Chicken Little: Part One
Title: Chicken Little: Part One
Author: muchofthetime
Rating: NC-17 (eventually)
Pairings/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam, various surprise characters, and original angels
Spoilers: Up to 8x23. Takes place directly after the finale.
Warnings: sex, language
Summary: "You're leaving, aren't you," Dean says at length, his voice low. "That was you, saying goodbye." Cas just wants to save the angels, Dean just wants to protect his family, and Sam just wants to not get murdered. Turns out, it's a lot to ask.
He can smell the blood in the air. The sweat, the grime, caked onto Sam's face, still so familiar to him, despite the blood shot eyes, the cracked lips, the gasps for breath that send a chill down his spine. There's a stench of . . . burning rubber that blows through with the breeze and his stomach rolls nauseatingly as his mind replays the last several seconds.
Angels. They're falling.
Tears sting the corners of his eyes, but he can't tear his gaze from a sky that is exploding with light, like bright, white fireworks illuminating the darkness as they tumble back to Earth. But they're not fireworks, there's no cause for celebration in the human-shaped vessels that come careening into the ground, into the water of the nearby pond. Somehow, through the fog of horror and disbelief, he wonders what the rest of the world is seeing right now, wonders if hunters he's never met are watching the angels' wings burst into flame, knowing instantly that it can be traced back to the Winchesters.
"Cas." The single name Sam whispers ricochets through his mind, sharpening his focus, and he gropes desperately for his cellphone, hoping it's still in his pocket. He knows the facts, understands that all of this means Naomi was right, that Metatron has been playing them, that odds are, Cas is dead in Heaven right now, and that the other line will ring uselessly until Cas' bizarre voicemail clicks on. But he ignores all of that, because Cas has always had an uncanny knack for dodging death.
He trembles as he hits "two" on the speed dial.
It doesn't ring, and for one heart-stopping moment he's sure that the phone is powered down, and that the likelihood of reaching his friend has just dropped dangerously low, but, no, it's just taking a second to connect. It rings once and then -
"Dean."
The relief that washes over him nearly knocks him flat, and he clings to the feeling like it's a life raft. "Cas. Man, it's good to hear your voice."
He hears Cas drag in a breath from the other end of the line and the heavy grief that's settled around it. He can't imagine what he must be going through, what happened in Heaven, and he grips Sammy's shoulder tightly with his free hand. He needs to get his family together, under the same roof. Needs to be able to inspect Sam and Cas with a critical eye and see for himself that both of them are going to be fine.
"Dean," Cas begins quietly, drawing his attention. "I'm so-"
"No," he interrupts sharply. He flinches at the venom in his own voice and takes a deep breath, gentling it before continuing, "Please, Cas. Not - Not tonight. Let's just . . . Go home."
Cas is silent in a way that is both frightening, and comforting with its familiarity. Even months, years, after they met, Castiel was never one for talking just to make sound, so Dean allows himself to lean into something he knows and prompts, "Cas? Can we do that?"
Cas' voice is low, defeated. "Yes. I would like that."
It's so small a victory, but enough for Dean to release a breath he didn't realize he was holding. It almost seems cruel to broach his next question, but he has to know, has to be sure, so he clears his throat, before carefully asking, "Did you want to meet us? Or, you know. Do you need a ride?" He feels Sam's eyes dart to him immediately, but he refuses to meet his gaze.
The long inhale is an answer in and of itself, but regardless Cas whispers back, "I need you to come get me."
Dean nods, telling himself that this isn't a surprise, but his stomach is tight, his heart is twisting into painful knots. It's his fault, this whole thing. He should have seen through Metatron, he should have found the words to make Cas wait, for once. It was easy to blame Cas with Sam writhing in pain, and the angels falling from Heaven, but now, picturing his best friend scared, and alone, and, not just for all intents and purposes, but actually fully human, all he wants to do is beg both of them for forgiveness. "Okay, it's okay," he says, and now he glances down at Sam, sees the grim acceptance reflecting back at him. They never wanted this to happen, never thought it could, but they'll find a way to deal with it, the way they always do. It's comforting to see Sam and himself of the same mind, once again. "Where are you?"
