Chapter Text
2008
Castiel, Angel of the Lord, God’s emissary on Earth, prays for strength.
He is standing in the centre of a dingy motel room as Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, Castiel’s charge, paces the threadbare carpet and throws a tantrum. Castiel has been alive for millenia, but the few times he has talked directly to Dean have felt like they lasted years, this latest argument included.
“—and you can tell Uriel to—” Dean pauses in his ranting. “Are you even listening to me, man?”
Castiel does not need to breathe and so he does not sigh. Even if he wants to. “No.”
Dean makes several strange facial expressions in a row, then steps closer. It seems he is trying to appear menacing. “You come down here, boss me around, tell me I’ve got some stupid mission from God, and then you don’t even listen—"
“Must we have this argument every time I require something of you? We saved you, Dean. You owe us your help.” Castiel tries to reason with him. If Uriel were here he’d threaten Dean’s life, but despite the aggravation Dean causes Castiel he has no wish to harm him.
Still, the urge to smite is slowly rising.
“Like hell I do. I didn’t ask to be saved, Cas.” Dean snaps, coming to a halt in front of Castiel. His eyes flicker to James Novak’s mouth. They do that often. Castiel is unsure whether this is typical human behaviour. Perhaps Dean is afraid Castiel will bite him. Perhaps that would shut Dean up.
“That’s beside the point. You were saved, like it or not. You’re here. And we—” Castiel falters, frustration overcoming him. “we need you.”
“We?” Dean says, jutting his chin out in challenge. “The whole host of Heaven, right? Well, what have they done for me lately?”
“How dare you—”
“The way I see it, you’re the one who saved me. Why should I care about anyone else?”
Once again, Castiel is astounded by Dean’s disrespect. His vessel’s hands form fists without his consent, and his grace surges forward, crackling in the air around him. Dean must notice, because he swallows and takes a step back, although he continues to glower. They lock eyes for almost a minute until Dean huffs and transfers his glare to his feet.
“Look, man, I’m tired. I didn’t mean to diss your family or whatever. Just give me a few hours to sleep before you throw me another bone, at least.”
“Will you help us or not?” Castiel growls, patience fully exhausted. Dean’s eyes snap to Castiel’s vessel’s lips again. But then Dean’s own lips twist into a scowl and he shoves past Castiel to sit on his bed and tug off his boots, avoiding looking at him at all.
“I said leave me alone, Castiel.” He pronounces Castiel’s name like it’s an insult, then flings his boots towards the door. They thump against the wall and he shoots them a look like they’ve personally wronged him.
He rubs at the dark circles under his eyes. His shoulders are sagging, and he’s moving slower than usual. His earlier words sink in, delayed by Castiel’s irritation. Perhaps he does need to rest. He is only human, after all.
“Perhaps you’re right.”
He startles as Castiel flies to the patch of carpet in front of him and recoils as Castiel reaches two fingers toward his temple. “Hey, don’t finger me, man—” His cheeks redden and he splutters, cutting himself off. “I mean—”
Castiel squints at him. “You should sleep. You’re acting irrationally.”
“I’ll show you acting irrationally—”
He swipes a loose fist at Castiel, but before he can connect, Castiel taps his fingers to Dean’s forehead. A flash of betrayal crosses Dean’s face, but then his brows relax and his eyes flutter shut. He tips forward, but Castiel catches him before he falls on his face and drags him further up on the bed, settling his head on the pillows.
Castiel should fly back to Heaven until Dean wakes, to make himself useful elsewhere. He knows this, and he spreads his wings, but Dean’s eyelashes flutter, and he hesitates.
The man looks little more than a boy like this, his sharp edges softened by sleep. It is strange, Castiel muses, that one so full of anger and pain, with such a weight on his shoulders, could ever look this content. Perhaps if he could keep Dean like this, he would be easier to negotiate with. His wings flatten themselves against his back.
Time slips past, and Castiel feels calm settle over him for the first time in months. He loses himself in the rise and fall of Dean’s chest, the soft flickering of his eyelids as he dreams. Against all odds, he finds it peaceful here. Unlike Heaven, which lately has been filled with nonstop noise and activity as the angels work to stop the seals from breaking. Cars rush past on the freeway outside, but Dean’s steady breathing fills Castiel’s ears until he forgets the outside world, forgets Dean’s destiny, forgets their impending doom.
Only the sound of the abomination, Sam Winchester, approaching is enough to wake Castiel from his reverie. He starts, wings flaring, and Dean stirs too as the key turns in the lock. In one swift move, he pulls out his gun and aims it at Castiel, still stood in the same place at the foot of the bed.
Sam pauses in the doorway. “Oh. Uh, hey, Castiel.”
Dean’s face hardens in recognition, and he groans, slumping back onto his pillow. “Fuck off, Cas.”
Castiel wishes he’d stayed asleep.