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It is the middle of the night and the Bunker is dead silent. Everyone is asleep, it appears. Everyone, except for Castiel, former Angel of the Lord.
Sleep isn’t something that comes easily to Castiel ever since he was pulled out of the Empty by Dean. The feeling of closing one’s eyes; of letting one’s awareness go, like tiny sea creatures being pulled out of a tide pool during high tide; simply does not sit well with Castiel. It reminds him too much of nothingness.
The Empty is hard to describe. It is as much a place as it is just an idea: can a place with an absence of thing be considered a place at all? Where even time does not exist because its very idea is incompatible with that of the Empty, where a second is as good as an eternity, or was it the other way round?
That doesn’t matter. What matters is that Castiel is alive. He is here.
That is how Castiel finds himself in front of the bathroom mirror in the dead of night. The fluorescent light casts harsh shadows all over the room but this brings Castiel comfort, as shadows can exist only with the existence of something.
He does not know how long he has been standing there, but it was long enough for him to realise that for once, he has time. There is no impending apocalypse to save the world from, no Big Bad to defeat, and just the occasional monster to hunt. There is so much time, so Castiel finally uses it to look at the face in the mirror. It is both the face of the man he has taken as his without much regard all those years ago, yet very much his face. It has been a gradual realisation – that he does not think of this body as a mere vessel anymore, but rather just his body. After all, he has been revived numerous times and each time he was put together again in this body, though without the soul and consciousness of James Novak. Staring at himself, he muses if this is a transposition of his true form to a human one; that maybe, this is how he would have looked as a human being. That would explain why James’s body was the perfect vessel for him.
The thought that this is not a body he can abandon anytime, at least not until he dies as a human since he had to sacrifice his grace to leave the Empty, still overwhelms Castiel at times. Throughout his millennia of existence, he had worn many faces and never had to deal with the permanence of a physical body, but this is it. This is the face he is stuck with.
Considering that, one question has been stuck in his mind, like an incessant itch which refuses to leave until it has been scratched: is he attractive by human standards? He tells himself that this question is more of an academic one rather than him having any real investment in how he looks. Just his natural curiosity at work.
He catalogues his facial features. Dark brown hair, prominent brow ridge, blue eyes, raised nose bridge, defined jaw. These are what he notices first and he thinks these would be what others look at too. That said, there are too many variables to consider, each potentially having its objective benchmark to be measured against. He cannot even be sure if what he noticed matter – for all he knows, the shape of his ears matters too.
He was just about to pull his t-shirt off – one of the many he has stolen from Dean in the past weeks – to examine his non-facial features when Dean appears by the door. His eyes are squinted against the bright light in the bathroom and Castiel looks at Dean through the mirror.
“Whacha doin’?” asks Dean. Castiel turns around to face Dean with a defeated expression.
“I couldn’t fall asleep, so I figured I’d spend some time looking at myself in the mirror.”
Somehow, Dean manages to raise his eyebrows at this while maintaining his squint.
“Look at yourself? What for?”
“Dean, I can’t figure out if I’m attractive by human standards,” Castiel explains. He takes a step towards Dean and Dean takes a step back. “Maybe you can offer some clarity?”
They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. Castiel begins to think that timelessness is not specific to the Empty.
“Dean?”
“I – uh, I think, Cas – uh,” Dean sputters and makes a dramatic act of clearing his throat. “I think I need to use the bathroom, Cas – if you don’t mind.”
“Oh. Apologies,” Cas says as he feels a slight flicker of disappointment. He is unsure why he feels that but he attributes it to not having a clear answer. He steps out of the bathroom to make way for Dean.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Cas,” Dean says as he turns and reaches out to the bathroom door.
“Okay. Good ni – ”
The bathroom door slams shut and Castiel is left in the dark before finishing his sentence. He rolls his eyes. Great. Now he has to feel his way down the corridor to return to his room. That is definitely one of the things he misses about being an angel: being able to see in the dark. That said, at least he is still able to feel the walls here. This way, he knows there is something.
