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Dean walked into an empty motel room, not any nastier than others he’d stayed in before. It wasn’t a palace by any means, but Dean would have felt out of place in a palace. No, this was exactly his style- an old, almost ancient-looking chair in the corner facing a single bed covered in a dusty white sheet. The fabric looked thick and all the softness had been washed out decades ago. It didn’t bother Dean much, he wasn’t exactly planning on sleeping tonight anyway.
Walking across the room to the chair, Dean grabbed a beer from the mini fridge under the TV console. This was such a practiced motion for him, he did it in one go, never stopping or hesitating; he had the cap off and the rim to his lips by the time he sat heavily in the ancient chair. It creaked precariously under his weight and he stopped for the first time to consider the garish red color that was somehow faded and simultaneously far too bright. The fabric was a crushed velvet- an obvious bid for sophistication, but all it really communicated was a sense of outdated liminality which would have been commonplace in an antique store. It was a bit creepy, but that was everything in Dean’s life- a bit creepy.
Dean was alone again and he wasn’t sure if that bothered him. Well, of course it bothered him, but he wasn’t sure if it was worse than the alternative. Bobby was great, obviously, but Dean still just felt awful being around him. Not because Bobby wasn’t accepting of him, and not because Bobby did anything to make Dean feel uneasy- in fact, it may have been because Bobby was treating Dean too well. Dean had spent forty years in hell. It would take a long time to shake that off and even longer to feel like he wasn’t dirty or unworthy or.. well, something. He didn’t want to think about it.
And, yes, Dean missed Sam. More than anything, he missed his baby brother. But there was something different about him now, something that Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to know. A distance had grown between them that Dean hadn’t been expecting. He wasn’t sure what he should’ve been expecting. You can’t quite prepare for coming back from the dead- from hell, no less. He desperately wanted to believe that it was just the time apart that was creating this distance between them, but he felt as if inspecting any further would prove upsetting.
No, Dean was better off exactly where he was. In an old, cheap, dirty motel with a dirt-cheap beer and nobody else around. Well, it seemed depressing when he thought of it like that. He supposed it probably was depressing. Life was depressing. It somehow seemed more so now, even though by all means things should’ve felt better. He’d just spent half-a-lifetime in hell- these problems should’ve felt like a relief. Instead, they felt world-ending. It didn’t help that that was because the world was ending.
Damn, the more Dean thought, the worse things felt. He should stop thinking.
Dean walked to the mini fridge and popped the cap off his second beer. This time, he stayed standing where he was. That ancient chair wasn’t very comfortable anyway. Turning on the TV wouldn’t help anything, he’d only see every problem he had to clean up broadcasted on news channels. Besides, he was sort of accustomed to the quiet now; best not to disturb it.
No one was going to bother him tonight. That was what Dean thought, anyway. No one had a reason to. They were at a dead end of sorts, waiting on divine intervention to give him instructions.
All of that still felt foreign and a bit suspicious to Dean. Part of him was still rebelling against the idea that angels and God were real, especially given that they’d revealed themselves after he’d already gone to hell. They had to let him suffer there first? Really? You’d think- they have this grand plan they love to talk about so wouldn’t they have known how all of this would play out? They could’ve recruited him before he’d spent forty years in hell for God’s sake. Maybe these guys were angels, but they weren’t anything like Dean had imagined as a child.
Dean set his beer down, half-finished, and walked over to the bed. He pushed down on the comforter, half-expecting something to crawl out from under it. When nothing did, he sat down on the edge and slid a hand over his face. He was tired. He also knew that sleep was out of the question, at least at the moment. It was hard to sleep when he had Hell-Trauma-TV playing at all hours behind his eyelids. Besides that, he felt he needed to stay alert. He didn’t exactly know what for, but it was just too much energy to think about.
