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You often liked to come here. Castiel wasn't exactly sure where here was. Just that it was the one place only he knew where to find you. A secret you both had come to share though he can't quite remember when it started. It seemed as if it had been this way since the Earth had first come to exist. It was impossible for it to be the same place, he knew that, but it always seemed the same. A beautiful jungle landscape, waters so clear the bottom seemed just a step below, white sand. It's warm, it's comforting, it's everything your father had made you to be. Is this where the angel of comfort goes to find your own? It was too many twists and turns for him to fully comprehend, sometimes he found himself wondering how you managed to do so, only to be reminded by himself you had been around humanity since it's creation. As you were meant to be. Whatever they were changed who you were, till you had become just a woman sitting on a beach seeking something that he didn't quite know. He remembers when he had considered you weak for such a thing. Your love of humanity, your belief they could be more, that there was so much to learn from them if only you simply listened. But you had been right all along. As he so often found you were. It was far too warm here, he doesn't want to stay a moment longer than necessary. But seeing you there, it was like every thought had been stolen from him.
Castiel had never watched you here from this perspective, not just with the eyes of a vessel, though that seemed to make some difference, but after everything they had gone through together since his arrival on the Earthly plane. Here he realizes, he's never just looked at you. Always in a burgundy top with thin straps and not enough fabric to cover your entire torso and shorts that he's sure must be for a child by the length, and work boots that were never laced properly and always made it sound like you was stomping. Dean had called how you dressed 'not fair' and though he had understood the context he didn't quite understand how it applied to a hedya. That had been a long time ago, things had changed. So much these days seemed to change so fast, even now your friendship seemed to be shifting. It had been the same for millennia and in a few years, it had been twisted on its head it seemed. Castiel understood what 'not fair' meant now. Not fair meant your exposed torso, from the top of your hip bones to midriff, it meant watching the strong corded muscles of your legs, it meant a dipped neckline and smooth shoulders, it meant far more than he realized until he saw you here. In this perfect place that only you seemed to know about.
“You're very broody,” you called across the beach, turning to him with a hand against your forehead to block the sun, “I suppose you all need me then,” one shoulder slumps, just barely but the disappointment is there.
Yes, “No, I just-” just what? What did he just? “Where is this place?”
You smile, a big bright thing that shows all your teeth, “It doesn't matter where it is, it just matters that it is!” which isn't as much an answer as you seem to think it is but is more than enough answer for a made-up question.
He steps carefully along the sand, feeling it slip into his shoes, his socks. It's very uncomfortable and should be all he can focus on. But it's not, too busy focusing on everything he's never noticed that before. Maybe he hadn't been looking simply because your friendship had not only begun before vessels roamed, it seemed to defy that. He says maybe because he can almost hear Dean in the back of his mind calling 'bull' and unfortunately 'bull' might be correct. He couldn't play naive anymore, he'd been around too long for that. They'd never let him get away with that.
“What does that mean?” because he can't think of anything else to say as he comes to a stop in front of you.
You roll your eyes, “Here, somewhere else, where is not the requirement. What is the requirement is that this answers that,” you were far more confusing than humans sometimes, this seemed to be one of those moments.
But he smiles, all the same, you could've said anything and he's sure he would've smiled, “This answers what?”
“Exactly! I knew you'd get it one day,” pushing lightly at his shoulder.
It was far too much like being electrocuted but in the best way, you'd touched him a thousand times before but it had never felt like that. And unlike the thousand times before your hand didn't drop, the pads of your fingers light and unmoving. Your head cocks as you look at them, eyes seemingly entranced by the chipping color but it's not. Whatever he's felt at your touch, you seem to have felt too. Unlike him you have no experience with this feeling, knowing it only by name and seemingly unable to connect the two in your mind. Why should you?
“We have to go,” is what he says instead of the million other things running through his mind.
You nod, slowly, just as shaky as you breathe, “You're right,” but it's clear you are talking about two very different things.
{}
“Sam?” you ask, stepping into the room where the younger Winchester was researching, “You busy?”
He smiled, “Just about to take a break actually,” gesturing at the empty seat across from him.
You sat patiently for however long as he finished, closing the laptop and giving you his full attention. It was then that you realized you hadn't really prepared anything, you really weren't even sure what you were asking. How could you even describe what you'd felt in that moment? You had to try, he was looking at you expectantly, even Sam's understanding only stretched so far. You stood, leaning over the table and pushing him in the shoulder as you had to Castiel and finding there was no spark. Your heart hadn't clenched. You didn't feel the sudden need to press even more of yourself against him.
“You wanna tell me what you're doing there?” he asked, raising a brow at you, that kind smile never wavering.
“I didn't feel anything,” falling back into your seat with a sigh, “When Cas came to get me,” realizing that there was a complete lack of context and that wouldn't help, “I,” you rolled your bottom lip between your teeth before soothing it with the tip of your tongue, “I felt something.”
“When you pushed him?” he clarified and you nodded at him, “What'd you feel?”
What had you felt? You knew all the things that had happened but that wasn't the same as feeling something. That was a subtlety you had learned very quickly, it was a necessary tool for survival among humanity. Others hadn't been so important. Like understanding what this was. you raised your brows, shaking your head and you rolled your lips on each other, biting them gently between your teeth. That kind smile turned into one of those knowing grins those two boys were so fond of getting, when something was so base it had never occurred to you or their other angel companion.
“When this shoulder pushing occurred did you really wish the trench coat was gone?” tentatively you nodded, “Was it all...?” widening his hand and sort of circling his torso area in the air.
