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Dean knew there was something off about Castiel’s voice on the phone. Not off in the same way it had been off earlier, that adorable awkwardness. It was more than that. Dean just knew. Or more accurately, he had a strong feeling. A voice in his head said that maybe he couldn’t accept that Cas simply wasn’t that eager to talk to him, or to see him. He pushed that away. And maybe Ketch’s arrival and the memories of Mary he brought along with him made Dean even more on edge, made him even more hesitant to trust what he heard. He wasn’t sure. That was what he’d said, too, when Ketch had asked him about his angel. His. Dean tried not to think about how the words were so clearly meant just for him, how Sam didn’t even attempt to answer, instead looking at him, waiting for him to. It must have been obvious that he was supposed to. And Dean had indeed answered, no denying. It might have been because he was too worried, or maybe he just didn’t feel like pretending he was put off by the idea of Cas being his, which, had he ever really? No. But in that instance, answering Ketch’s question, he was not only very much not acting unnerved at the thought. He was claiming both Cas and his answer. Cas was his angel. And Dean wasn’t sure what happened to him, but he sure as hell was going to find out.
~~~
It turned out that the supposed king of demons had quite the appetite. Asmodeus ate without care, probably using some kind of charm to ensure that no stains would come onto his blinding white suit. Castiel was certain that he did not need to eat, and assumed he was only doing what all creatures do. Filling themselves with something as a way to pass the time while they sought after what they believed would grant them relief. And Castiel was starting to think that was just what life was for everyone. In his own life, however, he had been stuffed. He had not quite indulged in his love for God and order, it had been force fed to him, as he had finally learned after his meetings with Naomi. If not for Dean, he would still be choking on it.
Castiel sat at one end of a long table, Asmodeus on the other end. His own plate was empty, and his wrists were locked into his seat. Asmodeus paused every once in a while to smile at him. Castiel understood the game. Force him to watch him eat, slowly, not knowing what would happen once the meal was over. Keeping a straight face, just staring ahead, Castiel hoped to appear unbothered.
When Asmodeus sucked his last grape into his mouth, he stood up from his seat and walked around the table until he was at Castiel’s side. From his sleeve, he took out a long blade.
“What do you want from me?” It was the first time Castiel had said anything since Asmodeus had set him up at the table.
Asmodeus reached forward and began to undo Castiel’s shirt. It was all too familiar, getting exposed, for the purpose of one to cut right into his skin. At least it wasn’t being torn open.
And then, of course, Asmodeus started to move his blade down the back of Castiel’s trenchcoat with erratic movements, blade stabbing his back as it was moved back and forth. Castiel was able to stay silent, but he closed his eyes.
“Well,” Asmodeus began, “all you need to know is that I’m gonna get those...pretty wings of yours out. I have been given a resource I would like to test. Of course, I would like to do this to Lucifer, eventually, but...A test, as I said. Why not test it out on a uh, littler angel?”
Castiel’s eyes opened. His wings were already pitiful. He didn’t even want them to be seen, much less vulnerable to being touched by Asmodeus’s hands, or his blade. Castiel swallowed.
Asmodeus tossed a few shreds of Castiel’s clothing onto the floor, and then drove his blade into Castiel’s back.
~~~
Asmodeus looked over the symbol that he’d carved into Castiel’s back with interest. It had been done quite well. All he had to do now was say the right words, apply the right amount of pressure at the circle right there…
The sun might as well have forced its way out of Castiel’s skin. Asmodeus was blown backwards, forced onto the floor, and then against a wall. He’d known to close his eyes. He threw an arm over his face, and waited a few minutes. Then, he slowly got up and went towards Castiel.
Castiel’s wings were spread out, and bent over the chair. They weren’t full and fluffy, no. They were rather thinned out, with large bald spots. He blinked his eyes open, looking around a little before seeing Asmodeus, who strode over and turned Castiel’s chair to the side. Asmodeus grabbed one of his wings, forcefully stretching it out over the table.
“When I cut off Lucifer’s wings,” Asmodeus said, voice low, “no one will ever question me. I will have complete. Obedience. I will wear his feathers as a trophy, for all to see.” He ran his fingers roughly through Castiel’s black feathers, causing them to stick in the wrong direction, uncomfortably. “Now, you?...Well, you don’t really mean much, do you, Castiel?”