He makes his way back without any mishaps and switches on the night light in the corner of his room. It is just bright enough to provide a soft glow, but not enough to disrupt his sleep. Castiel crawls into his bed and pulls the blanket up around him. It is particularly thick – as an angel, he never had to deal the issues of temperature and body heat, so he constantly finds himself feeling too cold now. He figures that living underground does not help the situation, but is grateful enough for a roof over his head. Castiel snuggles further into folds of the blanket, closes his eyes while conscious of the faint glow of the night light permeating through his eyelids, then allows himself to fall asleep. It was not restful.
*
Castiel wakes up to the sound of the alarm he has set, the room still dark save for the glow of the night light. His eyes adjust and Castiel finds himself wishing, not for the first time, that they lived somewhere with windows so he can feel the sunlight streaming in, warming up the room and his skin.
Between the occasional hunts, Castiel spends most of his time reading, be it fiction or non-fiction. He finds it a good way to keep himself entertained yet learn about the human condition at the same time. He reads widely, but he also tends to devour any literature he can get his hands on about gardening and beekeeping, much to the rest of the Bunker’s bemusement, considering how there are no opportunities to put that knowledge to practice. Castiel is not deterred – the theory is enough to keep his mind engaged, and truth be told, he is waiting for the day they move out, whoever “they” refer to.
He washes up and heads to the kitchen to grab some coffee and food. He likes his coffee black with some sugar. Ever since he came back, Castiel has been exploring whatever flavour profile is available to him. He tried them all when it comes to coffee: with milk; with milk and sugar; with condensed milk; with butter – Castiel settled for just plain sugar as he found that to reduce the bitterness, yet retain the original nuttiness or flower notes of the coffee. Yes, he has been reading up on coffee as well.
Dean trudges to the table and gives a grunt of acknowledgement to Castiel who is already sitting there sipping his coffee. Sam, being the health nut that he is, is already out on a jog and has dragged Eileen along with him.
“Sleep well, Cas?”
“It was fine. I had my night light turned on,” Castiel says. Dean pours some coffee into a mug and settles down opposite Castiel.
“You’re still having those nightmares, aren’t you?” Dean asks as he looks on with concern. “You know, if it helps, you don’t have to sleep alone. We could move your bed into my room so you know there’s someone else with you.”
“Isn’t that a little… intimate?” Castiel has learnt much over the past decade about human boundaries and he admits he does not yet know all its intricacies, but he is quite sure that sleeping together in a room pushes these boundaries. It is not a concept he understands intuitively. As an angel, they rested in their garrison together without privacy and could communicate telepathically – physicality meant nothing.
“Not like we’re going to push our beds together or sumthin’ like that,” Dean shrugs. “Anyway, I’m heading out to stock up on some groceries. Wanna come along?”
Castiel shakes his head. As much as he enjoys the company of his family, he also appreciates his time alone. Besides, Dean leaving the Bunker will give Castiel some time to read up on something he has been hoping to learn more about.
*
It is dinnertime by the time Castiel leaves the library, now armed with knowledge on the objective indicators of attractiveness for humans. He understands that such standards change throughout the ages, and in his research, Castiel was careful to corroborate what he read with images of seemingly popular individuals he found on the internet.
He has narrowed it down to several factors when it comes to human males. Having some height seems to be important. Facial symmetry is important as well, though Castiel finds it difficult to wrap his head around that since his true form had multiple faces. For some reason, humans see the leg-body ratio as a measure of attractiveness too. Facial structure? Eye colour? Hair colour? Voice? There are countless variables and when Castiel tried to gauge himself against them in front of a full-length mirror he found in one of the Bunker’s many rooms, he realised it to be an endeavour beyond his limited human experience. Needless to say, he gives up in record time.
And that is how Dean, Sam, and Eileen find themselves confronted with a question they never expected from Castiel over dinner. Dean has roasted some chicken because he found some recipe online experimenting with miso as a rub and Sam contributed with some vegetables he bought from the farmers’ market nearby, which Dean has roasted as well. Eileen, feeling the menu to be lacking some sugar, quickly whipped up some parfait for everyone.
“Sam? Eileen? Dean?”
They break from their chatter over dinner and turn their heads to Castiel, who has been unusually quiet this evening.
“Am I attractive?”
Silence follows as the trio stares at Castiel and he feels his heart quicken – a sensation he is still getting used to as a human, and not a particularly pleasant sensation at that. The silence has to mean something. Maybe he is not attractive. Maybe they are shocked to hear him ask that question given how unattractive he is. Sam is the first one to break the silence.
