fic: when air was less solid than the soul (2/6) [dean/castiel, supernatural]
Title: when air was less solid than the soul, one | the first steps (through deserts unwritten)
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13 (eventually R)
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything, this is a work of fiction.
Warnings: language; spoilers for Supernatural season 4, 5 and 6 (this chapter: 4x16 until 5x01)
Beta: Thanks and credit goes to flwrpwr_vampyre for beta'ing!
Summary: Alongside the well-known story of two brothers, there’s another tale to be told in the midst of Heaven and Hell, the apocalypse and the Mother walking the earth. Chuck - ever the little bitch - just decided to leave it out. (Or in other words: the missing scenes of how a man and an angel fell in something a lot like love and hit rock-bottom.)
( previous part: prologue | 2014 )
when air was less solid than the soul
one | the first steps (through deserts unwritten)
1
It’s a strange feeling, drowning. The moment when panic turns to serenity isn’t a change of mind, but of body. Oblivion feels like bliss.
However, the moment when he at some point regained consciousness after Sam pulled him out of the water, was pure agony.
‘Fuck, Sammy, what happened?’ Dean managed to get out between short gasps that tore through his chest like a knife. ‘Did you torch the bitch?’
‘Burned the bones just in time,’ Sam answered, while pushing him down when he tried to get up. ‘Dean, keep still, I’m gonna call an ambulance and get you to the hospital.’
‘No you ain’t!’ he sputtered, although the pain in his chest was killing him and he was feeling so cold he should get a freakin’ medal for being able to keep his teeth from rattling. ‘What you gonna say? “My brother almost drowned over there… you know, in that pond that’s so small a midget wouldn’t be able to drown in it if they tried to.” I’d look like a fucking moron.’ He coughed and something trickled down his chin. Judging Sam’s alarmed look it wasn’t just water. ‘And you can’t exactly tell them that a ghost held me under either, can you.’
‘Then what -’
‘Dean.’
Sam spun around, but Dean didn’t need to look. ‘Castiel.’
The angel stepped closer and kneeled next to Sam, so Dean could see the already familiar serious face hovering above him.
‘It seems that I have arrived here too late,’ Castiel said, slightly frowning. Dean wondered if that was supposed to convey surprise or concern. The angel clearly still wasn’t at the top of the class at expressing emotions.
‘That’s something you’d only say if I was actually dead.’ He tried to smirk and failed miserably, as his breathing was still shallow and he couldn’t keep his teeth from clattering anymore.
‘Sam, I can take him home and heal him, while you take the car,’ Castiel said decidedly, then added: ‘Where exactly would “home” be?’
Sam seemed to hesitate, but eventually answered: ‘Right now? Room 211, Motel 6, three blocks south from this cemetery, on -’
Two fingers against his forehead, a stomach-turning jump through space and only a fraction of a second later, Dean blinked up at the ceiling of their room.
‘Great, thanks Cas, now I feel like vomiting too,’ he croaked out.
‘You do seem to have a strangely blue complexion,’ the angel stated, still kneeling over him where he was laying on the floor, his wet clothes soaking the dirty rug.
Dean grimaced. ‘You mean the kind of blue that says: “fix me up right fucking now”?’
Apparently the two fingers had never left his forehead, as the next moment all the pain disappeared and he felt warm again. Well, warmer. ‘Thanks, man.’ He got up and immediately stripped out of his wet shirt. By the time he got to his jeans, he noticed Castiel was still sitting on the floor. ‘You ain’t got nowhere you gotta be?’
‘Probably,’ the angel shrugged.
Dean let out a chuckle. ‘Don’t feel like being around your feathery friends, huh?’ He kicked off his shoes and socks, shrugged out of his jeans and walked into the small bathroom. The silence that followed told him enough. ‘Thought so.’ He threw a towel over his head, ruffling through his wet hair. ‘So here’s a question: how did you know I was in trouble? ‘Cause that is why you popped up, right?’
Castiel looked up at him, seeming relieved that the conversation stayed clear of more angel talk. ‘I felt your distress.’
Dean slowly stepped back out of the bathroom, pulling a face as if he hadn’t quite understood those last words. ‘You can feel it when I’m in distress? Now that’s an awkward fact I’m totally gonna ignore.’
‘It’s a good thing,’ Castiel said quietly. ‘That way, I’ll always be able to help.’
‘Yes, ‘cause just now you didn’t turn up way too late at all.’
‘You’re not blue anymore,’ Cas pointed out. ‘And you said that as long as you aren’t dead -’
‘Yeah, yeah, you’re an amazing guardian angel, all right.’ Dean couldn’t help but grin at the slight shift in expression on the angel’s face. He decided to label it as frustration. ‘Just not the kind I pictured when my mom used to tell me angels where watching over me.’
‘What did you expect us to be like then?’
‘Breathtaking beautiful women with big breasts and shiny wings,’ Dean prompted. ‘And a lot of the time I imagined ‘em to be naked.’ He winked.
‘We don’t usually project our wings,’ Castiel said deathly serious. ‘But cupids are in the nude. Whether their vessels are beautiful females with… large bosoms, depends for each individual.’
Dean laughed and decided that this particular angel maybe wasn’t as big a dick as the lot of them. ‘Good to know. I’m gonna take a shower.’ He stepped into the bathroom for the second time, but hesitated before closing the door. ‘Thanks, by the way. I didn’t look forward to going to the hospital again, after, you know…’ The impact of what Alastair had told him and the talk he’d had with Castiel in the hospital bed afterward, was still fresh in his memory. Apparently the hunt at the haunted cemetery hadn’t taken his mind of it as he had hoped it would.
‘I understand,’ Cas simply said.
‘Good. Go take care of some angel business.’ Before the door fell closed, he saw the way those blue eyes grew darker.
2
It’d been a trap, that much was clear. But Dean couldn’t help but wonder how they’d been so off their game to stroll right into it. Though, on second thought, seeing how they’d just come back from a bar it was probably to blame on alcohol.
