Chapter Text
The moment Castiel stepped into the warehouse, he was made acutely aware of the fact that Dean was not alone. The other man seemed to be in his late 50's, his stance coming off as protective and defensive. The light bulbs shattered from above them, but Castiel didn't spare a glance to it.
Dean and Bobby opened fire, raining bullets onto Castiel, all of which proved to be ineffective. Castiel brushed them off and continued striding towards the men, not slowing down regardless of the insistent assault.
"Who are you?" Dean growled cautiously, demon blade at the ready in his hand
Castiel openly stared at Dean. "I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."
"Yeah. Thanks for that." Dean stuck the Demon blade into Castiel's shoulder, clearly expecting it to injure or even kill him. Castiel payed this no mind, pulling the blade straight out of his shoulder as if it was nothing more than a paper cut. Dean inched away slowly when he realised the man, no creature, in front of him wasn't affected at all by the slightest from the most powerful weapon they had on hand.
Bobby ran from behind Castiel, aiming to catch him off guard. Castiel simply grabbed Bobby's weapon, spining him around as if he weighed nothing. Castiel touched his fingertips almost gently to Bobby's forehead, and Bobby crumpled to the floor instantly like a rag doll.
Castiel turned back to Dean, who stared at him with wide, fearful eyes.
"We need to talk, Dean. Alone."
As Castiel said this, he could only think of one thing.
Dean's soul was more beautiful in person than Castiel could have ever imagined.
"Your friend's alive" Castiel commented offhandedly. Dean crouched over Bobby's unconscious form, bringing two fingers to check his pulse. Still breathing, just as Castiel had said.
"Who are you?" Dean asked, glaring and frowning. He still had his hand over Bobby's pulse, as if somehow Castiel could teleport and kill the man before Dean could blink. In all seriousness, he could. But what purpose would that serve? He would have loathed to harm anything Dean treasures. Of course, Dean doesn't know that. Yet.
"Castiel." He responded, calm as ever despite the raging current of grace that threatened to topple over his composed demeanour.
Dean roled his eyes. "Yeah, I figured that much, I mean what are you?"
"I'm an Angel of the Lord."
Dean scoffed, clearly incredulous. "Get the hell out of here. There's no such thing."
Castiel sighed, and with all the patience of a saint, he prayed to the Lord like he's done for eons before. 'Dear Lord, please allow Dean Winchester to have faith in you. In your plan. In himself. Amen.'
"This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith."
Castiel revealed his wings, long, sleek and… charred. They're ruined. An object of shame for the Angel once so renowned. His wings were ripped and torn apart, broken like his mind after millenniums of discipline. His wings faded into darkness once more, and Castiel felt something akin to embarrassment, but he would endure that and much worse for the man standing in front of him.
Dean regarded him with suspicion, before a scowl graced his face. "Some angel you are. You burned out that poor woman's eyes."
His scowl deepened, the reminder of the fact that Castiel had harmed a woman bringing back memories that made his face contort as if he'd eaten something particularly sour.
Castiel grimaced, or the closest he can, not fully in control of his vessel, considering the last time he was on Earth was decades ago.
"I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be... overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice." Castiel raised his eyebrows. "But you already knew that."
"You mean the gas station and the motel. That was you talking?" Castiel nodded, impressed that Dean picked up on it so quickly.
"Buddy, next time, lower the volume." Dean grumbled.
"That was my mistake. Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong." Castiel said, disappointed. His true form was much easier for him to talk with, but alas, it seemed he was to stay in his vessel in order to communicate to Dean and others.
"And what visage are you in now, huh? What, holy tax accountant?" Dean chuckled, yet to Castiel, it seemed passive aggressive at best.
"This? This is... a vessel." Castiel looked down at his clothing. Perhaps he did seem quite formal. No matter. It wasn't as if he was to stay in this body much longer if everything went according to heaven's plan. Which it would, regardless of Castiel's feelings towards Dean, the only man who could even plant such a doubt in his mind.
Dean frowned harder than before. "You're possessing some poor bastard?" He clearly didn't look pleased with this information, and looked at Castiel with something close to disgust. It broke Castiel's heart, a feeling he didn't know was possible for a human, let alone an angel possessing a human.
Castiel tried to reason with Dean, hoping it would take that awful expression off of his face. "He's a devout man, he actually prayed for this." He backtracked, feeling as though he needed to justify himself.
Dean smiled, so insincerely it borderlined on unsettling. "Well, I'm not buying what you're selling, so who are you really?"
It was. Castiel's turn to frown. "I told you."
Dean snorted. "Right. And why would an angel rescue me from Hell?" He asked sceptically, eyebrows bunching up in confusion and discomfort.
Dean didn't believe. It was a fact that was clear as ever to anyone who had met him, especially Castiel whose who existence seemed to be decided off of faith. It was a sad fact. Not as in the sense that he didn't believe in God, but for the reasons he didn't. It was devastating for the sense that Dean had never had any reason to believe, no need for faith because that was even worse than thinking that he was truly alone. If there was a God, why did he suffer?, Dean must have thought. God had let him suffer. Therefore loneliness was better. Better than the stifling, heart shattering fact that someone could have stopped this and they didn't. They didn't even try.
Castiel didn't say any of this. Instead, he gazed into Dean's eyes, hoping to convey all the unspoken words with a single look.
"Good things do happen, Dean."
"Not in my experience."
Castiel nearly flinched. He had watched this man grow, from the innocent baby cradled and loved in his parent's arms, to the traumatised 4 year old who ran out of his burning home carrying his baby brother that he hasn't let go of yet, to the rebellious yet charming teen that wooed people to mask his despair, his hopelessness, to the determined man he is today, the one whose love burns as fiercely as the nursery of his childhood home did. The last place he ever called home. Dean had grown so much. He's changed over and over, moulding into the man his father wanted him to be, the one his brother needed him to be. He's been through so much. How did he think he didn't deserve this?
"What's the matter? You don't think you deserve to be saved?" Castiel asked tentatively, knowing that he did deserve it. He deserved to be saved, and so so much more.
"Why'd you do it?" Dean deflected, not looking Castiel in the eyes. Dean's need for a reason stemmed from the fact that he couldn't accept being cared for. Couldn't accept that he might have been saved because of the goodness of his heart and nothing more. No favour, no work, just because he was him.
Unfortunately, he was wrong.
"Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you."