Castiel tilts his head, wings twitching, and looks out the window. “It could,” he says. He meets Dean’s eyes. “If it goes badly, then it will.”
Dean releases him and shakes his head. “Shit, man,” he says. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because Lucifer asked me to,” Castiel says. Dean’s eyes narrow and Castiel shakes his head. “I don’t think you could understand.”
“Oh, really?” Dean snaps, leaning forward. “Is this an angel versus human thing? Because that’s bullshit.”
Castiel frowns at him. “It’s that I dragged my body through Hell’s bowels for more years than you can comprehend just to see him for moments at a time,” he says, and Dean’s eyes widen. “I don’t think you can understand.”
Dean closes his eyes and shakes his head. “And Bobby thinks Sam and me have issues,” he grumbles. He waves his hand through the air. “Alright, so, what are your plans for your last night on Earth?”
Castiel blinks. “I… hadn’t thought about it. Staying here and waiting. I don’t plan on dying tomorrow.”
“Ah, c’mon,” Dean says, grinning, “you could die. It’s the best excuse to go do something stupid. You got a girlfriend, or, uh,” Dean blinks, teeth gritting and he looks away, “I could take you to a place.”
For a moment, Castiel thinks of Meg. Then he realizes she’d stab him for even considering her as anything other than, what had that lovely phrase been? A ‘fuck buddy’. He looks at Dean, narrowing his eyes.
“Why go anywhere?” Castiel asks, slinking forward, pressing into Dean’s personal space. He sees Dean’s eyes dilate and he smirks just a little, resting a hand at Dean’s waist. “Lay with me.”
Dean swallows, eyes wide, and his mouth dropping open. Castiel leans forward, hovering his mouth over Dean’s, then Dean flinches back.
“I-” he starts, blinking. “No. No, I can’t,” Dean says, pulling his arm free of Castiel’s grasp.
Castiel shoves his hands into his pockets and simply nods. “I understand,” he says, feeling slight regret. “But the invitation is an open and unending one.”
Dean lets out a nervous chuckle and scurries back. “Oh, yeah, awesome,” he says, rubbing his arm. “Just great.”
“Just let me know if you change your mind,” Castiel says, taking a seat, and decides that maybe he’s found something he personally wants.
-----
“Jesus, Castiel,” Dean says when he reappears in Donnie Finneman’s hospital room. Castiel holds a clay jug filled with holy oil and frowns back at Dean’s frustrated face.
“I left you alone for a half-hour,” Castiel says, walking past him to where Donnie sits, blankly staring. “I told you I would return soon.”
He looks over at Dean and sees him scowling, crossing his arms. “Yeah,” he grumbles. Then he gestures to the jug in Castiel’s hand. “What’s that?”
“Holy oil,” Castiel says and starts circling around Donnie’s chair, pouring it. “It’s part of the summoning ritual.”
“Whoa whoa whoa whoa,” Dean says, marching forward and grabbing the sleeve of Castiel’s pouring arm. “You’re going to summon the bastard here?”
Castiel stares at him. “Of course not,” he says, frowning, and turns back to the circle. “The oil focuses Raphael’s and his vessel’s conductivity, and will act like a… a phone line directly to him.”
Dean frowns at him and raises an eyebrow. “And you’re going to… what? Ask him nicely?
Castiel looks over his shoulder and smirks. “Not quite,” he says, and finishes the circle. He leans close to Donnie and breathes over his ear. The spell rolls off his tongue and growls out of his mouth, and he feels the power curling around him and the vessel, and the connection made as the last words trail off.
He hears Dean weakly clear his throat behind him, and Castiel steps back. “Raphael,” he calls, stepping beside Dean. “I know you can hear me. We need to meet.” He reaches out and grabs Dean’s arm and holds him tight. “I have Dean Winchester,” he says, and Dean starts pulling against him and swearing, “and I want to procure my safety in the coming war.”
“You fucking bastard!” Dean roars, pounding on Castiel’s chest. Castiel says nothing to him.
“Follow my grace, Raphael, and you will find us,” he says, and flies away.
He lands in the abandoned house, still clutching to Dean, and Dean snarls at him. “What fucking bullshit,” he rages, fingers digging into the skin on Castiel’s hand. “I can’t believe I was starting to…”
Castiel feels him just a millisecond before he arrives-like flying through a lightning storm.
“Castiel.”
“Raphael,” Castiel says in return as the world around them erupts into a thunderstorm, staring at the now-occupied vessel of Donnie in the wrecked kitchen. Castiel sees Raphael’s silver wings spread out, lightning arcing through each of the bones. Dean goes stiff beside him. “You came.”
Raphael just smirks, spreading his hands. “You called,” he says, his violet eyes dropping to Dean. “And you used such an incentive.”
Castiel feels Dean rearing up to shout, and Castiel simply jerks him behind himself, stepping between him and Raphael. “We need to talk.”
