FIC: Divine Intervention (Part 2/2)
Dean’s halfway through his first cup of coffee, waiting for his breakfast, when someone sits across the table from him. He glances up, ready to tell the stranger off, and chokes on his coffee when he sees the man in the trench coat sitting across from him.
“I said I’d be seeing you again, Dean.”
“Son of a bitch.” Dean’s cup clanks onto the table, coffee spilling over onto the saucer. Some of it catches on Dean’s hand, burning him, but he ignores it. “I’m dreaming again.”
“You are not dreaming.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
Castiel’s brow creases. “I already told you. My name is Castiel. I am an-”
“Yeah, yeah. An angel of the Lord.” Dean’s not had enough coffee yet for this. “Whatever. Who are you, really?”
“I told you the truth, Dean.” The man looks calm, serene, and Dean can’t help but feel a little annoyed at that.
“How do you know my name?”
“I know a lot about you, Dean. Your name is the least of it.”
“Way to be creepy, dude.”
The conversation stalls when the waitress comes back, places Dean’s breakfast on the table before him and gives Castiel a smile.
“Would you like anything?” she asks him.
“No, thank you,” he says. His eyes slide to Dean’s coffee cup. “Perhaps more coffee, please.”
The waitress nods. “Coming right up.”
Dean watches Castiel watch the waitress walk away.
“You’re the guy from the grocery store,” Dean starts again. He ignores the plate of steak and eggs in front of him. “And I saw you in the park. You’ve been following me around for weeks. What gives?”
“You don’t believe me.”
“What, that you’re an angel? No way.”
The waitress comes back to the table and fills Dean’s mug. When she leaves, Dean reaches for the mug, and ignores the burn as most of the coffee goes down in one long gulp.
“You’ve had enough evidence.”
“Yeah, not really.” The cup clanks back to the table.
Castiel stares at him for a moment, and Dean’s about ready to squirm under his stare when Castiel suddenly reaches out. Dean almost recoils, but Castiel merely places a single finger on the lip of Dean’s coffee mug. He’s about to ask him what the hell he’s doing when he notices the mug is once again full of coffee.
“What the-”
“It’s a small abuse of my powers,” Castiel explains. “But under the circumstances, I think it can be forgiven.”
Dean stares at him.
“Do you need more proof?”
Dean doesn’t move. Castiel simply watches him for a few more seconds before nodding. Then he looks down, seems to gather himself together, and Dean sees flashes of shadows against the back of the booth. They’re faint, so faint no one in the restaurant notices the shadows flit across vinyl. But Dean gapes at the black shadows shaped like wings. He has a flashback to the house fire, to the shadows around his legs and body that he’d reasoned away as hallucinations
“Son of a…”
“Can we talk now?”
Dean nods absently, staring at the empty space where shadows stood not a moment before.
“I have a favor to ask of you.”
Dean snaps his eyes to Castiel’s face. “Excuse me?”
“I wish to ask you something.”
“You’re asking me for a favor?”
Castiel nods shortly. “Yes.”
“You’re an… an…” he waves his hand absently towards Castiel’s back, wondering briefly if Castiel slipped something into his coffee when he wasn’t looking. He can’t believe he’s actually starting to trust the man, or at least not leaving the diner as fast as he can. “Why would you need my help?”
Castiel tilts his head. “It is complicated.”
Dean breathes out. “I’m sure.” He remembers weeks worth of worry, of glancing over shoulders. “Just… answer me one thing. All those shadows I saw flitting around, all those someone’s-watching-me feelings… that was really you?”
Dean swears he sees a look of embarrassment cross Castiel’s face. “Yes.”
“So I wasn’t imagining those things. I really did have a creepy stalker.”
Castiel frowns. “I don’t think it was creepy,” he says, but sounds unsure of himself. “I did not know how you would react to my presence. I wished to get to know you better, observe your actions before coming to you.”
“You could have just approached me, man.” Wrong, Dean thinks. He would’ve freaked out if some random guy had approached him telling him he was an angel of the Lord. He’s still confused as to why he isn’t doing so now. “Why do the whole stalker thing, first?”
“You were not exactly… open to my presence,” Castiel says. “I did not wish to appear to you until I was sure of your good will.”
