[Fic] Supernatural - Our Human Nature (Part 2/2)
Return to Part One
-*-
The next morning, after a breakfast run, Dean and Castiel drove by the old woman’s house to get a lay of the land. Sam was still laid up with his concussion because even though he insisted he was perfectly fine, the minute he got to his feet he teetered dangerously and fell back on the bed. Dean gave him two aspirin and promised to bring him food dragging the sleepy and grumpy former angel behind him out the door. Castiel woke right up at the sight that greeted them once they arrived at Lacey’s home.
There were two police cruisers sitting out front of the house, lights flashing, crime scene tape strung across the banisters of the front step. CSI trucks and a coroner vehicle also lined the street.
“Damnit,” Dean muttered, tossing the breakfast sandwich he had happily been munching on into the back seat and reaching into the glove compartment. His elbow brushed Castiel’s knees as he moved in and they both paused, tense for a moment before Dean snapped out of it and fished around in the compartment for their FBI badges. Dean pulled out three and looked through them tossed the one reading ‘Sam Beard’ back in and handing Castiel his. Neither of them was really dressed to play FBI Guy but they could always pretend to be undercover. Castiel looked especially out of sorts in his fraying at the bottom, too long jeans and oversized jacket and T-shirt. Dean once again made a mental note to get Cas some clothes that didn’t belong to Dean.
“Really? We’re going in there dressed like this?” Castiel questioned.
“Just go with it, Man. We need to figure out what’s going on. Hold yourself all stiff and awkward like usual and we’ll be fine. Just… don’t speak if you’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” Castiel almost huffed but not quite. Dean gave a happily puzzled smile.
“I’m concerned that we won’t be convincing when it looks like I’m playing dress up and you look like a reject from the cast of Footloose,” Castiel continued.
Now Dean’s mouth fell open in shock, “Wait, wait, wait… Did you, Castiel former Angel of the Lord and Retriever of Winchesters from Hell, just make a pop culture reference? And a joke at that?”
“I have been watching that infernal television a surprising amount lately and that damned advertisement for the film keeps airing,” Castiel retorted. “It has almost succeeded in making me intrigued to view it but I have resisted thus far.”
Dean snorted as they climbed out of the car. They walked a few steps in silence before Castiel opened his mouth again, “And it wasn’t a joke, you do look like a Footloose reject.”
Dean stuttered to a stop and gaped at Castiel’s back, “Dude! Not. Cool.”
“Hello Detective. I am Agent Cass Gibbons and approaching is my partner Agent Dean Hill, FBI,” Castiel was flashing the potbellied detective his fake badge as Dean came up behind him. Dean hastened to flash his own.
The detective stuck his hands in the pockets of his ugly brown suit and surveyed the two younger men intently, “You two are Feds?”
“Yes, we’ve been investigating the disappearance of Mrs. Gray-Philips’ son-in-law and have come here on numerous occasions,” Castiel lied smoothly, impressing even Dean.
“Really…” the detective was still sceptical.
“Yes, because of our involvement in her son-in-law’s case, we were informed of the suspicions. Are they true then?” Dean cut in before the detective could pose any further questions of his own.
“What? The old lady’s murder?” the detective frowned scratching his head.
“Yes, of course,” Dean replied.
“Looks more like a home invasion gone wrong, if you ask me. Place is trashed. You know how them murder rumours travel though, ain’t surprised you boys woulda caught wind of it. Sorry to waste your time,” the detective shrugged.
“We would very much like to survey the scene for ourselves Detective. If you wish we can have our supervisors contact one another to confer before proceeding,” Castiel took up the slack, darkening his voice a little in a way that never failed to intimidate.
The detective paled a little for a moment, and Dean suspected it was because of the smell of cheap scotch that was leaking out of his pores.
The potbellied man waved it off, “Nah… not necessary. You boys can go on in. You know the drill though, don’t touch nothing.”
“Which would imply we can touch whatever we please,” Castiel responded, brushing past the detective.
