DCBB - Dean Winchester's Home for Wayward Angels - CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER ONE
The war in Heaven was over and the world was right again. As right as it could be, anyway, considering there were still all manner of monsters and assholes scurrying free across its surface. The All Mighty Father had finally shown his face and cleaned up his mess. Of course, his version of cleaning had been using Dean Winchester as the mighty Swiffer of destruction in Heaven, but hey … it all ended up okay, right?
Chuck … (and fuck if Dean was EVER going to get used to thinking of the scrawny ex-prophet as GOD) … had restored order with the Heavenly Hosts, revived all the fallen from the Civil War, and even recreated Dean himself. Using his own all-powerful grace, no less. Things weren’t all coming up roses, though. Castiel had been banished to Earth as Dean’s personal angel army of one, and it had affected the man more than he would probably ever willingly acknowledge.
Upon his return to earth, to the little cabin holding two thirds of his remaining family and after the impromptu make-out session with Cas on the floor … Dean had promptly passed out. His new body was still adjusting to its creation, and he just hadn’t been physically capable of staying conscious. According to Sam, Dean had slept for three days straight, but Castiel’s utter calm about the short catatonia had kept the younger Winchester from freaking out too much.
All Dean remembered were the epic dreams he’d had. Dreams about Heaven and Hell and the creation of them both. He saw galaxies come into existence and stars vaporize into ashes. He watched a sun go super-nova and witnessed the first sparks of life develop on earth. Chuck appeared in a different visage (one eerily close to Vincent Price) … and Dean observed him as he created his angels, banished Lucifer, and then disappeared from Heaven entirely.
When Dean finally woke, his head was so full to bursting of images and thoughts that he hadn’t spoken to Sam or Cas for at least another day. There was too much information to compute, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Chuck was trying to tell him something … or if it was all just residual from being created with God’s Grace. He was conscious enough to function and move around, but his mind was quite literally … elsewhere.
Finally, he slam-dunked back into full awareness when they pulled up outside the house of Singer Salvage and Bobby and hugged him tightly to his chest … and then smacked him hard upside the head.
“OW!! What the hell, Bobby!?”
The older man growled under his breath as he turned to stalk back towards the house.
“Don’t you give me that, boy … you know exactly what that was for! Sending that poncey prick of an angel to tell me goodbye! I shoulda smacked you with a frying pan!”
Things in la cabesa de Dean Winchester seemed to reboot and fade back into normal after that. Bobby had fired up the grill and laid out a spread fit for a king, with the help of Sheriff Jodie Mills (and ho-boy Dean really hadn’t seen THAT one coming). There had been copious amounts of alcohol and grilled meat to devour between them as Sammy laid the whole sordid tale out for Bobby. For his own part, Dean had just listened with half an ear as he’d stuffed his face, because hello… suddenly ravenously hungry.
Cas was a steady presence at his side. The grounded angel wasn’t saying much … he was mostly just there… always within reaching distance. Every once in a while, he would cast his gaze heavenward and his eyes would take on a haunted glaze. Dean would end up reaching over to pat the angel on his shoulder or thigh gently, and then Cas would turn those stunning blues back at him and smile just the tinniest bit. When bedtime finally rolled around, Cas dutifully followed Dean upstairs towards the bedroom that had always been reserved for the elder Winchester brother. Bobby’s eyebrows damn near hit his hat line, and Dean wondered if Sam had left out that tasty little tidbit from the tale.
“Headin’ to bed, son?” What the hell is going on?
Dean smiled.
“Yup.” Figure it out for yourself, old timer.
Castiel bowed his head slightly in deference towards the older man before stepping through the doorway into Dean’s room. Dean chuckled softly at the look on Bobby’s face before whispering a quiet goodnight and shutting the door behind himself and his angel.
His angel. Heh.
Cas was standing in the middle of the moonlit room looking completely lost. Dean smiled as innocently as he could manage and then started to shuck his road-worn clothes off onto the floor. When he was just down to his faded black boxer briefs, he flopped face first onto the bed and huffed out a weary breath.
“It’s fucking good to be home.”
The angel shuffled his feet for a few seconds and Dean grinned into his pillow.
“Dean? What should … what should I do?”
The hunter groaned and reached around to scratch a pesky itch on the back of his thigh.
“Bedtime, Cas. That means you go to bed.”
Complete silence filled the room for several moments, and Dean had never been good at ignoring his curiosity. He turned his head and laughed softly at the look of consternation on the angel’s face.
“Cas. Take off your clothes. Get into bed. Sleep.”
He was answered with a jerky nod, and then the familiar tan jacket was slipping off those deceptively slim shoulders. Cas carefully removed each item of clothing until he was down to a thin white undershirt and a pair of plaid cotton boxers. Dean couldn’t help the grin that split his face as Cas looked down at his underdressed state.
“I have never removed the materials of this vessel before.”
Lifting his arm just enough to pat the bed beside him, Dean totally did not giggle. Seriously. Shut up.
“Well get used to it, pal … no angel of mine is going to be seen day in and day out wearing the same nerdy accountant wear.”
