Chapter Text
The Setting:
For this story, Castiel did keep secrets from Sam and Dean for a while, but he never tried to become God, nor did he sleep with another angel or attempt to have a romantic relationship with anyone. He is more or less above such things.
Chuck wasn't a total psycho loser. Instead, he put Sam and Dean (and Cass) through some terrible ordeals to see what choices they would make. Then, after sorting things out with his sister and putting things back in balance, he took a step away from the Winchesters' lives to focus on other things. Sam and Dean are a little bitter, but they understand that Chuck was molding them into true heroes...
...But along with relief from the close scrutiny and pressure, Sam and Dean have had to deal with the monster problems around them, problems that never seem to go away. Meanwhile, neither of them can seem to have a normal romantic relationship without the woman dying or having to have her memory wiped. Dean is sick of hookups, but doesn't want to try commitment again. Sam has lost too much to risk his heart again.
Now for the story:
Castiel knew Sam and Dean were hiding something. That wasn't necessarily a problem. He was content to allow them some time away from him, and he even purposely blocked out the sound of their voices, though he could hear them anywhere in the bunker if he chose to, or anywhere in the world if they were praying. But lately, he had begun to worry. There were many signs that something was terribly wrong. He told himself that his friends—his sworn brothers—would confide in him eventually, and they would work through things together, but he thought it would have happened by now. Weeks ago. Maybe months ago.
Every so often, once or twice a week, or maybe after a stretch of two weeks, Sam and Dean would scurry off somewhere together, giving Cass an excuse or asking him to do something for them outside the bunker. It seemed to happen more frequently than it used to, and tonight was the third time this week.
Maybe they're just talking about personal things. Family things... human family. Perhaps it's too personal, even to include me. But Dean didn't get that personal. Castiel couldn't remember the last time Dean had hinted that he wouldn't be welcome at a family meeting or anything else the brothers were doing together. Not in words.
He walked back to the map table, the location of so many case discussions and "war councils" as Dean had once said. He looked at the clock Dean had installed across from one end of the table, so they could constantly keep an eye on the time without having to change view on their phones or computer screens. It showed that Sam and Dean had made themselves scarce nearly an hour ago.
If they had personal matters to discuss, they would surely be done by now. Especially considering Dean's intolerance for emotionally-charged conversation. Surely it was safe to seek them out now, to see what their plans were for the following day.
Even without listening in on their conversation, Castiel could sense roughly where his friends were through a thin, familiar sort of energy. He followed the energy, which seemed to grow thicker as he walked toward it. The trail led him to Dean's door. This was usually where they went for these secretive conferences. He considered simply appearing inside the room, perhaps next to Dean's energy signature.
No, he told me not to do that anymore. Castiel reached for the doorknob, hesitated a moment, then grasped it. He turned the knob and opened the door about halfway, peering into the room.
Nothing could have prepared him for the sight in front of him. Oh, Father... what have they done?
Dean was sitting on his bed, leaning back on one arm propped behind him. His plaid shirt hung open, revealing almost every inch of his chest and every inch of his torso. His jeans and boxers were pooled around his ankles. The hand he wasn't leaning on was woven into Sam's hair. Sam, who was kneeling between Dean's knees, had one hand on Dean's hip, the other wrapped around a very impressive erection. Sam's mouth was closed around the tip. Dean's chest was heaving, glistening with sweat.
It seemed as if time froze. Then Dean locked eyes with Castiel, and all proverbial hell broke loose.
"FUCK, Cass, get out!"
Completely stunned, Castiel took a step backward, but then stood his ground. Why should I leave? I've done nothing wrong.
Sam, having looked around in horror and also seen Castiel, jumped away from his brother and began tucking his own open plaid shirt into his pants, as if his shirt being untucked were the main concern.
"Leave," Dean growled, flipping the corner of a blanket over his lap for some semblance of modesty.
"No." Castiel stubbornly pushed the door wider and stepped into the room.
"Damn it, I'm warning you..."
"You're warning me?" Castiel's eyes flashed. He felt the Spirit falling on him as he drew himself to his vessel's full height. "I am an angel of the Lord. What is man? You cling to your pleasure and guard it as your dearest treasure, and what will it gain you in the end?" He knew he wasn't using his "inside voice" but he couldn't bring himself to respect Dean's rules at the moment. Dean wasn't respecting his Father's rules.
Not cowering, but still looking less confident, Dean shot a look at Sam. "Get out of here, Sammy."
Almost without meaning to, Castiel immediately commanded, "Sam, stay."
Sam had barely started to move, but Castiel could still mark the moment he froze in place.
He's frozen in fear. I'm scaring them. He forced himself to calm down, falling back on his training from millennia ago.
"Remember, humans are small. They are finite and fragile," his captain had told him. "It's best to begin every encounter with something like 'Don't be troubled' or 'Fear not.'"
He forced himself to speak at a reasonable volume for the humans to process. "Don't be afraid. I'm not going to smite you. Sam, sit down. Dean... put some clothes on. Please."
Dean reached for his pants, muttering, "I have some clothes on."
"Cass," Sam said, but he produced nothing else. At least it was clear that he wanted to say something, even if he couldn't find the words. He pulled out the chair from Dean's desk and straddled it.
Castiel took another step into the room and paused, looking from one brother to the other. There was so much he wanted to say, to ask, but he didn't know where to start.
Sam and Dean looked extremely uncomfortable, but neither was willing to break the silence.
Dean got his pants zipped (finally—it must have been quite difficult, considering what he had to conceal) and leaned forward, hands on knees, staring at the floor.
After perhaps a full minute of uncomfortable silence, Castiel said, "Thank you for not insulting me with excuses or claims that 'it's not what it looks like.'"
Dean flashing his eyebrows was the only response.
"How did this begin?"
Sam looked at Dean.
Dean opened his mouth but closed it soon after.
"How long has it been happening?"
Sam looked down at his hands on the back of the chair.
Dean looked up toward the wall to his right, not seeming to focus on anything.
"Weeks?" Castiel prompted.
Dean licked his lips.
"Months?"
He could actually feel the heat radiating off Sam's body.
Castiel exhaled and asked in a low voice, not sure he wanted the answer, "Years?"
"Not years," Dean said quickly. "More like... maybe one year."
I was blind. God forgive me, I didn't see it.