"I'm not sure," Cas says, and there's so much fear in those three words that it's like a punch to the gut. Castiel, Angel of the Lord, who could always go anywhere with a thought, look at a perfect stranger and know their entire life story, who could search the entirety of the planet in seconds, has no idea where he is, and Dean's not with him.
"Don't worry," Dean says, keeping his tone steady and calm, "I turned your phone's GPS on, back at the bar. We can find you that way."
"Ask him what he sees," Sam advises. His voice is sounding closer to normal with each passing second, and Dean couldn't put the relief he feels into words if he tried. "It could be hours before we get there, and . . ."
And he's human now.
Dean sighs, and tries to find a way to word this without offending him somehow. "Cas, what's around you? Are you near a gas station? Or - " He doesn't pray, but hopes as hard as he can. "A motel maybe?"
Silence again, and it's all Dean can do to keep his own panic in check. Suddenly his friend, once indestructible, feels so fragile now, like he's a giant, breakable, target.
"There's a Quality Inn," Cas finally says, breathing out, and it sounds so loud, for some reason. "Right here." His tone is distinctly incredulous.
Dean huffs a mirthless laugh. "Well that's lucky."
"Maybe."
He quickly tells Cas what to say to the front desk clerk, then listens to the shuffle as Cas lowers the cell phone, the ding of the motel lobby door as he pushes it open.
"How is he," Sam asks, pulling Dean's attention. His eyes are bright with concern, a reminder that Dean isn't the only one to see Cas as family and it heartens him, allowing him another sliver of strength. Enough for him to keep steady and upright.
"He'll be okay," Dean says, and it feels true. "Hopefully he's not too far from Kansas and-"
"Dean," Cas' voice comes back over the line. "The woman says there are accommodations available." He sounds relatively better, but it's hard to be sure.
"Okay, that's good. Did you give her the credit card number I gave you?"
"Yes. She said she will need to see it and your identification before I check out."
"Not a problem." He makes a mental note to flip through his fake I.D.s for the one that says Tony Stark. "We'll be there as soon as we can. And Cas, lock up. Don't let anyone in but us. Password's . . ." He looks out into the silent night, and sighs. "Chicken Little."
*
Cas is in Tulsa, about a nine hour drive, and Dean uses the time to try to work out a gameplan. The angels suddenly residing on Earth, that's something they're going to have to deal with, but Cas said nothing about how he managed an escape or what Metatron's actions were, exactly. Naomi said if he was successful that it would be like it was with Lucifer, so Dean had assumed that the angels would keep their powers and simply be cast out of Heaven, but if Cas is fully mortal, that probably means the other angels are too. Though of course he has no real idea. Sam got as far as, "Well, with the angels -" before Dean cut him off, and said, in no uncertain terms, that the conversation was officially closed until Sam got, at minimum, six hours of sleep, and the half-hearted argument Sam returned spoke volumes as to how tired he really was. So Dean's been trying to work this out on his own, but no matter how he looks at it, it will be no small undertaking.
They stop to fill up at an Exxon just outside of Oklahoma when Dean sees the first angel.
It's a man - well, the vessel is male, anyway. He's leaning against the door to the gas station, and as Dean climbs slowly out of the car, careful not to wake his slumbering brother, he's hit with the realization of what this being is. There's no halo, no shadow of wings, but he exudes something Dean's come to recognize after all these years of fighting side-by-side with an angel, and that answers the question about their powers. The man looks at him, stare speculative and unflinching, and there's no mistaking it: he knows Dean.
There's a moment where Dean seriously considers jumping back in the Impala and driving as far and as fast as possible, but they've been low on gas for miles, and this is the only place around.
"Look," he begins as the angel steps towards him, though he has no idea what he's going to say. Truthfully he's never been very good with angels.
"I don't want to hurt you, Dean Winchester," says the angel. He draws steadily closer, and though he makes no move to attack, Dean stiffens. "I was a part of Castiel's garrison. I know you're his friend."
"Yeah, the question is, are you," Dean snaps back. His words don't matter anyway. He's not carrying an angel blade, he has nothing to defend himself with, so if this guy wants to kill him, he's doing little more than putting off the inevitable.