Dean remembers last night in his apartment, of sitting in the not-so-empty apartment with a bat in his hands. “Of course I wasn’t ‘open to your presence.’ You were creeping around.” He narrows his eyes at him. “You broke into my apartment.”
“I’m sorry if I alarmed you.”
Dean scoffs. “Yeah, well…” he shrugs. “Kind of unavoidable, sneaking into my apartment and knocking over crap.”
Castiel shifts uncomfortably. “You have an exceptionally messy apartment,” he explains. “I tripped over your magazines.”
Dean tries hard not to laugh at the image of an angel of the Lord stalking around his apartment, only to be caught by a pile of car magazines.
“Hey, you’re the one who decided to break in. Don’t complain to me.” He pauses, observes Castiel. The man-angel-stares back, and Dean thinks it’s strange that he no longer feels threatened by his presence.
Dean shakes his head, wraps his hand around his coffee mug. “Sam’s gonna laugh his head off when I tell him I wasn’t imagining a stalker, but it’s really an angel.” He laughs. “He’s gonna shit himself. You kind of picked the wrong brother, Cas.” Castiel tilts his head at the nickname. “Sam’s the one who believes in God and angels and all that crap.”
“I did not pick the wrong brother. You are a special man, Dean.”
Dean raises an eyebrow at that. “Not really,” he grinds out.
“You don’t believe me.” The words are whispered, and Castiel sounds unbelieving, like he can’t quite understand how Dean is still showing doubts at anything he says.
Dean tightens his grip around his coffee cup.
“Your… those shadows.” He nods towards Castiel’s back.
“My wings.”
“Uh… yeah. Your wings. They…” he can almost feel fire and heat around him. “Over a month ago I was caught in a fire.”
Castiel nods. “On Elm Street. The old Victorian.”
Dean gapes for a minute. “Yeah. Anyway, I remember…”
“Yes.” Castiel meets Dean’s stare, unflinching.
“There were shadows.”
“My wings.”
It takes him a moment to continue. “They could never explain how I got out of that house.”
Castiel doesn’t answer.
Dean’s heart is beating a frantic rhythm against his rib cage. What the hell did you do? he could ask. Or What were you thinking? Instead, he simply says, “Why?”
Castiel sighs, and a softer look comes into his eyes. One that Dean tries to ignore.
“You used to play cops and robbers when you were little,” Castiel says. “Even when you were a robber you’d pretend to give your stolen money away to the poor. Your brother followed your example. You served as volunteer EMT in high school, and joined the fire department right after.” He pauses, and Dean tries to look away, but can’t. “You’ve been saving lives your entire life, Dean. It was time someone repaid the favor.” He glances away briefly. “That, and it was a Thursday.”
“Thursday? What does that have to do with anything?”
“I… guard that day, in a manner of speaking.” Castiel says.
“So you go flitting around every Thursday pulling people from fires?”
“Yes, and no. I gain strength-power-on Thursdays. It enables me to accomplish more on that day. It was one of the reasons I was strong enough to be able to pull you out then.”
“Fuck,” Dean says, and pulls his hand away from his mug to rest his forehead in it.
“Dean.” Castiel’s voice is soft, soothing, and Dean closes his eyes for a moment. Castiel touches him then, his fingers warm as they gently close around Dean’s wrist, and Dean feels the tension flow out of his body. The warmth spreads, and it’s pleasant. It’s almost as if it’s making all the doubt, all the encroaching panic, melt away. And Dean wishes, for a moment, that he could bask in it, keep his eyes closed and lean into the touch and forget he shouldn’t believe in angels and that one is asking him for a favor.
“Dean…” Castiel’s voice forces Dean’s eyes open, forces him to look up. And Castiel is looking at him with something so close to understanding and concern, and something very much like affection when he glances at his hand still around Dean’s wrist, that it makes Dean’s chest hurt.
The heat spreads then, out from the small contact to the rest of his body, and Dean pulls back.
“Give me…” his voice comes out too quiet, hoarse, and he clears his throat. “Just give me a minute.”
Castiel nods, his hand falling slowly to the table top. His fingers twitch, like he misses the contact as much as Dean finds he does. “Of course.”