Cas shot him a mild glare, but carefully padded over to the bed and crawled onto the ancient mattress.
“I have never had reason to change clothing before. It suits me fine.”
Dean scooted a little more towards the wall and the angel slowly spread himself down into a resting pose. He copied Dean’s position exactly, as if he wasn’t sure how else to lie down to go to sleep.
“Well, it doesn’t suit me. We’re going to get you some new clothes. Something less Jimmy Novak and more Castiel- … huh. Guess we’re going to have to get you a last name, aren’t we?”
The angel ran his fingers down the seam of the pillow case.
“If I have to have one … can I choose it myself?”
Dean grinned.
“Of course you can. Do you have something in mind?”
Cas shook his head slightly.
“Not yet. I will let you know.”
It was quiet after that. The echoes of the crickets outside were working hard to lull Dean into sleep. He let his eyes drift closed and enjoyed hum of the air conditioner, and the cool breeze of it across his back. There was a mild warmth from the closeness of Castiel’s body and the hair at his nape stirred a little with the angel’s deep breaths. All in all … it was a pretty perfect way to fall asleep.
~*~
Something stirred him to wakefulness just as the morning sun was beginning to glow red against his eyelids. A soft tickle of a touch was moving slowly down his back and up along his ribcage. Fingertips. They spread across his shoulders and slid down to cup his elbow for a brief second, before backtracking to skate across the knobs of his spine.
Cas.
Dean slowly blinked his eyes open. Castiel was sitting, Indian style, next to him on the bed and observing the movements of his own fingers intently. There was a level of reverence in his gaze that was humbling. Like the planes of Dean’s back were the most amazing thing he could ever imagine.
“Your scars are all gone.”
He didn’t startle at the sudden words, hunter thank you very much, but a puff of surprised air did escape Dean’s lips. There wasn’t anything he could really think of to say in response to that comment, so he kept his silence and just observed Cas observing him. The angel’s fingertips skimmed down his arm to take hold of Dean’s hand, weaving their fingers together and gripping tight before finally turning to meet Dean’s gaze.
“What are we to do now?”
A yawn broke free, unbidden, and Dean slowly pushed himself up to mirror Cas’ position without breaking the contact of their hands. Since the day of his return, and subsequent almost-but-not-quite dry humping on the floor (which Balthazar had helpfully recorded - fucking bastard) neither man nor angel had initiated any further contact. Dean figured now that his imminent demise wasn’t so imminent … they were both a little unsure of what the next step should be.
“Don’t know … what do you wanna do, Cas?”
“I-”
*KNOCK*KNOCK*KNOCK*
The door rattled in its frame with the force of the pounding.
“WAKE UP YOU LAZY JERK!”
Little brothers … gotta love ‘em.
“SHUT UP, BITCH!”
Sam’s chuckle drifted in from the hallway, followed closely by the stomping footfalls of his epically giant feet. There was a soft murmur of voices further down the hall. Apparently, Sam had been designated to come raze them from sleep. Probably because Bobby was likely still a little freaked out about Dean and Cas sharing the room. When he turned back to said angel, Cas had a small smile ticking into existence. Dean tugged his hand from Cas’ grip and scrambled off the bed.
“Come on, short and stubby … there’s probably breakfast a’cookin’ and I am famished.”
The signature Castiel head tilt popped to the left as the angel stood from the bed.
“I’m neither short … nor stubby. You and your brother are just very … large.”
Dean cackled as he scrounged up a clean shirt to throw on.
“That’s what she said.”
Head tilt. To the right this time.
“I do not understand that reference.”
Dean snagged the angel’s arm and pulled him toward the door.
“Some other time, Cas. Right now … bacon.”
Breakfast was a happy, laid back affair. There were a couple odd looks at Castiel’s state of undress, but Dean didn’t acknowledge it, and Cas was too busy poking at the scrambled eggs to even notice. Once bellies were full and plates were cleared away, Dean smacked Sam hard on the arm and announced that they had business to take care of today.
“What business, Dean? We just got here.”
“Shopping. Epic shopping.”
Bobby huffed out a snorted laugh.
“I didn’t realize that shopping could be considered business … or epic.”
Sherriff Mills mumbled something under her breath about clearance sales and mace … but all the men folk wisely chose to ignore her. Dean tugged on Cas’ shirt to get him heading towards the bedroom and a more publicly acceptable outfit.
“It is when you’re playing with your own personal Dress-Em-Up Angel.”
Sam’s face split into a grin.
“We’re shopping for Cas?”
Dean smacked his lips as he started up the stairs.
“Damn straight, we are. Winchester angels are going to buck the suit-wearing-accountants trend. I deem it so.”
The younger Winchester laughed again.
“You deem it so? Jesus, Dean!”
“That’s a bit redundant there, innit, Sammy?”
Sam stayed silent this time as Dean and Cas ascended (Ha!) the staircase.
~*~
Two hours later and Dean was in Hell.
Again.
Hell this time being the local mall, and his tormenter of choice … Sam Winchester. Let it never be said that Hell is not other people. Especially family members. Family members reliving some sort of childhood Ken and Barbie dress up fantasy. In all honesty, Dean had just figured they hop down to the local thrift store… buy a couple outfits and head home in time to catch a game on the tube.