The angel smiles, and it's a little scary. "More so than most angels, I suppose. I am Zadkiel," he says, extending a hand, and Dean debates for all of three seconds before he shakes it with his own. Zadkiel's grip is firm, but calming, and Dean could be mistaken, but it feels like kindness settling in behind the dark brown eyes that bore into him in a deeply familiar way.
"Dean. But you already knew that."
"I did."
Dean waits for the man to continue, and when he doesn't, Dean sighs. "Look, I don't want any trouble," he says, as though he has a lot of control over it, as though he would not break his hand on Zadkiel's face if he took a swing.
"Nor do I."
"So, I'm just going to pump some gas, and you can go back to leaning against the door, there." He makes to move around the angel, but Zadkiel suddenly catches him around the elbow, fingers tight and unrelenting.
"I have filled your car with gasoline already," Zadkiel tells him, the tranquil expression evaporating completely, replaced by something hurried, frantic. "You and your brother need to keep moving, Dean Winchester. I'm sure you're aware that not all angels will be as tolerant and forgiving as myself."
Hester, Rachel, Uriel, Michael, Balthazar, Gabriel, the memories of the angels he's insulted at one time or other come flooding back, and Dean has no problem believing that though it may not come from the deceased angels themselves, there are probably several angels walking around on Earth that might want to have some one-on-one time with him for retribution. He takes an unwitting step backwards, towards the car. He's not sure if it's the mojo, or the question shining bright in his eyes, but Zadkiel lowers his head slightly. "I will not tell my brothers and sisters I have seen you, Dean Winchester. Your secret is safe with me."
"Why?" He really doesn't have time for questions, but it's wretched out of him before he can help it, even as he turns and walks, embarrassingly quickly, back to the car.
"You're Castiel's friends." Zadkiel shrugs, and for just a moment Dean thinks he could pass for human. "Free will. It's something dear to my own heart." Then his gaze sharpens, his jaw tightens, and his voice, barely a whisper, reaches Dean as though Zadkiel is standing right next to him rather than several yards away. "Dean Winchester. Go."
*
By the time they get to Tulsa Sam's awake, the sun in shining, and Dean has checked the rear-view mirror no less than ninety-five times to make sure they aren't being followed. As many enemies as he and Sam may have, he's pretty sure Cas just made thousands more, and all they need is one pissed off angel to send up an alert. But his concerns have been unfounded, he's forced to admit, as he slows to a stop outside the Quality Inn's lobby.
"Maybe you should go talk to him first," Sam suggests, and Dean nods, a little slowly, because he's not looking forward to seeing the man he's going to find in there. He's reminded of standing with Sam, staring at the back of a tan trenchcoat, nervously waiting for Castiel to turn around speak to Dean for the first time since he was woken by the ping of the Winchesters doing something stupid again.
He goes to the front desk first so he won't have to stop on the way out, and smiles as genuinely as he can at the clerk as she studies his I.D. She's acting a little suspicious, in his opinion, but for all he knows ten different angels have stumbled into the motel, tilting their heads in confusion and asking if she's seen Moses floating around here anywhere, so he rolls his eyes and swallows back an irritated remark.
The woman explains that Cas' room is on the back hall, and he should just follow it around, the numbers go up. He departs without another word.
He's standing outside room 126 a little quicker than he would like, and he allows himself to take a breath, calming his trembling hands, before knocking loudly against the door. "Hey! Chicken Little!"
Agonizingly long moments pass as he waits, and he's not sure how long it's been, but he's raising his fist to knock again when the handle finally turns and Cas is there in front of him, eyes blank, almost unseeing. "I don't find that reference amusing," he says, his voice low.
Dean blinks. "What?"
"Chicken Little." Cas turns away, swallowing hard. "I used Google on the computer in the lobby to look up the meaning of Chicken Little. It's not funny."
"You know how to use a computer?"
The glare his friend shoots him is scathingly impatient. "I have seen Sam use one a time or two."
"Cas, what the hell happened?"
The question takes Dean, himself, off-guard, so he's surprised when Cas answers back readily, "I was wrong about Metatron. Naomi's dead - he killed her. He was collecting ingredients for a spell all along; there were never any trials." Something passes quickly over his face, and it looks a lot like shame. "He took my grace for the spell. He made me human."