“No, no,” Raphael says, smiling, and walks forward. “You wanted to talk. I have no reason.” He smirks. “You may scare Zachariah with your hell-tainted grace, but I am an archangel, Castiel.” He steps out of the kitchen and into the living room. “You’re a gnat.”
“No, Raphael,” Castiel says, sliding his hand into Dean’s pocket, “we’re both angels.”
And he pulls Dean’s lighter out, lighting it, and drops it onto the holy oil at Raphael’s feet.
The fire springs up from the oil circle and Castiel shoves himself and Dean away. Raphael stares at them as the circle completes itself and flare high and hot.
Dean lets out a nervous laugh. “Holy shit. You used me as bait,” he says.
“I did,” Castiel says without looking at him. “But I never lied.”
Raphael sneers. “Did Lucifer preach that into you?” he drawls. “It was his favorite thing to tell us.”
Castiel glares at him briefly before looking back to Dean. “I understand your distrust, but I hope you see I could never betray you.”
Dean just laughs again, a bit shrill, and shakes his head. He clutches the back of Castiel’s coat tighter.
“Castiel, do not ignore me,” Raphael growls, and lightning flashes outside. A window shatters, and Castiel whips a wing out to blast the shards of glass away. He narrows his eyes at Raphael, who raises his chin. “Release me, and your death will be swift.”
Castiel reaches into his trench coat and pulls out a small flask. He holds it up, watching Raphael. “Speak, Raphael,” he says, giving the flask a shake. It sloshes loudly inside the metal container.
Raphael draws his wings higher. “If I don’t?” he asks, eyes flashing purple.
Castiel fits a finger partially over the lip of the flask, and raises it above his head. “I kill you,” he says, and flicks splashes of holy oil onto Raphael, who twitches away but can’t move to avoid it. Castiel walks around the circle, carefully flicking the oil above the fire. He spies Dean through the flames, frozen in place and staring. Castiel looks away.
“You-?!” Raphael sputters, wings fluffing, oil shining on his face, shirt, and feathers. “You dare?!”
Castiel retakes his original position in front of Dean. “I would,” he says. “Tell me Heaven’s plans, and I will leave you here alive.”
Raphael stares at him, and Castiel starts to hope that Raphael will agree. Then he narrows his eyes and draws himself higher. “No,” he snaps.
Castiel sighs, looking down at the oil in his flask. “Pity.”
“Castiel,” Raphael snarls. “You are a fool.”
“And you,” Castiel says, lowering his flask, “are dead.”
He swipes the flask sideways, oil cutting through the fire, igniting, and landing on Raphael in a shower of flame. The rest of the oil on him explodes and Raphael screams, glass shattering, and Castiel immediately covers Dean’s ears. Raphael claws at his burning wings and flesh, feathers falling and burning their shapes into the floor. Raphael steps back too far one last time, and over the fire ring. The pulse of light makes Castiel squint, and he hides Dean’s face with his coat.
When it’s over, the fire has gone out and Donnie’s burnt body lies face-up on the floor, staring lifelessly into space. Great ashen marks are all that is left of Raphael’s wings. Castiel shakes his head and looks away.
“Holy shit,” Dean says, stunned. A thin trail of blood runs from his left ear, and Castiel frowns, wiping it away. Dean flinches. “Ow,” he says, wincing, and gestures to the ear. “Can you do some angel-mojo to heal that?”
Castiel frowns, guilt spiking. “I’m sorry,” he says, brushing the blood off, and it evaporates off his own fingers. “Hell stole that ability from me.”
Castiel looks at Dean’s face, so close, and strokes his fingers down his cheek again. Dean’s eyes half-close, and Castiel can feel his heart rate dropping to less panicked levels. He leans towards Castiel, and Castiel leans in and kisses him.
Dean reacts immediately, surging into it, and his grip on Castiel’s forearm tightens further, pulling Castiel closer. Castiel nips at Dean’s lower lip, excitement and lust pooling in his gut and flowing lower. He moans as he curls his wings around them, and he feels the heat coiling in his stomach again.
Then Dean yanks himself away, and Castiel opens his eyes to see him wiping his mouth off, eyes wide. Castiel offers him a small smirk.
“It’s alright to want me,” he says. Dean shudders and Castiel raises an eyebrow. “You’re lonely, want comfort, and revenge on Sam for his relationship with Ruby.” Dean’s eyes widen again and Castiel shrugs. “I’m what you crave.”
Dean closes his eyes and turns around. “Go away,” he says, softly. “Just fucking go away.”
Castiel nods to his back. “I’ll return with your car shortly,” he says. He spreads his wings and flies to the sky, heading for Lucifer’s camp. He can give Lucifer his report, get Dean’s beloved car, and still be back within minutes. Hopefully, that would be enough for Dean to calm himself.
Probably not. But Castiel doesn’t regret a thing.
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