“Huh?” the man blinked. Dean snickered and Castiel just smiled winningly. Dean narrowed his eyes at the smile. Apparently their little former angel was monkeying Sammy as well as Dean, if that grin was anything to go by. Dean wondered when he’d stop being surprised by the former angel and a part of him really wanted to explore all aspects that he could of that thought.
Dean blushed suddenly and coughed, “What can you tell us?”
“Not much. Mrs. GP lived alone. Her kids didn’t visit all that much. She’s got three of them, but of course you’d know that given the whole disappearance case…”
“Of course,” Dean agreed.
The detective took pause for a moment before continuing, “Couple of neighbours only saw three guys coming into the house and leaving within the last few days. And they heard some strange noises last night. Called the PD but the house was empty by the time they got there. It wasn’t until this morning when the vic’s daughter went to return her casserole dish that they found the old broad. Dunno where she was when the cops showed up the first time, but I sure as hell know where she is now.”
“These three men… any description?” Dean asked a little nervously but without betraying that.
“Nah, nothing that’d you call useful. All the witness said was three white males. Dark hair. Tall... Hell! You guys could be two of them,” the detective laughed.
“Yes, terribly amusing. Where is Mrs. Gray-Philips?” Castiel glared at the detective. The man sobered under the weight of that look.
“Hallway, looks like she’d just come out of her bedroom,” the detective gestured with his head through the kitchen. “Have fun.”
“Thanks Detective,” Dean smiled. The man just ‘yeah-yeah’d’ and wandered off.
“All right, weird. If the daughter only found her this morning, whose house did you drop the lady off at and what ever happened to her little Bridge party if you, me and Sammy were the only ones to come or go? And what the hell was she doing back here, anyway?” Dean asked in a hushed tone as they knelt next to Lacey after shooing away the CSI combing the remains.
“How am I to know?” Castiel replied.
“Use your freaky sense thing,” Dean replied.
“Dean,” Castiel said exasperated, “I can’t use it to contact the dead. Though I can tell you there is definitely something supernatural here. This was no home invasion.”
“No shit Sherlock,” Dean replied pulling the hastily retrieved EMF detector out of his inside pocket, it lit up like a tree on Christmas Eve.
“I rather enjoyed that film,” Castiel remarked absently. “It was on television a few weekends previous. Bobby and I watched it when you and Sam abandoned me there to go hunt that shtriga which I would have been perfectly capable of assisting with.”
“Jeeze Cas, don’t say it like that. You make us sound like dead-beat dads are something,” Dean muttered.
“Of which we are all experts,” Castiel pronounced bitterly then abruptly rose. “There’s nothing more we can do here. We’ll just return tonight and fin-”
Castiel suddenly had the strange and disconcerting feeling of his world teetering and shivering around him. He blinked, once or twice and looked down at himself then around. He was very much alone. There was no prone body of Mrs. Lacey J. at his feet and no warmth of Dean at his back. In fact he didn’t even feel like himself, he felt smaller, younger, weaker. He cocked his head and glared around the hallway when he heard it: a heavy scrape of metal on wood followed by a splitting pain at his temple. Castiel spun, raising his arms reflexively and saw sweet little Mrs. Lacey J. with dark vicious eyes wielding a cast iron fireplace poker in hand. She brought it down for another strike and Cas felt the pain radiate from the sensitive juncture of neck and shoulder straight to his ankles. His knees gave and he fell painfully onto the hardwood. Another surprisingly strong blow to his back and he fell forward gasping. Just barely catching his weight on his hands, his wrists screaming with the effort, which is precisely the moment when panic set in. The cool rough metal of the poker was thrown over his head and around his neck, putting unrelenting pressure on his delicate windpipe, crushing the life out of him and perfectly blocking the air from reaching his already screaming lungs.
