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Being without grace is more of a double entendre than Castiel wants to admit. He’s clumsy in his human form, and even if it’s his second go so to speak, it’s foreign and unsettling. Every touch is new, every sensation heightened, and it’s so much good and so much bad that he’s surprised more humans aren’t driven mad by the contradictions of the human body. The last time he was human, he was focused solely on survival, on blind instinct. This time, it’s so different he almost thinks he isn’t human at all.
It’s a very slow start after Jack pulls him out of the Empty. He sleeps for what feels like weeks, exhausted by the extraction of his grace and the journey back to Earth. He doesn’t want his son to leave, but he knows he’s done too much already, and so he lets him go. He knew it was going to be this way, after all, but he didn’t anticipate goodbye being so tumultuous. In a way, Castiel was happy that he would be gone before Jack had to go, and it’s a selfish, terrible thing to find solace in, but one makes do in the Empty.
Of course, there was also the comfort of not having to face Dean after his poorly timed confession. Well, poorly timed in terms of fucking up any sort of follow-through in their relationship, whether it be love or heartbreak, but even though Castiel is sure that Dean wants him in a way that follows similar to his own, the unknown is soothing. He made that promise because the thought he could hold out forever, after all, and that happiness was something untethered to an angel, but true to his curious journey, he’s never really followed the path made for him.
So, instead, he’s now here, fully human, with all the broken parts of his vessel that he had been able to ignore for over a decade. Jimmy Novak was strong, but certainly not a spring chicken, and his joints creak and groan when he stands up and sits down, as if releasing years of pent-up frustration over a less than conventional angel possession. Dean’s there, quietly, helping him patiently, but he never lingers too long. His touches are tentative, and his eye-contact is limited, and although Castiel isn’t sure if it’s better than being ignored, he decides to go with it.
Sometimes, when Sam and Dean leave to go on a hunt, leaving Castiel alone (though Miracle is there, and he’s basically at Castiel’s heels wherever he goes), he just wanders around the bunker. Castiel asked to join them a few times, but Sam insisted, perhaps on Dean’s behalf, that he needed to rest still. The hunts are infrequent, thankfully, and they talk loosely about stopping the hunts in the near future. Castiel can’t help but find that funny, that he would return to Earth just in time to retire. His purpose is increasingly unclear as he pads around the bunker, his fingers grazing the walls as he walks by, and in some ways, he envies Jack, his son who will never be without purpose.
Even as an angel, Castiel had always found joy in small things – flowers, bees, and other small animals always gave him comfort, and so sometimes he steps out of the bunker with Miracle to just sit in nature. It’s different to experience creation as a human, its intricacies so invisible and incomprehensible in their mechanisms. Instead, all that is visible to the human perception is the unabashed beauty of it all – the colours of falling leaves, the cool dampness of the mud, the whistle of the wind through the tree branches like an instrument, it’s all overwhelmingly beautiful. Castiel had seen beauty, particularly in the face of one particular human, but with human senses, a beauty that he once thought shallow and contrived, it’s so much more saturated and powerful.
Sam takes him out to the farmer’s market, and Dean always insists on tagging along if Castiel is going. Castiel knows Dean doesn’t like these kinds of things, the earnest and overbearing goodness on display all around him, but he’s happy that Dean’s there with him. Dean pays for the two buckets of honey that Castiel had been eyeing – one buckwheat, the other wildflower – and carries them despite Castiel insisting that his arms work just fine. Dean asks what he plans to do with the honey, and he just shrugs. He has no plans, but he knows it’s something he likes, and so he wants it. That’s also a new human sensation, to give in to a want as trivial as honey, but it’s satisfying.
Every morning, Castiel puts a spoonful of honey into his coffee, just enough to sweeten it and change its consistency ever so slightly, its sweet and roasted residue sticking to the inside of his mouth. Dean doesn’t get it and refuses to try it, which in many ways is fine as it means more honey for Castiel, but he can’t help but want to share it. It’s the sharing that’s complicated for Castiel. As an angel, he was so self-sustaining, and although Sam and Dean offered him shelter (except for one other time that is both painfully similar and unbelievably different from his current human experience), he decides that part of his humanity is to build an independence. However, it would be an independence that is more complex, more nuanced than before.