“Yes!” releasing your lips from their prison and pointing at him, “There were things in my stomach!”
Your sudden exclamation bringing Dean to the room with a confused look, “There were what in what now?”
“She pushed Cas,” looking at his brother with one of those looks that only the two of them seemed to be able to read, “It was apparently very eye-opening.”
Opening his eyes wide with the realization you hadn't been given the opportunity to have yet, “It makes a lot of sense.”
“Of course it makes sense,” giving his brother a look that even you knew meant duh but still completely lost as to what was happening, “But it's not like we can sit her down in front of the TV.”
“Good point,” crossing his arms and leaning against the end of the table to look at you, “You're hot for Cas, girly.”
You crinkled your brows in confusion, “I want no part in that weird bar ritual you and those women take part in,” you tone earning a snicker from Sam.
“Okay, ouch!” smiling none the less and shaking his head, “Come on, you know what sex is,” you nodded, “That's what you wanna do with Cas.”
“Why?” Neither of the boys were able to keep their laughter below a dull roar, “What?”
“You should,” the younger man tried, managing to pull himself together a bit better, “You should talk to him about this.”
{}
It isn't your beach paradise, in fact, there is no nature here. It's a room. Just a room like so many others. Except there are no windows here, no doors. Music plays softly from nowhere. A grand bed sits in the middle of the room and there's not much else. Giant mahogany columns hold up a silvery canopy, the gauzy curtains around the bed matching. It's covered in pillows and blankets, each seeming warmer and more elegant than the last. It's clear you've spent a lot of time on this, perhaps even years, making sure this particular aspect was absolutely perfect. Once more he has no idea where here is and he's sure you won't tell him. All he knows it feels like you, there's something about the small space with its giant bed, littered with books, and assorted scribblings, he feels as if he's intruding. For the first time, something about you seems truly private. He might've left if you hadn't noticed him.
You're different here too. The boots are gone, as are the too-short shorts and not long enough shirts. Though he's not sure the over-sized t-shirt that barely skates you thighs when you jump suddenly to your feet is much better. You have one of those gas station romance novels that Dean always poked fun at and then slid into his pocket in your hand. It's unlike any book you normally read and he's reminded of that moment on the beach. When your fingers lingered along the fabric of his jacket as if you wished it might simply disappear. That seems as good a place as any to start, removing the beige jacket and throwing it over a high back chair, the suit jacket going with it. Your eyes follow his movements, as if you're trying to physically identify something you've only been told about. You move the paperback in your hands, looking at the cover, before tossing it, as if suddenly realizing he could see it as well.
“You should've told me,” looking somehow incredibly curious at what was happening while your tone bordered on murder, “You knew.”
“I thought it would seem selfish,” there's that little Dean voice shouting bull again, “It shouldn't happen because I tell you it's supposed to happen.”
“But why is it supposed to happen?” you are frustrated, enough to growl low in your throat as you throw yourself on the edge of the bed.
“Because it does,” his tie joining his outer clothing before stepping towards you, “It just does,” nervously he eased himself to sit next to you, “If you want it to.”
Watching you roll your bottom lip between your teeth brings the sudden urge to do it himself, “Angels don't-” sighing, shaking your head, “I always knew I was defective.”
He grips your thigh tightly, blunt nails pushing at the sensitive skin, “You are not defective,” making sure you met his eyes, “Who told you that?”
“No one,” shaking your head, he wants an answer, “I don't want to think about that right now,” he'll get it but there's only so many things you could deal with at a time.
You had to finish this, “It wasn't just you,” he says, leading the conversation back just as quickly as he had lead it astray.
His grip loosened but his hand didn't move, “It's happening now,” watching the goosebumps that bloomed in the wake of truly taking in the feeling of his skin against yours.
Castiel kisses you because it's what you want, you just don't know how to ask for it. You're soft, gentle, just like he imagined. Your lips moving so smoothly over his that he wondered briefly if perhaps they were made for his. This is an unlikely thought but feels perfectly factual when the tip of your tongue runs across the seam of his lips. Neither daring to move more than needed to deepen the kiss. Lips moving, the languid tangling of tongues, you feel none of the urgency he does. This is all-new, an exploration, the way this ends is all hypothetical for you. You had always been very thorough, unable to stop himself from pressing forward at the thought of how long you'd spend exploring before the grand finale. Arms moving swiftly as he thrust himself backward, pulling you into his lap and tightly against him. Your body trembles in his arms, his hand smooths up your spine, the other digging into those curls, your fingers curled in his collar. It's him that's making you tremble and it makes him bold, this answers what. Every question had been leading up to you, to this moment, to being perfect just for you.
There's that familiar nagging in the back of his brain. He pushes harder against your lips, sure if he tries hard enough, you can drown anything out. But you pull away suddenly, that look on your face that says you feel it too. you are as equally frustrated and before he can do anything you have snapped from here to there.
He could have only been seconds behind you, forgoing jackets and tie for corralling whatever chaos you newfound frustration would bring upon the boys. Of course, it wouldn't just be the boys, Crowley had to be there to for some unfortunate reason. They're just staring at you, modesty would never be a skill you mastered and you were standing in just that t-shirt. He felt that feeling of jealousy suddenly in his chest, not thinking as he took a step in front of you. Which makes all of them look at him. Top buttons unbuttoned, shirt wrinkled, missing more than a few signatures, and leaving no question of what they had just interrupted.
“I had dibs, I did,” Crowley was the first to speak, looking incredibly put out by the whole thing but not at all surprised, “Is anyone going to get the young lady trousers?”