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He should have known. They should have known. Witches, friggin witches, are the bane of Dean’s existence and if he dies and goes to hell again, he’s pretty certain it will be at the hands of a witch.
Or you know, at the spell of a witch.
Dean gets hit first. It is his bad luck, he just so happened to piss the witch off before Sam; in reality, he’d rather it be him than Sam. Clutching his chest, he drops to his knees. He finds, however, hands hovering over the pinkish smoke seeping through his clothes that he is not in pain. At all. Surprisingly, his chest feels pleasantly warm like he’s replaying every happy memory he’s got and it’s sticking there.
Why he calls Cas at that moment will remain to be a mystery.
“Dean are you-“ Cas has his back to the witch (A+ timing by the way Cas) and gets blasted with a nasty concoction of something blue.
He’s pretty sure if Cas was hopped up with angel mojo it wouldn’t have affected him at all. As it is, he falls down beside Dean, hand grasping at Dean’s shoulder to stop himself from collapsing completely. Dean can feel the shudders wracking through his body as the blue disappears into tan.
“Dean! Cas!” Sam shouts, running over with his shotgun cocked.
It doesn’t make any difference, especially when the witch has reflexes of a ninja and disperses a green plume of dust into Sam’s face. Choking, Sam splutters and blinks, leaving enough of a window for the witch to escape.
And that’s how team free will end up in the Impala, the three of them dazed to the point where they collected their weapons in silence and continue in that way while Dean drives. They have 3 more jobs from Bobby, it’s monster holiday season or something; he’s going to have an aneurism when he finds out they aren’t leaving yet and they got hit with spells.
Dean keeps his eyes on the road, but when Sam asks him to turn the music down he does. His hand hovers over the button after he does it. Sam gives him a funny look in the rear view mirror. He doesn’t remember telling Cas he can ride up front – not that he minds, it’s actually refreshing to see Cas there – but he is apparently confused by Dean’s action as well. Mentally shrugging it off, he returns his attention to the road ahead.
Nothing out of the ordinary happens until they hit the highway. He’s doing his normal ‘it’s only a few miles over the speed limit’ when out of the blue Cas tells him to slow down. He and Sam shoot Cas a weird glance, because the angel never complains or talks about Dean’s driving – he honestly didn’t think Cas cared. He notches it up to odd Cas behaviour, until Dean actually does slow down without any complaint.
“Alright, what the hell?” Dean says, pressing his foot back to the pedal.
A twinge in his chest stops him from flooring it though, retreating to a respectable 40 mile an hour drive. He gasps as the pain radiates away into warmth, like the heat that pools after brandy. It’s a good feeling. Cas is smiling at him. He doesn’t know what to do about the bubbling emotion in his chest.
“I don’t know.” Sam mutters, flopping against the leather seats. “I don’t know.”
“Dude you said that twice.”
“Jerk.”
Cas shifts beside him. The angel is looking out the window, and then he’s scanning the parameters of the car, back to the road, window, car-
“Cas what the hell is up with you man? You’re making me antsy.” Sighing, Dean sneaks glances of his friend. When he says it, Cas freezes. His expression goes deceptively blank, although, like always, he turns to hold Dean’s gaze.
“I was concerned we were being followed.”
Dean’s pretty sure that they’re going to crash if Cas continues to sit in the front because he can’t look away. He sees something in those deep blue eyes, with the light of grace shining behind them, which no one else does. Cas isn’t just some angel, he’s the angel that went against heaven and god because Dean had asked him.
“I’m really glad you’re here Cas.”
Dean just said that out loud didn’t he?
Judging by the snort from Sam behind him and the way Cas’ head tilts but those eyes soften, yup he totally did. Maybe the witch cursed him with lack of filter. Whatever, he feels the blush rise to his ears and mumbles an unintelligent, ‘um, yeah’. They pull into the motel, Sam crawling out to clap him on the back, Cas wordlessly joining them in their room.
The next few hours pass without incident. Their lives never pass without incident.
Sam goes straight to his laptop, searching up the lore on the witch, or the age of the witch that had cursed them (he’s definitely cursed with some sort of verbal diarrhoea). Cas floats between perching constipated on the bed - Dean’s bed - and walking around to check the windows, flying out to check the Impala, landing closer to Dean each time he returns.
For a lack of anything better to do, the pleasant heat returns to his chest when he offers, he’s sitting opposite Sam at the small table. Flipping through the pages of John’s journal, he’s honest to God assisting in research. He eventually manages to get Cas to leave and find something out, his restless behaviour grating on him.