Castiel knew that he wasn’t meant to answer, but he wasn’t sure of what he would have said if he could.
“You’re not completely disposable, though. You could help me get a little obedience from the Winchesters, couldn’t you? I have no reason to kill you, Castiel. But if those brothers come after me, they’re going to see the state you’re in and know that I can do worse. That I’ve got your life right. Under. My. Finger,” he said, pulling out a feather to emphasize each of his finishing words. Castiel didn’t try to say anything back. He knew of Asmodeus’s capabilities. He knew it was all too possible that he had no way of escape or of receiving help. His only comforting thought was that Lucifer might receive worse treatment soon enough. After all, no one cared about Lucifer.
Asmodeus picked up his blade from where it’d been resting on the table and ran the tip of it down the length of Castiel’s wing. It could be felt most when it went over the uncovered areas, that vulnerable flesh with no feathers as protection.
“I am a lover, you know.” Asmodeus's movements slowed somewhat as he began to speak. “I am sure that you, as an angel, are aware, but I loved a woman once. A human. Beautiful. Her name was Sarah...She did not return my feelings.” Castiel could relate. But it was difficult to think about that when a blade was cutting its way into his flesh. He stopped trying to resist his bounds. It was only making his wrists hurt more, trying to fight against them.
“She married someone else,” Asmodeus continued, sadly. “And then another someone else, and then another...I killed the first one...Well, I killed all of them. Seven. Seven chances I gave her. Hoping, foolishly, that at some point she would look at me. She would look at me, and she would know that I wouldn’t leave her. But she kept looking in other places.”
“You killed her,” Castiel choked out. It wasn’t a question.
“I had to.”
A sharp pull to his wing, and Castiel cried out.
~~~
“You can trust me. I told you that it would work.”
Ketch couldn’t help but be annoyed. Of course the spell worked. It came from the British Men of Letters, after all. He’d been hoarding it for some time, and while it was true it had never been tested on an angel before, he’d always been confident that it would work, and eager to see it in action.
“Got to go. I’ll, ah...be there shortly for the fun.” He ended the call with a slight smile.
“Who was that?”
Without blinking, Ketch turned to meet the cold stare of Dean Winchester. Sam had seemed more trusting. He’d always known he had to be more careful with this one. Especially without his pet angel.
Ketch hadn’t expected to be followed outside of the bunker.
“Ah, Dean. You can trust me too, you know.”
“Big difference between can, should, and will. Now answer the question.” In what Ketch would describe as his usual fashion, Dean aimed a gun at him. Ketch weighed his options. Naturally, he wanted to be on the winning side. He firmly believed that he was still on it. Prince of Hell versus two greasy Americans? No contest.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“You know where Cas is. I know you do. You think you’re believable? After that evil twin crap you just pulled? No.”
Ketch sighed, carefully putting his phone into his pocket as he accepted that he was going to have to deal with Dean. And that Asmodeus might have to as well, earlier than expected.
“Now, you’re going to take me to him.”
~~~
“I killed her, and I let her blood covered me like an embrace that she never would have given to me by choice. And I cursed all of her daughters, and all of their daughters, and so on. I am certain...that they all must have had her beautiful face. I cursed them, so that they would all meet their deaths by the hands of a demon. It’s still out there, her blood. I can feel it. Just a little bit of it, now. A small child, it must be, a little girl. She could be the end of it. Or she might not be.”
Castiel glared up at the Prince of Hell. He knew of his history, about the woman and her seven husbands that were killed. What he hadn’t known was that lives were still being affected, ended. And over such a petty thing.
“You...are a being of lust, Asmodeus, not love. That is how you have been remembered and that is how you will always be remembered. You are incapable of proving anything else.”
Castiel knew that saying this would cause himself to lose more blood, and possibly grace, but at that moment he didn’t care. He thought about humans, how some of them were good, but some of them were more monstrous than the creatures that many were taught to be afraid of. Controlling, needing everything to be their way, blind to the truth and insistent on victimizing themselves. Asmodeus was like this.
“To wish for suffering, and on one’s descendants as well...I do not believe that stems from love, love cannot, it can’t be controlled, it wasn’t her fault she didn’t want you. You should have—”
The blade plunged down, and it made its way almost completely through his wing before it was pulled out, revealing shining grace beneath the skin. Still, Castiel continued.
