Work Text:
Cut!
Leaning against the Impala, Dean opens the second beer out of the six-pack at his feet, weird events of the day rolling around in his head.
So, apparently, Cas has help against Raphael, in the form of Balthazar and hopefully a lot of others. After being the diversion so Castiel could find and hide away all of Heaven’s weapons, Dean is feeling a little used. He thinks Castiel should be a lot more forthcoming about what exactly is going on in Heaven.
The angel wings into existence next to him, leaning against the car, perfect mirror to Dean’s relaxed pose, minus a beer in his hand.
“Did you come to explain?” Dean asks, bending down to grab a beer and hand it to the angel.
“More to apologize,” Cas replies. “There is too much to tell. I am sorry that you and Sam had to go into all that blind, but it was necessary for you to think that you had the real key to the weapons. We needed the distraction.”
Dean takes a swallow of beer and raises an eyebrow. “It was distracting, all right. Jared and Jensen were kind of- I don’t know – weird. And you got killed!” Which had bothered Dean a lot more than he would care to admit out loud.
A ghost of a smile lightens the angel’s face. “Yes, Virgil. He’s very hostile. And my other persona wasn't the most- courageous.”
“Cas. You’re being careful, aren't you? I mean, really careful. You know, we’ll help you if we can.”
Castiel tries the beer, pulling the bottle away from his face then to look at the label consideringly. A tiny drop of amber liquid shines on his bottom lip in the faint light from the house and Dean suppresses a shiver, wants to lean over and kind of – lick it off. Before his brain knows what his hand is doing, Dean is reaching over to collect the cool drop with the tip of a finger.
Castiel tilts his head solemnly. “Dean?”
“No wasting beer, Cas,” Dean forces out, around the ‘what the hell, Winchester?’ that is trolling warningly through his head.
“In that case,” Cas says, handing the bottle back to Dean, “You should probably finish it. I don’t believe I have actually acquired the taste for it yet.”
Dean takes the beer, deliberately avoiding touching Cas’s hand with his own. Because, seriously, what the hell?
“Cas, I mean it,” Dean says quietly, before the angel can flutter away again. “You be careful. Don’t get yourself smited, or whatever.” Smited? Smote? Dean muses silently. Castiel, of course, knows what he means anyway.
“I have no intention of letting anyone smite me, Dean.” The angel promises seriously, and then, with the whisper of his invisible wings, Castiel is gone.
“Cut and scene!” Dean mutters, downing the rest of his beer.