“Just… give me a bunch of minutes.” He stands then, leaving his breakfast untouched, and grabs for his wallet in his back pocket. “Let’s say we pick this up again tomorrow,” he says, and thinks that maybe he’ll have gotten his common sense back by then.
Castiel nods. “If you wish,” he says, and watches Dean throw a twenty onto the table.
Dean forgets about his change, simply turns around and walks out. Just as he exits the door he looks back, but Castiel is no longer sitting in the booth or anywhere else in the restaurant.
**
Dean half expects that what happened yesterday in the diner to be some fucked up hallucination from his imagination. That maybe Sam was right and this is just some long awaited side affect from the accident all those weeks ago.
But he goes out anyway, drives around town until he finds himself parked in front of the coffee shop a few blocks down from the firehouse. He goes in, orders a black coffee, chooses a table towards the back of the shop, and waits.
He takes a single sip of coffee this time before he hears the faint rustling of leaves and looks up to see Castiel standing near his table.
“Thanks for waiting until I was done chugging, this time.” Dean places his mug down on the table.
Castiel nods, and he ignores the slight Dean meant with the words. Dean wonders if he even noticed it.
“May I sit?” he asks.
Dean tries to hold in his surprise. “Not just gonna plop your ass down like last time?” Castiel doesn’t respond, simply waits. Dean shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah.”
Castiel slides easily into the chair opposite Dean.
“So,” Dean says when Castiel doesn’t seem inclined to talk. “I thought this all over.” He spent all night thinking it over, in fact. Sam had complained that Dean was keeping him up, pacing back and forth in his room, until Dean had flipped him the bird and started stomping around his room instead. “I might be crazy, but… fine. I believe you.”
Castiel seems to sit up taller at that, and Dean tries to stop the small smile of amusement at seeing the angel seem so pleased to hear his decision.
“Thank you.” He sounds honestly grateful.
Dean waves the words away. “No… I mean, I should be thanking you and everything. For the fire and saving my hide.”
“There’s no need to thank me, Dean.”
Dean glances away, trying to fight the slight embarrassment at the sincerity of that statement, at the way Castiel’s looking at him like there really is no need to thank him, that he’d do it again if the chance arose.
“So… why are you doing all this? Why save my skin, stalk me for weeks? What’s this favor you need me to do?” He looks back at Castiel. “You have to have a reason for all this angelic attention.”
“Not a reason for the attention,” Castiel corrects.
“So you would’ve stalked me anyway?”
Castiel raises his chin. “It’s not stalking. Simply… guarding. And I’ve been watching you for many years, Dean.” He hesitates a moment. “Your mother believed in angels.”
Dean nods, his throat going tight. His mother had believed in angels too much, he thought. She’d died anyway.
“Before she passed away she prayed that someone would watch after you and Sam. I heard her prayers…”
“And have been watching us ever since?”
Castiel nods. “She died on a Thursday.”
Dean feels anger bubble up. “And you couldn’t save her?”
Castiel watches Dean carefully as he responds. “By the time I had enough power, it was too late. And I can’t save everyone. I’m sorry.”
Dean shakes his head, takes a deep breath. “Whatever.” It’s taken him years, and one too many speeches from Sam, to get rid of his anger over his mother’s death. But he recognizes the genuine sorrow on Castiel’s face, and tries to push the anger down now. “So what do you want to ask?”
“I’ve been watching you for a long time-”
“We’ve covered this already.”
“You are… special, Dean. Out of everyone I’ve watched, you seem to have a unique ability to sacrifice yourself.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
Dean’s surprised when Castiel gives a small huff of amusement.
“No, but… You have an ability to affect people on a day-to-day basis. You save people day in and day out, without regard to your own well being. I… I cannot.”
“Okay… so… what do you want me to do about it?”
“I wish…” he pauses, and Dean watches as uncertainty pulls Castiel’s mouth into a frown.
“What?” He tries to sound less forceful than before.
“I wish to form a… partnership, of sorts.”
“Excuse me?”
Castiel dips his head. “I can hear prayers,” he continues. “But I have limited ability to help people on the physical plane. You, on the other hand, can help people day in and day out, but lack the means with which to gain information about them, to learn about people who need help.”