It was dark outside, only the lights from the highway and the cars outside shone in through the wispy curtains. Dean kept only a dim lamp on in the room which sat on the bedside table. He contemplated turning that one off too.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean stiffened. He hadn’t seen anyone come in but the voice was decidedly behind him. He was facing the door, but his back was to the window. Dean’s instincts kicked in- he wasn’t sure if the stranger had a gun trained on him so sudden movements weren’t advised. If Dean could only get to the drawer on the bedside table he’d have a gun of his own, but it was just out of reach for now. He turned slowly to the figure in the window.
It was the angel in the trenchcoat. He’d met him before a few times.
“Castiel?”
The angel did not move his head, only flicked his eyes up to meet Dean’s. A soft, contented smirk played on his face. Dean hated that it made him look so sure of himself; it was as if the angel was taunting him.
“What? You need something now?” Dean asked, voice gruff and harsh. “Where’s your pal? Don’t you usually have a partner for these kinds of things?”
Castiel dipped his head and cast his eyes to the faded carpet. With that infuriating smirk and a light chuckle he looked back at Dean with piercing eyes.
“I don’t need permission for these sorts of visits.”
Particularly bright headlights must have passed by the window at that exact moment because Dean would’ve swore he saw Castiel’s eyes catch light. They were a mesmerizing blue. Dean shook his head.
“‘These sorts of visits?’” He asked. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean,” Castiel shifted forward, no longer leaning back on the windowsill, “this isn’t exactly a scheduled call. We have no instructions for you tonight.”
Dean furrowed his brow in confusion.
“What? So why-”
“I came to check on you.”
Castiel’s eyes were just slightly squinted, the rest of his face still infuriatingly smug. Dean wanted to wipe the confidence off of his face.
“To check on me? What, am I a flight risk?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Castiel smirked.
Dean scoffed.
“There isn’t really anywhere I can go- I mean, you guys just pop up anywhere you please.” Dean huffed, throwing up his hands in the direction of the window Castiel had appeared in front of.
The angel’s face didn’t change except for the occasional waxing and waning of his eyes; he looked a lot like a bird. It made Dean nervous to look at him too long. Even worse was his hair- jet black and sticking up in every conceivable direction. It made the confidence even more frustrating. He looked so- arrogant. Dean couldn’t describe exactly what was so angering about this angel, but he knew he was frustrated with.. something.
Castiel moved away from the window and walked around the room in silence. His face was relaxed and, at most, faintly amused. It didn’t seem to bother him that they weren’t talking but it bothered Dean, who was- for some unknown reason- rather fidgety.
Castiel inspected the half-drunk bottle of beer sitting in a puddle of condensation on the TV console and noted the fully -drunk bottle sitting in the otherwise empty trash can on the floor. He walked halfway to the door before turning on his heel and facing Dean who had followed Castiel’s path with his eyes.
Dean averted his eyes but tried to make it seem as though he wasn’t intimidated. His voice was slightly panicky, but Castiel wouldn’t know that. He’d never really heard Dean’s normal voice- not with any real familiarity. Still, it was embarrassing for Dean. He wanted to have power, he wanted the anger to be real and controlling and respectable. Instead, it was hollow. Borne of fear.
“What are you thinking?” Castiel moved his head just slightly forward, angled toward the ground. His voice was a low rumble, rough around the edges. He was trying to find Dean’s gaze again. Dean kept his head facing the floor.
“About what?” Dean asked, still gruff but less harsh.
“About… everything.” Castiel took a step or two forward and stopped again.
“That’s some real helpful clarification.” Dean scoffed, looking up at Castiel automatically. He was met again with the piercing blue eyes, now fully cast in the light. The dim yellow of the bedside lamp softly painted the left side of his face; the highway lights outside colored his right cheek and the stray, jet black strands of disheveled hair that fell near his eye.
Castiel had asked what Dean was thinking, but Dean couldn’t tell him he was thinking about the angel in front of him and how beautifully the light laid on his face.
Dean cleared his throat.
“I-I don’t know what you’re asking.” He said, his voice notably softer now.
“Well.” Castiel moved to close the gap between him and Dean. He stood about a foot away, chin still angled to the floor but eyes looking up through his eyelashes at Dean. “I know that your role in all of this is a hard one. It’s important, but it is a lot to ask of a human.”
