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The Righteous Man was touched by angels. Literally and figuratively. Castiel himself had touched the Righteous Man’s soul, bore his grace into him, and stitched his torn soul together. Placed his body back piece by piece with a few added bonuses. Healed the old liver. Twisted the knee back into place. A few pieces here and there that would have no true bearing on his role as the Michael Sword, but which Castiel hoped the Righteous Man would appreciate.
Castiel couldn’t place why he wanted the Righteous Man to appreciate his role in his retrieval. It felt special, he supposed. He was chosen out of numerous angels and garrisons to retrieve the Righteous Man. He was a good angel. He obeyed orders; he fought fearlessly. He led his Garrison into Hell and carried the Michael Sword out.
“Be not afraid,” he spoke to the Righteous Man, but the Righteous Man shuttered.
“I am an angel of the Lord, sent by God,” he appeared before the Righteous Man again, who cried out at the sight of him and the sound of him.
Castiel retreated. He was the Righteous Man. He was touched by angels. Literally and figuratively. Surely, Dean Winchester should be able to perceive him.
Struck with a thought, Castiel’s eyes wandered and his rings spun endlessly and his wings clapped like thunder.
The Righteous Man did not want to perceive him.
Castiel would have to choose a vessel. He had not taken a vessel in a long time. His orders were always to remain close to Heaven. He could only remember small parts of Humanity, of walking among them. Such was his duty in Heaven.
Dark hair. Blue eyes. These were things that Dean Winchester found appeasing. Castiel would search for a vessel that the Righteous Man would gaze upon.
“What?” Cas blinked, Dean’s words swimming in the air between them.
Dean shuffled where he sat tucked beside Cas. He was clearly made awkward either by his own question or Cas’ reaction to it. Clearing his throat, Dean continued.
“Yanno, your true form or whatever,” he spoke gruffly. “What’s it, uh... what’s it look like?” Dean’s eyes turned from the screen to Cas.
Cas blinked again, checking Dean for any injury that he might have missed from the hunt. They had only returned to the Bunker a few short hours ago. Perhaps Dean had a concussion.
“Do you...” Cas began slowly, “do you not remember?”
Dean scoffed, flexing his arm where it rested on the back of the couch and draping his hand over Cas’ shoulder. “Don’t know what to tell ya, buddy. Pretty sure you’re the one who told me that you wiped my memories of you carrying me topside.”
“Of course,” Cas replied without hesitation. “The ascent from Hell would have been far too traumatic. Even more so than your lasting memories from being in Hell.” He folded his hands on his lap. “But I appeared to you after.”
With a furrowed brow, Dean paused the movie that was quietly playing in front of them. “What?” He turned to face Cas, drawing his leg up on the couch so that his knees brushed against Cas’ thigh. “You mean when you showed up at Pamela’s?”
Grimacing, Cas ducked his head. “I told her to look away. Most humans aren’t... meant to perceive our true forms.”
“Most humans,” Dean caught, “but prophets and stuff. All of those guys were meant to, right?”
Cas raised a brow, lifting his head to watch Dean cautiously. “Of course,” he nodded slowly. “And you, of course.”
“What.”
“You were the Michael Sword,” Cas frowned. “You were literally and figuratively touched by angels. You were meant to perceive our true forms.”
“What?!” Dean shouted. “Since when?!” He huffed. “Any time I look at you, you’re just—” he gestured wordlessly to Cas’ body with flailing hands.
Cas sighed, tilting his head. “I have taken precautions against you perceiving my true self.” The words felt sharp as they drew from his mouth. “You found my true self to be rather distasteful when we first met.” He shrugged at the emotions that passed through Dean’s face. He couldn’t probably identify them, but he was not always fluent in Dean Winchester despite knowing the man so well.
“Sweetheart,” Dean’s voice was soft but firm in that contradictory way of his. “The first time I saw you, you were wearing Jimmy Novak in a barn in Pontiac, Illinois.”
“I don’t mean the barn, Dean,” Cas argued. “I mean the gas station. Or the numerous times before and after that. You chose to ignore me.” He grimaced, turning to look at his body. “That is when I came in contact with Jimmy Novak. To find a form that was more pleasing to you.”
“More pleasing—?!” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling sharply. “Okay, before I even touch that with a ten-foot pole,” he sighed, “Cas, sweetheart, I didn’t see shit at the gas station. Certainly didn’t hear shit either besides from that blood-curdling ringing.”