He did not figure that he would find himself trudging behind Heidi and Tim (yes he watches Project Runway… shudup … Tim Gunn is fucking awesome) trolling through preppy-ass clothes stores and lugging around four shopping bags. The worst fucking part wasn’t even the shopping … it was the clothes. Apparently Cas had a thing for bright colors. Mangos and corals and … tangerines. (And why the fuck did there need to be so many names for fucking orange, man? Orange is orange. Cantaloupe? Are you even serious?)
Cas said they reminded him of the sunrise … so he kept zeroing in on every damn orange-ish fabric that popped up in a store. Eventually, Sam had talked him down to just buying some simple, soft v-neck tees in the colors that he liked the best. So, basically … six shades of orange, a deep purple, a bright-ass grass green and randomly… black. Next, they snagged him a couple pairs of jeans (the fake-distressed stone-washed kind that gave Dean hives) … and pair of gunmetal gray cargo pants that … actually looked pretty freakin’ hot.
Then they’d walked by that damn emo-goth-shit store that lingered in every mall, and Cas had caught a glimpse of a black trench coat hanging in the back. He’d nearly swooned. Then he wouldn’t leave without it … and Sammy made a good point that at least it wasn’t tan. They’d almost made it out of the store when Cas spotted a pair of bright orange Converse high-tops and love was in the fucking air.
Dean dropped down into a hard plastic booth in the food court with a heavy sigh and watched his dysfunctional twins wander off in search of sustenance. They had managed to find Cas some underwear and socks and undershirts he liked, and then picked him up some flannels for layering. (Thank Christ they didn’t come in orange.) So much for having his angel looking badass … best case scenario Cas was going to appear like an extra that had stepped out of It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!
The hunter sighed again and dropped his head back to stare idly at the dying potted ivy hanging in a basket above his head. Leaves brittle and brown, the poor thing looked like it hadn’t been watered in weeks. Dean felt a kinship to the plant. He would wither and die, too, if he was stuck in this bastion of capitalism and teenage wank day after day.
As he concentrated on the ivy, it actually took Dean a second to realize the plant was looking … better. The leaves were filling out and morphing into a healthy, bright green. Vines curled up with new strength to wind around the chain that dangling the basket from the ceiling. One even dropped low to barely brush against the crown of Dean’s head. In a matter of mere seconds, the obviously dead flora had revitalized to the most lush, beautiful ivy in the building.
Holy shit. What the hell had he just done?
He was still staring at the ivy when Sam and Cas dropped into the booth across from him. Dean dropped his gaze instantly to the food being laid out on the table and decided not to mention the plant. Later, as they were leaving the food court, he snatched a quick glance at the ivy … only to find that one hanging vine swaying softly as if waving goodbye. He snapped his eyes away and nearly tore out of the mall to the car.
The drive back to Bobby’s was full of Sam’s random chatter and Cas extolling on the color melon, but all Dean could hear were Chuck’s words. “There will be differences, though. You’ll see. You’ll feel things differently, see things differently, and do things you couldn’t before.” Add that to the funky God (as played by Vincent Price) dreams the week before … and Dean could fully admit he might be heading to a bit of a freak out.
The freak out hit full steam ahead when they walked into the front room of Bobby’ house.
“Hello, darlings!”
Dean instantly felt his lower right eyelid begin to twitch. Bobby and Sherriff Mills were standing an appropriately safe distance away from the kitchen as Balthazar hovered near the ancient stove, stirring some tea. Castiel’s face flushed red instantly, the poor angel probably remembering the exact circumstances of his last meeting with this particular brother.
Thankfully, it was hard to shock Sammy quiet for more than a couple seconds.
“Balthazar? What are you doing here? I thought you were heading back to … to wherever you usually hide?”
The elder angel sniffed elegantly and rolled his eyes once before taking a small sip of tea.
“Yes, well … that had been the plan. Unfortunately… I have been … shall we say, reassigned?”
Proverbial cat apparently releasing his tongue at last, Cas stepped forward with a customary head tilt.
“Reassigned? But you had left the Heavenly Host … I do not understand.”
Balthazar sighed and shrugged his shoulders dramatically.
“Unfortunately, now that Dearest Daddy is back upstairs whipping everyone into shape, I am no longer allowed to be a free agent. Apparently I need to “learn that discipline and loyalty are things to be admired” and prove to him that my existence is worthwhile. Or some bollocks like that.”
Dean suddenly had a very bad feeling about this. Oh … HELL NO, Chuck … you did NOT do this.
“So he sent you to me.”
All eyes turned quickly to Dean upon his grumbled statement. With the exception of Balthazar, most of the corresponding emotions flickering through those gazes were terror and please-anything-but-that. The elder angel, however … seemed sadistically thrilled.
“That’s right, pumpkin! You now have an angel army of two. Aren’t you delighted?”