“You worthless sack!” Lacey screeched. “You aren’t good enough for my girl! She had it! She had it! She had it all! And now there’s you. I told her to get rid of you. To leave you. Kyle would surely take her back! But no she told me! No! Me! No Mama, I can’t do that again. I can’t go through a divorce, again. So fine. Fine. If that is how it will be, that is how it will be. I’ll take care of it, mother always fixes everything for her babies and they’ll never find you Dear. I promise.”
Castiel’s world was gone in a wash of dark and then he was back again to Dean shouting into his ear and roughly shaking him. Castiel found that he was surprisingly comfortable, with the soft woosh-woosh of air in a diaphragm and the gentle warmth of an abdomen against his head and knees at his back. Castiel murmured happily.
“Cas?”
“Dean, she did it. She killed her son-in-law then hid his body in the walls,” Castiel rasped, breaking out of his lazy daze.
“Cas how do you know…”
“I saw it,” Castiel snapped, voice harsh and rough, struggling to his feet. Dean hindered for only a moment then decided to help before any of the cops or investigators returned.
“Okay, okay, you saw it then. Fine, so the ghost killed her in revenge?” Dean asked as he ushered Castiel out of the house and around the crawling police, a hand firmly on Castiel’s elbow as if afraid he’d slip away again.
“Yes, vengeance. Dean… I have the horrible thought in my mind that Lacey deserved what occurred here. It’s very… uncomfortable,” Castiel admitted.
“Dude, she wacked her son-in-law and shoved him in the walls of her house right next to her bedroom. Of course she deserved it… So if he got his revenge… Do you think that’s it then? Think it’s done?” Dean asked easing Castiel into the passenger side of the Impala even while the former angel was batting his hands away.
“Perhaps… but that doesn’t mean we should leave a mouldering corpse in the walls of someone’s home. It would probably be safer if we removed and burned the body. Vengeful spirits can become easily confused and perhaps even…”
“…Traumatized. Yeah, I know the drill,” Dean said grimly. “We’ll come back and hold ourselves a demolition-bonfire fusion party tonight. It’ll be swell.”
“Highly unlikely,” Castiel replied bland in voice, but out of the corner of his eye Dean saw the little amused smile.
Dean waited until they were further down the road and grinned over at Cas, “So can’t use it to contact the dead then, huh?”
“Oh shut up,” Castiel replied.
-*-
When Dean and Castiel returned to the motel it was to find Sammy sitting up and idly flipping through the channels. It was unusual for Sam to be watching TV and not have his face buried in his computer but Dean figured the glaring LCD of the laptop was too much for his little brother’s pounding head to take.
Dean tossed the paper bag he had been holding on the bed at Sam’s hip. Sam reached over and rifled through, pulling out the take-out cup of oatmeal he had been presented with. He stuck his spoon in the cold congealed mass and frowned over at Dean.
“What? You were the one who wanted it. We got side-tracked,” Dean said defensively.
“What possibly could have side-tracked you? You and Cas get freaky in the back seat of the Impala or something?” Sam impishly remarked.
“If you didn’t have a head injury I’d slap you,” Dean threatened in his perfect big brother voice.
“Because I have a head injury you could have gotten me a decent breakfast,” Sam pouted, tossing the oatmeal aside and picking up the fruit bowl. It was warm, and as a result, a little more syrupy than Sam would have preferred but it was still edible. He stabbed his fork into a piece of melon and chewed hastily.
“Sam, if you don’t like melon why do you eat it?” Dean quirked a brow.
“It’s healthy,” Sam replied, matter-of-fact bitch-face on display.
“Yeah, so are mushrooms, but I don’t eat fungus on principle,” Dean retorted.
“That’s a very good principle,” Castiel agreed.
“Thanks Cas. See? One of you can use their common-sense brain,” Dean slumped down into a chair at the dinette table.
“So what had you distracted?” Sam asked, flicking off the television.
Castiel blinked at Sam, “Impala sex. We discussed this.”
Dean let out a sharp, loud bark of laughter at the unexpectedness of it all, and Sam choked on the piece of melon he was squirreling away, which caused Dean to laugh all the harder.
