Chapter Text
One thing no one ever talks about is just how boring space can be. Sure, Dean’s got his objective. Sure, there’s checks and balances that must be done routinely. Sure, there’s the calls to HQ. But other than that… it’s just Dean and his copilot, Castiel.
Yep, the name is just Castiel– like Cher or Madonna. Except neither of those women are friggin’ pretentious, douchebag Angels.
It’s been decades since the Angels touched down from Heaven. Apparently, according to Them, mankind was getting a little too evil and the universe had to step in. Makes sense: an Angel’s duty is to watch over God’s children, and pretty soon, humanity was about to exterminate themselves. So. They did what needed to be done.
That little meet and greet went about as well as one could expect. Various militaries tried to annihilate the Angels, only succeeding in a singular Angelic fatality, and that was only because that specific Angel, Zachariah, was about to turn on the humans and had to be extinguished by one of his own. They’re serious about this protector shit. All except dear old Zach. And in Dean’s humble opinion, one is enough to keep him suspicious. It could always happen again.
This is all stuff one can read in a history book. Dean was only about 4 years old when the First Contact happened, he was too young to understand all the political upheaval stuff. The only thing he remembers is utter chaos. White picket fence days were over, everyone’s were, for a time. The fall of empirical society was imminent and a very loud, very destructive portion of the world rejected it. Worst of all, Dean’s mother was stolen from him. Victim to an arson attack. Crime rates soared, the economy splintered, government status was globally wiped. But losing his mother was all he really remembers of that time. In his tiny, fragmented world– it’s all that mattered.
Dean knows it wasn’t the fault of Angels, he knows it wasn’t even the fault of the hysterical humans. To them, they were being invaded by a supernatural force, one that couldn’t be killed. He knows it’s only the fault of the sick man who hid behind the excuse of global chaos to wreak havoc of his own. His family were the unlucky ones who got caught in the crossfire. Angels are just a convenient placeholder for his anger at an unfair childhood.
He knows this, he knows. And Sam reminds him repeatedly that 30 years should be more than enough time to quail his bitter resentment. But it’s not. There’s something about Angels that just don’t sit right with him. They leave a bad taste in his mouth. Even though they’ve helped global warming, even though they’ve pulled humanity out of its endless wars, even though they’ve saved mankind from imploding. Even though the two species live in relative harmony now. Dean hasn’t forgotten that fateful night that ended in flames. Hasn’t forgotten his father’s hateful rhetoric, peddled and spewed all the way to his deathbed. And Dean most certainly hasn’t forgiven either.
Castiel knows none of this though. They don’t exactly speak to one another besides what’s necessary for their mission. And even then, Castiel is here more as an insurance policy. Just in case anything goes south. He can survive in space without any protective gear, after all. He’s nothing more than a glorified babysitter. And yeah, maybe that pisses Dean off too. Jobs and the risk that came with them used to mean something in this country. And whether that’s something he came up with all on his own or just garbage he’s used to hearing out of his dad’s mouth, he’ll never know, he still feels it all the same. Being aware of his bullshit and being able to change are two very different things.
As it turns out, Angels don’t really experience boredom. They’ve been around since the dawn of time and maybe even a little before then, Dean’s not quite sure about their timeline. Presumably, Castiel’s whole life has been sitting on his ass and watching over pesky little humans. Why should a few months floating around in a tin can mean anything to him? Like Dean said, there’s just something unnatural about the whole thing. It makes his skin crawl.
That is, until, in the middle of another endless silence between the two of them, completely out of nowhere, the Angel says, “I like you, Dean.”
To which, rather stupidly, Dean chokes on nothing but his own surprise, coughing into his hand.
When he finally collects himself, he clears his throat and asks, “What was that?” Like maybe he misheard or something.
Castiel’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, unmoving, in front of their giant circular window, peering out at an infinite number of stars. With his inflection staying exactly the same, he states for a second time, “I said I like you.”
And just what the hell is Dean supposed to say to that? The feeling is most certainly not mutual. And speaking of which, since when do these guys share their feelings?
“Well. Thanks for the update, I guess. Where did that come from?”
Castiel blinks robotically, squinting, frowning, “Nowhere. I was just thinking it.”
Ain't that just peachy?
“Yeah, well, I think I liked you better when you were quiet.”
Immediately, Castiel pulls his shoulders from their slouch, his back straight as a board, “As you wish, Commander.”
The stern display is completely unnecessary and if he were a human, Dean would be quick to think the gesture was mocking.
The Angel shuts up after that and much to Dean’s shock and dismay, a sharp pang of regret settles in his gut. Maybe he was too harsh? It’s gonna be a long, long mission if they can't find a way to live together peacefully.