“You should have been happy to see her with the first husband! It should have been enough to just know that she was happy. Just because, just because you want someone, and you want to give yourself to them, do anything for them...you don’t have the right to them at all. They could feel nothing for you, and you just have to accept that.”
Maybe it shouldn’t have been expected, everyone being as selfless as Castiel was in love. He for one didn’t expect it, not really. He was actually certain that no one had loved like him. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was an angel, and he even questioned if it had anything to do with his pride, but Castiel just couldn’t imagine anyone loving anything as much as he loved Dean. And he didn’t think about it, how selfless his love was, how it lacked any demands. It just was.
But what he wanted to hope for was that people in love wouldn’t do anything to prevent their beloved from being happy. There were a lot of things he wanted to hope for, that he was sure would only lead to disappointment.
Asmodeus narrowed his eyes at Castiel’s outburst, not knowing how to respond and not eager to admit it. But he didn’t need to, he was the one in control. That was the way he liked it. He didn’t need to use his words. He only needed to when it was him telling the story. And he would continue to tell it his way. He would continue to remember it his way, and Castiel knew that.
Or he thought he did. When he heard quick steps approaching, he wasn’t quite as sure about anything at all. He wasn’t thinking about Asmodeus anymore.
He was in too much pain to even want to try turning his head, but Castiel knew that Dean was there. And naturally, Sam must have been there too. But with Dean, he knew for sure. Even with his wings as damaged as they’d ever been, and some of his grace exposed, he could feel the flare of Dean’s soul. He wondered if being in Hell allowed him to feel it more. It was always so bright, though. So he couldn’t really tell. Castiel always felt it pulling at him.
Castiel closed his eyes. What more could he do?
“Cas? Oh, crap, Cas…”
This was not how Castiel had imagined Dean seeing his wings for the first time. Which he had only ever imagined in certain fantasies where his wings had somehow recovered, full, and soft. Glossy, large. He’d have full control over them. They wouldn’t be limp and stained with blood from his back.
“Sam and Dean Winchester.” Asmodeus dropped Castiel’s wing, and the blade on top of it, before turning away from the chair. “What a surprise,” he said. It clearly wasn’t. Now that they were there, it was all too clear to him that his usage of Castiel’s voice would never have been enough to keep them away. Especially with him relying on Ketch to keep them occupied. He never trusted humans. Never again. He’d made a mistake, though not an awfully detrimental one, he thought, as he wasn’t that concerned about the brothers. Now he knew he could cut Ketch loose, though.
Dean moved forward, eyes trained on Castiel, but he’d only moved just a step before he heard a thud, something getting thrown against a wall, sounding like it came from another room, or a hallway.
Sam, having been a little behind Dean, turned his head. His eyes widened when he saw Lucifer storm in, eyes red and glowing. There was anger there he knew he’d seen before. An expression that he tried to keep out of his thoughts. He had less control over those in his dreams, his nightmares, of course. The anger was not aimed at him, though. And naturally, not at Michael, as it had been for the majority of their shared time in the cage. It was aimed at Asmodeus. Still, it took Sam a second to recover and look away.
A few things happened at the same time. Lucifer made a quick comment about how Asmodeus should probably get some new guards. Asmodeus picked up his blade and abandoned Castiel in favor of charging at the archangel. Quicker than either of these actions, Dean was at Castiel’s side, undoing the binds over his reddened wrists, not even looking at his wings, but at his face, his own covered with concern. Sam was at his side, making sure that no demons nearby would try to slow them down. The demons though, were rather uninterested in them, and paying more attention to the brawl between Lucifer and Asmodeus, wondering who would make for a more fit ruler. Each had their own preference.
Castiel was not responding. His eyes were still closed, and his body was still as he was lifted up from the chair, wings dragging on the floor. Dean grunted as he tried to keep him balanced, before just picking him up, one arm under his thighs and the other over his lower back. In an ideal situation, Castiel would have his arms around Dean’s neck, and his legs wrapped around his waist. This was not an ideal situation. Dean still managed to hold him. It was the best way he could think of to do so while creating the smallest amount of pressure on the angel’s wings as possible.
