Chapter Text
“Put him back to normal. It's fucking unnatural,” Dean demanded, nostrils flaring.
“Unnatural? You, alive and breathing, is unnatural. How many times have you died and come back?”
“Go to hell,” Dean spat, glaring.
“No thanks. Didn't do either of you much good, did it?” Coyote said nonchalantly, pointing at each of the Winchesters in turn. “I'll pass.”
“Listen, I know you're not a bad guy, right? You're not going around sucking the life force out of people. You're just,” Sam shrugged, arms open, “trying to teach humanity a bit about itself. Anyways, you don't want us dogging you wherever you go. Just put him back and we'll get out of your hair.”
“Sorry, Sammy boy, but this lesson is for your big brother. Can't leave until I feel he's learned it.”
Dean was proud of the sassy bitch face his little brother threw at the monster. “What lesson is that supposed to be? Take better care of your car? Pretty sure Impala agrees that Dean takes pretty damn good care of him.”
Shaking his head, Coyote said, “No, no. You guys are completely off target. This isn't really about the Impala at all. It's about Dean and his relationships.” Coyote turned to look at the angel. “He knows, don't you Castiel?”
Castiel glared at Coyote, refusing to answer the trickster.
“Really now, I'm disappointed in you Winchesters. After hearing so much about you – I thought you'd be smart enough to figure this out right off the bat. Well, I did hear about how emotionally stunted you both are, so I guess I should have anticipated this.” The guy sighed. “Come now, Dean. You can speak openly here – this is a safe place. No one in this room will mock or judge you. Feel free to,” he paused, taking a deep breath in, “open up.”
“Bite me.”
Coyote's eyes flashed red, his teeth bared as he pressed his face close to Dean's. He tried to lunge at the thing in front of him, only to find himself unable to move a muscle. “I'm tempted to,” he growled. “But you'd like that, wouldn't you? To finally be free – finally be at peace.”
“That's bullshit. There's no such thing as peace.” Even when pinned to a wall, he never quite learned when to stop his running mouth.
As the words fell from his mouth, Sam came up behind the Coyote, sharpened stake ready to pierce through the monster's chest. The trickster was quick though, noticing the hunter behind him in time to turn. His fist connected with Sam's abdomen, sending the bigger man flying.
“Sam!” Dean yelled as his brother crashed into a pile of wooden palettes.
Cas used the distraction to pop in front of Coyote. The trickster was too quick even for the angel, grabbing him by the throat and throwing him across the expansive room.
Dean's eyes darted around, searching for the Impala. They found him, standing stock still, held by the trickster's power.
The monster stopped to look from Dean to the Impala and back again. “I hate killing, but I will do what I must to survive. You know that feeling all too well don't you, Dean?”
“You hate it so much, why'd you use Heather as a chew toy for a shark, or freeze that guy's heart?”
“Why did you kill Amy? Or Jo, or Ellen, or Bob-”
“Don't you dare talk about them.” Dean looked straight into Coyote's eyes, his gaze threatening.
“'Oh, but I didn't kill them',” Coyote said in a mocking, sing-song voice. “Yes, you did. You knew what would happen if they went with you,” Coyote continued, unphased by Dean's threats. “Yes, killing isn't so foreign to you, is it? Oh, especially after purgatory.”
“Cut the crap. What the hell do you want from me?”
“God, you are thick headed, Dean. You've learned nothing, have you?”
“What do you think my humanoid car could teach me?”
Coyote turned his head to the side in a questioning manner. “You haven't discovered anything through the help of your car? Not a single grain of knowledge?”
“Just a reaffirmation I have good taste.”
“That's a big word, Dean.”
“Fuck you.”
The other man smiles broadly. “Now there's the vocabulary you're so familiar with.”
Holding Dean against the wall with his powers, Coyote walks casually over to the unconscious form of Sam and knelt over him.
“Get the fuck away from my brother! Don't you dare touch him!”