In any case, by the time he’d leveled his gun on the blond guy closest to him, the other one - who could only be described as a giant - snapped his fingers. As on command, a middle aged woman that had been walking a bit further down the street from the parking lot, was pulled towards him by an invisible force. The giant extended his arm and gripped the woman by her throat, keeping her dangling above the uneven asphalt. And that was it - they were at a stalemate.
‘Demons?’ Sam whispered, uncertainly lowering his own gun.
‘I’d put my money on angels rather than on demons, these days,’ Dean said back, bitterly. He trusted those winged fuckers even less than their adversaries from down under. Jaw tightening, he steadied his gun. ‘What do you want?’
‘Just a chat,’ the blond guy in the front said. ‘Between friends.’ He flashed his eyes to black for a second. Demons then.
‘A chat, huh?’ Dean smiled grimly. He pointed his chin at the large one. ‘How about bigfoot over there first lets go of the woman?’
‘Oh, but she’s collateral,’ Blondie purred, his voice as menacing as the smirk around his lips. Dean’s stomach clenched. There was something strangely familiar about that voice. ‘To get you to put down your pretty guns. Getting rock salt pumped into this meat sack’s chest isn’t really my idea of a nice evening. Of course, you have nothing to fear if you do put them down… we are, after all, friends.’
‘I doubt that,’ Dean gritted out, but he lowered the gun a bit. He had to, ‘cause the woman was starting to suffocate. ‘I don’t usually befriend those I hunt.’
‘But you do know us.’ The smirk vanished, and the demon added in a whisper: ‘We met during your little vacation to the Pit.’
At those words, the blood froze inside his veins. Yes, that’s right. He remembered them. Not their faces or voices, but the way they spoke, and the manner in which they held themselves. After forty years, they were deeply carved into his memory - along with all those others who came to watch him suffer or bring suffering upon others. Memories evaporating into the color of blood whirled in front of his eyes and it took all he had to not lose himself in those tormenting recollections.
‘Dean.’ Sam’s hand came to rest firmly onto his shoulder. ‘Snap out of it.’
He shrugged the hand away and fixed his eyes back onto the blond demon. ‘I remember now,’ he said, quietly, then fired a round of rock salt into the giant’s abdomen. The woman fell to the ground, gasping for air. Dean fired again, at the other one, but missed. The gun flew from his hands and he felt his body being jerked backwards, then smashed into the wall outside their motel room. Blondie was in front of him in seconds, gripping his neck.
‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ he warned Sam with his poisonously sweet voice. Dean tried to look at his brother but couldn’t move at all. The demon’s fingernails were cutting into his throat. ‘Put down the gun and the holy water, boy. There, that’s more like it. Now, Dean, let’s have that chat, shall we?’
Dean gave it his all and spat right into the bastard’s face. The demon slowly wiped a hand across his cheek, his eyes turning jet-black again. ‘Or maybe,’ he bit out, ‘I should just fuck Lillith’s orders and kill you all the same.’
Lillith. Of course. The one moment she isn’t actually bothering us, she sends some jerks to keep us busy.
‘I’d love to hear you scream again,’ the demon sighed into his ear.
‘But thou shall not.’
Exactly what happened after those words were spoken, was unclear. Dean caught a glimpse of a bright light coming from the demon, showing the bones through his skin and at his core the coiling black smoke. The light hurt his eyes so, he had to close them, but when he came free from the wall and fell to the ground he knew it was over.
The two humans that blondie and bigfoot had possessed, were laying dead in front of him, their eyes still wide open in utter horror. There was a female form kneeling next to the unconscious woman, pressing two fingers against her head. Dean blinked, and she was gone. The angel - as he had guessed by now - was still there though. She rose and turned to face him. He was met by a strangers features - young, pretty and pale.
But then realization dawned upon him. It was the blue eyes that did it. That and the black hair.
‘Cas?’ he blurted out.
‘What?’ Sam asked, perplexed. He stared at the angel, looking the female body up and down, and Dean couldn’t help himself but doing the same. The vessel was clad in an evening dress and high heels, nothing extravagant, but pleasant to the eyes nonetheless.
‘Why,’ it said with an all too well-known agonized expression, ‘do human females torment themselves with this uncomfortable fashion of shoes?’
Dean grinned. So he had been right, it was indeed Castiel. Or rather Castiel 2.0, new and improved. He carefully stood up, rubbing his painful joints. ‘Because they’re a very peculiar species,’ he answered. ‘But do tell us why you decided to become one?’
Cas clumsily took off the heels and wriggled his - it took more than a pair of boobs and a fine piece of ass to change the firmly defined gender of the angel in Dean’s mind - toes. ‘The other angels don’t want me to meet up with the two of you anymore. They fear my loyalty will get… divided.’ Dean stared at him pointedly until he added: ‘This vessel is the other’s cousin. It’s not an equal fit, but it works. My grace has already burned too much through the other one; it does not conceal me from other angels anymore.’
‘Your meat suit aside for a second,’ Sam came between, ‘what did you do to that woman just now?’
‘I erased her memory and sent her safely back home.’
‘And what about them?’ He pointed at the corpses. Cas looked thoughtful for a moment, then reached for the two bodies and disappeared, taking them with him. He returned empty handed.
‘You could make a business out of that you know,’ Dean said seriously. ‘The mob would probably be able to use an angel as clean-up guy.’ He looked up at the sky as he felt the first, little raindrop landing on his face. Then back at Cas. ‘Wanna come inside?’
---
One hour later and he was having a very drunk conversation with a very sober angel. The adrenaline from before had brought him down a bit from the booze he’d had at the bar, but after some glasses of Jack, he was right up there again. Sam - ever the moderate one - had already gone to sleep. Which was the reason he was having his one-sided drink with Cas in the small bathroom.