He starts small. One morning, as he stirs his honey into his coffee, he asks Dean to take him clothes shopping. He knows he can go alone, but he’s taking baby steps after all. Castiel had been borrowing Sam and Dean’s clothes for the most part, and he enjoys wearing Dean’s shirts more than he’d care to admit. Dean agrees to take him, but asks him why he wants to go, and Castiel tells him he just wants things of his own. It’s not exactly a lie but stepping around the truth feels second nature at this point. Of course, he doesn’t have his own money (yet, he thinks, which would be an eventual next step), but it’s about more than that. Dean nods, but he mutters something under his breath that Castiel doesn’t quite catch. As sensitive as his, well, senses are, they fail him in many ways too.
They pull up to a department store, a dying artifact of America sustained by rural landlocked areas like Kansas. They’re unimpressive in all ways except their size, and the stark whiteness of them reminds Castiel a little too much of heaven. Dean insists on taking a cart with them, and Castiel thinks it’s so he has something to do with his hands. Dean’s much more fidgety these days, always needing to have his hands occupied, whether it be mindlessly cleaning weapons or cooking an unnecessary meal in the kitchen. After years of watching over him, Castiel knows when his pattern is off, but he tries not to let it consume him. Dean tells him he’s fine whenever he asks, and he doesn’t press further. What they have is precious, fragile, and sensitive, and perhaps he could prod it to grow, but one wrong push could send it all crashing down.
The cart wobbles along behind him, one of its wheels busted after years of neglect, and Castiel weaves his way towards the clothing section. It’s overwhelming at first, the excessive variety available to him. He realizes he’s become far too accustomed to the fashions at the bunker, which were really nothing more than palette swaps of the same configurations of clothing. Even the women in their lives, he realizes, all dressed quite similarly. Except Rowena, of course, but witch fashion is a whole other thing.
Dean watches patiently as Castiel feels the different fabrics and cuts around him. He’s not particularly helpful, though, as any time Castiel asks his opinion, he just shrugs. He does offer some knowledge, such as what fabrics are easy to wash, and what will keep him warm or cool, but nothing aesthetics-wise. It’s odd for Castiel to want to know what would look good – he knew that his usual attire was somewhat odd, given the bevy of strange looks and comments he’s received during hunts over the years, and even Dean’s own teasing of his trench coat – but it was never a major concern on his end. Now, suddenly, surrounded by a sea of t-shirts, the need to appear sensible and stylish is a burdensome priority.
He opts to stick to simple things; unadorned t-shirts in several colours, plain sweaters, and a sturdy jacket that he notes is quite similar to Dean’s, which manages to wrangle out a small smile from the otherwise silent man. He tries some things on, such as jeans, when he realizes he can’t exactly estimate how they’d fit on his body from just looking at them. When he sees how flushed Dean gets when he steps out of the dressing room in skinny jeans, he’s almost tempted to buy them, but they’re unfortunately far too uncomfortable and impractical for much else besides making Dean blush. In some ways, that’s an excellent purpose for an article of clothing, but they were still hunters, and above all else, hunters value practicality.
It’s only enough clothes to maybe fill two drawers in his dresser, but it’s a start. It’s all his own, and the thrill of ownership of material goods is something else. The shortcomings of humanity and materialism are becoming clearer to him. Wanting and desire used to be so much more unidimensional to Castiel, a bright, sharp light that flickered and guided him off his path, but now, want and desire is attributed to something as small as a t-shirt and a pair of boxers printed with little sailboats. It’s hard to believe that at one point, he agreed with the angels that they were far superior to humans. To be without complexity, without small joys and losses to accompany the bigger ones, is a fate that Castiel now fears.
He still keeps the shirt he’s wearing, which belongs to Dean, and folds it in neatly with the rest of his clothes.
While humanity is complex, it’s also fettered with routine and simpleness. The days are repetitive – they switch between researching and relaxing, and sometimes their days are punctuated by visitors like Eileen, but otherwise they’re much the same. Some days Sam talks about his plans for the future, but Dean never participates. Castiel, understandably, has no idea what his plans are, and so they don’t press, but he can tell Sam is nudging at Dean.
Dean’s stubbornness is not something to take lightly. After all, it defeated God.