Ignoring Dean, Coyote just smiled. “Oh, I won't hurt him. Physically. I'm just going to have Lucifer pay him a little visit. It's been awhile since Sammy's seen him last, hasn't it? I bet they have a lot to catch up on.” His voice was dripping with false sincerity. “Don't worry,” he said with a small shake of his head, “it's not the real Lucifer. Just the one inside Sam's noggin.” Coyote splayed his hand over Sam's forehead, that smile never leaving his face.
Screaming and thrashing, Dean struggled against his invisible bonds. “Sam, wake up! SAMMY!”
Coming out of nowhere, Castiel tackled Coyote. They rolled over each other to land firmly on the ground. From where Dean was, he could hear the air rush out of Cas as his back connected with the cold concrete. Standing up with an angel blade protruded from his chest, the trickster removed it with a laugh.
“You think your god's weapons can destroy me?” Coyote grabbed Castiel by the throat, lifting him in the air. With the monster distracted, the Impala broke free. The trickster stopped with a jerk, a stake protruding from his chest, dark blood pooling around the wound quickly.
“Don't fucking touch my family,” Impala growled, twisting the stake further into Coyote's back.
The trickster coughed, blood now filling his mouth. Howling, he dropped Castiel, grabbing at his wound. “NO,” he screamed, his skin turning red hot. With a sudden burst, he turned to dust, sending ash everywhere.
Dean stumbles forward, finally free to move again. The Impala disappears in the cloud of ash, but that was only a fleeting thought as the he ran to his little brother's still body. “Sammy,” he whispered, almost to himself after he cleared the splintered planks that had fallen on the one thing he was ever given to protect.
His chest heaved a sigh of relief when Sam rolled to his side slowly, coughing. “Sam,” Dean addressed him, kneeling at his brother's side, “you had me going there for a second.”
“I'm,” Sam started, pausing to cough roughly into his hand as he sat up, “good.” Dean put his hand on the big moose's back, helping him up. After another small fit of coughing, he conceded, “I have had better days, though.”
Castiel joined the Winchesters, bending down to lay his fingers on Sam's forehead, healing him completely.
“What happened to the Impala?” Sam asked, looking around.
“He disappeared when he ganked the Coyote,” Dean explained with a deep, lamenting sigh.
“Well, shit.”
“You're telling me.”
Castiel looked between the two as Dean helped Sam to his feet. “Would you like me to bring you back to your hotel room?”
“I prefer normal human means of travel,” Dean said immediately.
“But you're tired. The journey there could be too strenuous-”
“Thanks, Cas. I think we'll be okay,” Sam reassured him as they left the building.
Dean was in no hurry to get to their hotel. At least we still have our supplies. He tried to focus on that silver-lining, but it was hard. That car had been apart of their family since before Dean was even born. It was the closest thing he had to a home. John had given it to him, had hounded him if she wasn't in perfect, factory condition. And now she was gone. His baby. To say he was upset would definitely be an understatement.
“You think she could be back at that diner?” Dean asked hopefully, refusing to let go as he opened the door outside.
Sam didn't answer, he just shrugged, while Castiel offered to go check. Dean didn’t have to reply, since sitting there in the parking lot was a dirty, ash covered, black '67 Chevy Impala. Howling with joy, Dean ran forward, hugging the hood.
“I thought you were gone for good, baby.”
The next day, Dean parked on the street and walked into the crowd of James Dean fans, following the scent of fried food. In the distance, he heard some cover band playing some Led Zeppelin. Not half bad either. He thought they couldn’t have found a more perfect place and time for a hunt. He wished Sam had come with him. Instead his little brother had shrugged and said, “James Dean Festival? That's more your thing than mine, Dean.”
Over the heads of the crowd, a huge white screen was set up. Turning to a chick walking nearby, Dean asked, “So what's with the drive-ins?”
“After sunset they're showing Rebel without a Cause,” she answered with a smile, not-so-subtly eying him.
“Awesome. What do you say you sit with me? See I'm here all alone and I didn't bring a jacket for the cold night weather.” He winked at her, adding in his patented charming smile.