‘No, I swear, this is bullshit!’ Dean said angrily, waving a volume of the Supernatural paperbacks in front of Castiel’s face. The angel peeked up from where he was awkwardly sitting on the side of the bathtub, attentively listening to Dean ranting about Chuck’s writing. ‘For example, I do not show pained and tormented expressions every five minutes. And neither does my soul “ache with an agonizing loneliness, while in a world filled with people”!’
‘Are you sure you feel no such things?’ Castiel asked, rigorously. ‘Because we could talk about that.’
‘Of course I’m sure, Oprah,’ Dean huffed. He didn’t need a fucking angel-psychologist; he already had enough heart-to-hearts with his brother. ‘Agonizing loneliness my ass!' He knocked back another drink. ‘Now tell me, why you all dressed up?’
‘I think this vessel was going to some kind of social gathering.’
‘Party. Just say party, Cas.’ Dean, seated on the countertop next to the sink, stretched out his leg and touched Castiel’s knee with his bare foot. He slowly pushed the silk-like dress back with his toes.
‘Dean.’ Cas seemed more uncomfortable than before, slightly shifting away from the intruding foot.
‘She’s quite the looker, isn’t she,’ Dean said gently, clacking his tongue. ‘You should wear her all the time. I’d probably be nicer to you if you did.’
Cas cautiously rose to his feet, looking something close to embarrassed. Standing up, there wasn’t much room and he came to be dangerously close to Dean, giving him a detailed look of his new features. There were some similarities with the other vessel, the cousin. Something about those lips and eyes. Especially the eyes. As on instinct, Dean spread his legs a little and hooked his heel behind Cas’s knee, pulling him in. He let out a shaky breath. Leant forward.
That was all it took to press their lips together.
Castiel stood as frozen as a statue and when Dean pulled away, he saw those blue eyes staring at him, big and petrified and confused. He almost had to laugh - would’ve if he wasn’t so drunk, though in that case he most likely wouldn’t have kissed the angel to begin with.
‘I have to bring the vessel back, she is late for her party,’ Cas blurted out in a whisper. Dean reached for his arm to keep him there but grasped nothing but thin air. A quiver of wings. He took a last swig of Jack, right from the bottle, then got off the countertop and unsteadily left the bathroom to walk towards his bed. It rained all through the night but Dean didn’t notice. He dreamed of blue eyes and long black hair, unaware that the coming morning would greet him with one hell of a hangover and the solid thought of: Fuck my life.
3
It was curious in how many intonations you could think a simple word like “fuck”. But there were many, and Dean was pretty sure he had discovered them all. That was, until Castiel paid him a visit in his dream. Line and sinker forgotten immediately, his thoughts turned so loud and slightly panicked, Cas could probably pick them right out of the air.
But he said nothing and they didn’t talk about what happened.
Neither did they when Castiel had returned to Jimmy Novak’s body - well, they just pretty much didn’t talk at all. Apparently his little trick with switching vessels hadn’t helped from keeping his rendezvous a secret. Zachariah had dragged his ass back to Heaven or something, and Cas had been disciplined.
So they were right back at base one (being the robot a.k.a. feathery dick base) and the kiss didn’t seem all that important anymore. Dean only thought about it again the night he’d screamed himself hoarse by the time Cas answered his call. When he pledged himself to serve “God” - putting his brother’s well-being before his own, as he always did - he saw the regret on the angel’s face, the reluctance to follow Heaven’s orders. Yet at the same time the obstinacy to do so against his own aspiration. It softened Dean’s hard thoughts and allowed him to take a good look at the man. He seemed tired. Suddenly, he was reminded of that other face and felt an unexpected desire to see it again.
‘I’m sorry.’
Castiel tilted his head questioningly. ‘What for?’
‘Kissing you,’ he answered. The gaze that was locked on his eyes turned dim. ‘When you… when you were wearing Jimmy’s cousin.’
‘Her name is Emma Novak,’ Castiel helpfully supplied.
When the angel said nothing else, Dean quickly went on: ‘I was drunk as fuck. And you were, well, really pretty. And a woman. A really pretty woman - and I like women. A lot.’ He forced himself to shut up and breathe for a second. Smooth. Why does the fucker keep staring? He nervously swiped his tongue across his lips. ‘So… we’re good?’
Castiel finally lowered his gaze and turned away. His shoulders seemed tensed and when he spoke, it sounded oddly dismayed. ‘Of course.’
He disappeared - which was getting ridiculously annoying - flying to god knows where. (Well, if you thought about it, probably a place that God indeed knew.)
Right.
So what the hell was Dean supposed to make from that?
4
It’s frightening how fast the world can change. How suddenly the good can become the bad and the bad become the good. Thank the fucking lord that the ugly will always be just that. Makes you wonder though. How long until terror rains down onto humanity and oceans are no longer blue? How long until things can’t be fixed anymore?
---
The Devil was freed from his cage, but so was Cas. He no longer bowed down for his corrupt superiors. That knowledge made Dean surprisingly happy, partly because it was a big suck it towards Zachariah, but on the other hand it was nice to not always having to argue with the guy. However, there wasn’t really room for such happiness, not with the Devil free and Sam a bloodsucking freak. It wasn’t long-lived either, what with Chuck telling him that Castiel pretty much exploded. And that was probably the least expected blow to receive: the fact that Cas’s death actually hurt him. The angel had been something like a friend. Not the very best friend at that - or maybe Dean just needed to rethink his definition of “friend” - but a friend nonetheless.
Turned out, he was a motherfucking kick-ass friend, bouncing back from being dead like a freaking superball. If for nothing else, thank Big Daddy for that at least.
After leaving the storage locker and paying Bobby a short visit in the hospital, they drove towards the closest motel they could find, exhausted. Halfway there, Castiel was suddenly seated in the back, surprising the shit out of them.
‘Cas, don’t just pop up! Besides, I thought you couldn’t find us anymore,’ Dean said puzzled, ‘having decorated our ribcage and all that?’
‘I’ve been following you all the way back from Castle Storage.’