“Uh – what do you mean, Cas? By ‘attractive’?” asks Sam. Castiel audibly gulps.
“I meant whether I’m physically attractive. By human standards. I was just curious,” explains Castiel.
“You are, Cas,” says Eileen. She leans over and lays a reassuring hand on his arm. “You’re an attractive man and you should know that.”
“Cas, even Rowena called you handsome back then. Remember?” Sam laughs. “Damn it, I miss her so much.”
Castiel gives a wry smile at this and nods, recalling the moment when Rowena dropped that compliment over the phone. He was definitely flustered but there were matters of greater importance then. Now, things are different. He can indulge in such trivial pursuits and ruminations, so he decides to push further. He notices that Dean has been quiet and staring at his chicken.
“But what is it specifically? I’ve spent my day reading up about the traits which contemporary humans may find attractive,” says Castiel as he pivots towards Dean. “What do you think, Dean?”
“Yeah, what do you think, Dean?” Sam echoes with a grin. Eileen punches Sam in the arm.
Dean jerks his gaze away from his plate and towards Castiel. His eyes flit away to Sam, then to Eileen, back to Sam, and then to Castiel again. Castiel sits, expectant. Dean clears his throat.
“Damn, Cas. Sam and Eileen already said you’re attractive. What else can I add? You are attractive, alright?” Dean says.
“Yes, I get that, but – ”
“Speaking of Rowena, Sam,” interrupts Dean. “I wonder what she’s up to ruling Hell. We should probably ask her to drop by some time, don’t you think? Eileen, you remember her?”
Castiel sighs quietly, annoyed at being cut off and slightly frustrated that finding a straight answer for such a simple question (surely, he thinks, it must be simple for a human) can be so difficult. He does not want to admit it, but there were certain aspects of his true form he took pride in, one of which was his wings – it is only natural for him to be curious about his permanent human body. He starts stabbing at his vegetables while the other three start to chatter about Rowena. He tells himself that he already has their assurance and that is good enough..
*
Once again, Castiel finds himself at the mercy of another habit he has to get used to as a human. As an angel, he was always able to complete the task at hand with laser-sharp focus. Now, he barely makes it through one paragraph of this novel he is trying to read (Great Expectations) before his mind wanders, and he finds himself having to read the same paragraph again for what feels like the hundredth time.
He decides to put the book aside to retreat to the sanctuary of his room. Sam and Eileen are already in theirs,and Dean is nowhere to be found. This doesn’t bother Castiel much as Dean has always been the private sort, which is why Castiel finds himself surprised when he bumps into Dean just as he leaves the library.
“Hey, Cas. Are you up to anything?”
“No, not really,” says Castiel. “I’m just about to return to my room. Why?”
He notices Dean looking down at his own feet with hands in his pocket and he seems to be struggling to stay still, as if teetering on the edge about something, but it only lasts for a few seconds. Dean looks up.
“If you aren’t tired, wanna go out for a drive? You aren’t obliged to, of course, but I’m bored and thought you might want a change in scenery.”
Castiel figures there is nothing to lose. Sleep can wait and he always appreciates any time spent with Dean.
“Sure, Dean. Let’s go.” Castiel smiles.
*
“Where are we going?”
They are on a dark road to nowhere in particular and it is the first time the silence has been broken since they climbed into the Impala. It is the sort of silence which happens between two people familiar with each other, but not necessarily one which is comfortable. Castiel senses Dean’s nerves and sees him tapping the edge of the steering wheel with his index fingers incessantly. The question seems to have startled him and the silence lasts for a second too long. For a moment, Castiel fears the worst – perhaps Dean is not here; perhaps Dean has been possessed by a demon; or maybe an angel, bent on taking revenge on Castiel for what he has done to Heaven all those years ago; or this is a shapeshifter. Whoever, or whatever this is, is driving him off to a place he does not want to know of. He feels a rush he hasn’t felt in a while, having become accustomed to predictability and safety, and Castiel looks at Dean with a furtive glance through the corner of his eye. Dean looks on ahead, hands on the steering wheel.
“Cas,” Dean finally breaks the silence. “Can I ask you something?”
Castiel hums in affirmation, heart still jumping in his throat, but he keeps his expression neutral.