Blinking rapidly, Cas tilted his head. “I don’t understand. You... you were touched—”
“Literally and figuratively; I got that,” Dean huffed. “Sure as hell didn’t make me see you.” He reached out, rubbing at the bolt of Cas’ jaw with the pad of his thumb. “So... guess that just makes me a normie, huh?” He smiled but it was twisted and sad.
Cas inhaled slowly, looking away from Dean. “I suppose that... makes sense.”
“Wait,” Dean held his hand up, “Cas, did you... did you think I just—what?—didn’t want to see you?”
Feeling flustered, Cas turned to look at the screen in front of them. “At the time, you were not open to such inhuman creatures.”
“Wasn’t really open to dudes either,” Dean chuckled before grimacing. “At least not openly.” He shook himself of wherever his thoughts were wandering. “My point is, Cas,” he sighed. “I don’t know. If I could see you, I’m sure I’d like it.” His words were a soft-spoken promise.
Cas hummed, lips thinning and hands tightening in their grip. “Perhaps once upon a time,” he nodded. “Now, though, my form has... it is reflective of me, I suppose.”
Dean wore that furrow in his brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Cas sighed, “I have fallen. I have stolen grace. I have murdered my brethren. Attempted to be God. Held the Leviathan.” He bore his gaze into Dean’s and saw unwavering green staring back at him. “My form is not as magnificent as it once was. While no less awe-inspiring in its magnitude, my wings are beyond ruined and incapable of flight. My form is... damaged goods as one might say.”
“You’re not,” Dean spat fiercely, hands grasping Cas’ shoulders tightly. “Every last one of those bastards has tried convincing you that you’re broken. That you came off the line that way. That you’re—they tell you you’re—” Dean swallowed, fervor lost before turning into a whisper. “Cas, I might not know what you really look like beyond this body, but if you’re anything like I know you are, you gotta be the most beautiful sonuva bitch in all of Creation.”
Cas inhaled sharply, breath lost to him at this moment despite having no need for it. He reached out tentatively. Thinning his lips into a pensive line, Cas closed his eyes under the weight of Dean’s gaze. “Thank you,” he whispered, “for the sentiment.”
“It’s not a sentiment,” Dean huffed, whisper hot against Cas’ cheek. “It’s the truth, you stubborn bastard.”
Smiling with a breathless laugh, Cas opened his eyes to meet Dean’s gaze again. “Takes one to know one.”
Returning the smile, Dean kissed the corner of Cas’ lip softly. He drew away, remaining in Cas’ space. “I wish I could see you.” He sighed against Cas’ skin.
Cas hummed, resting his forehead against Dean’s. “I think you have been the only person to ever see me, Dean,” he confessed quietly.
Dean’s grip on him tightened, fingers digging into Cas’ skin in reaffirming pressure. “Still,” Dean whispered, “still it’d be nice. You’ve seen my damn soul.”
“I have.” Cas drew back, watching as Dean looked on curiously. “And there is not a piece of you that I do not love.”
Snorting a laugh, Dean shook his head. “You hate that I leave popcorn kernels in the bowl.”
Cas could not suppress the smile. “There is that.” Laughing together, Dean returned to his earlier position, holding his arm around Cas.
As Dean began drifting off, resting his head against Cas’, he whispered again. “Bet you got a zillion eyes. Rings of fire. Four heads.”
“Something like that,” Cas murmured. “Go to sleep, Dean.”
“Cas,” Dean gasped, looking up at him in the dark of their room.
Cas straddled Dean, hands interlocked and pushing him into the mattress. Dean had wanted to be taken tonight and Cas had obliged. He loved the closeness sex granted him; how he could bury himself within Dean or feel Dean touch his very core. It was an intimacy he had been unfamiliar with.
Panting, Cas increased his pace, following Dean’s beckoning as the heels of Dean’s feet dug into the small of his back. Dean’s eyes widened, reflecting grace-blue in their depths. It wasn’t often that Cas could feel himself slip, feel his grace shine through in the small moments, but it seemed more apt to happen during these private moments.
Dean snatched one of his hands away from Cas’ grip, reaching out into the air by Cas’ shoulder. “Oh my god,” Dean whispered, voice sounding reverent as if he had caught something sacred in the air.
When Dean’s fingers reached their unknown destination, Cas felt a jolt run along his spine. No, not the spine of this physical body. He felt his very core shiver. Thousands of eyes closed in pleasure and rings spun soundlessly.