Bobby’s muttered curse of ‘I’m going to need a bigger house’ could barely be heard over Sam’s loud groaning and Castiel’s bags of clothes falling from his suddenly lax hands. Dean sighed heavily as the room exploded into rapid fire comments and arguments. Sam demanded an explanation. Castiel demanded proof. Mills demanded everyone move the hell out … and Bobby just demanded some whiskey.
Dean slipped away, abandoning the noise of the house all together to jet out the front door and wander down the path through the piles of rusted-out cars. There was a solemn quiet to be found in the salvage yard that always calmed him and made him feel at home. He had been running through these broken and busted machines for as long as he could remember. Sometimes with Sammy chasing close behind, and sometimes alone. Pretending he was Batman stalking through the towering skyscrapers of Gotham City.
“I’m sorry about this.”
Dean whirled instantly, startled to find the junk yard completely washed out in white … and Chuck smiling sheepishly a few feet away. The outfit was the same as the last meeting, but there was a heavy weariness to the set of his eyes that wasn’t present before. Dean cleared his throat and slowly crossed his arms over his chest.
“Not going as easily as you’d hoped, Chuck?”
The smaller man sighed dramatically and shook his head.
“They’re just so …”
“Ridiculous? Psychotic? Poorly dressed?”
“… exhausting, which was totally the reason I left in the first place. You would think after a couple millennia of existence they would lighten up just a little, wouldn’t you?”
Dean shrugged nonchalantly.
“I wouldn’t know. I’m still trying to get my noggin’ around the fact that I apparently now have TWO ‘My Little Angels’ in my toy box.”
Chuck smirked, just a little, and gave back a shrug with a shrug.
“I couldn’t figure out what to do with him. The Host wouldn’t accept him back into their folds because of his desertion … and I figured … he had already proved himself to be willing to help you Winchesters. So…”
Said Winchester brought his hands up to rub across his eyes and then down his face.
“Fine. Yeah. Okay. We’ll make it work. He did help me out.”
The Almighty ex-Prophet cum Lord grinned brightly. Before he could say anything further… Dean figured he should hedge his bets and go for it.
“Chuck … you said … um, that I would be different. Being made from your Grace. How… how different?”
The smaller man side-stepped around Dean with the pretense of eyeing one of the white-washed stacks of junked cars.
“I told you there would be side-effects, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, but-”
“It’s nothing to worry about. You’ll get used to it.”
Something was off. Something just wasn’t sitting right in Dean’s gut. But what was he supposed to do? Call out GOD for lying to his face? That would probably end with a smiting. Maybe herpes. Or worse… castration. He wasn’t risking it.
“Fine. That’s great, Chuck. But look, in the meantime, what exactly am I supposed to be doing with my angel army of two, huh? Synchronized diving? Competitive curling? What’s our damn purpose?”
The deity took a couple shuffling steps backward and wiggled his fingers at Dean.
“Their purpose is whatever you make it to be-”
Dean snorted.
“-maybe get them into the family business? Saving people? Hunting things?”
With those last words, Chuck disappeared and the white-washed world slowly began to fade back into living color. It took him several seconds to realize that he was being shaken roughly by the shoulders, and that Sam was saying his name.
“DEAN! DEAN!”
Finally the colors of the world righted themselves, and Dean was startled to find everyone that had previously been in the house, arguing, now surrounding him in the salvage yard looking … panicked. He stepped back out of Sam’s tight grip and blinked his suddenly burning, dry eyes several times.
“For fucks sake, Sam… WHAT?”
A slightly hysterical giggle burst out of Sam.
“WHAT? What do you mean ‘WHAT’? You weren’t responding to our words at all… and your eyes had gone white … just like…just like before.”
Ah. Okay. Dean could see how that would freak his little brother out some. They had all be under the impression that Dean was completely normal again, after he had been remade. He hadn’t told them about Chuck’s warning, that he might still be able to do things or sense things. Admitting that right away would have been more trouble than it was worth. Sam would have been fretting constantly and who knows what kind of reaction Cas would have. Dean cleared his throat and shrugged his shoulders.
“Sorry about that, Sammy … but it’s not like before. I was just having a little pow-wow with the big cheese, that’s all.”
Barring Balthazar, all the eyes upon him widened in comical surprise. Bobby had to choke out his words in a strangled grunt.
“You were talking to GOD? HERE!?”
Dean shrugged again before turning back towards the house in an attempt to escape the inevitable questions about what had just happened.
“Yeah. He stopped by. Apologized for unloading his unwanted stray on me-”
“I BEG your pardon!”
“-and then he went on his merry way. Nothing much to tell here, guys. It’s no big deal.”
A massive hand gripped his shoulder and stopped Dean in his tracks. Inwardly he cursed the day that Sam had surpassed him and size and strength. It just wasn’t fair to have a little brother that was so much larger than him. Fucking genetics.
“Dean-,”
He knocked Sam’s hand away with a little more force than was strictly necessary, but the constant hovering and questions were starting to really wear on Dean’s nerves. He had a hell of a lot of shit on his plate right now and being treated like he was fragile just rubbed his fur the wrong fucking way. No one spoke up again or tried to stop him as he stalked away towards one of the back garages. There was a comfy rocking chair and a mini-fridge full of beer with his name on it.