"Why you," Dean asks, a variation of a question he's been asking for a while. Why us? Why is it always us?
Cas shakes his head. "I don't know. He said he wanted to . . . give me a gift."
"Well, that was nice of him." Dean sighs and before he fully registers the movement, his hands go to Cas' elbows and grasp him firmly. "Are you okay? I mean, nothing hurts, right? Would you be able to tell if you had a broken bone?"
"I'm fine, Dean." And the warm fondness in the words should probably be a warning, but Dean's still stunned when Cas steps forward and wraps long arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. Dean's body reacts instinctively and his arms settle around Cas' waist, and he's probably never felt more awkward in his life, but fuck it. They've both had a hard day.
Dean feels it when Cas' body tenses up. "Where's Crowley," Cas asks, stepping back quickly. He scans the room as though expecting to find the demon skulking in the corner.
"I knew we forgot something!"
But Cas has known him long enough now to sense sarcasm a little better, and he catches on with impressive swiftness. "Sarcasm." The fact that it's not a question feels inexplicably good.
Dean grins. "Yeah, pretty much. We left him behind."
"You what?" The fear in Cas' voice cuts through the room, and Dean immediately knows what he's thinking.
"Dude, seriously?" He doesn't want to fight, not today, but his insides boil at the mere implication of that emotion. "You seriously think Sam and I would let the King of Hell go when you're walking around without your angel mojo? You seriously think we don't care at all that you're probably Number One on his hit list? Relax. He's not a demon anymore."
Cas, to his credit, manages to look shamed. "I didn't mean to insinuate - I . . ." He looks up, his eyes earnest. "Is it alright to apologize? You said before-"
Dean can't help it. He snorts and shakes his head in amusement as the ire disappears as quickly as it flared up. "No, don't worry about it. It's okay." He shrugs. "We're probably all a little jumpy today."
"Thank you for coming for me," Cas says suddenly. His bright blue eyes are wide with gratitude and affection so naked that it leaves Dean reeling, a little. "You're a good friend."
"Cas, please, can we go," Dean pleads, determinedly ignoring the flush he can feel traveling up his neck. "This is getting embarrassing."
Cas smiles. "Yes, Dean. Of course."
*
The rest of the drive to the Batcave is uneventful. Dean tells Cas about the run-in with Zadkiel, and is pretty relieved when Cas assures him that Zadkiel is a friend and can be trusted. A flicker of something darts across his features before Cas smiles softy, and and tells them that Zadkiel is one of the few he's gone to see since his return from Purgatory, though Cas' eyes darken at the mention of the angels, and Dean and Sam silently agree not to bring them up again.
Cas asks Sam about the trials, expresses his relief that Dean got to him in time. Sam looks surprised, pointing out that the gates to Hell are still open and when Cas returns, Yes, but you're alive, Dean doesn't miss the way his brother's eyes soften.
"I'm glad you're okay too, Cas," Sam says. Cas says nothing in return and Dean tries not to translate the silence.
They pull up to the Bunker and the moment the door swings open, Dean and Sam are on the alert. A loud, blaring alarm echoes through their once-silent home, and even standing on the balcony, they can see the new lights that light up the panels of the control room and the strange map in the center. Sure, the Bunker has always had electricity, but never before has it been so alive, so foreboding.
"What . . . the hell," Dean murmurs, as Sam moves around him, and down the stairs.
"Kevin," Sam shouts. He takes a step towards the hall where the bedrooms are located, when words from Cas halt him in his tracks.
"He's gone."
Dean looks down, surprised to see that Cas sprang into action at the same moment Sam did, and that he's now standing at the bottom of the stairs in front of the map. He holds a sheet of white paper in his hand, and after a moment begins to read.
"Guys-
"By the time you read this I'll be gone. I appreciate everything you've done to try to keep me safe, and I understand what you meant, now, about being in this for life, and for the first time in a long time I finally feel like I know what I need to do. I'm leaving and I'm taking the angel tablet with me."
Dean curses violently, but Cas ignores him.
"I gave it a lot of thought, and realized that translating this tablet has to be, for me, the most important thing. If I die at the hands of demons or angels these tablets will take over someone else's life, and maybe they won't just lose their mother and girlfriend. Maybe the next prophet has kids or, hell, is a kid. My life has already been ruined, working on translating these tablets. It seems a little ridiculous to let that happen to someone else, just because I'm spending so much time at the center of things.