“So get this-“
Cas appears behind Sam in a second.
“What’s going on Sam? Are you both safe?”
The Winchester boys stare at Cas. Cas blinks, exhales and looks to the heavens.
“So get this, apparently the witch that we went up against was actually more of a Wiccan. Kinda evil but not really.”
“Not all monsters are evil.” Dean inputs mournfully. “I miss Benny.”
He actually does slap himself for saying that. If not for the bitchface from Sam, but the darkening of Cas’ eyes. They never did really get on, Dean muses. Cas breaks their next staring match, eyes scanning the dejected wallpaper and faded bed sheets. It’s crazy, stupid for every reason, however, were Cas human and had he the emotional equivalent of anything other than a brick, he would have said Cas looked jealous...
He face palms himself in his mind.
“I am aware.” Cas interjects finally, still not meeting Dean’s gaze but gravitating closer. “She hit us with the spells called ‘the trilogy’.”
Ok, whatever. Dean might have some kind of emotional blurting right now, but he’s still not a nerd. As soon as he hears Sam say ‘get this’ three more times he’s out. He flops onto the cardboard mattress without fineness, inhaling the cheap fabric softener.
Waking up the next morning is blissfully quiet. He opens his eyes slowly, enjoying the feeling of crawling out of a nightmare free sleep.
Cas’ face is literal inches from his own.
He flails in the bed, flapping like a trapped bird beneath the covers.
“What are you doing Cas?!” He hisses, glancing at Sam to check he is still asleep. The last thing he needs is teasing from his brother.
Unobtrusively, Cas blinks and states with the tone of neutral simplicity. “I was watching over you.”
Dean shakes his head. “Felt more like just watching me. Thanks.”
They both stare at each other. Dean’s sure his jaw just drops because, seriously! He needs to duck tape his mouth shut until they figure this out.
“You’re welcome.” Cas replies sincerely.
Dean curses the flutter in his chest again.
An hour or so later, they head out to a diner for breakfast. It’s early, the place barely thrumming with the vestiges of life. The walls are a plain cream, the seats red leather. Dean lets Cas slide into the booth first, and then sits next to him across from Sammy. Sam is babbling about the witch, sorry Wiccan, and how Cas’ trilogy theory might actually make sense. Cas scowls at the implication that information he had collected would be doubted in its accuracy, especially with something that concerns the Winchester boys.
“So get this jerk, I think I worked out which one you got hit with.”
Answer caught in his throat by the pretty waitress who taps her pen on her pad to draw their attention, Dean smiles at her ordering a plate of pancakes for both him and Cas, because even though his angel doesn’t need to eat, it doesn’t mean he can’t eat. Cas seems happy with his conclusion. The waitress looks bored, eyes roaming over him once but giving up when he turns to grin at Cas.
“Oh by the way, you look nice.” Dean says, as an afterthought as she walks away. He has to resist paling when he meets Sam’s amused eyes.
“Dude, did you just honest to god compliment her?”
He throws his hands up defensively. “What, I compliment people all the time. Bitch.”
“Dude you totally did!”
Dean grumbles to himself, picking up the menu for something to do. Leaning to his ear, he feels Cas’ breath hot across his skin. Goosebumps prickle over his skin.
“She was standing too close to you, I do not trust her.” Cas growls, under his breath.
He holds in the tremble at the protectiveness in Cas’ tone and returns his attention to Sam.
“Well... Come on, what’s wrong with me?”
Clicking away on his laptop, Sam spins the screen to show a website. It has a bunch of weird symbols and lettering Dean doesn’t recognise, but bets both Sam and Cas could read. The words ‘the trilogy’ have been highlighted.
“Amplify, nullify, and repeat?” He mutters, confused as to what exactly Sam expects him to get from that.
“Yeah!” Sam exclaims. “Get this, see you got hit with nullify, so you’re like less of a dick.”
Dean grunts an aborted rebuttal of Sam’s conclusion.
“And I think I got hit with repeat. Which means Cas got...”
They simultaneously turn to their feathered friend. He’s busy glaring at everyone within a 2 mile radius. Dean sighs.
“Amplify.” He is getting to old for this shit. His face scrunches up. “Amplifying what though?”
The woman comes back, two plates piled high with pancakes, the other with a sombre cup of black coffee and an apple. Dean snorts, picking up the fork and instantly stabbing into his stack. Cas studiously follows suit, glaring at the pancakes, as though willing the gooey breakfast to reveal the best way to eat them. He then pipes up; side eyeing Dean as he tentatively takes his first bite.