CHAPTER TWO
The war in Heaven was over and the world was right again. As right as it could be, anyway, considering there were still all manner of monsters and assholes scurrying free across its surface. The All Mighty Father had finally shown his face and cleaned up his mess. Of course, his version of cleaning had been using Dean Winchester as the mighty Swiffer of destruction in Heaven, but hey … it all ended up okay, right?
Chuck … (and fuck if Dean was EVER going to get used to thinking of the scrawny ex-prophet as GOD) … had restored order with the Heavenly Hosts, revived all the fallen from the Civil War, and even recreated Dean himself. Using his own all-powerful grace, no less. Things weren’t all coming up roses, though. Castiel had been banished to Earth as Dean’s personal angel army of one, and it had affected the man more than he would probably ever willingly acknowledge.
Upon his return to earth, to the little cabin holding two thirds of his remaining family and after the impromptu make-out session with Cas on the floor … Dean had promptly passed out. His new body was still adjusting to its creation, and he just hadn’t been physically capable of staying conscious. According to Sam, Dean had slept for three days straight, but Castiel’s utter calm about the short catatonia had kept the younger Winchester from freaking out too much.
All Dean remembered were the epic dreams he’d had. Dreams about Heaven and Hell and the creation of them both. He saw galaxies come into existence and stars vaporize into ashes. He watched a sun go super-nova and witnessed the first sparks of life develop on earth. Chuck appeared in a different visage (one eerily close to Vincent Price) … and Dean observed him as he created his angels, banished Lucifer, and then disappeared from Heaven entirely.
When Dean finally woke, his head was so full to bursting of images and thoughts that he hadn’t spoken to Sam or Cas for at least another day. There was too much information to compute, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Chuck was trying to tell him something … or if it was all just residual from being created with God’s Grace. He was conscious enough to function and move around, but his mind was quite literally … elsewhere.
Finally, he slam-dunked back into full awareness when they pulled up outside the house of Singer Salvage and Bobby and hugged him tightly to his chest … and then smacked him hard upside the head.
“OW!! What the hell, Bobby!?”
The older man growled under his breath as he turned to stalk back towards the house.
“Don’t you give me that, boy … you know exactly what that was for! Sending that poncey prick of an angel to tell me goodbye! I shoulda smacked you with a frying pan!”
Things in la cabesa de Dean Winchester seemed to reboot and fade back into normal after that. Bobby had fired up the grill and laid out a spread fit for a king, with the help of Sheriff Jodie Mills (and ho-boy Dean really hadn’t seen THAT one coming). There had been copious amounts of alcohol and grilled meat to devour between them as Sammy laid the whole sordid tale out for Bobby. For his own part, Dean had just listened with half an ear as he’d stuffed his face, because hello… suddenly ravenously hungry.
Cas was a steady presence at his side. The grounded angel wasn’t saying much … he was mostly just there… always within reaching distance. Every once in a while, he would cast his gaze heavenward and his eyes would take on a haunted glaze. Dean would end up reaching over to pat the angel on his shoulder or thigh gently, and then Cas would turn those stunning blues back at him and smile just the tinniest bit. When bedtime finally rolled around, Cas dutifully followed Dean upstairs towards the bedroom that had always been reserved for the elder Winchester brother. Bobby’s eyebrows damn near hit his hat line, and Dean wondered if Sam had left out that tasty little tidbit from the tale.
“Headin’ to bed, son?” What the hell is going on?
Dean smiled.
“Yup.” Figure it out for yourself, old timer.
Castiel bowed his head slightly in deference towards the older man before stepping through the doorway into Dean’s room. Dean chuckled softly at the look on Bobby’s face before whispering a quiet goodnight and shutting the door behind himself and his angel.
His angel. Heh.
Cas was standing in the middle of the moonlit room looking completely lost. Dean smiled as innocently as he could manage and then started to shuck his road-worn clothes off onto the floor. When he was just down to his faded black boxer briefs, he flopped face first onto the bed and huffed out a weary breath.
“It’s fucking good to be home.”
The angel shuffled his feet for a few seconds and Dean grinned into his pillow.
“Dean? What should … what should I do?”
The hunter groaned and reached around to scratch a pesky itch on the back of his thigh.
“Bedtime, Cas. That means you go to bed.”
Complete silence filled the room for several moments, and Dean had never been good at ignoring his curiosity. He turned his head and laughed softly at the look of consternation on the angel’s face.
“Cas. Take off your clothes. Get into bed. Sleep.”
He was answered with a jerky nod, and then the familiar tan jacket was slipping off those deceptively slim shoulders. Cas carefully removed each item of clothing until he was down to a thin white undershirt and a pair of plaid cotton boxers. Dean couldn’t help the grin that split his face as Cas looked down at his underdressed state.
“I have never removed the materials of this vessel before.”
Lifting his arm just enough to pat the bed beside him, Dean totally did not giggle. Seriously. Shut up.
“Well get used to it, pal … no angel of mine is going to be seen day in and day out wearing the same nerdy accountant wear.”
Cas shot him a mild glare, but carefully padded over to the bed and crawled onto the ancient mattress.