There was a short silence. ‘Why?’ Sam asked. ‘Then you shouldn’t have flown off in the first place.’
‘I realized shortly after that I had nowhere to go,’ Castiel mumbled. ‘Or anything to do.’
‘You wanna tag along then?’ Dean threw a look through the rear-view mirror. He saw the angel give a little nod. ‘Good, we’re going to the Days Inn. You think you can go fetch some burgers and meet us there? I’ll park in front of our room, so you’ll find us.’ Cas was gone in a heartbeat, so he guessed that was an affirmative.
They weren’t even inside the room yet, when he appeared again, handing Dean a paper Burger King bag.
‘Christ, thanks Cas, we haven’t eaten in hours.’ Dean offered him a smile as he stepped through the door. He threw his bags onto the bed closest to the air-conditioning, calling dips.
They settled in front of the television and Dean zapped until he came across an old Dr. Sexy episode. Sam didn’t complain. Then again, he hadn’t expected him to; if you’ve brought upon the apocalypse, you don’t get to bitch about what’s on.
Castiel sat on the side of Dean’s bed for some minutes, joining them in watching the show. They didn’t talk. By the third time two doctors had sex in an elevator, the angel frowned. ‘This seems hardly realistic. Isn’t there something more educational?’
Dean glared at him. ‘I’m not changing channels. Here, go entertain yourself.’ He dug into one of his bags until he found a deck of cards and handed it over.
Castiel seemed confused. ‘What am I supposed to do with this?’
‘Dunno, built a card house or something.’ His eyes were fixed on the tv screen and the rest of his attention was focused on the burgers. ‘Go crazy, get creative.’
Two more over-acted sex scenes later, he heard a frustrated huff from Castiel and spared him a glance. A bunch of cards were laying in a puddle on the bedspread. ‘You need a flat surface. Try the table.’
Castiel did. With no success. He looked positively aggravated by now. ‘It always falls down when I reach the second level.’
‘Yeah, keep trying. It takes skill.’ He took the last burger. Sam nearly hadn’t touched the food.
---
Dean opened his eyes, woken up by the sound of a shower turned on. He glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand and grunted. Freakin’ Sam with his freakin’ early showers. He quickly silenced that thought, though, for the words “Sam” and “freak” in the same sentence hit a bit too close to home. The sun wasn’t even up yet, judging the darkness behind the curtains. Yawning, he rolled onto his side, but just before he could close his eyes again, he saw a flash of tan fabric. He blinked. Yes, that was definitely a certain angel’s trench coat lying on the rug next to his bed. Gruffly, he switched on the lights. Sitting up a little, he saw Castiel’s blue tie thrown on the floor behind the coat, and sitting up even more -
‘Cas, what the fuck, dude?’
‘Dean,’ Castiel said in a warning voice from where he was hanging - or rather standing - upside down from the ceiling. ‘Do not move. Or breathe.’
That was when Dean’s eyes fell onto the card house, which was an even weirder sight than an angel going Spiderman. It probably didn’t even count as a card house anymore. It looked like an enormous, honest to god card palace with towers and arches and stairways.
It looked like something that Disney had puked out.
Dean just sat there stunned for a while, trying to decide on which madness to comment first. In the end, he went for: ‘What’s with the Taj Mahal?’
‘I can assure you this looks nothing like the Taj Mahal,’ Cas said without taking his eyes of the slim, central tower he was currently finishing. It was close to the ceiling, hence the upside-down trick most likely. ‘This is the Saint Basil’s Cathedral in Moscow.’
‘Of course it is.’ Dean got of the bed and carefully walked towards the structure, taking a better look. ‘So you got the hang of it, huh? Wait… I didn’t give you that many cards.’
‘I went out to get more,’ Castiel said - went out where, Dean thought, to Heaven’s cards and gimmick shop? - while placing two cards balancing together on top of the highest tower. He didn’t move for a couple of seconds, as if waiting to see if everything would crumble down. Which it didn’t. ‘It’s finished.’
‘Well, ain’t that worth a Pritzker Prize!’ Dean grinned. Cas was looking so pleased it was absurd. Quite the opposite from his frustrated self yesterday. He looked distinctly human too (except for the hanging from the ceiling, obviously), clad in only the dress pants and the white shirt. Dean understood why he’d shed the trench coat, vest and tie, as gravity would have posed a problem. The white shirt was tucked into his pants at the front, but at the back it fell down, showing a delicate strip of bare skin. Swallowing, he looked away - it was strange to see anything else from the angel other than his head and hands. It made him think of Emma Novak’s well-formed body. ‘I bet you used some mojo, though.’
‘I did not,’ Cas replied in an indignant tone. He then asked, curiously: ‘What is this “pritzker price”?’
‘Don’t bother, Peter Parker, it ain’t in your angel dictionary.’
‘Who is -?’
Dean sighed. ‘Let’s just say that it’s a good thing we aren’t outside in the rain somewhere, or I’d feel obliged to kiss you.’
The exact next instant, it was raining buckets inside the room. It took no longer than five seconds for the holy-basilica-cathedral-something to be drizzled to shit. After ten they were both soaked to the bone and Cas was still staring at him, as he had been from the moment Dean had to open his stupid mouth.
Fuck. He took a step back, breaking their stare. ‘Cas, I’m sorry, don’t -’
The angel was gone in the blink of an eye and the rain stopped as sudden as it had started. He felt his heart clench, while cursing in silence.
‘Dean?’ Sam called hesitantly from behind the bathroom door. ‘Did I just hear it raining?’
‘Um,’ Dean cleared his throat, ‘Cas had a little… angel tantrum.’ Whoever said guilt couldn’t hurt physically had some serious explaining to do about the dull pain he felt in his chest. ‘Ruined his Taj Mahal too.’
‘It’s the Saint Basil’s -’
‘Yeah, Moscow, I know. Bring some towels when you get out of the bathroom. Or wait, don’t bother - let’s just forget about our deposit.’