Castiel’s eyes dropped from Dean’s and traced his shoulders before dropping to the floor just beside him.
“I came to make sure you were handling all of this in a…” Castiel eyed the half-full beer bottle on the TV stand, “... productive way.”
Dean seemed to shrink, or at least, he felt like he did. The angel seemed oblivious to it. If he wasn’t, he hid it well.
“I mean.. I don’t know if- I guess… I don’t know.” Dean swallowed and tried to collect his thoughts. Castiel stayed staring at him the same way, unfazed by Dean’s stuttering.
“My life hasn’t exactly been easy. It’s just another challenge, y’know?”
Castiel narrowed his eyes but his lips stayed how they were- just faintly drawn upward at the corners. It wasn’t exactly a smile, but maybe the echo of one. He was looking away at an angle. He did that a lot. Dean searched for anything in his silence but he was nearly impossible to read.
“Is it hard?” Castiel asked.
“What?”
“Living with the memories of hell.”
“I don’t talk about that.” Dean held a finger up and a bit of the gruffness from earlier leeched back into his voice. He turned and started back toward the beer bottle on the TV stand. Castiel turned and followed him with his gaze. He didn’t stop Dean, didn’t say anything, but his face tightened an almost imperceptible amount.
“You said your life has always been hard.”
“Yup.” Dean took a quick drink and set the lukewarm beer back down.
“Why? What made it that way?”
“Oh, boy. Maybe buy me another drink and I’ll tell ya.” Dean smiled weakly and tilted his beer bottle half-heartedly in Castiel’s direction.
He looked up at Castiel’s puzzled face and dropped the smile as quickly as it came. A sigh.
“I’ve been hunting since… Well, almost since I can remember. I had to take care of Sammy- I mean, that was my job. I love the kid, I always have. Of course I’d do it; there’s no world where I don’t give everything for Sam.”
Dean paused. Castiel thought he looked like he was distant now. Like he wasn’t as aware that he was still talking or standing in this, admittedly unsanitary motel.
“And my dad was…” Dean shook his head dismissively, “He tried his best. He was on a mission and he just couldn’t see past that. He’d leave us alone a lot to fend for ourselves.”
“I see.” Castiel said. He didn’t appear like he understood. Not to Dean, anyway. Dean’s hands felt clammy, but he wasn’t sure if it was just the half-dried condensation from the beer or if it was sweat.
“Anyway. Hunting isn’t an easy life. I’ve been doing it longer than most.”
“Your father..” Castiel started. His brows furrowed just slightly and his eyes narrowed but he wasn’t looking at Dean. He was looking intently at the carpet in front of him. “Was he good to you?”
Dean flinched back a bit. He lost all protective exterior. He was caught off-guard by the angel’s bluntness. His voice was gentle, though. He seemed genuine. Dean stuttered a bit in answering.
“W-well. Uh. I mean, he taught me how to protect myself. How to protect Sam. I guess that’s all you can ask for.”
“Is it?”
Castiel met Dean’s bewildered eyes and stared unwaveringly into them.
The man’s eyes were incredibly green. Castiel had always loved nature, loved the color and gentle beauty of earth. In this man- the one he pulled from hell- there was the same indelible softness in his beauty. Like the grass blades that bent to the wind, his eyelashes stood above- fanning his cheeks when he blinked. His irises were like a pond that was swirled with the reflection of trees and verdant fauna. His face was chiseled and angular but soft like a sanded marble statue. Speckled across his cheeks and nose, like a robin's egg, were freckles. Too many too count, but Castiel could try if he let himself. He didn’t understand how something so beautiful could be so tortured. He wanted to understand.
“I don’t know why you care.” Dean said. There was no bite or venom in his words now. “You’ve got a job to do. You’ve never seemed to consider my feelings in all of this before. Your buddies sure don’t.”
Castiel looked the slightest bit wounded by this statement, but then his face hardened.