One evening, as Castiel is washing the dishes (upon his insistence, and after much protest from Dean), he asks Dean if they can go see Jody and Claire. Dean raises his eyebrows at the request, asking why he needed Dean’s permission to go. Castiel shrugs, but deep down he knows Dean wants to see Claire as much as he does. He asks if they know what happened, and Dean says no. He wants to ask if he should tell them, but he decides to keep it to himself.
Sam invites Eileen to stay at the bunker for the weekend that Dean and Castiel plan to head to South Dakota. Castiel had invited him to come as well, but Sam insisted that he stay, saying he wanted to keep an eye on potential cases. They pack overnight bags, Castiel smiling as he packs his own bag with his own things, and they head off. The drive is pleasant, and Dean doesn’t strike up much conversation, but Castiel doesn’t mind. The long drives are familiar, but something about the destination not being a vampire nest or a murder scene is nice for a change.
The hellos and hugs are long, and Jody and Claire notice something different about Castiel immediately. Claire speaks up first, asking why he’s wearing a sweater, and Castiel just smiles. They have dinner, catch up with the exploits of the Wayward Sisters, and Dean ends up in a deep conversation with Patience and Jody, giving Castiel his chance to be alone with Claire. He asks her where they can talk in private, and Claire takes him to the roof of the house. It feels unsafe, especially without his grace, but the simple thrill of being somewhere unconventional and unadvisable warms him. He supposes that he would also experience pockets of teenage rebellion well into his human adulthood.
He tells Claire about Jack, her brother, and Claire laments that she never got to meet him. Castiel regrets never introducing them, but he knew it was for their safety, and he tells her that Jack will visit again. He doesn’t know if this is true, but something tells him Jack won’t stay away for too long.
He also tells her about the Empty, about the promise, and about his grace (or lack thereof). Claire is quiet but manages to comment on how that explains the fashion choice, which makes Castiel laugh. She ponders quietly, saying that Castiel looks so much like a dad, but, for some reason, nothing like Jimmy. Her words hit Castiel heavy in his heart, but its short and fleeting. A lightness takes over him, and his shoulders release a tension he didn’t know they were holding.
He is his own person.
He is Castiel.
They stay there for a bit longer before Kaia finds them, saying Jody’s looking for them, and they crawl back into the house to be greeted by a table full of dessert. He sees Dean’s eyes lit up with delight at the pie in front of him, and Castiel drinks it in. He wants to memorize each curve, each highlight, each freckle that spell out the joy emanating from Dean. He wants to recreate it, over and over.
Despite Jody’s insistence that they stay the night, they head back to a motel that Dean had booked the day before. The goodbyes are as long as the hellos, and Claire holds onto him tightly. She whispers to him, so that only he can hear, that she’s happy he’s back. She never knew that he was gone, but she was pained that he had ever left in the first place, and Castiel feels a swell of guilt and love unfurl inside him. Another one of those complicated human emotions he would have to unpack later.
On the drive to the motel, Castiel comments on how much Claire takes after Dean. He sees Dean smile at that, his face lit up by the moonlight, and he memorizes the way the shadows of passing trees wash over the planes of his face.
Castiel feels the want to crawl into Dean’s bed after he steps out of the bathroom, freshly showered and sleepy from the hot water. Dean’s already curled up under the covers, full of pie and conversation, and as much Castiel wants, he doesn’t give in. Wanting is a strange thing, and sometimes not fulfilling it is enough to quell it.
Even though they’ve been in countless motels across the country, Castiel never slept much in any of them. The covers are scratchy, the mattress uneven, and the temperature wavers menacingly between balmy and frigid. In all accounts, it should be miserable, and to some degree it is, but he can’t help but wonder as he falls asleep if this is how Sam and Dean felt all those nights he watched over them, and just as he’s nodding off, he thinks about how much he missed when he thought he was paying attention.
On the drive back, Dean admits that he told Jody what had happened. He assumes that Castiel did the same with Claire, and he confirms. It’s as simple as that. Castiel did not tell Claire about the loaded confession that preluded his capture (and he assumes Dean didn’t tell Jody either), but something tells him Claire pieced it together pretty quickly.
Happiness, with Dean in his last moments, so on and so forth.
When they return, Sam and Eileen rush out of some corner in a shockingly similar manner to how Gabriel and Rowena had once scrambled, and Dean groans loudly about using bedrooms for bedroom activities. Sam looks flustered but Eileen laughs it off, dragging him away somewhere more private. Dean comments under his breath that the lovebirds would eventually have to find their own nest, and this time Castiel does not miss what he says.