( next part: two | the imperfection of men, (first half) )
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13 (eventually R)
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything, this is a work of fiction.
Warnings: language; spoilers for Supernatural season 4, 5 and 6 (this chapter: 4x16 until 5x01)
Beta: Thanks and credit goes to flwrpwr_vampyre for beta'ing!
Summary: Alongside the well-known story of two brothers, there’s another tale to be told in the midst of Heaven and Hell, the apocalypse and the Mother walking the earth. Chuck - ever the little bitch - just decided to leave it out. (Or in other words: the missing scenes of how a man and an angel fell in something a lot like love and hit rock-bottom.)
( previous part: prologue | 2014 )
when air was less solid than the soul
one | the first steps (through deserts unwritten)
1
It’s a strange feeling, drowning. The moment when panic turns to serenity isn’t a change of mind, but of body. Oblivion feels like bliss.
However, the moment when he at some point regained consciousness after Sam pulled him out of the water, was pure agony.
‘Fuck, Sammy, what happened?’ Dean managed to get out between short gasps that tore through his chest like a knife. ‘Did you torch the bitch?’
‘Burned the bones just in time,’ Sam answered, while pushing him down when he tried to get up. ‘Dean, keep still, I’m gonna call an ambulance and get you to the hospital.’
‘No you ain’t!’ he sputtered, although the pain in his chest was killing him and he was feeling so cold he should get a freakin’ medal for being able to keep his teeth from rattling. ‘What you gonna say? “My brother almost drowned over there… you know, in that pond that’s so small a midget wouldn’t be able to drown in it if they tried to.” I’d look like a fucking moron.’ He coughed and something trickled down his chin. Judging Sam’s alarmed look it wasn’t just water. ‘And you can’t exactly tell them that a ghost held me under either, can you.’
‘Then what -’
‘Dean.’
Sam spun around, but Dean didn’t need to look. ‘Castiel.’
The angel stepped closer and kneeled next to Sam, so Dean could see the already familiar serious face hovering above him.
‘It seems that I have arrived here too late,’ Castiel said, slightly frowning. Dean wondered if that was supposed to convey surprise or concern. The angel clearly still wasn’t at the top of the class at expressing emotions.
‘That’s something you’d only say if I was actually dead.’ He tried to smirk and failed miserably, as his breathing was still shallow and he couldn’t keep his teeth from clattering anymore.
‘Sam, I can take him home and heal him, while you take the car,’ Castiel said decidedly, then added: ‘Where exactly would “home” be?’
Sam seemed to hesitate, but eventually answered: ‘Right now? Room 211, Motel 6, three blocks south from this cemetery, on -’
Two fingers against his forehead, a stomach-turning jump through space and only a fraction of a second later, Dean blinked up at the ceiling of their room.
‘Great, thanks Cas, now I feel like vomiting too,’ he croaked out.
‘You do seem to have a strangely blue complexion,’ the angel stated, still kneeling over him where he was laying on the floor, his wet clothes soaking the dirty rug.
Dean grimaced. ‘You mean the kind of blue that says: “fix me up right fucking now”?’
Apparently the two fingers had never left his forehead, as the next moment all the pain disappeared and he felt warm again. Well, warmer. ‘Thanks, man.’ He got up and immediately stripped out of his wet shirt. By the time he got to his jeans, he noticed Castiel was still sitting on the floor. ‘You ain’t got nowhere you gotta be?’
‘Probably,’ the angel shrugged.
Dean let out a chuckle. ‘Don’t feel like being around your feathery friends, huh?’ He kicked off his shoes and socks, shrugged out of his jeans and walked into the small bathroom. The silence that followed told him enough. ‘Thought so.’ He threw a towel over his head, ruffling through his wet hair. ‘So here’s a question: how did you know I was in trouble? ‘Cause that is why you popped up, right?’
Castiel looked up at him, seeming relieved that the conversation stayed clear of more angel talk. ‘I felt your distress.’
Dean slowly stepped back out of the bathroom, pulling a face as if he hadn’t quite understood those last words. ‘You can feel it when I’m in distress? Now that’s an awkward fact I’m totally gonna ignore.’
‘It’s a good thing,’ Castiel said quietly. ‘That way, I’ll always be able to help.’
‘Yes, ‘cause just now you didn’t turn up way too late at all.’
‘You’re not blue anymore,’ Cas pointed out. ‘And you said that as long as you aren’t dead -’
‘Yeah, yeah, you’re an amazing guardian angel, all right.’ Dean couldn’t help but grin at the slight shift in expression on the angel’s face. He decided to label it as frustration. ‘Just not the kind I pictured when my mom used to tell me angels where watching over me.’
‘What did you expect us to be like then?’
‘Breathtaking beautiful women with big breasts and shiny wings,’ Dean prompted. ‘And a lot of the time I imagined ‘em to be naked.’ He winked.
‘We don’t usually project our wings,’ Castiel said deathly serious. ‘But cupids are in the nude. Whether their vessels are beautiful females with… large bosoms, depends for each individual.’
Dean laughed and decided that this particular angel maybe wasn’t as big a dick as the lot of them. ‘Good to know. I’m gonna take a shower.’ He stepped into the bathroom for the second time, but hesitated before closing the door. ‘Thanks, by the way. I didn’t look forward to going to the hospital again, after, you know…’ The impact of what Alastair had told him and the talk he’d had with Castiel in the hospital bed afterward, was still fresh in his memory. Apparently the hunt at the haunted cemetery hadn’t taken his mind of it as he had hoped it would.
‘I understand,’ Cas simply said.
‘Good. Go take care of some angel business.’ Before the door fell closed, he saw the way those blue eyes grew darker.
2
It’d been a trap, that much was clear. But Dean couldn’t help but wonder how they’d been so off their game to stroll right into it. Though, on second thought, seeing how they’d just come back from a bar it was probably to blame on alcohol.