Dean stares.
“Let me get this straight.” His voice is hesitant. Confusion is slowly giving way to understanding, and with that comes a little bit of fear and anger. “You’re suggesting we form an… alliance?”
“Yes. You save people, and you are good at it. People need more and more help in these times, but they are asking for it less and less.”
Castiel sounds infinitely sad, his shoulders slumped forward, and Dean can’t explain the sudden need to reach out and offer him some sort of comfort. Before he can reign in the immediate reaction, his hand is halfway across the table, hovering just over Castiel’s hand. A quick glance shows Castiel’s eyes wide on Dean’s hand, and Dean changes the movement and lets his hand fall on the sugar bowl in the center of the table. He dumps a heaping spoonful into his coffee.
“Yeah, well… people are becoming more and more independent nowadays. We’re growing up.” He smirks, but it disappears when Castiel continues to stare at Dean’s hand.
“Yes. Free will enables that. And it is a relief to see people carrying out good acts around the world, but there is still suffering. Despite this, prayers are becoming fewer by the year, and without prayer asking for help, angel intervention is… limited.”
“You mean you guys up there can’t just pop into everyone’s business, now.”
Castiel nods.
“Good.”
Castiel’s eyes grow wide. “What?”
“Good. You’ve heard about free will.”
Castiel frowns. “This is about helping people, Dean. Not about shaping their opinions.”
“Okay, tell me this.” Dean leans both elbows onto the table. “If someone were to pray to God, or to Heaven, or… whoever it is who receives these prayers, and this person were asking for someone to fall in love with them, what would you do?”
Castiel looks at the tabletop, and Dean can see him thinking.
“I would observe the person who prayed. Watch him or her in their daily activity, then seek out the object of his or her affection. If they were compatible, I might try to alter circumstances so that they ran into each other more.” He looks up, meets Dean’s eyes. “Give the one who prayed more opportunity to express his or her love.”
Dean stares for a minute, his hand slack around his coffee mug.
“You really are a stalker, aren’t you. Is this an angel thing, or just a specialty of yours?”
Castiel huffs, and Dean can tell by the way he’s begun pulling at his coat, tugging it over his lap, that his patience is starting to wear thin.
“Despite what you may think, what we do is important. We help people just as much as you do.”
Dean raises an eyebrow. “I better start looking for another job, then… you angels might put me out of business.”
Castiel’s gaze narrows, and for the first time Dean feels threatened by the anger in that look. He’s sorely tempted to push his chair back from the table to put more distance between them. Instead, he casually leans back, brings his mug to his lips, takes a sip and winces. The coffee’s too sweet.
“What we-I-do is vastly different from your line of work. You specialize in the… corporeal aspect of humanity. Angels mostly deal with the spiritual.”
“Like dabbling in people’s lives and setting up love connections.”
Dean expects a quick response, another snapping retort. Instead, he’s met with silence.
Then, “That was your example, Dean. Not mine.”
The door opens, sending chimes throughout the shop from the bell over the doorframe. Despite the warm breeze that blows through the door, Dean shivers.
“Then what would you use as an example?” he tries.
Castiel doesn’t respond immediately. He looks around the coffee shop instead. His eyes flicker around the room, ghosting over one person before flitting over to the next. Dean tries to keep up with the movements, to catch what he’s looking at, but it’s impossible.
When Castiel’s eyes finally settle, his frame sags, and Dean could swear he sees Castiel frown before he nods at Dean.
“That woman,” he says.
“What?”
“The woman in the dark blue skirt, with the red hair.”
Dean turns around, following Castiel’s stare. His eyes fall upon a woman near the front window. Yesterday’s paper is in her hand, her legs crossed at the knees with one foot tapping a slow beat.
“She recently lost her husband. A boating accident, on a vacation with his brother. She’s currently scanning the classifieds, looking for another job, but she’s worried her current job won’t allow her time enough to take on a second job. In a month’s time, she will have to look for another apartment, because her own is too expensive. She has no family here, and her parents disowned her since she married. She’s wondering what she did to deserve this, if she was wrong to marry her husband in the first place, and hating herself for it.”