Getting out of Hell was a blur. They tried not to pay attention to the noises or the light coming from Lucifer and Asmodeus. Luckily those two seemed to be more focused on each other. It was a relief. Sometimes Sam and Dean, compared to others, were normal. Seemingly not a threat, despite their past victories. They’d had many losses, too. But they at least didn’t have baggage going back millions of years or more. And that? That was nice. Sam wondered if, were they to stay alive that long, or if they'd spent enough years in Hell, they would become like these ancient beings full of hatred, carrying grudges with them for each of the other old entities that were still around. Maybe that’s why there were humans. God figured out that no one should be alive that long.
Sam looked at Cas, remembering that he was old, too. He never forgot it, not really, but he couldn’t help but see him as young. Too young for that rage the others carried. Sam of course was unaware of the pieces of Castiel’s memory that had been missing over the years, and the role that could play in who he was. Not that it could ever be proven that it did play a role. Castiel was always an outsider. Not like other angels, but clearly not human.
Maybe, as Sam assumed, Cas was just different, and he was wrong about the effects of old age on the kind of beings Lucifer and Asmodeus were. Maybe they were just like people, because as he knew, some people just sucked. And some people didn’t.
Ketch was gone. He’d gotten away as soon as he’d helped the brothers get into Hell. Certainly, he was making his way to some hideout. Dean planned on killing him the next chance he got. For now, he was just glad that he had left him alive to help them out. Finding the entrance that Ketch used wasn’t something that they could have done on their own, and, judging from how Cas looked, things would have been a lot worse if they’d waited for another way.
They made their way out the tunnel where they’d come. It was dark outside when they emerged, and the air was cold, biting at their skin as they moved as quickly as they were able. Dean was really paranoid about hurting Cas, but it was really important that they got him somewhere safe, and fast. Meaning, inside of the car.
“Sam, get the door!”
Sam opened the back door and moved so Dean could lay Cas down inside. Cas, who still had his eyes closed.
“You’re gonna have to drive,” Dean mumbled, distracted, as he took his keys out and threw them at Sam. As he did this he never took his eyes off of Cas. “He’s gonna be fine, it could have been worse. He just needs to rest, and, and we’ll figure the wing thing out.”
Sam watched his brother get into the back with Cas and close the door. He knew that he didn’t really need to respond to what Dean said. That Dean was mostly trying to convince himself. Still, he really hoped that Dean was right and that Cas would be able to recover. He got into the front seat and started the car, knowing that he was going to get yelled at if he didn’t get them out of there as soon as possible. Even as he was doing that, he couldn’t help but be aware that Dean had pulled Cas’s head into his lap and was running his fingers through his hair, ever so gently. Sam wondered how aware Dean was of what he was doing.
It felt like too long, but they eventually made it back to the bunker. Dean was opening the door immediately, and lifting Castiel out, taking on all of his weight again. He closed the door with his hip. Sam rushed to get to the door before Dean so that he could open it for him, and headed inside. Once Dean was in and going down the stairs, Sam closed and locked that door, then followed him down.
“Dean! Dean, where—?”
“My room!”
Dean managed to get into his room without his brother’s assistance while still carrying Cas. He laid him onto the bed, putting him on his stomach because he was still concerned about his wings more than anything else. His back was also injured. His left wing was worse than the right one. It looked tired, and lacked feathers for the most part, like it was never capable of being used. They were still beautiful, though, Dean couldn’t help but think. They were giant wings! Dean would be freaking out over how cool that was if he wasn’t so worried.
Slowly, Dean sat down on the edge of the bed, and brought two fingers to Castiel’s temple. There was a heartbeat. Not terribly faint, either. Dean sighed. He kept looking at Cas. The angel looked so exhausted, even while asleep.
Sam peeked his head into the room. “Dean?”
“He’s gonna be okay, Sammy.”
“That’s great, that’s...really great.”
“I’m sure you wanna fanboy all over his wings. But when he wakes up, don’t freak him out with all your questions right away, alright?”
Sam laughed softly and nodded. “Don’t worry, Dean. I’ll give him plenty of time with you first.” With that, Sam retreated into the hallway, likely going to his own room to sleep. Even with no audience, Dean rolled his eyes at his brother’s words. It was just because it was Sam, not actually because of what he’d said. Dean was less and less bothered by the thought of other people thinking of him and Cas as...well, as something. The eyeroll? Well, Dean just didn’t like it when someone else had the last word. It also bothered him when Sam was right, or when Sam was acting like Dean was wrong or didn’t know that Sam was right.