The following morning, Castiel pours his coffee with honey into a travel mug, and it’s early enough that neither Sam nor Dean are awake. He scrawls a note about heading into town to pick up a few things, leaving it on the kitchen table, and climbs into his old truck. He thanks Jack that the car still turns on after a long stretch of neglect and he drives aimlessly towards the closest town.
It's only about a half-hour into his drive when he receives a phone call from Dean. Deciding to be safe, he pulls over onto the shoulder of the highway and picks up. Dean’s voice is strained but not angry, and he asks vehemently where Castiel is. When Castiel asks him if he saw the note on the kitchen table, he hears Dean’s footsteps through the phone, and his eventual sigh upon reading the note. He reprimands Castiel to leave the note in a more ‘obvious place’, before asking when he would be back. Castiel has no idea, but he gives a rough time approximation that he hopes puts Dean at ease. As he pulls back onto the highway, he wonders if this, too, is a part of independence.
He truly doesn’t have much of a plan when he parks into a non-descript parking lot in the downtown area of a nearby town. He hops out of the truck, a beige tote bag he had received for free at the farmer’s market one weekend slung over his shoulder and takes in his surroundings. It’s still quite early, meaning that much of the town is still asleep, and many storefronts are just opening. Before he can make any decisions on what to do, his stomach grumbles, another reminder of his humanity that, thankfully, has a somewhat enjoyable remedy, and he beelines towards a diner he had seen on his drive in.
After a greasy breakfast and an incredibly flirtatious waitress, who left him her number on the receipt, he steps backout into the brighter sun of mid-morning. The streets are more alive with morning commuters dotting the sidewalks. The awareness that comes with humanity made Castiel realize how much he probably stood out before as an angel, donning a trench coat and a suit in most weather, seemingly impervious to both sweltering heat and bitter cold. He realizes now, wearing a maroon pullover sweater and jeans, that he blends in seamlessly. As an angel, he always thought he was blending in simply by virtue of having a human vessel, but he’s learned that it’s so much more to be human, to be individual, to be free. There’s an unspoken vow of belonging that hinges upon individuality. It’s harrowing and exhilarating to be somebody and nobody all at once.
He wanders in and out of various stores, picking up things that catch his eye: a polaroid camera that seems far too expensive for its antiquated technology, a sturdy looking sketchbook with a few pencils, a few CD’s from a music store, not really paying attention to who the artists are, but he figures he can’t really go wrong, and simple white baseball cap with the words ‘gone fishing’ emblazoned on the front in small green embroidery. It’s a modest haul, all things considered, but he can’t help but run his fingers over each item as he sits in his truck, fingers lingering over the grooves on the side of each jewel case, the sturdy brim of his hat, and the metal spiral binding the sketchbook together.
Before his humanity, he always found it odd how many photos Dean seemed to keep. He could understand the sentimental value of the photo of Mary that he kept close, but he was always less clear about the more seemingly meaningless snapshots, such as when he would occasionally snap a photo of Castiel on a hunt, or a picture of him and Sam hunched over old tomes in the bunker. Turning over the polaroid in his hand, he thinks he’s starting to understand the human fascination with photos.
When he returns, Dean is halfway up the stairs, and there’s a concerned look on his face. Castiel smiles at him, and Dean seems to relax at the sight of him. Dean asks what’s in his bag, but Castiel plays coy, though Dean does comment on the hat, saying he really looks like a dad. Castiel laughs, mentioning that Claire had said the same thing. It’s easy conversation, though Castiel can still tell Dean was worried moments before. Castiel wonders if Dean thought he had left again, and he suddenly feels his heart sink. Dean plasters on a smile, and Castiel does the same. Castiel is used to putting on a façade; his stoic, emotionless behaviour was nothing more than a cover-up most times after all, but it’s strange to put on the façade of happiness, of content, to imitate what it might feel like to feel good.
When Dean calls him to dinner, Castiel brings the camera with him and snaps a candid photo of Dean and Sam at the table. Sam asks if he got that today and mentions that he may have extra film somewhere in the bunker. Dean scowls, unhappy that he was taken by surprise, but insists on seeing the photo. He shows Castiel how to properly let the film develop, and their eyes linger on the photo a beat longer than normal. It’s an unassuming photo, much like the ones Dean had taken, but it’s honest, visceral, and real. No amount of angel memory could capture the beauty of that singular moment in time the same way.