She smiled broadly, toying with her bracelets, until a friend called her over. “Maybe I'll see you later then, rebel,” she said before leaving Dean to join her friends, who giggled and stared as Dean waved her goodbye.
After finishing his fill of artery clogging fries and a bacon cheeseburger, the hunter sighed as he walked around the festival alone. It wasn't that he was bored, far from it, but he wished he had someone, anyone, with him. Even the socially awkward angel would've been better than feeling like such a loner. He wouldn't understand anyways. Dean wanted him there all the same, thinking it might be fun to teach Cas about the awesomeness that is James Dean.
Taking his mind off stupid feelings, he buried himself in car talk as he wandered around the sea of vintage cars in the parking lot. While talking to an owner of a bitchin' red, 1969 Chevy Nova SS, a passing stranger in a leather jacket suddenly addressed Dean.
“Shit, son. I think you'll give those other guppies a run for their money.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“In the look alike contest. I mean, dammit. You could be his twin. You've even got the posture and everything.”
“Uh, thanks?” Dean answered, thinking maybe he should enter the contest. A few extra bucks wouldn't be bad.
Watching the stranger walk away, Dean dug out his cell phone as it started vibrating in his pocket. “Sammy, this thing is awesome. You should come. They've got sweet rides parked all over the place and babes at every corner. Not that kind of corner.”
“Not what kind of corner?” came the reply. That gravelly voice was definitely not his little brother.
“Cas?”
“Yes, this is Castiel.”
“Oh. Uh. I thought you were Sammy.”
“You were mistaken,” the angel replied.
The hunter rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I noticed.”
“So you are having a good time there?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I am. Anyways, what'dya call for, Cas?”
“Oh. I.” There was a long pause on the other line. Dean was about to ask if the angel was still there, when he heard Cas' deep voice. “I'm bored.”
“Oh.” The men were both silent. Dean didn't realize angels could get bored. Course, Cas wasn't your average, run of the mill, angel. Dean was more than a little excited to have some company, though he made sure to keep his cool. Finally, the hunter let out a sigh and asked, “Do you want to come over here?”
“I would like that very much, Dean. Thank you.” Cas hung up immediately, so Dean put his phone back in his pocket with a shrug, wondering how long until the holy tax accountant would show. Putting his phone away, he looked over the heads of the crowd, trying to spot his angel.
“Dean.”
The hunter turned around, and there was Cas, just a few inches from his face. “Jesus, Cas,” Dean said, flinching.
“Sorry,” the angel apologized, taking a step back.
“So I'm going to go out on a limb here and say you have no idea who James Dean was.”
“He was a popular, and handsome, movie star that died in a famous car accident in 1955.”
Dean was taken aback. “Woah. Even angels liked the guy? I didn’t think they followed celebrities in heaven.”
“They don’t. I just read the festival brochure in your motel room.”
“Ah. Well, whatever. Let's get you some grub.” Dean clapped the angel on the back, leading him through the throng.
“Dean, I'm not hungry,” Cas insisted.
“You don't need to be hungry, you just need to eat it.”
“Angels don't-”
Dean interrupted him. “Need to eat. Yeah. I got it. That doesn't mean you shouldn't enjoy some food every once in a while.”
Castiel sighed in resignation, following Dean through the crowd. He ended up buying a corn dog for the angel, who wondered if breaded and fried mystery meat, (“It’s not actually made of dog, Dean”), was a healthy choice.
“Jesus Christ, Cas. You’ve been spending too much time with Sam. One of the perks of being an angel is you don't have to worry about that stuff. Just try it.”
Cas took a tentative bite, a small smile creeping up the corners of his mouth as he chewed. “This is delicious, Dean,” he told the hunter, his mouth still full.
Dean beamed at Cas, happy to see a rare smile on the angel's face. The rest of the afternoon they spent wandering the booths and looking at cars, Dean teaching Cas about the classics. Overall, Dean was having a great time. The angel was less of a stick in the mud than Dean thought he'd be. He was curious, intuitive, and even made a few jokes here and there, (though not all of them on purpose). As the sun set behind the houses, the two claimed a spot in the field to watch the movie.