In any case, by the time he’d leveled his gun on the blond guy closest to him, the other one - who could only be described as a giant - snapped his fingers. As on command, a middle aged woman that had been walking a bit further down the street from the parking lot, was pulled towards him by an invisible force. The giant extended his arm and gripped the woman by her throat, keeping her dangling above the uneven asphalt. And that was it - they were at a stalemate.
‘Demons?’ Sam whispered, uncertainly lowering his own gun.
‘I’d put my money on angels rather than on demons, these days,’ Dean said back, bitterly. He trusted those winged fuckers even less than their adversaries from down under. Jaw tightening, he steadied his gun. ‘What do you want?’
‘Just a chat,’ the blond guy in the front said. ‘Between friends.’ He flashed his eyes to black for a second. Demons then.
‘A chat, huh?’ Dean smiled grimly. He pointed his chin at the large one. ‘How about bigfoot over there first lets go of the woman?’
‘Oh, but she’s collateral,’ Blondie purred, his voice as menacing as the smirk around his lips. Dean’s stomach clenched. There was something strangely familiar about that voice. ‘To get you to put down your pretty guns. Getting rock salt pumped into this meat sack’s chest isn’t really my idea of a nice evening. Of course, you have nothing to fear if you do put them down… we are, after all, friends.’
‘I doubt that,’ Dean gritted out, but he lowered the gun a bit. He had to, ‘cause the woman was starting to suffocate. ‘I don’t usually befriend those I hunt.’
‘But you do know us.’ The smirk vanished, and the demon added in a whisper: ‘We met during your little vacation to the Pit.’
At those words, the blood froze inside his veins. Yes, that’s right. He remembered them. Not their faces or voices, but the way they spoke, and the manner in which they held themselves. After forty years, they were deeply carved into his memory - along with all those others who came to watch him suffer or bring suffering upon others. Memories evaporating into the color of blood whirled in front of his eyes and it took all he had to not lose himself in those tormenting recollections.
‘Dean.’ Sam’s hand came to rest firmly onto his shoulder. ‘Snap out of it.’
He shrugged the hand away and fixed his eyes back onto the blond demon. ‘I remember now,’ he said, quietly, then fired a round of rock salt into the giant’s abdomen. The woman fell to the ground, gasping for air. Dean fired again, at the other one, but missed. The gun flew from his hands and he felt his body being jerked backwards, then smashed into the wall outside their motel room. Blondie was in front of him in seconds, gripping his neck.
‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ he warned Sam with his poisonously sweet voice. Dean tried to look at his brother but couldn’t move at all. The demon’s fingernails were cutting into his throat. ‘Put down the gun and the holy water, boy. There, that’s more like it. Now, Dean, let’s have that chat, shall we?’
Dean gave it his all and spat right into the bastard’s face. The demon slowly wiped a hand across his cheek, his eyes turning jet-black again. ‘Or maybe,’ he bit out, ‘I should just fuck Lillith’s orders and kill you all the same.’
Lillith. Of course. The one moment she isn’t actually bothering us, she sends some jerks to keep us busy.
‘I’d love to hear you scream again,’ the demon sighed into his ear.
‘But thou shall not.’
Exactly what happened after those words were spoken, was unclear. Dean caught a glimpse of a bright light coming from the demon, showing the bones through his skin and at his core the coiling black smoke. The light hurt his eyes so, he had to close them, but when he came free from the wall and fell to the ground he knew it was over.
The two humans that blondie and bigfoot had possessed, were laying dead in front of him, their eyes still wide open in utter horror. There was a female form kneeling next to the unconscious woman, pressing two fingers against her head. Dean blinked, and she was gone. The angel - as he had guessed by now - was still there though. She rose and turned to face him. He was met by a strangers features - young, pretty and pale.
But then realization dawned upon him. It was the blue eyes that did it. That and the black hair.
‘Cas?’ he blurted out.
‘What?’ Sam asked, perplexed. He stared at the angel, looking the female body up and down, and Dean couldn’t help himself but doing the same. The vessel was clad in an evening dress and high heels, nothing extravagant, but pleasant to the eyes nonetheless.
‘Why,’ it said with an all too well-known agonized expression, ‘do human females torment themselves with this uncomfortable fashion of shoes?’
Dean grinned. So he had been right, it was indeed Castiel. Or rather Castiel 2.0, new and improved. He carefully stood up, rubbing his painful joints. ‘Because they’re a very peculiar species,’ he answered. ‘But do tell us why you decided to become one?’
Cas clumsily took off the heels and wriggled his - it took more than a pair of boobs and a fine piece of ass to change the firmly defined gender of the angel in Dean’s mind - toes. ‘The other angels don’t want me to meet up with the two of you anymore. They fear my loyalty will get… divided.’ Dean stared at him pointedly until he added: ‘This vessel is the other’s cousin. It’s not an equal fit, but it works. My grace has already burned too much through the other one; it does not conceal me from other angels anymore.’
‘Your meat suit aside for a second,’ Sam came between, ‘what did you do to that woman just now?’
‘I erased her memory and sent her safely back home.’
‘And what about them?’ He pointed at the corpses. Cas looked thoughtful for a moment, then reached for the two bodies and disappeared, taking them with him. He returned empty handed.
‘You could make a business out of that you know,’ Dean said seriously. ‘The mob would probably be able to use an angel as clean-up guy.’ He looked up at the sky as he felt the first, little raindrop landing on his face. Then back at Cas. ‘Wanna come inside?’
---
One hour later and he was having a very drunk conversation with a very sober angel. The adrenaline from before had brought him down a bit from the booze he’d had at the bar, but after some glasses of Jack, he was right up there again. Sam - ever the moderate one - had already gone to sleep. Which was the reason he was having his one-sided drink with Cas in the small bathroom.