“You’re right. I have a job to do.” He walked to the window again.
Castiel stopped and stood for a second before hanging his head. He turned back around to Dean.
“I needed to make sure you were capable of fulfilling your purpose.”
Dean hadn’t realized the warmth that had been in the angel’s voice until it was gone. Now there was nothing but the sharp, gravely tone cutting through the air. Dean stood up a little straighter. He squared his shoulders and his eyes darkened.
“It’s not like I have much of a choice, do I?”
Castiel paused again.
“No.” He rasped. “You don’t.”
“Great.” Dean said, “Well, problem solved.”
It was Dean’s turn to turn his back on Castiel. He walked the short length from his place at the TV stand to the door. Dean held his hands over his face and dragged them harshly down as he walked.
“Y’know, I’ve fought a lot of terrible creatures in my life,” Dean started, voice starting to wobble with adrenaline and rise with the anger thrumming in his chest. “But I’ve never met any sons of bitches as insufferable as angels.”
“Watch your tongue, Dean.”
“Or what?” Dean snapped.
“Or I’ll throw you back-”
“Or you’ll throw me back into the pit?” Dean chuckled. “Is that all you got?”
“Your disrespect is naive, Dean.” Castiel growled, voice even and angry.
“Oh, naive. Yeah,” Dean scoffed, “that’s rich.”
“There are forces bigger than you. You are not unstoppable.” The angel’s voice leaked more emotion as Dean’s voice grew louder. Still, his lower growl fought to stay even.
“You think I don’t know that? You think my first stint in hell meant nothing to me?”
“I think you’re reckless and irresponsible-”
“Oh!” Dean chuckled with contempt.
“-I think it’s a miracle you survived this long with your utter lack of- of instinct or respect for the natural order!”
Now Castiel’s voice was booming. Dean flinched but his face remained venomous- maybe even grew more so. The angel straightened himself again and took a harsh breath.
“I think you need to stop pushing boundaries just to see if they’ll break.” Castiel’s voice was low but forceful. His face was dark, now he was cast in shadow, and his eyes were narrow and piercing.
Dean sneered.
“One day your disregard for your own wellbeing will catch up with you.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a warning.”
Dean closed the gap between them and hunched over the angel imposingly. Castiel pushed himself closer to Dean in response, stretching to meet his height.
“I’m not doing any of this for you or your little feathered friends. I’m doing this for Sam,” Dean tilted his head for emphasis, “and for the world.”
Castiel squinted his eyes and wrinkled the bridge of his nose in frustration.
“It doesn't matter what you tell yourself Dean. You’re a soldier in our army now. It would benefit you to learn how to take orders.”
“Orders, huh? And, what, you never questioned your orders?”
“No.” Castiel raised his eyebrows smugly. “And neither should you.”
“Ha, it’s funny.” Dean said. “Now you really sound like my dad.”
The angel’s eyes widened and it caught Dean off-guard. Castiel broke Dean’s gaze, all the anger momentarily gone from his posture.
When Castiel looked up, Dean’s anger had faded too- replaced with confusion, mostly, and something else. Castiel took a step backwards, head trained on the floor.
“I shouldn’t have come.”
Dean didn’t protest, but for some reason he wanted to. What the hell had just happened?
“We’ll find you when we need you.”
“Wait-” Dean didn’t know why he said it, or what to say now, so he exhaled harshly instead.
The angel waited.
“Castiel… Cas.” Dean searched for any disapproval in the angel’s face, and when he didn’t protest, Dean continued with a sigh. “The truth is, I have no clue what I’m doing.”
Castiel still looked guarded, but he was listening and he didn’t turn to leave. Dean knew this was his cue to keep trying.
Trying what?
“Coming back from hell… I had never expected to come out of that one. I-I thought I was done, for good. Now.. I’ve run out of plays.”
Cas watched every one of Dean’s expressions intently, as if he were gathering data.
“When I look at all these people I used to know- I don’t know what I’m seeing anymore. I mean, it was always my job to take care of Sammy. I knew him better than he knew himself. Now I look at him and it’s like I can’t read him.”