Once the chuckling subsided, Dean squeezed Castiel’s shoulder and wiped the tears from his eyes, “Man, good job on that one.”
“You and my brother can’t play together anymore,” Sam glared at the former angel.
Dean and Cas both opened their mouths to give another witty remark but Sam held up a hand indicating they cease and desist.
“Seriously, guys... What happened?” Sam asked. His head hurt way too much to deal with the Chuckle Twins right now. Sam also made a mental note to rescind Castiel’s TV watching privileges. The younger Winchester preferred the former angel before he had a sense of humour.
“Mrs. Gray-Philips has been killed,” Castiel replied, finally taking pity on the tall man.
“What? How?” Sam blinked.
“Gee Sammy, you think the angry vengeful spirit living in her house had anything to do with it?” Dean remarked sarcastically.
“But… she wasn’t supposed to even be there,” Sam said.
“Apparently, she didn’t care where she was supposed to be. According to the cops it sounded like she never even went to her daughter’s place. For all we know she just gave Cas a random house and that was that,” Dean shrugged.
“She disappeared around the edge of the house. I assumed she was using an alternate entrance as to not disturb her daughter,” Castiel offered in explanation.
“No worries, Man. Not blaming you for it,” Dean assured. “Hell, if you had waited around and not come back when you did, you’d probably have both me and Sammy to babysit right now.”
“Yes, quite,” Castiel’s lips twitched up a softer version of his usual barely there smile. “I’m very glad I made it in time.” Dean felt warm and uncomfortable for a moment but chose not to explore it.
“So you think we may have two angry spirits to deal with now? That poor woman…” Sam faltered.
“Poor nothing, Sammy. She was the one who ganked sonny boy in the first place. Cas said,” Dean shrugged.
“Cas said? How does Cas know that for sure?” Sam raised a suspicious brow.
“Oh yeah, you’re not Psychic Boy anymore. Since you’ve gone all limp and stuff anyway, Cas gets that auspicious title now,” Dean grinned.
“Huh?” was Sam’s elegant response.
“I’m not psychic,” Castiel responded practically spitting out the word.
“Dude, you were the one who mind-melded with a ghost!” Dean declared.
“Huh?!” Sam’s response was a little more forceful now but no more articulate.
-*-
Dean and Castiel opted to finish the job alone. When Sam tried to get up to come along he wobbled woozily and nearly lost his footing. The taller Winchester slumped back to the bed, angry and worried and threatening his brother and the former angel with bodily harm if they went and got themselves killed. Dean made an off colour joke about corpse mutilation which Sam didn’t find amusing before he and Castiel left the motel leaving Sam to rest on the bed.
Now they stood outside Lacey’s house, Dean wrestling with the lock while Castiel kept watch and a firm grip on his shotgun. If Dean didn’t know any better he’d say the former angel was nervous, but Dean had known him pretty damn well for several years now and he figured it was something other than nerves. Then again though, human Cas was a strange new animal, he still seemed so very Cas still but more and less all at once. Dean found himself endlessly intrigued by this version of his friend and maybe just a little in awe. He was remarkably well adjusted but still so confused about human life. Dean was happy to note that illegally possessed pharmaceuticals and alcohol were nowhere on his radar. Dean found this a remarkably relieving though after meeting the fiasco that was human-Cas in 2014 all those year ago.
There was also something else too, something that drew Dean in more so than his angelic form had. Dean never denied there was some weird connection between them and Castiel never denied it either. A fact the damn former angel exploited it at every turn. Like the other morning when the little snot let his towel sink and gave Dean a tantalizing view of firm pale backside which Dean stomped down on as quick as it appeared and denied vehemently thereafter.
“Dean, I heard the click. Why are you waiting?” Castiel’s whispered voice broke Dean’s thoughts and he blushed slightly, glad the darkness hid the tinge.
“Let’s go. You get your ass kicked I’m not sticking around to save it, you hear?” Dean snarled at the other man, making sure his point was perfectly understood.