“Why are you so concerned with how you look?”
Castiel breathes with relief, a little too loud, a little too dramatic. Dean shoots him a glance.
“Sorry – you’ve been so fidgety since we left the Bunker, I thought you were possessed,” explains Castiel with a shaky chuckle. “And since I’m not an angel anymore I can’t actually see if you are.”
Dean furrows his brows in confusion. He had to steel himself up to ask the question and this was not the response he was expecting.
“Possessed? Really?” he says.
“Never mind, I was just being a little paranoid. Anyway, to answer your question, I’m not exactly concerned per se, it’s just – Dean, I’m still getting used to being human: learning human customs, understanding human standards – I’ve been in a human body all this time you’ve known me, but I’ve never got the chance to stop and immerse myself, even when I did lose my grace all those years ago. You could say that I’m approaching this from more of an… academic perspective.”
“So, what – you’re studying whether you’re hot?” asks Dean. He feels a flush coming onto his cheeks at his unintended word choice and gives silent thanks to the fact that it is the middle of the night and Castiel can’t see it, not that Castiel seemed to notice.
“In a way, you could say so. But I thought there’d be no better place than to start with my own body,” Castiel pauses as he contemplates this. “My permanent human body.”
Dean takes a proper look at Castiel to his side now, and just as he does, the Impala passes under a streetlamp – and another. The streams of yellow light glide over Castiel’s features and Dean’s breath catches, not for the first time, at Castiel’s profile. Castiel looks to Dean, and their eyes meet for a moment.
“Eyes on the road, Dean,” Castiel chides gently. Dean averts his gaze back to the front.
“Cas, I’m sorry about what happened to your grace.”
Castiel gives no reply and Dean steals another quick look. Castiel is looking at his hands, his fingers, seemingly fascinated by how his joints and muscles function as he clenches and unclenches his fists. The Impala passes by a quiet, open field, and Dean makes an executive decision for this field to be their destination. He slows the Impala to a halt and Castiel finally looks up. “We’re stopping here?” he asks with a tilt to his head.
“It’ll be a nice place to take a look at the stars. Dark, quiet. I mean – we don’t get to see the night sky often in the Bunker.”
Castiel grins and he lays a hand on Dean’s shoulder – that shoulder. Dean looks at it.
“Thank you, Dean. I love looking at the stars.”
“Uh – you’re welcome?” he returns with a questioning look, but Castiel has already moved away and is opening the door on his side. Dean clambers out from the driver’s seat too, and Dean moves over to Castiel’s side off the side of the road. They lean against the side of the Impala and look up to the sky, a black canvas punctuated by uncountable stars. They enjoy the view for a few minutes in silence, then Castiel raises a hand and points to a certain part of the sky.
“Are you familiar with the Summer Triangle, Dean?”
Dean moves his face behind Castiel’s arm and squints in the rough direction of where Castiel points at. He sees three stars, the brightest ones in that expanse, positioned in an almost-isosceles triangle.
“Not really, Cas. I grew up travelling on highways and navigating with maps, not the stars of the sky,” says Dean. He sees Castiel begin to roll his eyes as he lowers his arms. Dean has always found that to be endearing, but he keeps it to himself. “But yes, I can see the triangle.”
“You see the star in the upper corner?” Castiel asks. Dean nods. “That’s Vega – at least that’s what it’s called in English.”
“What about it?”
“I created that star.”
Dean pauses to comprehend what Castiel – no, this being standing beside him – just said. In the faint moonlight, Dean realises that Castiel is ancient. He is timeless; he has witnessed the transformation of chaos to order, the very opposite of entropy; he finessed the birth of stars and world; he saw life on this planet from its beginnings in the primordial oceans, becoming humanity – and yet, all these would have been just an infinitesimal fraction of his existence. Dean shudders at the thought of the scale of, to put it simply, Castiel. His true form, once as large as the Chrysler Building, about a thousand feet tall, now all squeezed into this man of almost six feet.
“The name ‘Vega’ is loosely drawn from the Arabic word for ‘falling’. You could say it’s a foreshadowing of sorts about 450 million years in the making,” Castiel says with a shrug. Dean decides to ask the question which has been weighing on his mind all this time.