Dean knew. He agreed with Sam, he wasn’t acting like he didn’t want Cas to himself. He knew he wanted Cas to himself. As weird as it might have been to really let himself think about that. The annoying thing was the thought that Sam didn’t think he knew. Well, Dean knew.
Standing up, Dean figured he needed to get the angel’s wounds cleaned up. He’d be as gentle with his wings as he could. He began by taking off Castiel’s shredded clothes. Not only did Asmodeus cut into Cas and bloody him up, he had to go and destroy his most prized possession, too. Dean would get him another coat.
The shreds of fabric were discarded, and as Dean dabbed at the punctures, he noticed the dim, fading light of Castiel’s grace beneath some of the worst of them. The injuries already looked a little better than they had before. Some blood got onto Dean’s bed, coming from Castiel’s back, but it wasn’t minded. Most of the cuts in Cas’s back were pretty shallow, thankfully. Dean put some ointment around them and placed a large bandage over his skin. He’d never been filled with so much tenderness while treating wounds. The urge to hold Cas in his arms and kiss his forehead was powerful, but he knew he had to just leave him be and let him rest.
So Dean let Cas rest, watching over him and surveying how as time went on his breaths got deeper. The more he could see the rise and fall of his chest, the better Dean felt. A good while after Castiel had been thoroughly cleaned, Dean settled himself in a chair, dragging it close. As much as he wanted to lie down beside Cas on the bed, he feared he would end up rolling onto his wings. He was thinking of them like butterfly wings, so delicate that even just touching them could reduce their functionality. And to hurt Cas after what he’d just been through was something Dean wasn’t willing to risk.
~~~
Castiel woke up with a strange blanket on his back, and something else too, sticking to his skin. He was also on a plush, firm surface, though, so he wasn’t too bothered by it. Air was directly touching most of his upper body, so he knew he was shirtless. The blanket was very strange, only covering portions of him. He made a soft sound and slowly opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a sleeping Dean, leaned back in a chair. It couldn’t have been very comfortable. Castiel’s eyes shifted to his own back, and he blinked as he saw them, his wings. He was starting to remember what had happened, why his back felt strange.
“Oh,” he whispered to no one. His wings were like tree branches with only a few leaves left, unfit to bear fruit. The shame he felt when picturing how Dean must have looked at them, at him, was unavoidable. He relaxed his body again and brought his eyes to Dean, who was shifting in his seat.
“Mmm...Cas,” Dean said as he peeked an eye open. “You’re up.” His voice was small, just a murmur.
Castiel shrank in on himself. “I’m sorry...I’m sorry.” Dean blinked, and then moved forward in the chair.
“What are you talking about? Cas, I’m sorry. Should’ve got to you sooner.”
“I’m sorry you...that you had to get me, that you had to...see me, that you see me now, see this.” Castiel kept his eyes trained on a random spot on the bed. He could see from the corner of his eye the shape of Dean getting up from his seat, and sitting on the edge of the bed, rather close to him.
Castiel looked up at Dean and saw no disgust. Just radiance, warmth. Having that directed at him was mesmerizing.
“Cas, I know your wings...are hurt really bad, and that they probably looked way different before you met me. But I think they’re awesome. Seriously. And they’re the best wings out there, if you ask me.”
There wasn’t really any reason for that besides the fact that it was Cas. That was all the reason Dean needed.
Castiel was silent, staring.
Dean cleared his throat. “And uh, how’re you feeling? Do they still hurt? Looks like you mostly healed up, because of, you know, but...you okay?”
Castiel’s eyes became wet, something that Dean immediately wanted to remedy.
“Thank you,” the angel whispered.
“Oh, Cas. Ain’t no thing.”
Before he could talk himself out of it, which had been done pretty easily in the past, Dean reached down and took Cas’s hand, holding it lightly. His thumb traced the still visible marks over his wrist. Dean didn’t look away from the angel’s eyes. Neither had been sure, while they’d been separated, that they would get to look at each other again. But they were together now, and they were fine.