"I want both of you to know that I don't blame you. I understand that you were doing what you thought was right at the time, and I hope that we run into each other again some day. Just, please respect my wishes when I ask you to not to look for me. I'll be fine." Cas narrows his eyes in confusion. "Bee tee double-you, thought you'd wanna know, the Bunker went totally apeshit just before I left. Might want to look into that.
K."
Seconds pass as the three men stare at each other silently. Dean wants to be angry at Kevin for throwing in the towel, for not talking to them first, but he just can't summon it. At the end of the day the kid has to do what's right for himself, and Dean's pretty sure that if the roles were reversed no one would be able to talk him out of doing what he wanted. So he takes a deep breath, switches off the alarm that is now giving him a headache, and says, "I hope he's okay."
Sam sighs and reaches into one of the cabinets, pulling out a bottle of whiskey. "Anyone up for a drink?"
Cas and Dean volunteer in unison
*
"To Kevin," Sam enthuses nearly an hour later. They're sitting in the library doing shots, even Cas, who seems to be determined to ignore the outside world for the remainder of the evening. A steady beeping is still coming from one of the panels in the control room, but they're all studiously pretending not to hear it.
"To Kevin," Dean agrees solemnly as Cas clinks their glasses together. The three of them down the liquid as one, and Dean fills them up again. "What will we cheers now to?"
Sam tilts his head in consideration, but it's Cas who answers. "To Jimmy Novak," he says, raising his glass. Dean stares in surprise, but doesn't argue and raises his own. "I'm sorry for what I put you through. I hope you're at peace now." He doesn't nudge Dean or Sam's glass, and downs the shot without another word.
Dean and Sam share a nervous look. This is a little more serious than they, yes, wordlessly, agreed to act, but Cas is suddenly looking so melancholy, they can't not address it.
"Cas," Sam says hesitantly, "what do you mean, now? Are you saying he's . . . been in there with you? All this time?"
Cas' look of exasperation makes the corners of Dean's lips turn up. "Of course. Where did you think he was?"
Truth be told, Dean never gave it a lot of thought, but he realizes now that he assumed Jimmy was killed by Raphael in Chuck's living room the night Lucifer rose. When he says as much, Cas rolls his eyes (though he's a little drunk, so the movement throws off his balance, and he shifts precariously in his chair). "You heard me tell him he wouldn't die."
"I guess we just assumed it was a figure of speech. He was in there when you came back? When you were full of Leviathan? When you had amnesia?" When Cas nods another thought occurs to Dean. "Oh, God. Tell me he wasn't in there when I tried to set you up with that prostitute."
"You tried to hook an angel up with a hooker, Dean? Really?" Then Sam shrugs, and pours more shots. "Actually, I don't think I'm surprised."
"Yes, he was there. Does it make you feel better to know that he agreed with you regarding Chastity? He thought I needed to . . . What's the expression? Loosen up?" The words are said lightly, but there's a darkness in his eyes that's hard to ignore.
"Cas-"
"He always encouraged me to listen to you. About the Leviathan. Metatron." Cas closes his eyes and rests his head against the back of his chair. "And now he's dead, which is just -" He looks up to see Sam and Dean watching him, and he brings his glass up to drink. "It's very quiet without him yelling at me to just fucking listen to Dean. He's the only one of you with any sense of self-preservation."
"I'm sorry, Cas," Sam says softly. His eyes are wide and sad.
Dean nods and raises his glass. "To Jimmy Novak." He sends Sam a significant look, and he raises his glass as well. "Sorry Metatron killed you for good." Though he doesn't say it out loud, he adds an addendum. But better you than Cas.
They drink, and after a moment, Sam gets to his feet and stretches his long arms over his head. "Alright, this is getting depressing. I'm going to hit the sack." He takes a step towards the bedrooms, then pauses and looks back at Cas. "Don't worry about all this, Cas. We'll figure it out."
"Actually, I need to have a word with you. Privately."
Sam's look of surprise matches Dean's feelings, but he doesn't argue, and gestures for Cas to follow him back. When they reach Sam's bedroom, Dean listens to the door close.