Gasping for breath, Cas opened his eyes and peered into Dean’s face. Open, awestruck, gaping.
“You’re beautiful,” Dean whispered, his voice raw and scraping against every remaining feather of Cas’ wings and physical spine.
Cas shivered, drawing himself closer to Dean. “Dean,” he murmured against freckled skin on a bared shoulder.
“Oh god, Cas,” Dean’s body quivered. “You gotta—” his voice wobbled. “You gotta stop staring at me like that, or I’m gonna be finished right now.”
Drawing back, Cas furrowed his brow. He watched the grace-blue shine upon Dean’s gentle features, tracked as Dean looked beyond his physical face. Eyes widening, Cas’ movements halted completely. “You—”
“Cas,” Dean cried out softly, hands combing through nebulas and fires. Tendrils of grace, burning hot like blue stars without causing any harm, wrapped around Dean’s wrists and cradled his touch to Cas’ form. “You’ve got tentacles?” He asked breathlessly.
“I suppose technically,” Cas’ throat felt dry.
“Oh, we are so going back to that,” Dean’s pupils blew wide, dark and drawing in more of Cas’ reflecting grace. “But if all of those eyes keep looking at me like that then it’s gonna be a while before I’m ready for round two.”
Cas inhaled sharply. “You see me.” He let out in a hot breath, dragging his physical lips across Dean’s cheek and trailing to the bolt of his jaw. “If... if you feel even half of what I feel gazing upon your bare soul—”
“I do,” Dean promised. “I do, Cas, I promise,” he cried. “Please, sweetheart, I just need you. I need to touch all of you.”
Taking Dean’s earlobe into his mouth, Cas bit gently before sucking an apology into the skin. He could feel it; his grace reaching out for Dean. Instead of thick, blue tendrils cradling Dean’s wrist, they reached forward until they captured a bright, green star buried in a sky of freckles.
“Cas,” Dean nearly shouted, toes curling and heels digging further into Cas’ back. “Oh god, what is that?” He panted heavily, chest heaving.
“Do you not like it?” Cas asked tentatively, drawing away instinctively.
Dean grunted, pulling Cas close and hands reaching out for the nearest rings floating around Cas. “If you stop now, Cas, I swear—” he cut himself off with the sweetest whine pulling from his core when Cas returned the touch.
“Castiel,” Dean spoke like a prayer. “Castiel, please,” he begged
Complying, Cas thrust into Dean again. Thrust this physical form in a rhythm, reaching into Dean with searing grace-vines and boring into Dean’s soul with thousands of eyes.
Dean’s body clenched, shouting as he spilled over their physical forms. His soul pulsated, throbbing beneath Cas’ touch until he followed suit. Panting, Cas buried himself in Dean’s neck, felt the familiar withdrawal of his form.
“I’m sorry,” Cas whispered. “That could have been dangerous. If you hadn’t been able to perceive me—”
“But I could,” Dean interrupted him. “And that? That was fucking amazing, sweetheart.” He whispered. “Prettiest angel in the garrison,” his words were a tease but spoken gently as he rubbed soothing circles into Cas’ back.
Chuckling against Dean’s skin, Cas traced Enochian letters into Dean’s pectoral. “Thank you,” he murmured against Dean’s skin, feeling the temptation of sleep drawing him in.
“’course,” Dean mumbled. “You think it’s gonna be like that every time?”
Pursing his lips, Cas furrowed his brow. “I don’t know. Would that be an issue?”
“Cas,” Dean drew back tilting his head awkwardly so that he could look Cas in the eye. “Whether you got two blue eyes or a bajillion eyes of colors I can’t identify, you’re Cas.” He shrugged, embarrassed by his next words but committed to saying them. “You’re gorgeous, yanno?”
Cas flushed at the praise. A rumbling laugh escaped from his chest. Finishing tracing the letters in Enochian, Cas kissed his punctuation of the statement into Dean’s skin. “You are, too.”
Dean blushed, averting his eyes. “Well, I have been told I’m a catch.” He shrugged, kissing the top of Cas' head. “You’re lucky that was the most mind-blowing orgasm I’ve had in a while or else I’d be making us clean up before you pass out.”
Humming, Cas nodded. He felt Dean’s arms tighten around him. His body thrummed at the contact, at Dean’s soul pressed against him.
There once was a Righteous Man who was touched by angels both literally and figuratively. On the same day an angel reached out to raise him from perdition, he reached back.