The following morning, as he’s stirring his honey into his coffee, deciding that buckwheat honey was not as suitable for coffee as the wildflower after weeks of experimentation and rumination, he pulls out the photo he took. He stares at it thoughtfully. Sam is profile, staring at Dean, while Dean is turned to the camera, caught in the moment, his face open and innocent. Settling down at his desk, he pulls out his sketchbook. He had no idea how to draw, really, with most of his artistic expression being in writing and repetitive sigils drawn in blood, but he understands that art is largely geometry. He maps it out slowly – the jutting bone of Dean’s eyebrow, the angle of his jaw, the curve of his hair. It’s abstract at best, and looks nothing like Dean, but he traces those same shapes over and over until he’s filled the page with meaningless lines and corners. He carefully tucks the photo into the sketchbook and places it in a drawer when he hears Sam call for him, likely to help with research for a case.
It’s not a case, and instead he sees Dean and Sam sitting in the living room, their own coffee’s in their hands. Castiel slides onto the same couch as Dean, a reasonable distance between them, and sips on his coffee. There’s a strange tension in the room, and Castiel does not enjoy the near-physical sensation that accompanies social awkwardness. Turns out, Sam called the ‘family meeting’ as he called it to announce that he’s planning to move out with Eileen, and Castiel waits for Dean’s reaction. Dean seems unsure at first, but instead of words he stands up and pulls Sam into a hug. Castiel wonders why he was called into the meeting, as if his input was necessary in something that clearly just involved Sam and Dean, but he couldn’t help but smile at the brothers in embrace, a sincerity that feels stronger after, well, they defeated God.
Later, Sam pulls Castiel aside to ask him if he’s okay with Sam leaving. Castiel insists that he’s fine, and that he need not worry about Castiel’s feelings, but Sam just gives him a look. He reminds Castiel that he’s family, too, and that he matters just as much as Dean. Castiel nods, and he’s conflicted again by the individuality of humanity and the necessity for family. His ‘family’ is disjointed at best; he has Claire, who has come around to being something close to a daughter again, and he had Jack, who he still feels wherever he goes, but corporeal form does a lot for the human senses. He has Sam, and of course he has Dean, but when he feels more than helpless on a few hunts, he can’t help but feel like he doesn’t contribute. Sure, he has the knowledge to aid with research, but when push comes to shove, he’s often better off staying back in the car. His body doesn’t move like it used to, and while Sam offered to do some workouts with him, he knew that time was not on his side. With the slowing frequency of their hunts, they were all losing their mojo.
Sam asks him to take care of Dean, and Castiel tries to understand. When he was an angel, he watched over Dean with a fierce eye, but now, wings clipped, he feels that Dean is the one taking care of him. Dean feeds him, takes him out when he asks (he hasn’t made an independent trip since the last one, as Dean seems to want to tag along, insisting he enjoys the driving), and generally makes sure his complicated relationship with physical humanity is explained. Castiel knows it should feel overbearing sometimes, and he can logic that Dean is being excessively protective, but it doesn’t feel like too much. He does, however, feel the guilt of taking away his time, though he’s unsure how to voice that without potentially causing a problem.
He thinks more about what Sam said as the days pass, as he fills in his sketchbook with more drawings, the pages paperclipped with new photos. He took a few of more of Dean, some of Miracle, and others of the nature outside the bunker. When they went out to the city, he would snap some tourist-y photos of Dean, who would roll his eyes at being forced to pose, but always flashed a brilliant smile for the camera. It’s a smile that Castiel studies intensely, but he can’t quite capture it on paper. He wonders how he could ever take care of Dean the way he is now, weak and riddled with emotion, unable to even heal the smallest cut without the help of a first-aid kit. He wants to say he understands, just so his mind can stop racing, but it’s more challenging to convince himself that he would like.