“I’ll be fine,” Castiel glared back, a hint of that ever-growing aggravation at being babied slipping into his tone. It was very similar to his smiting tone without being at all terrifying. Dean actually thought it was a little cute, which he also denied vehemently. Castiel seemed to take notice of his own impotence as Dean didn’t even flinch and fell into pouty silence.
“All right let’s go. Watch yourself,” Dean reiterated.
Castiel followed behind and then commented just loud enough for Dean to hear, “I would say the same thing to you, considering I saved your ass last time, in case you have forgotten.”
Dean spun and shook his head, “Dude, did you just snark me? Man, kitty’s got claws…”
Castiel had it. That was it. He wasn’t going to take Dean’s attitude anymore. He had rolled with the punches in a way he would never have allowed himself to do in his glory days and had enough of it. He summoned up memories of showing Dean exactly what he thought of his poor outlook and though it made him feel guilty it also gave him the strength he needed for this.
Castiel reached out and grabbed Dean’s shoulder. Manoeuvring him wasn’t as easy as it used to be. Dean wasn’t that much taller but he had more muscle mass than Jimmy and by extension Castiel ever had. But Jimmy had been a runner and a swimmer he was strong enough.
Castiel pushed at Dean and almost succeeded in slamming him against the cream-white wall of Lacey’s front hall, rattling precariously hanging pictures as he did so. Dean’s green eyes were wide in surprise and shock which probably accounted for his complete lack of struggle at the vulnerable position Castiel had forced him into. Castiel kept a hand firm and splayed against Dean’s chest, his other still held his shotgun.
“That is enough,” Castiel said low and dangerous. “I have sat back and accepted much more of your jeering and snide comments than I am entitled to. I took it. I accepted it for what it was. But I can handle myself, Dean. I may not be who I was, but I am still me. I am not going to allow your insolence to continue, do you understand? I have proven to you and Sam both over the last several months that I can do this. I can be a hunter and a good one at that. I have vast years of knowledge behind me, I am more skilled at hand-to-hand combat that you could ever hope to be and can still wield a blade as I did when I was one of the strongest warriors in the garrison. I flew into hell, fought countless demons for countless decades to get to you. I no longer retain the grace that made me an angel, but I do retain the abilities that made me a soldier and as I told you once before, I will tell you again. You should show me some respect. Or I’ll make you show me some respect… So Dean, do you hear?”
Dean could only blink at the steel in the gaze and the power that was no longer there but still somehow seemed to eminent from this creature’s very pores. Perhaps a spark remained, and perhaps it was that spark that made Dean’s heart quicken just a little in fear and something else entirely. Or maybe it was just Cas. Castiel, as he was. Dean felt like an asshole.
This was his friend, not some random victim he had rescued form a random case and now had to babysit until it got sorted. It was Cas, the guy he knew, admired and hell yeah, loved. Loved in a way Dean hadn’t delved too deeply into as of yet, but loved nonetheless. There had been times before that he felt it, times that ‘brother’ wasn’t actually an accurate definition for the man before him. Times when he saw those blue eyes flash or glint. That secret smile and the soft steady thrum that never failed to vibrate in Dean when Castiel was still an angel.
The time with Lisa had dulled it a little, but it had never fully gone away. Now, spending day in and day out with him, learning to know him as well as if not better than Dean knew Sam that ‘brother’ title he had thrown out there was feeling flat and a tad bit incestuous. That strange stirring Dean had felt from that very first moment in the barn had grown and steadied and became all too tangible and Dean had just been kidding himself for the last four years. That little revelation on top of his bad attitude lately, maybe asshole was not nearly strong enough a word.
Dean swallowed and nodded, “Yeah Cas. I’m sorry, Man. I’ve been a bit of an ass.”
Castiel pulled back finally and quirked an eyebrow, “Just a bit?”
Dean grinned, “All right, all right. I’ve been a big giant assbutt, that better?”