“What can you do about that? Touch her shoulder and make everything all better?” Dean’s shocked at the anger that joins the sadness there. If it’s as simple as that, where were these angels when his Mom and Dad and Sam had needed it?
“We can never make everything better. All we can do is help them along.” Castiel stands up. “I’m sorry you can’t believe me. Just… think about it. You are special, Dean… whether you believe it or not.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
But Castiel is already gone. Dean turns around, catches Castiel walking by the woman. Just as he passes her, though, he stops. Dean watches, curious, as Castiel bends over and retrieves something from the ground.
“Ma’am.” Castiel’s voice is soft from that distance, but Dean can hear the gentleness in it. The woman looks up, eyes wide and startled when Castiel holds a small envelope forward. “I’m sorry, but I believe you dropped this.”
“Oh… thank you.” She flashes Castiel a smile. “I didn’t see it.”
Castiel nods, and as the woman takes the envelope from him, his fingers brush over the back of her knuckles. Her body visibly relaxes, the tension holding her shoulders stiff draining away.
Her brow creases as she inspects the envelope. “I don’t think this is mine…”
“It fell out of your purse, when you sat down.”
“Oh… well…” She opens the flap, and as she looks inside in her mouth goes slack in shock. She reaches in, and Dean sees a flash of money before she turns around.
“Sir-”
But Castiel is already gone.
**
Dean expects quiet when he gets back to the apartment. He needs it, after today’s chat with Castiel. Instead, Sam’s pacing the apartment, talking on his phone and gesturing wildly.
“When was the last time you saw her,” he’s asking, and Dean can hear a slightly frantic voice on the other end of the line.
“What’s up?” Dean steps into Sam’s way when Sam ignores him.
Sam covers the mouth piece with his hand. “Sarah’s gone missing,” he says. “She’s been gone since the day before yesterday, and no one knows where she went.”
Dean remembers Sarah. She’s a sweet girl, dark hair and dark eyes, and he’d teased Sam about liking her once before Sam threw a shoe at him and practically screamed that he was seeing a girl named Jess.
“Okay, so… you need help?”
Sam nods gratefully, and the next fifteen minutes is a blur of information and movement from Sam. By the end of it, Dean realizes that no one has any idea where the girl is, and any way to reach her has basically been tried and failed.
Dean watches Sam storm into his room to grab his jacket, and thinks. He thinks he finally understands what Castiel meant when he explained about the whole physical versus incorporeal aspect of helping people. Dean can try his hardest to find Sarah, but with all human means exhausted, no matter how hard they search for her it could still be impossible to find her. Castiel can help, he hopes, with this through means beyond Dean’s or any human’s reach.
Dean clears his throat and glances around to make sure Sam’s nowhere in sight. Castiel had said he could hear prayers, and even though it’s been years since Dean’s prayed, he gives it a try.
“Shit… okay,” he says aloud. “This feels really lame, but… I’m praying here. Uh, Cas-Castiel-if you can hear me, I kind of need your help right now.”
Silence answers him. Dean looks down from the ceiling, throwing up his hands. “It was worth a try, I guess-”
“Dean.”
“Shit!” Dean spins around, knocking over a kitchen chair in the process. Castiel is standing by the kitchen sink, calm and collected and watching Dean as if his surprise is amusing. “Did you have to just… pop in like that?”
“How else was I supposed to… pop in?”
“Whatever. Listen, I need your help.”
“Yes.” The amusement is gone from Castiel’s face, and Dean’s reminded of the power he saw in his dream by the lake, then felt in the coffee shop that afternoon.
“One of Sam’s friends, she’s gone missing and no one can find her.”
Castiel nods, his gaze going distant suddenly. His eyes flicker back and forth, as if following invisible objects.
“Sarah?” Castiel asks, and Dean really shouldn’t be so surprised by now that Castiel could do things like that. “Sarah Blake?”
“Yeah.”
Castiel nods again, his eyes coming back into focus. “It’s very faint, but I think she’s near High Point, just off the hiking path.”
Dean grabs for his coat. “Yeah, I think Sam mentioned one time that she liked to hike.”
“Dean?”
Dean turns to see Sam hovering in the doorway. He’s staring, wide-eyed, at Castiel.