“I have never had reason to change clothing before. It suits me fine.”
Dean scooted a little more towards the wall and the angel slowly spread himself down into a resting pose. He copied Dean’s position exactly, as if he wasn’t sure how else to lie down to go to sleep.
“Well, it doesn’t suit me. We’re going to get you some new clothes. Something less Jimmy Novak and more Castiel- … huh. Guess we’re going to have to get you a last name, aren’t we?”
The angel ran his fingers down the seam of the pillow case.
“If I have to have one … can I choose it myself?”
Dean grinned.
“Of course you can. Do you have something in mind?”
Cas shook his head slightly.
“Not yet. I will let you know.”
It was quiet after that. The echoes of the crickets outside were working hard to lull Dean into sleep. He let his eyes drift closed and enjoyed hum of the air conditioner, and the cool breeze of it across his back. There was a mild warmth from the closeness of Castiel’s body and the hair at his nape stirred a little with the angel’s deep breaths. All in all … it was a pretty perfect way to fall asleep.
~*~
Something stirred him to wakefulness just as the morning sun was beginning to glow red against his eyelids. A soft tickle of a touch was moving slowly down his back and up along his ribcage. Fingertips. They spread across his shoulders and slid down to cup his elbow for a brief second, before backtracking to skate across the knobs of his spine.
Cas.
Dean slowly blinked his eyes open. Castiel was sitting, Indian style, next to him on the bed and observing the movements of his own fingers intently. There was a level of reverence in his gaze that was humbling. Like the planes of Dean’s back were the most amazing thing he could ever imagine.
“Your scars are all gone.”
He didn’t startle at the sudden words, hunter thank you very much, but a puff of surprised air did escape Dean’s lips. There wasn’t anything he could really think of to say in response to that comment, so he kept his silence and just observed Cas observing him. The angel’s fingertips skimmed down his arm to take hold of Dean’s hand, weaving their fingers together and gripping tight before finally turning to meet Dean’s gaze.
“What are we to do now?”
A yawn broke free, unbidden, and Dean slowly pushed himself up to mirror Cas’ position without breaking the contact of their hands. Since the day of his return, and subsequent almost-but-not-quite dry humping on the floor (which Balthazar had helpfully recorded - fucking bastard) neither man nor angel had initiated any further contact. Dean figured now that his imminent demise wasn’t so imminent … they were both a little unsure of what the next step should be.
“Don’t know … what do you wanna do, Cas?”
“I-”
*KNOCK*KNOCK*KNOCK*
The door rattled in its frame with the force of the pounding.
“WAKE UP YOU LAZY JERK!”
Little brothers … gotta love ‘em.
“SHUT UP, BITCH!”
Sam’s chuckle drifted in from the hallway, followed closely by the stomping footfalls of his epically giant feet. There was a soft murmur of voices further down the hall. Apparently, Sam had been designated to come raze them from sleep. Probably because Bobby was likely still a little freaked out about Dean and Cas sharing the room. When he turned back to said angel, Cas had a small smile ticking into existence. Dean tugged his hand from Cas’ grip and scrambled off the bed.
“Come on, short and stubby … there’s probably breakfast a’cookin’ and I am famished.”
The signature Castiel head tilt popped to the left as the angel stood from the bed.
“I’m neither short … nor stubby. You and your brother are just very … large.”
Dean cackled as he scrounged up a clean shirt to throw on.
“That’s what she said.”
Head tilt. To the right this time.
“I do not understand that reference.”
Dean snagged the angel’s arm and pulled him toward the door.
“Some other time, Cas. Right now … bacon.”
Breakfast was a happy, laid back affair. There were a couple odd looks at Castiel’s state of undress, but Dean didn’t acknowledge it, and Cas was too busy poking at the scrambled eggs to even notice. Once bellies were full and plates were cleared away, Dean smacked Sam hard on the arm and announced that they had business to take care of today.
“What business, Dean? We just got here.”
“Shopping. Epic shopping.”
Bobby huffed out a snorted laugh.
“I didn’t realize that shopping could be considered business … or epic.”
Sherriff Mills mumbled something under her breath about clearance sales and mace … but all the men folk wisely chose to ignore her. Dean tugged on Cas’ shirt to get him heading towards the bedroom and a more publicly acceptable outfit.
“It is when you’re playing with your own personal Dress-Em-Up Angel.”
Sam’s face split into a grin.
“We’re shopping for Cas?”
Dean smacked his lips as he started up the stairs.
“Damn straight, we are. Winchester angels are going to buck the suit-wearing-accountants trend. I deem it so.”
The younger Winchester laughed again.
“You deem it so? Jesus, Dean!”
“That’s a bit redundant there, innit, Sammy?”
Sam stayed silent this time as Dean and Cas ascended (Ha!) the staircase.
~*~
Two hours later and Dean was in Hell.
Again.
Hell this time being the local mall, and his tormenter of choice … Sam Winchester. Let it never be said that Hell is not other people. Especially family members. Family members reliving some sort of childhood Ken and Barbie dress up fantasy. In all honesty, Dean had just figured they hop down to the local thrift store… buy a couple outfits and head home in time to catch a game on the tube.