“Dammit. I didn't think of chairs or a blanket,” Dean cursed, quickly standing back up, his jeans already damp from the grass.
“Wait here.” Before Dean could ask why, Cas was gone. Within seconds though, the angel was back, holding a thick blanket in his arms.
“Cas, did you just filch a blanket?”
“Borrowed. It's from your motel.”
Dean laughed, helping Cas spread it out over the grass. Probably scared the shit out of Sam. He toed off his boots and sat down on the blanket. Cas followed his example, leaving his shining dress shoes next to Dean's worn down, muddied boots. Sitting down right up against Dean, Cas quickly shifted over, apologizing. The hunter couldn't help staring. Cas never paid any attention to Dean's personal space rules. Why would he start now?
“Dean?”
“Yeah Cas?”
“Do you miss the human incarnation of your car?”
Dean shrugged. “I guess, kind of. I mean, it was nice having someone around who knew what good music is.”
The angel let out a small sigh. “Oh.”
“But I'm glad she's back to being my baby.”
“That car means a lot to you, doesn't it?”
The hunter took a moment to think about it before replying. “Growing up, we moved from place to place. Never really had a home. So, yeah. She's real important to me.”
“I see.” After a long pause, watching the people walk by them looking for places to sit, Cas suggested, “Perhaps you could teach me about good music.” Dean smiled. If he didn't know better, he would've thought Cas was jealous of the Impala.
The movie started up soon after that, and they sat in relative silence, Cas asking a few questions here and there. Somewhere nearing the end, Dean fell asleep, his arms behind his head for a pillow. He didn't wake up until late that night in his motel bed, Sammy snoring in the bed next to his and the angel no where in sight.
That next night they were finally back on the road again. Dean was overjoyed. He'd been itching for the open road again – they'd stayed in that middle-of-nowhere hick town far longer than he wanted. Sam was sitting next to him, trying to sleep, and Cas sat in the backseat, watching Dean and the road with interest. When Dean had woken up with the angel gone, he’d shrugged his shoulders and went back to sleep, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest, thinking Cas wouldn’t be back anytime soon. He’d been surprised to wake up in the morning to the smell of sausage, bacon, and coffee. The angel explained he’d just been out to get breakfast. Just breakfast. He was probably only gone an hour. Dean had smiled, grabbing a breakfast burrito and happily sipped his hot coffee.
Cas’ bright blue eyes in his rear-view mirror kept distracting the older Winchester. “Is there a reason you're staring at me?” Dean asked the angel.
“I find watching you drive interesting. Where are we headed to now?”
Dean sighed. “No idea. Why don't you just relax? And stop staring at me. It's creeping me out.”
“What-”
“Just lay back, close your eyes, and listen to the music.”
After a moment Cas nodded. “I'll try that, then,” he conceded, resting his head back on the seat and closing his eyes. Dean stared intently at the road, willing himself not to watch the practically-sleeping angel.
A few hours later, Dean was getting restless. Sam and Cas were going on about some ancient history crap loud enough that Dean couldn't even hear his music. Slightly annoyed, he pulled the car over to the side of the road at an empty field.
“Why're we stopping?” Cas asked him.
“Because I'm tired of listening to you guys.”
“Are you upset with me?”
“Yes. Well, no. Just – just get out of the car.” Dean got out, Sam following close behind, and went around to the truck to pull out their little cooler.
“I'm sorry if I've done something wrong,” Cas said from right behind Dean, making him jump.
Instead of replying, the hunter took out a cold beer and gave it to the angel. Cas looked at the can he held with confusion, one eyebrow raised. Dean left him there to hand one to Sam before setting the cooler down and getting a beer for himself. Sam leaned leisurely against the hood of the car, sipping at his beer and looking out over the expansive corn field. Dean pulled himself up to sit on the hood next to his brother. After a moment, Cas joined them, standing there awkwardly, watching Dean as if waiting for something to happen.