Cas, anger gone suddenly and feeling on more even footing than he had in days, nodded and even let a little chuckle escape, “Yes. Better.”
“All right, let’s give Casper the spa treatment,” Dean rubbed his hands together gleefully. It was nice having to deal with a good old salt and burn again.
“Yes le-” Castiel’s agreement was cut abruptly off as he went rigid and found himself flung across the room just as suddenly and all he could think was, Well, there’s my big, brave speech shot to hell.
“Cas! Jesus Christ!” Dean cursed. Castiel was still conscious but a little muddled and Dean found it hard to keep an eye on him to assess his condition further while his nerves were all firing trying to track the spirit of sonny-in-law.
“He has nothing to do with this,” Castiel gritted out, stumbling to his feet. “I’m fine Dean.”
“You better be or I’m slapping the training wheels back on first chance I get!” Dean snapped back, fear and worry creeping into the threatening words, revealing them for what they were.
The ghost refused to materialize for several tense moments, choosing instead to manifest in dangerous parlour tricks and every haunting trope ever explored in B-movies. Glass shattered in curio cabinets, objects were thrown across the room, the cutlery drawer in the kitchen rattled ominously. A sudden wind struck up, rendering any thought to salt lines utterly useless. Dean and Castiel crept further into the parlour until they stood back-to-back peering towards the hallway to the piece of wall that seemed to beat and breathe with each new strike of inspiration.
“We’re going to have to make a break for it,” Dean said, not liking his idea at all.
“Agreed,” Castiel said in much the same resigned tone. With a deep breath on both their parts Castiel and Dean solidified their grips on their shotguns and after a beat dove into the kitchen, spinning around the corner until they reached the back hallway. Cas let out a broken strangled cry which he quickly disguised as a grunt when an ornamental porcelain rooster flew off the pine table and crashed into his back.
“Chop or distract?” Dean asked dropping the duffle off his shoulder.
Cas hesitated, “Chop.”
“Fine,” Dean kicked the bag over to Castiel and Castiel traded his shotgun for the hatchet.
“All right, Steve-o! Guess what we’re gonna do!” Dean raised his voice in an irritating sing-song hoping to make the ghost materialize and then give himself something to shoot at. Dean was well past the phase of wanting to shoot at things. Enough, was enough.
Castiel didn’t think there was much merit in taunting an extremely irritated spirit. Dean was playing the role of distraction however and Castiel supposed it was better than getting small kitschy fowl flung at him while he tried to work. That had been low, even for a ghost.
“Enough with the thinking! Start with the chopping!” Dean ordered from across the hallway swinging wildly, batting away more objects that the spirit had apparently plucked from the nether.
Castiel didn’t have to be told twice. He swung the hatchet and cleaved into the plaster with a satisfying crunch. Hitting it again and again until the flaky, chalky substance began tumbling off in large chunks. He heard a crash and shatter behind him but opted not to look and distract himself especially now that he was hitting the wooden slats, underneath the lower layer of plaster, that served as insulation in the old houses. Castiel wondered absently how the woman put them back in place so neatly once she shoved the rotting corpse of her daughter’s husband into the space beyond.
Then the smell hit Castiel first, a stomach churning, nose crinkling eye watering smell that a year and a half of decay did not dampen. The body hadn’t quite mummified, the climate too humid for that to occur but it had enough for the wall to prevent most of the stench from curling out into the home beyond. It was still disgusting and Castiel had to fight very, very hard not to vomit. He could only see a sliver of brown skin behind the soft wooden slats but it was enough for his chopping to turn to yanking as he wedged the hatchet in vigorously. Soon the wood was splintering away in spongy slow movements and Castiel finally saw enough of the corpse to have access to a decent salt and burn.
Just as he was fumbling around for the lighter fluid he heard his name wrench free from Dean several feet away and felt the cold rough hardness of a fireplace poker slide around his neck. It was only a manifest of one, no way that the ghost could touch real iron, but the spirit had reserved enough energy to make it real enough to choke the air from Castiel’s lungs and have him spinning to the flashback whirlwind that he went on only that morning.