“I was um, real worried about you, Cas,” Dean said softly as he moved his thumb, starting to caress Cas’s fingers rather than his wrist. Being away from Cas and not knowing what was happening to him solidified in his mind that he always needed Cas to be close, with him. Safe.
“I, I appreciate that.”
Dean smiled. “I’m glad you’re okay...So um, we need to get your wings back in uh, back in your back, right?”
Castiel’s wings had not been hiding in his back all along, but he decided not to comment on this.
“That would be best. Unless I were to stay in the bunker at all times, which of course would not be ideal. I should probably stay here until we figure out how to put them back in the correct plane of existence. If that would be okay, of course,” Castiel added. Not that he would really need anything, or be noticed, but it was hard not to feel like just existing was a burden.
“Cas, of course you can stay. This is your home.” Dean really wouldn’t have minded Cas just keeping his wings out permanently. Not if it meant he would never leave again. He didn’t want Cas to feel like a prisoner, of course. Dean just wanted him safe, and there. To always know where he was.
“Sam’s already looking into the lore on angel wings, I’m sure. Undo that Men of Letters spell crap.”
Castiel nodded, and his eyes drifted to their hands. His was still being held in Dean’s. What was he to make of that?
Dean noticed the attention and asked, “Is this okay?”
Often, Castiel was one to be blunt. Maybe not with his feelings, but it was time to get some clarification. It couldn’t hurt at this point.
“Well, what does it mean?”
Dean’s brain stopped working. Any answer to that question seemed out of reach. He was reaching for it, though. As his month moved, failing to form words.
“Uhh...” Dean swallowed. “Um.” He stared.
“I mean. It means, it, it means that...Cas, I’m bad at this,” he said, quieter.
Dean lifted Castiel’s hand to his lips, to kiss his knuckles. “That’s what it means. You know? If that’s okay.”
Castiel’s cheeks were pink. “Yes, that was very okay. And, it’s okay. You don’t have to...say anything. You never have to say anything. I want you to feel comfortable.”
“I want to, though. Say it. Eventually.”
Castiel tugged their hands down, and kissed Dean’s palm. “Okay, but you don’t have to. I love you, Dean,” he whispered against his skin.
Perhaps it was the fear of rejection that had held Dean back for so long. Or of losing Cas soon afterwards, if they really allowed what existed between them to blossom.
The whole time, he’d had the opportunity to have something worth holding onto. Everyone must have been afraid of loss. Nothing was completely in anyone’s control. Their lives were insane, but even normal people had to deal with more or less of the same thing, right? A single, seemingly harmless choice could lead to an early death. That was just the way the world worked. Dean could lose Cas. They would always be able to lose each other, no matter what they did. Maybe it would hurt a little more if they were actually together. If Dean said it, those three words that would really only be an attempt to sum up how he felt, and then wouldn’t be able to say it anymore, it’d hurt.
He already knew what it felt like losing Cas when he hadn’t said it, though. And it sucked. Dean had been just about ready to give up on just about everything. One of the many emotions that came up during that dark period, mixed in somewhere with the grief, was regret. Not that he wanted there to be a next time for that, but if there was, he didn’t want to think about what he hadn’t done. It would hurt like a bitch, no matter what he did. But maybe, just maybe, it would be better if, instead, he would be able to look back on what he had done, on what he had said. Dean wanted love, just like any other human being—Who didn’t want some type of love in their life?—and he wanted to share it with Cas, to give and receive.
“I feel that too,” Dean blurted out. “I, if I said it right now, it wouldn’t sound good, and I want it to sound good.” Still holding Cas’s hand, Dean lowered himself onto the space of the bed next to him, on his side so they could continue to look at each other. “I do, though. A lot.”
Castiel’s breathing quickened, and he squeezed Dean’s hand. He truly didn’t need anything more than what he heard. It was already much more than he expected. What was even more was when Dean released his hand in favor of wrapping his arms around him, holding him tight. It hurt a little, but he didn’t care. They closed their eyes. Castiel returned the embrace. They both could have used some more time to rest, so they took it. They would wake up later, and Dean would stroke Castiel’s wings as gently as he could, and as soon as he could see the blue of the angel’s eyes, he would tell him he loved him. And suddenly, saying it would seem like the easiest thing in the world.