Dean gestured at the beer in Cas' hand. “You know how to open that?” The angel rolled his eyes. “Then why haven't you?” Cas smiled at that, opened his can, and took a quick sip.
Cas’ eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at the drink in his hand. “This is terrible.”
Sam let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. It is.”
“Then why are we drinking it?”
The tall man shrugged.
“You get used to it,” Dean said. “Come here.” The angel moved closer to stand next to him. He shifted, fidgeting awkwardly. “I meant up here,” Dean told him, patting the hood next to him.
Worming his way up, Cas crawled up on the hood to sit entirely too close, settling in with his leg flush against Dean's.
Aaaand we’re back. “Dude. A little personal space, maybe?”
“Sorry,” Cas muttered, shifting over slightly. Still too close, but Dean just sighed and called it good. After being with Cas for almost a solid week, Dean was starting to get used to the angel's weird habits.
It was nice, sitting there with people he cared about, watching the skyline in the middle of nowhere. For a little while they could forget about the burdens on their shoulders. At that moment, nothing else mattered.
Even with the peaceful atmosphere, Dean couldn't help thinking about what the Impala had said to him. About Cas. About letting someone else watch out for him for a change. What in the hell did the Impala mean by that, anyways? It wasn't as if Dean did everything by himself. He relied on Sam and Cas to help him out with the hunts. Sometimes he did a little more, but that's because he had to. When they got hurt or injured, Dean had to be the one to take care of them. Maybe he'll ask Sam about it. Later. And of course he'd leave out the part about Cas.
Done with his beer, Dean laid back, one arm under his head, watching the stars above. A moment later and the angel copied him, both arms pillowing his head. Dean turned his head a bit to watch Cas looking up at the night sky with a look of pure serenity.
“I like this.”
Dean started when Cas spoke, turning his away quickly, his cheeks heating. The angel didn't notice any of it.
Sam took a long drag of his beer. “It's nice, isn't it?”
“It is,” Cas answered.
Dean just sighed, willing the redness in his cheeks to go away. What did he have to be embarrassed about, anyways? Cas stared at him all the time, so why couldn’t he stare back every once in awhile? Okay, this was getting out of hand. Of course Dean couldn't watch Cas the way he watched Dean. The angel just didn't understand personal boundaries. In Dean's case, he didn't have a good excuse – he was just being creepy.
The hunter closed his eyes, trying to focus on something else, anything else. He could feel Cas shift next to him, and then warmth against his arm at his side. He couldn't tell if Cas had actually scooted closer, or just put one of his arms down. Either way, he didn't care. Dean couldn’t scold the angel all the time on personal space. Anyways, physical contact with a friend was nice sometimes – in a totally platonic way, of course. Right. Like brothers.
It wasn't long before he fell asleep, comforted by the body heat pressed up against him. It was one of the few times where he actually slept well – deep and peaceful. Until Sam shook him awake, that is.
After a week, the angel was still with the Winchesters. Dean didn't know where Cas usually went whenever he flitted off, but the hunter was glad he was with them instead of there. Just because he liked having him there, didn't mean Dean knew what to do with him. Cas had never really stayed with them for this long before, (when the world wasn't ending). He tried making small talk with the angel a few times. Dean quickly learned that Cas didn't understand the point of it, so he soon stopped trying. Instead he decided to start educating Cas in his favorite pop culture. He started off introducing the angel to Chuck Norris before showing him Braveheart, then moving on to Star Wars. He had a lot of issues with Star Wars until Dean explained it was just fiction, and to shut up and enjoy it.
While the hunter was thinking of what to get next, Cas made a request. “Who is Clarence?” he asked.
“How am I supposed to know?” Dean replied in exasperation.
Sam looked at his brother with a patented bitch face. “He’s talking about the angel.”
“What? There’s an angel named Clarence?” Dean asked in disbelief.
“I don’t know of a Clarence,” Cas chimed in.
Sighing, Sam explained, “From the movie It’s a Wonderful Life.” When it was clear Dean still had no idea what his little brother was talking about, Sam told him, “Just go out and get it.”