“What’s going on?” He turns his gaze on Dean. “Who’s he?”
“He’s a… a friend,” Dean says.
“How’d he get-”
“Listen, Sammy. Sarah hikes, right?”
The confusion disappears from Sam’s face. “Yeah. Out in the park.”
“High Point?”
“Yeah, but what-”
“Castiel thinks he knows where she might be. Come on.”
Sam nods, eyes flickering only briefly to Castiel before he’s heading out the kitchen towards the front door.
Dean nods towards Castiel, pausing for only a moment when he catches the hesitant hope in Castiel’s expression before grabbing onto his arm and dragging him towards the door.
“You’re coming with,” he says. “You might regret offering this alliance, Cas.” It’s a warning, but Castiel is solid against Dean’s side when he falls into step beside him as they exit the apartment and start jogging towards Dean’s car.
“I very much doubt so,” Castiel says.
**
They find Sarah within the hour. She’s huddled amongst the brush at the bottom of a steep hiking path, and Dean sees to her wounds and her broken ankle while Sam tears his jacket off his shoulders and wraps it around her. After Castiel led Dean and Sam to her, he’d stood back. Dean keeps shooting him glances, catching the concentration on his face as he looks at the girl. It isn’t until Sarah starts to shiver uncontrollably, her voice catching on tears, that Castiel kneels down across from Dean and places his hand on her shoulder.
“You’ll be alright,” he says, with such conviction that Dean feels his own nerves calm a little bit. Sarah relaxes under Dean’s hands as he wraps her ankle in his over shirt, and he sends a silent prayer of thanks to Castiel. Castiel’s head jerks up, eyes wide on Dean, and Dean smirks.
“Told you, you might regret this,” he says.
Castiel merely smiles, and despite the cool breeze and the blood on his hand, Dean thinks the smile looks good on him.
**
Dean has a hard time telling Sam who the hell Castiel is. He looks at Dean like he might need to take him back to the hospital, get his head checked, but after a few minutes of arguing Sam finally throws up his arms and says, “Dean, believing in angels isn’t what this is about.”
“Apparently,” Dean scoffs. “I sure as hell don’t… didn’t believe, but look where that got me.”
“Dean…” And Sam sounds worried and tired and confused.
Dean shuts his mouth, closes his eyes, and prays.
“Dean?”
“Shut up.”
A moment later, Dean hears the familiar rustle of leaves, feels the faint brush of wind.
“Dean?”
Dean will tease Sam for weeks that the cry he lets out sounds like a girl. “What the-”
“You met Cas before,” Dean says, motioning to Castiel. “He helped find Sarah.”
“Yeah…” Sam is staring at Castiel, wary. “I remember.”
“He’s the angel. Castiel. Of Thursday.” He smirks at the glare Castiel shoots him.
“Hello, Sam.”
“Holy shit.”
Dean shrugs. “Not exactly shit, man.”
Sam sputters.
It takes no more convincing than that. Dean watches with amusement as Sam has a geek freakout when Castiel shows him his wings. By the time half an hour has passed, Castiel has barely gotten a word in past Sam’s quick-fire questions.
“So what do you want with Dean?” He asks, finally falling silent long enough for Castiel to answer him.
Castiel glances sideways at Dean. “You’re brother has agreed to help me.”
Sam’s mouth falls open a bit. “Dean? Help an angel?” He laughs.
“Hey,” Dean grumbles, but he’s staring at Castiel. All of this angel talk is making him uncomfortable again, and as he watches Sam stare in open adoration at Castiel, glancing over the angel’s shoulders as if hoping to see his wings again, Dean can’t help but think Castiel had chosen the wrong brother to help him out.
“Yes,” is all Castiel says.
“So…” But Sam seems to have run out of words, because he stops there.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Dean says. He glances at the clock. “I need to get to work. And don’t you have class, Sam?”
“Shit!” Sam scrambles for his backpack. “I’m late.”
“That’s what verbal diarrhea gets you, Sammy.”
He makes a grab for his keys, but pauses before opening the front door.
“So…” he says, finding Castiel once again staring at him
“So,” Castiel repeats.
“I’ll be seeing you again, Castiel?” Sam asks, and Dean can’t help but shake his head.