He did not figure that he would find himself trudging behind Heidi and Tim (yes he watches Project Runway… shudup … Tim Gunn is fucking awesome) trolling through preppy-ass clothes stores and lugging around four shopping bags. The worst fucking part wasn’t even the shopping … it was the clothes. Apparently Cas had a thing for bright colors. Mangos and corals and … tangerines. (And why the fuck did there need to be so many names for fucking orange, man? Orange is orange. Cantaloupe? Are you even serious?)
Cas said they reminded him of the sunrise … so he kept zeroing in on every damn orange-ish fabric that popped up in a store. Eventually, Sam had talked him down to just buying some simple, soft v-neck tees in the colors that he liked the best. So, basically … six shades of orange, a deep purple, a bright-ass grass green and randomly… black. Next, they snagged him a couple pairs of jeans (the fake-distressed stone-washed kind that gave Dean hives) … and pair of gunmetal gray cargo pants that … actually looked pretty freakin’ hot.
Then they’d walked by that damn emo-goth-shit store that lingered in every mall, and Cas had caught a glimpse of a black trench coat hanging in the back. He’d nearly swooned. Then he wouldn’t leave without it … and Sammy made a good point that at least it wasn’t tan. They’d almost made it out of the store when Cas spotted a pair of bright orange Converse high-tops and love was in the fucking air.
Dean dropped down into a hard plastic booth in the food court with a heavy sigh and watched his dysfunctional twins wander off in search of sustenance. They had managed to find Cas some underwear and socks and undershirts he liked, and then picked him up some flannels for layering. (Thank Christ they didn’t come in orange.) So much for having his angel looking badass … best case scenario Cas was going to appear like an extra that had stepped out of It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!
The hunter sighed again and dropped his head back to stare idly at the dying potted ivy hanging in a basket above his head. Leaves brittle and brown, the poor thing looked like it hadn’t been watered in weeks. Dean felt a kinship to the plant. He would wither and die, too, if he was stuck in this bastion of capitalism and teenage wank day after day.
As he concentrated on the ivy, it actually took Dean a second to realize the plant was looking … better. The leaves were filling out and morphing into a healthy, bright green. Vines curled up with new strength to wind around the chain that dangling the basket from the ceiling. One even dropped low to barely brush against the crown of Dean’s head. In a matter of mere seconds, the obviously dead flora had revitalized to the most lush, beautiful ivy in the building.
Holy shit. What the hell had he just done?
He was still staring at the ivy when Sam and Cas dropped into the booth across from him. Dean dropped his gaze instantly to the food being laid out on the table and decided not to mention the plant. Later, as they were leaving the food court, he snatched a quick glance at the ivy … only to find that one hanging vine swaying softly as if waving goodbye. He snapped his eyes away and nearly tore out of the mall to the car.
The drive back to Bobby’s was full of Sam’s random chatter and Cas extolling on the color melon, but all Dean could hear were Chuck’s words. “There will be differences, though. You’ll see. You’ll feel things differently, see things differently, and do things you couldn’t before.” Add that to the funky God (as played by Vincent Price) dreams the week before … and Dean could fully admit he might be heading to a bit of a freak out.
The freak out hit full steam ahead when they walked into the front room of Bobby’ house.
“Hello, darlings!”
Dean instantly felt his lower right eyelid begin to twitch. Bobby and Sherriff Mills were standing an appropriately safe distance away from the kitchen as Balthazar hovered near the ancient stove, stirring some tea. Castiel’s face flushed red instantly, the poor angel probably remembering the exact circumstances of his last meeting with this particular brother.
Thankfully, it was hard to shock Sammy quiet for more than a couple seconds.
“Balthazar? What are you doing here? I thought you were heading back to … to wherever you usually hide?”
The elder angel sniffed elegantly and rolled his eyes once before taking a small sip of tea.
“Yes, well … that had been the plan. Unfortunately… I have been … shall we say, reassigned?”
Proverbial cat apparently releasing his tongue at last, Cas stepped forward with a customary head tilt.
“Reassigned? But you had left the Heavenly Host … I do not understand.”
Balthazar sighed and shrugged his shoulders dramatically.
“Unfortunately, now that Dearest Daddy is back upstairs whipping everyone into shape, I am no longer allowed to be a free agent. Apparently I need to “learn that discipline and loyalty are things to be admired” and prove to him that my existence is worthwhile. Or some bollocks like that.”
Dean suddenly had a very bad feeling about this. Oh … HELL NO, Chuck … you did NOT do this.
“So he sent you to me.”
All eyes turned quickly to Dean upon his grumbled statement. With the exception of Balthazar, most of the corresponding emotions flickering through those gazes were terror and please-anything-but-that. The elder angel, however … seemed sadistically thrilled.
“That’s right, pumpkin! You now have an angel army of two. Aren’t you delighted?”
Bobby’s muttered curse of ‘I’m going to need a bigger house’ could barely be heard over Sam’s loud groaning and Castiel’s bags of clothes falling from his suddenly lax hands. Dean sighed heavily as the room exploded into rapid fire comments and arguments. Sam demanded an explanation. Castiel demanded proof. Mills demanded everyone move the hell out … and Bobby just demanded some whiskey.