Cas is in Sam's room for a while and Dean passes the time flipping through books and pouring himself another shot and he's a little taken off guard when his thoughts turn to, of all things, Chuck Shurley. He hasn't seen Chuck in years, not since that creepy convention with the real ghost, and he can't help but wonder if it was demons that got to him, or life. Black eyes waiting for a chance to strike, or a random drunk driver, not paying attention to the road. He thinks that if they had just met - not as a hunter and a prophet, but just two guys, neighbors, maybe - that he might have liked Chuck, they might have been friends.
"Dean."
Dean looks up, and doesn't bother to hide the small smile that tugs at his mouth. "Good to see you can still do the creeper thing."
Cas doesn't smile back, and Dean knows. Because the truth is that Dean knows Cas better than anybody, he always has, since the moment they sat together in a park and Cas confessed his doubts about Heaven's plans. Hell, all year long he's known something was up with Cas, even with Naomi brainwashing him to keep him in line. So, yeah, he takes one look at Cas and knows. "You're leaving, aren't you," Dean says at length, his voice low. "That was you, saying goodbye."
"Dean-"
The choke of disbelieving laughter is torn from him before he can smother it. He doesn't know why he expected Cas to stick around, only that he did, and realizing that was never Cas' plan is like having ice water dumped on his insides. "Save it," he snaps. His hands curl into fists, and he's not sure if it's the alcohol or what, but the urge to hit something rises up in him like bile. "Seriously, don't say a fucking thing. Just go, if that's what you want to do."
Cas is in front of him pretty fast, considering he's all humanoid now. "Listen to me," he says, a note of desperation leaking into his voice. "Please, Dean." He reaches out with long fingers, and catches Dean's chin, tilting it until their eyes meet. "You are my family. What you said in Lucifer's Crypt, that's how I feel too."
"Well obviously not if you've already got one foot out the door." His face hardens. "And I swear to God, if you ask me what that means -"
"Its meaning is pretty clear."
"This is the same thing as that deal with Crowley," spits Dean. He wants to find satisfaction in the sharp flinch of Cas' features, but he guesses he's feeling too much anger for anything else to filter in.
But sometimes Dean forgets not to mistake Cas' inept social interactions for naivety, and Cas' eyes narrow to dangerous slits. "It is not the same at all."
Dean refuses to shrink under the furious glare. "Whatever, Cas. You can't just call someone family and abandon them a few weeks later. Family doesn't work that way."
"And you're the expert on family," Cas retorts inquiringly, his voice rising in volume to match Dean's.
"More so than you. Look at what you just did to your own!" And because Dean knows Cas as well as he does, he immediately recognizes the bewildered, unchecked hurt on his face and knows he's gone too far. "Shit, Cas. I didn't mean -"
"But that's just it, Dean." Cas' tone is soft and sad. "You did mean it. You're right."
"It wasn't your fault," Dean backpedals. And he believes that, he really does. He believes that Cas had no idea about Metatron's plan, that he probably couldn't have stopped it even if he did. "I know it wasn't your fault, Cas, I swear."
"It was. At least somewhat, and it's my responsibility to fix it."
Dean takes a deep breath, and for what feels like the millionth time, he tries to find the words to reach his friend. "This is what family is for. We don't do it on our own, we help each other."
Cas draws a step closer, which is crazy, because Dean's not sure how much space was even between them before, and now the back of their hands keep knocking against each other. "Dean, please just listen to me, try to see this from my point of view." He sucks in a breath. "When I tried to . . . be God, Sam was the one who reached me, and convinced me to return the souls. I'm the one that set the Leviathans on Earth, and you and Sam were the ones who got everything together to kill Dick. Thanks to Naomi, I nearly killed you. You and the whole time you tried to get through to me, to make me see reason." His face goes completely blank. "I don't want you to feel like you always have to clean up my messes."
Nobody cares that you're broken, Cas, clean up your mess.
"Cas."
"And I don't want to feel that way either. You have to let me do this. You have to let me try to help the angels."
"You're human now, Cas. They'll kill you."