“I think so,” Castiel answers, but his eyes are on Dean.
“Great.” Sam shoves Dean with a hand to his back, and Dean barely manages to stop himself from slamming face first into the door. By the time he stops glaring at his brother, Castiel is gone again.
**
Four days pass without a word from Castiel. It’s late, but Dean bends over his car in Bobby’s garage, working on fixing up the Impala. Bobby had grumbled about keeping the shop open, but when Dean had explained he was working the next few days and his car needed work, now, Bobby had simply tossed him the keys and left.
The place is silent, but Dean’s concentrated enough on the engine before him that he almost doesn’t hear the soft rustle of wind.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean bumps his head on the hood of the car. “Son of a-” He ducks out from underneath the car, glares at Castiel. “Where’ve you been?”
Castiel raises an eye brow at him. “Working.”
Dean nods. Silence falls around them, and Dean can’t help but notice how blue Castiel’s eyes really are, how he would seem almost human if it wasn’t for the stiff way he held his body and the sense of power he can’t quite shake.
“So,” Dean begins, and regrets having to say these words. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“You sure you didn’t ask the wrong brother, here?”
Castiel sighs, and looks around the garage before taking three steps and closing most of the distance between them. Dean tries to back up, but the bumper is already pressing into the back of his knees.
“You might not believe in yourself, Dean,” Castiel says, and his voice is soft, just loud enough for Dean to hear. He shivers at the sound, but it doesn’t compare with the sudden affection and gratitude and trust he sees in Castiel’s eyes. He thinks, briefly but intensely, that he doesn’t deserve that. “But I chose the right brother.”
Dean nods, and someday he might believe that.
“The info you collected during your stalker mission telling you that?”
Castiel smiles, and takes a step back. “Something like that.”
Dean looks down, clears his throat and searches for something, anything to bring back some sense of normalcy to his life, no matter how futile or fleeting that might be.
“What’s with the duds?” he asks.
Castiel’s head tilts to the left. “Duds?”
“Clothing.” Dean waves at his own body as if to demonstrate. “The whole trench coat, holy tax accountant thing. Is that what angels really look like?”
Castiel looks down, lifting a hand to grasp the opening of the trench coat. “No. My true form would mostly likely burn your eyes from their sockets.” Dean gulps. “I thought taking human form would be… wise if I was to blend in with humans, and therefore be able to keep an eye on you.”
Dean scoffs. “Well, good luck with that. You might’ve fit in on Wall Street or some tight ass place, but here? That’s not gonna fly.”
Castiel frowns, and Dean’s distracted for a moment by Castiel’s fingers fidgeting with the buttons and hem of his trench coat.
“I see.” Then he stands up straighter, lifts his head. “It’s of no consequence. This visage is no longer important. I have found you, and we are in agreement over working together.” He pauses, looking to Dean for affirmation. “That’s all that matters.”
Dean relaxes back against the Impala in silent answer. “If your visage doesn’t matter anymore, you’re not gonna go all angel light or angel dust on me now that you’ve roped me into this deal, are you? Because that’s not exactly gonna fly here, either.”
He thinks he sees Castiel smile. “No. I still need to keep an eye on you. If people were to discover what I was, that would be infinitely more difficult.”
“Oh. Great.” He looks Castiel over. “You know, I’m still skeptical about some of this stuff.”
Castiel nods. “I know.”
Dean glances to his car. “Sam’ll annoy the hell out of you with his questions.”
“I figured as much.”
Dean thinks he hears amusement in Castiel’s voice. “He’ll also tell you I’m annoying as shit to be around.”
“I think I can handle it,” Castiel says. When Dean looks up, Castiel’s moved close again.
Dean nods, and tries to keep his tone nonchalant, like he doesn’t really care if Castiel goes or stays. “So you’re still sticking around?” He fails.
“Yes.” He states it like it was the obvious - the only - answer. “You are a reckless man, Dean Winchester, despite all your heroics.” Dean opens his mouth to protest, but Castiel plows on. “You might need me, some day.” Dean can swear he sees a small, teasing smile.
Dean shakes his head, turns around and starts fiddling with the engine once more. “Yeah, sure. Just stick around.”
Castiel does.
Back to Part 1...