“Cas, do you – do you regret losing your grace?” Dean says in a voice tight with nerves. “Did I make the right decision by getting you to cut your grace out?”
Castiel does not react for a few seconds, then turns to lean his side onto the Impala. He smiles – that private, face-down smile which warms his face when he wishes to imprint a moment in time onto his memories; when he opens his heart in a silent outpour of affection.
“Dean, did you know I was one of the most beautiful angels in the garrison?” Castiel asks as he lifts his gaze to meet Dean’s. Dean tilts his head, a small mannerism he has picked up from Castiel after all these years, puzzled by this sudden change in topic.
“Angel biology is, of course, very different from human biology,” Castiel continues. “So, it follows that we have very different indicators of beauty when it comes to our true forms.”
“Meg did mention your true form was hot,” Dean points out casually. The mention of the demon he became unlikely friends with brings a grin to Castiel’s face. The only being around who was willing to take care of him when he was not fully himself and was more interested in playing Twister than anything else. The demon who, way before Crowley did, showed that anyone can change for the better.
“One of the things we’d look at would be the wings. The colour, the shine, the wingspan – they all matter. Angel forms are varied, but certain animal faces are deemed more attractive than others.”
“Cas, why are you telling me – ”
“As I’ve alluded to in the past, my true form was as big as the Chrysler Building – yes, size matters,” continues Castiel.
Dean is about to speak but chokes on his saliva instead. He coughs and sputters, and Castiel’s eyes immediately widen with concern as he reaches out to pat Dean on his back.
“Dean, are you okay?”
“No – I mean, - yes, damn it, I’m fine, Cas,” Dean dissolves into giggles as he feels some tears coming up. He is not sure if they are tears from the rather unpleasant sensation of choking on one’s saliva or tears of sorrow; sorrow at Castiel’s description of what has been him for eternity.
“Why are you laughing?” Castiel asks as he frowns in confusion.
“It’s – it’s nothin’, Cas,” Dean says as his fit of giggles dies down. He takes a few deep breaths to calm himself down, palms his eyes in an attempt to hide the tears, and faces Castiel again.
“What were you like?”
Castiel turns, back against the Impala, as he faces the sky once more.
“My wings were big to accommodate my true form’s size. The wingspan would have been from here…” Castiel traces a pointed finger across the sky and Dean follows it. “To here.”
“Geez, Cas.”
“My feathers were black, which is considered rare for angels as white is the typical plumage. They weren’t just plain black either; they’re iridescent depending on the light, you could think of them akin the colours of an oil slick,” Castiel says as his face grows blank in remembrance. “My true form had several animal faces too – there’s a lion, a wolf, an eagle, just to name a few.”
“You asked me earlier in the car why I was so curious about my human features – perhaps you can guess why now. Angels are taught to not flaunt and compare, but I was always different and felt a bit of pride in my true form, to be honest,” Castiel says as a slight blush rises in his cheeks and he turns away to look across the field in front of them.
“Cas, come on, you’re – ”
“And that’s not the only reason, Dean. This whole – ” Castiel gestures with his arms swinging in vague directions. “predicament; being human – it is something completely unfamiliar to me, and I’m trying to learn as much as I can, as fast as I can. I’m still getting used to the fact that this body is me from now on, and beyond this, there is just so much more to learn about being human, Dean,” says Castiel. Dean notices that Castiel’s hands are trembling, so he reaches out to grab them gently in an attempt to calm Castiel. Castiel recoils slightly at the touch but allows his hands to rest in Dean’s as he stares at them. He grounds himself with the touch to recollect himself, then he looks back up at Dean with fiery determination in his eyes.
“So, no, I don’t regret losing my grace. I may mourn the loss of my previous life, but regret is not what I feel. I do not regret being given the chance to experience life afresh, so different from what I have grown accustomed to my entire existence,” Castiel rises from his leaning position and he grips Dean’s hands tighter. His voice grows louder, more insistent. “I do not regret being able to taste a peanut butter and jelly sandwich again. I do not – I cannot, ever, possibly regret being able to be beside the people I love, as finite in time as it may be.”
“I was given the choice between eternity and mortality when you came for me. I chose – I choose you,” he gulps at his choice of words and hastens to rectify the situation. “I choose humanity.”