‘No, I swear, this is bullshit!’ Dean said angrily, waving a volume of the Supernatural paperbacks in front of Castiel’s face. The angel peeked up from where he was awkwardly sitting on the side of the bathtub, attentively listening to Dean ranting about Chuck’s writing. ‘For example, I do not show pained and tormented expressions every five minutes. And neither does my soul “ache with an agonizing loneliness, while in a world filled with people”!’
‘Are you sure you feel no such things?’ Castiel asked, rigorously. ‘Because we could talk about that.’
‘Of course I’m sure, Oprah,’ Dean huffed. He didn’t need a fucking angel-psychologist; he already had enough heart-to-hearts with his brother. ‘Agonizing loneliness my ass!' He knocked back another drink. ‘Now tell me, why you all dressed up?’
‘I think this vessel was going to some kind of social gathering.’
‘Party. Just say party, Cas.’ Dean, seated on the countertop next to the sink, stretched out his leg and touched Castiel’s knee with his bare foot. He slowly pushed the silk-like dress back with his toes.
‘Dean.’ Cas seemed more uncomfortable than before, slightly shifting away from the intruding foot.
‘She’s quite the looker, isn’t she,’ Dean said gently, clacking his tongue. ‘You should wear her all the time. I’d probably be nicer to you if you did.’
Cas cautiously rose to his feet, looking something close to embarrassed. Standing up, there wasn’t much room and he came to be dangerously close to Dean, giving him a detailed look of his new features. There were some similarities with the other vessel, the cousin. Something about those lips and eyes. Especially the eyes. As on instinct, Dean spread his legs a little and hooked his heel behind Cas’s knee, pulling him in. He let out a shaky breath. Leant forward.
That was all it took to press their lips together.
Castiel stood as frozen as a statue and when Dean pulled away, he saw those blue eyes staring at him, big and petrified and confused. He almost had to laugh - would’ve if he wasn’t so drunk, though in that case he most likely wouldn’t have kissed the angel to begin with.
‘I have to bring the vessel back, she is late for her party,’ Cas blurted out in a whisper. Dean reached for his arm to keep him there but grasped nothing but thin air. A quiver of wings. He took a last swig of Jack, right from the bottle, then got off the countertop and unsteadily left the bathroom to walk towards his bed. It rained all through the night but Dean didn’t notice. He dreamed of blue eyes and long black hair, unaware that the coming morning would greet him with one hell of a hangover and the solid thought of: Fuck my life.
3
It was curious in how many intonations you could think a simple word like “fuck”. But there were many, and Dean was pretty sure he had discovered them all. That was, until Castiel paid him a visit in his dream. Line and sinker forgotten immediately, his thoughts turned so loud and slightly panicked, Cas could probably pick them right out of the air.
But he said nothing and they didn’t talk about what happened.
Neither did they when Castiel had returned to Jimmy Novak’s body - well, they just pretty much didn’t talk at all. Apparently his little trick with switching vessels hadn’t helped from keeping his rendezvous a secret. Zachariah had dragged his ass back to Heaven or something, and Cas had been disciplined.
So they were right back at base one (being the robot a.k.a. feathery dick base) and the kiss didn’t seem all that important anymore. Dean only thought about it again the night he’d screamed himself hoarse by the time Cas answered his call. When he pledged himself to serve “God” - putting his brother’s well-being before his own, as he always did - he saw the regret on the angel’s face, the reluctance to follow Heaven’s orders. Yet at the same time the obstinacy to do so against his own aspiration. It softened Dean’s hard thoughts and allowed him to take a good look at the man. He seemed tired. Suddenly, he was reminded of that other face and felt an unexpected desire to see it again.
‘I’m sorry.’
Castiel tilted his head questioningly. ‘What for?’
‘Kissing you,’ he answered. The gaze that was locked on his eyes turned dim. ‘When you… when you were wearing Jimmy’s cousin.’
‘Her name is Emma Novak,’ Castiel helpfully supplied.
When the angel said nothing else, Dean quickly went on: ‘I was drunk as fuck. And you were, well, really pretty. And a woman. A really pretty woman - and I like women. A lot.’ He forced himself to shut up and breathe for a second. Smooth. Why does the fucker keep staring? He nervously swiped his tongue across his lips. ‘So… we’re good?’
Castiel finally lowered his gaze and turned away. His shoulders seemed tensed and when he spoke, it sounded oddly dismayed. ‘Of course.’
He disappeared - which was getting ridiculously annoying - flying to god knows where. (Well, if you thought about it, probably a place that God indeed knew.)
Right.
So what the hell was Dean supposed to make from that?
4
It’s frightening how fast the world can change. How suddenly the good can become the bad and the bad become the good. Thank the fucking lord that the ugly will always be just that. Makes you wonder though. How long until terror rains down onto humanity and oceans are no longer blue? How long until things can’t be fixed anymore?
---
The Devil was freed from his cage, but so was Cas. He no longer bowed down for his corrupt superiors. That knowledge made Dean surprisingly happy, partly because it was a big suck it towards Zachariah, but on the other hand it was nice to not always having to argue with the guy. However, there wasn’t really room for such happiness, not with the Devil free and Sam a bloodsucking freak. It wasn’t long-lived either, what with Chuck telling him that Castiel pretty much exploded. And that was probably the least expected blow to receive: the fact that Cas’s death actually hurt him. The angel had been something like a friend. Not the very best friend at that - or maybe Dean just needed to rethink his definition of “friend” - but a friend nonetheless.
Turned out, he was a motherfucking kick-ass friend, bouncing back from being dead like a freaking superball. If for nothing else, thank Big Daddy for that at least.
After leaving the storage locker and paying Bobby a short visit in the hospital, they drove towards the closest motel they could find, exhausted. Halfway there, Castiel was suddenly seated in the back, surprising the shit out of them.
‘Cas, don’t just pop up! Besides, I thought you couldn’t find us anymore,’ Dean said puzzled, ‘having decorated our ribcage and all that?’
‘I’ve been following you all the way back from Castle Storage.’
There was a short silence. ‘Why?’ Sam asked. ‘Then you shouldn’t have flown off in the first place.’