"Maybe not," Cas argues. A small, teasing smirk quirks up his lips. "And it's not as though your reputation for dealing with angels is that great, itself." When Dean still doesn't answer, he says gently, "I want your support in this. Your understanding. The, uh, blessing of Dean Winchester. But I'll do it without it, if I have to."
The thing is, Dean does understand. Sammy jumped into Lucifer's Cage simply because I let him out. I got to put him back in. Hell, Dean sold his own soul because It's like I had one job. I had one job . . . And I screwed it up. "When are you leaving," he asks when he's able. "Tonight?"
Cas smiles, warm and kind and reminding Dean of his friend's first days out of Purgatory, full of hope and aspirations of hunting. Healing babies, helping people. Working to make amends in the way he was able. "Tomorrow morning," he answers slowly. He glances around the Bunker, then back at Dean. "I'd like to sleep one night at home."
The word warms Dean from the inside out, and he can't resist a small smile of his own. "You'll be careful, right? You got an angel blade?"
Cas nods. "Of course. Though I'd like it if I didn't need to use it."
"Look." Dean reaches out and grabs Cas the way he did at the motel, circling his fingers around Cas' forearms. "You've got my blessing, or whatever. But you have to promise me something. Promise me that if any one of them gets all smitey, and attacks you, that you'll defend yourself. That you'll fight to come back. I'll lose my mind if I think there's any chance at all that you'll welcome death with open arms."
Comprehension dawns on Castiel's face and his face softens. His eyelashes brush his cheeks when he blinks. "I won't kill myself. I promise, Dean, I want to come back here."
Dean tries to find solace in his words.
He turns away, figuring this is as good a time as any to go on to bed until he feels Cas' hand catch his elbow, and turn him back around. They're standing closer than before and it's extra-hot in here, Dean's pretty sure, because his face is suddenly getting warm and it can't just be because Cas is studying him with a completely unreadable expression.
Dean licks his lips. He doesn't mean to, obviously, because that would mean that he's expecting Cas to kiss him - which he's not. They've never done that before, they never will do that because Cas is clearly one hundred percent straight. He made out with Meg, he had a wife. Cas is straight, obviously, and that's why it makes no sense when Dean catches dark eyes track the movement with something strangely akin to desire. And just as Dean opens his mouth to say something, anything, really to alleviate this tension, Cas tightens his grip on Dean, and pulls him down until their lips crash together.
Cas is . . . All heat. He licks into Dean's mouth, cards desperate fingers of one hand through Dean's hair, and uses his other hand to settle onto Dean's hip, clenching into the fabric of Dean's shirt. He kisses like he's drowning, like this might be his very last one, and it takes Dean's body all of two seconds to get with the program.
He kisses back. He has to, he just can't not, not when Cas is so close and it's been for fucking ever since Dean's been kissed like this, desperate, and needing, and hands sliding up and down his back, grasping his shoulders, and pulse pounding out a wantneednow that screams to him from beneath Cas' skin. "Jesus," he mumbles, as his arms wrap around Cas' waist, his hands slipping just barely under Cas' shirt, fingers brushing his back where it meets his waistband. Spikes of desire shoot up Dean's spine, and he's suddenly having a very big problem trying to figure out why he can't push Cas up against the wall and give him something to really remember.
Unfortunately - or fortunately, depending on how he wants to look at it - Dean's brain kicks back in, and carefully and reluctantly he pulls back. "We can't do this," he says and he almost wants to laugh at the look of utter confusion on Cas' face.
"Why not," Cas asks breathing heavily, and Dean tries to pretend that seeing Cas like this, all red, wet lips, hooded eyes, and bedhead hair isn't making seriously dangerous images dart across his mind.
"We just can't. You're leaving in the morning to face off with beings much more powerful and overall terrifying than you, and you need to be rested for that." Cas' face falls at the validity of the statement, but it's not like Dean can really leave with Cas looking like that, so he allows himself another moment of weakness, pretending it's not really for himself at all, and kisses Cas again, gentler, slower.
"Be careful, Cas," he says, when he has to pull away again before he gives in to lust, and an ache that feels more Cas-shaped than it probably should.
"Be careful, Dean," Cas says back.
They stare at each other for what feels like hours, until, simultaneously they take a deep breath and depart for their separate rooms.
Cas is gone when Dean and Sam wake.