Dean slipped away, abandoning the noise of the house all together to jet out the front door and wander down the path through the piles of rusted-out cars. There was a solemn quiet to be found in the salvage yard that always calmed him and made him feel at home. He had been running through these broken and busted machines for as long as he could remember. Sometimes with Sammy chasing close behind, and sometimes alone. Pretending he was Batman stalking through the towering skyscrapers of Gotham City.
“I’m sorry about this.”
Dean whirled instantly, startled to find the junk yard completely washed out in white … and Chuck smiling sheepishly a few feet away. The outfit was the same as the last meeting, but there was a heavy weariness to the set of his eyes that wasn’t present before. Dean cleared his throat and slowly crossed his arms over his chest.
“Not going as easily as you’d hoped, Chuck?”
The smaller man sighed dramatically and shook his head.
“They’re just so …”
“Ridiculous? Psychotic? Poorly dressed?”
“… exhausting, which was totally the reason I left in the first place. You would think after a couple millennia of existence they would lighten up just a little, wouldn’t you?”
Dean shrugged nonchalantly.
“I wouldn’t know. I’m still trying to get my noggin’ around the fact that I apparently now have TWO ‘My Little Angels’ in my toy box.”
Chuck smirked, just a little, and gave back a shrug with a shrug.
“I couldn’t figure out what to do with him. The Host wouldn’t accept him back into their folds because of his desertion … and I figured … he had already proved himself to be willing to help you Winchesters. So…”
Said Winchester brought his hands up to rub across his eyes and then down his face.
“Fine. Yeah. Okay. We’ll make it work. He did help me out.”
The Almighty ex-Prophet cum Lord grinned brightly. Before he could say anything further… Dean figured he should hedge his bets and go for it.
“Chuck … you said … um, that I would be different. Being made from your Grace. How… how different?”
The smaller man side-stepped around Dean with the pretense of eyeing one of the white-washed stacks of junked cars.
“I told you there would be side-effects, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, but-”
“It’s nothing to worry about. You’ll get used to it.”
Something was off. Something just wasn’t sitting right in Dean’s gut. But what was he supposed to do? Call out GOD for lying to his face? That would probably end with a smiting. Maybe herpes. Or worse… castration. He wasn’t risking it.
“Fine. That’s great, Chuck. But look, in the meantime, what exactly am I supposed to be doing with my angel army of two, huh? Synchronized diving? Competitive curling? What’s our damn purpose?”
The deity took a couple shuffling steps backward and wiggled his fingers at Dean.
“Their purpose is whatever you make it to be-”
Dean snorted.
“-maybe get them into the family business? Saving people? Hunting things?”
With those last words, Chuck disappeared and the white-washed world slowly began to fade back into living color. It took him several seconds to realize that he was being shaken roughly by the shoulders, and that Sam was saying his name.
“DEAN! DEAN!”
Finally the colors of the world righted themselves, and Dean was startled to find everyone that had previously been in the house, arguing, now surrounding him in the salvage yard looking … panicked. He stepped back out of Sam’s tight grip and blinked his suddenly burning, dry eyes several times.
“For fucks sake, Sam… WHAT?”
A slightly hysterical giggle burst out of Sam.
“WHAT? What do you mean ‘WHAT’? You weren’t responding to our words at all… and your eyes had gone white … just like…just like before.”
Ah. Okay. Dean could see how that would freak his little brother out some. They had all be under the impression that Dean was completely normal again, after he had been remade. He hadn’t told them about Chuck’s warning, that he might still be able to do things or sense things. Admitting that right away would have been more trouble than it was worth. Sam would have been fretting constantly and who knows what kind of reaction Cas would have. Dean cleared his throat and shrugged his shoulders.
“Sorry about that, Sammy … but it’s not like before. I was just having a little pow-wow with the big cheese, that’s all.”
Barring Balthazar, all the eyes upon him widened in comical surprise. Bobby had to choke out his words in a strangled grunt.
“You were talking to GOD? HERE!?”
Dean shrugged again before turning back towards the house in an attempt to escape the inevitable questions about what had just happened.
“Yeah. He stopped by. Apologized for unloading his unwanted stray on me-”
“I BEG your pardon!”
“-and then he went on his merry way. Nothing much to tell here, guys. It’s no big deal.”
A massive hand gripped his shoulder and stopped Dean in his tracks. Inwardly he cursed the day that Sam had surpassed him and size and strength. It just wasn’t fair to have a little brother that was so much larger than him. Fucking genetics.
“Dean-,”
He knocked Sam’s hand away with a little more force than was strictly necessary, but the constant hovering and questions were starting to really wear on Dean’s nerves. He had a hell of a lot of shit on his plate right now and being treated like he was fragile just rubbed his fur the wrong fucking way. No one spoke up again or tried to stop him as he stalked away towards one of the back garages. There was a comfy rocking chair and a mini-fridge full of beer with his name on it.
CHAPTER TWO