“I have an unquenchable need to protect you both. It is very frustrating.”
“Huh, well that explains all the...” Dean uselessly gestures with his hands.
“I’m gunna call Bobby.” Sam says, ignoring the too long eye contact and Dean’s awkward flapping with his words.
“You god damn idjits!” Bobby shouts loud enough for Dean to hear across the table. The three men wince.
“So all we have to do is gank her and this goes away?” Dean asks, swallowing another syrupy mouthful of pancake.
Barely finishing his nod in reply, Cas disappears.
“Dammit Cas!” Standing so quickly that his knees knock against the table, he startles both Sam and a couple sitting in the booth next to them.
“You don’t think he’s going to...” Sam downs his coffee to follow Dean’s war path of frustration.
Dean doesn’t grace his question with an answer. That is exactly what Cas is going to try and do, to kill her so that he and Sam don’t have to.
After hours of badly hidden worry, that annoyed Sam the more distracted he got, later, there was a tentative knock on their motel door.
Dean didn’t even think to grab his gun, simply ripping the door open only to have the air blown out of his chest. Cas was there, a big plus, but his head was hanging, and Dean took a few seconds to realise why. Either side of the man were two massive wings; the shades of iridescent blue and gun steel grey glinting in the evening sun.
Silently, Cas pushes past Dean, the tips of his wing brushing against Dean’s arm.
“I was not strong enough to kill her. I am useless.” Cas sighs, defeat already thick in his tone.
Sam sends him a bunny in the headlights look, shaking his head minutely and hightailing it out of there faster than Dean’s seen him move. Which left Dean standing by the door, watching an angel give up to perch on the end of his bed, unsure what to do.
Come on man, we’re not supposed to be a dick anymore, how bad can it be?
“I am no longer able to keep you and your brother safe.” Cas looks up then, those blue eyes darker than Dean’s ever seen them, sorrow etched into his features. “I understand if you no longer require my presence.”
“What Cas!? No-“ He cringes at the desperation in his tone; this is not the time to freak about how much he needs Cas there.
He’s glad Cas hasn’t got enough mojo to read his mind. Small mercies.
“Look.” He licks his lips, moving closer to the angel, who can longer meet his eyes. “What are you ashamed?”
The wings flutter at that, like a shiver that the angel can’t suppress.
“Cas, you know that I’d have you angel or not right?”
He still doesn’t look up.
Reaching out cautiously, Dean lets the pads of his fingertips brush against the long, fine edge of Cas’ wing.
“I mean, having the extra juice is great, but you have got to know that I’d want you to have my back no matter what, right?”
Dean huffs frustrated. He wishes he got the ‘express your feelings quickly and painlessly’ curse.
“It’s not about this.” His hand closes around a clump of feathers and finally draws Cas’ attention. “It’s about you. It’s always been you.”
He’s going to strangle his brother for having the worst timing ever. Cas’ mouth clicks shut, whatever he was going to say lost within the creak of a door and a loud ‘So get this!’
If Sam doesn’t say it for another 100 years it will be too soon.
“Cas couldn’t kill her because all three of the cursed trilogy has to be there. It’s basic witchcraft.”
He smiles at Cas reassuringly and moves away from his personal space, the personal space that he invaded this time. Gathering the weapons, he grins at his expectant brother and moves past him in the doorway. Yeah, he’s done with talking for a while.
They all go to gank her and it goes a whole lot smoother than the first time this had gone down.
When she dies, the feeling in his chest leaves all together, making him ache for something he didn’t wish he had. Perhaps he should try not to be a dick more often; if it is even possible to do so. Cas has removed his hand from Dean’s chest where he had pushed him back and apologetically heals Sam as much as he can.
Sam had gone to get the Impala while Dean and Cas deal with the body. Of course, Dean doesn’t actually have to do anything. The angel spruces the place up; removes the body and bloodstains. Once satisfied they leave the house, shutting the door behind them. They walk together up the gravel path, aiming to meet Sam as he drives past.
“I meant it, you know.” Dean admits quietly, the sound of his and Cas’ combined footsteps in sync crunching against the stones. He is a dick, like 90% of his personality is flirtatious jokes and half-hearted comments, but he really did mean it. He wishes that it hadn’t taken a curse to admit it.
For a moment, Cas says and does nothing – he carries on walking.
In complete silence, Cas discretely slides his palm into Dean’s and squeezes once. The transition is easy, the grip of calloused palms warm against their weary hearts.