Dean threw up his hands in surrender. “Fine! I'll get him the damn movie. Next you'll be wanting to watch Twilight and High School Musical.”
“If I understand it, Twilight is about vampires and werewolves. Wouldn't it be educational for me to watch it so that I could be of better use to you on a hunt?”
Dean ignored the question, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation while Sam kicked back his head and laughed. Cas seemed like he wanted to ask more about the movie, but didn't, for which Dean was eternally grateful. The last thing he wanted was a Twihard angel on his hands.
The next day Dean and Sam were making sandwiches in the little dining nook of their motel room while Cas sat on the couch watching It's A Wonderful Life. Figuring this was as good a time as any, what with Cas distracted, Dean asked Sam what he thought of what the Impala had said.
“You really don't get it?” his little brother asked, eyebrows up in disbelief after Dean told him the condensed version of his conversation with the Impala.
“Obviously not,” Dean snapped back.
“You don't ever let anyone take care of you, Dean. Ever.”
Dean shrugged. “I don't need taking care of. I can take care of myself.”
“No. You can't. You're always taking care of me, or Cas, or Charlie, or basically everyone else except yourself. You’ve been through a lot of shit Dean, and you just keep it holed up inside of you, only letting out bits and pieces here and there.”
“I don't need someone kissing my boo-boos, Sam,” Dean said mockingly.
Sam turned to face Dean directly, abandoning his ham and cheese. “That's not what I said, Dean.” His brother sighed, looking into Dean's eyes. Dean thought he looked sad, like he pitied Dean. Dean hated that look. He didn't want, he didn't need, anyone's pity. Sam's, least of all. “When I get hurt, you're always there to bandage me up. When was the last time you let me, or anyone for that matter, bandage your wounds. Physical, or emotional.”
Dean stared at his meat filled sandwich as if it was holding back answers. “Alright, well. I'm done with this “talking” crap.”
“Yeah,” Sam let out breathily. “Okay, Dean.”
Not much later and the Winchesters, plus the angel, were in yet another crappy motel without a decent air conditioner. Dean could hear Sam snoring heavily in the bed next to his. He was used to it after all these years, even found comfort in it. Sammy's snores were as effective as bells – letting Dean know where his little brother was and that he was okay.
The hunter shifted a little, trying to get comfortable despite the heat. It wasn't exactly unusual for Dean to have trouble sleeping, but feeling the eyes of an angel on him definitely didn't help.
“Cas,” he whispered.
After a few seconds, the angel padded over. How was he moving so quietly? “Wait, did you take off your shoes?”
“Uh,” Cas said, hesitating. “It seemed appropriate since everyone was getting comfortable. And it is quite warm in here. Is it bothering you? Would you like me to put them back on?”
“No, keep them off. Relax.” Wait, could the angel even feel heat? He always wears that damn trenchcoat, I didn't think he even noticed the temperature. The hunter shrugged, mumbling, “I mean, do whatever you want, man.”
“Is that what was keeping you awake?”
“No, actually. It's your staring. Hard to sleep when you've got an itch between your shoulders.”
“Would you like me to scratch your back, Dean?” The angel's voice was a low, gravelly whisper, and Dean absently wondered if his voice ever got hoarse.
“What? That's not-” Dean stopped to actually think about Cas' offer. It was a reasonable, and totally not sexual, request. From his best friend. Who he may have some unresolved, inappropriate feelings for. Not weird at all. His back was feeling kind of tense. “Actually...could you?”
“Of course, Dean. Anything to help you sleep,” Cas answered, sitting down next to the Winchester. Dean practically purred as Cas gently moved his hands and nails over the hunter's back and shoulders.
It kind of bugged Dean how comfortable he was with Castiel touching him in such a familiar way. It was innocent, and affectionate, and Dean was loving it. Though he'd never admit that to anyone, probably not even himself. As he drifted back to sleep, he realized that this was what children felt when their parents stroked their arm or rubbed their back to comfort them. That everything was going to be okay, because they're there – watching over you.