Dean is silent and only smirks. Castiel, surprised by his sudden outburst of emotion, begins to feel the nerves. Perhaps he said too much, and perhaps Dean does not want to deal with this, which is obvious, considering that neither of them ever addressed what transpired in the room right before he was taken to the Empty. Castiel wrenches his hands away and leans back on the Impala again, wishing he was experienced enough to have controlled his now-intensified emotions, something which he notes Dean seems to be quite good at doing.
“Cas, before you interrupted with that monologue, I was going to say that you, objectively speaking, are attractive.”
Castiel snaps his head to the side to see Dean standing with his arms crossed, the smirk having grown into a grin.
“Huh?”
Dean lets his arms down and the grin fades away. He takes a step forward, encroaching into the personal space which was designated as something sacred by him a lifetime ago, and Castiel realises very quickly why Dean was so insistent about his personal space. He leans even further into the Impala but has nowhere to move to, so he looks up at Dean with panic flitting across his eyes. The panic does not last, as Dean raises a hand and cups the side of Castiel’s face and Castiel finds himself almost burrowing into it instinctively.
Dean brushes his thumb over Castiel’s eyelids. “Your blue eyes; statistically they’re uncommon for humans, and that’s probably one reason why people find blue eyes attractive. I’d imagine iridescent black feathers are deemed attractive for similar reasons.”
Palm still in place, he brushes his fingers through Castiel’s hair on the side. “Your dark brown hair provides a nice contrast to the blue of your eyes, and I remember seeing on some Internet survey that dark hair and light eyes are deemed the most attractive combination. The way your hair can get messy but still looks good helps too,” he teases.
He slides his hand down Castiel’s face. “Your stubble – well – who doesn’t like a well-stubbled man?”
His green eyes flit down and linger on Castiel’s lips. He runs his thumb over them, and Castiel inhales sharply. “And your lips. They’re pink and moisturised, but only because I’ve been reminding you to hydrate yourself all the time. Lips like yours are a sign of health and humans are always looking out for a healthy partner.”
He lets his hand glide down Castiel slowly, from his face to his shoulder, down his arm, brushing his hand and fingers, and it finally hangs loosely by his side. “I’d say you’re pretty attractive for a human, Cas,” Dean says to conclude his analysis. Castiel realises that his breaths feel shallow, too frequent, and he feels something strange and indescribable pooling his stomach – another combination of sensory input he has come to experience only as a human, but does not yet understand fully.
“So… I’m attractive? You think so?”
Dean clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck. He takes a step back and returns to leaning his back against the Impala.
“I said you’re objectively attractive. Don’t let that get to your head,” Dean huffs and pointedly looks up to the sky. He finds himself focusing on Vega.
“If you say so, Dean,” Castiel grins.
A blush grows on Dean’s cheeks and he gives Castiel a light push on the arm without looking away from Vega. Castiel laughs and he is finds himself feeling lighter than he has in – well – millennia. For once, he also feels tired.
“We should head back, Dean. It’s getting late,” Castiel says and he reaches to open the car door. He knows how much it took Dean to say what he said, so this would suffice. If anything, he has always taken Dean’s words very seriously when it came to human matters, and he feels relief at this unambiguous response. He stoops into the car and watches as Dean crosses over to the other side to climb into the driver’s seat. Dean starts the car, pulls off the side of the road, and leaves in the direction of home.
Home, Castiel thinks, and it occurs to him that the paradigm has truly shifted. That home is no longer a place he returns to like it has always been with Heaven. Home is the people he returns to, the ones whom he chooses to spend his now-mortal life with. A home that is not necessarily permanent in a locality, but absolute in its temporality and in love. He turns to Dean and watches as the orange glow of the streetlamps pass over his features.
“The Arabic word which Vega draws its name from has another meaning, you know?”
“What is it?” Dean replies with a glance to his right. Their eyes meet.
“It can also refer to a landing or to alight,” says Castiel. “I’d say that’s appropriate foreshadowing as well, don’t you think?”
Dean feels the corner of his lips pull up and he sees that Castiel has that private smile of his again, but this time he wears it for Dean to see, and Castiel glows. Dean reluctantly pulls his eyes off Castiel and looks back at the road. Safety first.
“Yea, Cas. I think so too.”