Castiel and Dean have yet to talk about what was said before he was swallowed by the Empty. When Castiel came back, he was fragile and exhausted, and Dean immediately swooped in to help him recover, and they didn’t speak much. Castiel, for one, was far too tired to say much, and Dean was keeping himself busy with making sure he was okay. By the time Castiel was able to walk around on his own without slumping to the floor, the confession’s presence was less noticeable. Jack gave him something so marvelous, a life with the people he cared for the most, and Castiel is so afraid of destroying it, so he silences his want. Dean never brings it up, and so Castiel assumes he knows what Dean’s response to him might have been.
In that moment, right before he pushed Dean aside, he truly was happy. It was overwhelming, terrifying, even, but he was happy. Now, back with the man who gave him so much joy, he yearns to chase that same happiness, and he feels it in small doses, like when Dean starts adding honey to his coffee without asking, or when Dean hums along to one of the CD’s Castiel had bought at the music store, and Castiel hopes that those small moments are enough to sustain his aching human heart.
Jack insisted that the cost was his grace, but Castiel is willing to sacrifice much more to keep what he has right now.
By the time Sam finally moves out, Dean and Castiel making multiple trips to their new place to help with moving, they’re too exhausted to assess their new life alone in the bunker. Dean orders a pizza and flops down on the couch, Castiel joining him on the opposite end. They’re quiet, tired, and worn out, and the silence is a welcome reprieve from the heavy lifting and arguing about where things should go hours earlier.
Halfway through the pizza, something breaks inside Castiel and he feels himself asking a question before he can stop himself. He asks Dean if he plans to move out of the bunker too. Dean is silent, chewing slowly, and avoiding eye contact with Castiel. He feels a frost spread inside him.
Eventually, he says, he would leave the bunker. He asks Castiel why, and it’s such a multi-pronged three letter word that it makes Castiel’s head spin. Why, indeed. Castiel shrugs, shoving aside his thoughts in favour of an empty ‘just curious’, and Dean clears his throat before volleying the same question back to Castiel. Castiel blanks, having never yet sincerely thought about leaving the bunker, or leaving Dean, really. All his visions of independence still tethered back to Dean in some fashion, and in every vision, in every excursion, he bookmarked it with coming back to Dean, to tell him stories, to show him artifacts. It’s too much.
It’s too much to hold.
It’s too much, and so he lets some of it go. He tells Dean how he’s felt about being human, about how confusing and nonsensical everything about it has been. He tells him about how it feels to want such trivial things, how impactful the smallest inconveniences can be, and how overwhelming it is to be so aware of the physicality of the world. He talks about how much he misses Jack, how he didn’t know how much he needed him to be physically here, to hold him, and he talks about how much it scares and delights him that he’s becoming his own person, separate from the person his body used to belong to. Dean listens attentively, his eyes warm and safe to look at for once.
He talks about beauty, and how much more intense the aesthetics of the universe are as a human. He talks about how everything is so different, all the things he loves are so different. The word hits Dean and Castiel sees him recoil slightly. A word used in a different context, but still the same word, the same sounds, the same configuration of letters.
In every iteration of himself, he loves Dean Winchester.
They’re facing each other, a few inches apart on the couch, and Castiel admires Dean up close. The crook of his nose dusted with freckles from long days in the sun. The curl of his eyelashes, the wrinkles around his eyes, the fullness of his lips. And, of course, the green in his iris that not even nature could conjure. When Castiel loved Dean before, he saw something that he thought was much more meaningful, his soul, his spirit, his righteousness. Now, without his grace, he knows that he sees those same things with equal intensity in the beauty of his form. Castiel sees Dean deeper than he ever had before.
He tells Dean that he sometimes thought he could do this human thing on his own, but he realizes that the happiness that is supposed to come with freedom, with the liberation that Jack gave them, would never truly be his if he was alone.
He tells Dean that he loves him. That he still loves him.
And that he’s certain that he would never stop loving him.
And through blurry eyes he still thinks Dean is beautiful, when he is nothing more than splashes of colour through his tears. He asks Dean if he’ll stay, if he’ll let Castiel come with him. He says it’s too much to ask, but he knows he must ask it.
Dean tells him he’ll stay.
Dean tells him he loves him.
It’s such a strange thing to be human. He thinks the reciprocation would be accompanied by some cosmic revelation, some great happening of light and emotion, but instead he just feels warm. He feels warm when Dean pulls him into a hug, when their lips meet in the middle, when he feels his hands wrap around the back of his head.
It’s warm, it’s so warm, and it’s the loveliest thing he’s ever felt.