A strangled cry, in no way disguised this time, ripped free from Castiel’s throat as he flailed around trying to strike at the all too solid body of the ghost behind him. Unnervingly solid. Perhaps the death it had caused the night previous lending to his strength. Castiel had heard tell of spirits absorbing the spirits of those it killed until they were strong and nearly unbeatable, back when he was still an angel in Heaven.
The spirit of the son-in-law was relentless and Castiel was beginning to lose his ability to fight as Dean strained against whatever force was holding him in place at the other end of the hallway. Castiel looked across the space, hoping his eyes relayed the message he was intending and with one last weak claw at poker Castiel felt his gaze blacken and darken. I’m so, so sorry Dean.
-*-
Castiel awoke to the smell of wood smoke acridly burning his nostrils. The next thing he registered was a warm lap under his head and shoulders, solid hands on his chest comforting. The third thing Castiel realised was that Dean was calling his name and judging from the roughness in his voice and the tone, he had been doing it for quite a while.
Castiel cracked open his gaze to find himself sprawled on the dewy grass of someone’s lawn, flames flickering in the near distance and thick black smoke curling up into the night sky obscuring whatever stars had been on display earlier that evening. Most of that however was blocked by the concerned green eyes and tense worried face of Dean staring down at him. There was a look in those very green eyes so deep and meaningful that Castiel had to catch his breath in his throat and blink a few times in case he was imaging it.
“Fuck Cas, don’t you ever do that to me again,” Dean whispered, voice strained, hands curling in the shirt Castiel wore that was getting soaked through on the back now. He shivered in the cool night air.
“Dean I…” Castiel didn’t really know what to say. ‘Sorry’ didn’t really seem to cut it given the look Dean was shooting him and ‘I’m cold and wet’ seemed insensitive.
“Oh shit, Cas. You must be freezing. Come on. Can you stand? Are you okay?” Dean asked. Castiel chose to only nod in response, his short utterance from seconds before had put a remarkable strain on his bruised throat and he didn’t wish to experience the pain of speaking again. Dean ushered the shaky former angel to his feet and shrugged out of his leather jacket. Castiel gratefully slipped into the warm, worn skin clutching it around him while he fought the chattering of his teeth.
As Dean led Castiel away, it wasn’t with a look or a gesture. Dean slung his arm around Castiel’s hunched shoulders, warm solid weight crushing against Castiel’s side. Dean’s fingers tight around Castiel’s arm, playing gently over the space, a flickering soothing dance.
“I thought I lost you Cas,” Dean whispered, lips very close to the shorter man’s ear, warm breath playing over the shell of soft skin. “I was so scared.” Castiel could only nod again sling his own arm around Dean’s waist, sidling as close as he could while still being able to walk without stumbling. Dean didn’t flinch or move away, just tightened his own grip on the blue eyed man.
-*-
When Castiel and Dean returned to the motel room it was to find Sam sitting up with his laptop open and shining, the taller Winchester’s eyes much clearer than they had been in a while. Dean let out a breath he had been holding the whole time and smiled at his brother. Castiel moved away from Dean’s side, they weren’t linked any longer but Castiel still stood familiarly close to the older Winchester and was still wearing Dean’s jacket. Sam noticed but chose not to comment. Dean reached out and snagged Castiel’s hand before he was out of reach. The former angel turned.
“Shower,” Castiel mouthed to the unspoken question.
“Oh yeah, ‘course,” Dean nodded, releasing the other man, but slowly, their fingers lingering for just a beat before being let go entirely.
Sam looked at the closed bathroom door then back towards his brother, eyebrows lifted, “Good hunt? Successful?”
Dean took a moment before he answered then when he finally did it was with a gentle, warm grin, “Yeah. Think it was.”
Sam shook his head, a bemused smile playing on his lips before turning his attention back to the laptop. About damn time.
End