‘I realized shortly after that I had nowhere to go,’ Castiel mumbled. ‘Or anything to do.’
‘You wanna tag along then?’ Dean threw a look through the rear-view mirror. He saw the angel give a little nod. ‘Good, we’re going to the Days Inn. You think you can go fetch some burgers and meet us there? I’ll park in front of our room, so you’ll find us.’ Cas was gone in a heartbeat, so he guessed that was an affirmative.
They weren’t even inside the room yet, when he appeared again, handing Dean a paper Burger King bag.
‘Christ, thanks Cas, we haven’t eaten in hours.’ Dean offered him a smile as he stepped through the door. He threw his bags onto the bed closest to the air-conditioning, calling dips.
They settled in front of the television and Dean zapped until he came across an old Dr. Sexy episode. Sam didn’t complain. Then again, he hadn’t expected him to; if you’ve brought upon the apocalypse, you don’t get to bitch about what’s on.
Castiel sat on the side of Dean’s bed for some minutes, joining them in watching the show. They didn’t talk. By the third time two doctors had sex in an elevator, the angel frowned. ‘This seems hardly realistic. Isn’t there something more educational?’
Dean glared at him. ‘I’m not changing channels. Here, go entertain yourself.’ He dug into one of his bags until he found a deck of cards and handed it over.
Castiel seemed confused. ‘What am I supposed to do with this?’
‘Dunno, built a card house or something.’ His eyes were fixed on the tv screen and the rest of his attention was focused on the burgers. ‘Go crazy, get creative.’
Two more over-acted sex scenes later, he heard a frustrated huff from Castiel and spared him a glance. A bunch of cards were laying in a puddle on the bedspread. ‘You need a flat surface. Try the table.’
Castiel did. With no success. He looked positively aggravated by now. ‘It always falls down when I reach the second level.’
‘Yeah, keep trying. It takes skill.’ He took the last burger. Sam nearly hadn’t touched the food.
---
Dean opened his eyes, woken up by the sound of a shower turned on. He glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand and grunted. Freakin’ Sam with his freakin’ early showers. He quickly silenced that thought, though, for the words “Sam” and “freak” in the same sentence hit a bit too close to home. The sun wasn’t even up yet, judging the darkness behind the curtains. Yawning, he rolled onto his side, but just before he could close his eyes again, he saw a flash of tan fabric. He blinked. Yes, that was definitely a certain angel’s trench coat lying on the rug next to his bed. Gruffly, he switched on the lights. Sitting up a little, he saw Castiel’s blue tie thrown on the floor behind the coat, and sitting up even more -
‘Cas, what the fuck, dude?’
‘Dean,’ Castiel said in a warning voice from where he was hanging - or rather standing - upside down from the ceiling. ‘Do not move. Or breathe.’
That was when Dean’s eyes fell onto the card house, which was an even weirder sight than an angel going Spiderman. It probably didn’t even count as a card house anymore. It looked like an enormous, honest to god card palace with towers and arches and stairways.
It looked like something that Disney had puked out.
Dean just sat there stunned for a while, trying to decide on which madness to comment first. In the end, he went for: ‘What’s with the Taj Mahal?’
‘I can assure you this looks nothing like the Taj Mahal,’ Cas said without taking his eyes of the slim, central tower he was currently finishing. It was close to the ceiling, hence the upside-down trick most likely. ‘This is the Saint Basil’s Cathedral in Moscow.’
‘Of course it is.’ Dean got of the bed and carefully walked towards the structure, taking a better look. ‘So you got the hang of it, huh? Wait… I didn’t give you that many cards.’
‘I went out to get more,’ Castiel said - went out where, Dean thought, to Heaven’s cards and gimmick shop? - while placing two cards balancing together on top of the highest tower. He didn’t move for a couple of seconds, as if waiting to see if everything would crumble down. Which it didn’t. ‘It’s finished.’
‘Well, ain’t that worth a Pritzker Prize!’ Dean grinned. Cas was looking so pleased it was absurd. Quite the opposite from his frustrated self yesterday. He looked distinctly human too (except for the hanging from the ceiling, obviously), clad in only the dress pants and the white shirt. Dean understood why he’d shed the trench coat, vest and tie, as gravity would have posed a problem. The white shirt was tucked into his pants at the front, but at the back it fell down, showing a delicate strip of bare skin. Swallowing, he looked away - it was strange to see anything else from the angel other than his head and hands. It made him think of Emma Novak’s well-formed body. ‘I bet you used some mojo, though.’
‘I did not,’ Cas replied in an indignant tone. He then asked, curiously: ‘What is this “pritzker price”?’
‘Don’t bother, Peter Parker, it ain’t in your angel dictionary.’
‘Who is -?’
Dean sighed. ‘Let’s just say that it’s a good thing we aren’t outside in the rain somewhere, or I’d feel obliged to kiss you.’
The exact next instant, it was raining buckets inside the room. It took no longer than five seconds for the holy-basilica-cathedral-something to be drizzled to shit. After ten they were both soaked to the bone and Cas was still staring at him, as he had been from the moment Dean had to open his stupid mouth.
Fuck. He took a step back, breaking their stare. ‘Cas, I’m sorry, don’t -’
The angel was gone in the blink of an eye and the rain stopped as sudden as it had started. He felt his heart clench, while cursing in silence.
‘Dean?’ Sam called hesitantly from behind the bathroom door. ‘Did I just hear it raining?’
‘Um,’ Dean cleared his throat, ‘Cas had a little… angel tantrum.’ Whoever said guilt couldn’t hurt physically had some serious explaining to do about the dull pain he felt in his chest. ‘Ruined his Taj Mahal too.’
‘It’s the Saint Basil’s -’
‘Yeah, Moscow, I know. Bring some towels when you get out of the bathroom. Or wait, don’t bother - let’s just forget about our deposit.’
( next part: two | the imperfection of men, (first half) )