Dean closed his eyes in defeat.
“There’s just something different there now. I don’t know how to do the things that were like second nature before. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be. And I’ve got all this responsibility but no way to navigate it; the world isn’t just gonna stop until I figure it out.”
Castiel took a hesitant step forward. Dean looked at him approaching with a pained fear in his eyes, but he stood his ground. He was a brave man. It was a sad bravery, though. Castiel hadn’t overlooked all the flashes of animalistic fear that crossed Dean’s face when he raised his voice. The man said he’d sounded like his father. He’d been flinching because of that. Castiel knew what it felt like to be afraid of his Father.
“You were given an impossible task. Impossible responsibility. Not only from us.”
Dean had bowed his head but at those words, he looked up. He watched the angel’s lips as he spoke- as if for confirmation that what he was hearing was correct.
“Your father expected too much from you.”
“Well, someone had to watch out for Sam.”
“Yes,” Castiel said, softness blanketing his rough voice, “someone did. But that someone was your father- not you.”
Then the angel reached for the man.
Cas stretched out his left hand, grasping firm but gentle, for Dean’s bicep. His hand fit perfectly over the handprint under Dean’s sleeve and both of them knew it. Dean’s eyes widened and softened. His face relaxed just slightly.
Castiel watched the lines on Dean’s face drop back into rest. The harsh angles and lines that were present before were replaced now with the rounded marble and the robin’s-egg freckles and the reflected-tree eyes. Castiel’s face may have softened too.
Dean saw the angel’s face change. His severe, all-business demeanor was dropped like a cheap mask and the warmth and light shone through him. His dark, inky hair fell strikingly in front of his light skin. The bags under his eyes became more visible and Dean wondered if this angel was just as tired as he was. There may have been some kind of pity in his eyes, but it wasn’t the kind that made Dean squirm and retreat into anger. It was a genuine and sincere distress at the things Dean had been saying. A profound sympathy that made Dean a different kind of uncomfortable. A more painful kind.
“You do have a duty, Dean. But you don’t have to shoulder this burden alone. You can’t.” Dean looked away, resigned frustration filling his features again.
“It is too much to ask of you, but we have to ask it.”
“Why me?”
The question that had sat in Dean’s mind for as long as he could remember tumbled off of his lips while he looked at the angel’s. Castiel drooped with the weight of the question and the sympathy and the pity- and Dean couldn’t wait anymore-
“Because you are the only one strong enough to handle it.”
Castiel had spoken before Dean could. Dean’s mouth was open to speak, but he closed it.
“Because you are good, Dean. Because as unfair as it is, you have been molded into a strong, brave, selfless soldier and we need you .”
Tears brimmed on Dean’s eyelashes- like dew on spring grass- and Castiel wasn’t sure what to do about it. He’d thought saying these things would help but was he only upsetting Dean?
A tear fell. Dripping from the forest-colored ponds in his eyes down the robin’s egg freckles and tracing the soft, marble jawline before falling and soaking into his shirt.
“I never asked to be strong, Cas. I never wanted this.”
“I know.” Castiel said.
The angel reached, again, for the man.
A soft palm enclosed the side of Dean’s face. Castiel expected him to lean away, but he leaned almost feverishly into the warmth. His thumb swiped lightly over Dean’s cheek. It ran from the corner of his eye and traced the arc of his cheekbone before sliding slowly to his jaw. Castiel could feel the feathery lashes laced with tears as his thumb ran past.
Castiel had been hesitant; he expected at any moment that Dean would recoil. He kept his contact light- almost undetectable. A hovering swipe instead of a lingering touch.
Dean felt the angel’s hesitation, and though he couldn’t voice it, he longed for more than just the shadow of contact that he got. He leaned ever so slightly against Cas’s thumb and felt more completely the way it traced his skin. Almost reverently.
Castiel dropped his hand to his side and drank in the sight of Dean a final time before turning to the window again.
When Castiel addressed Dean, he turned only his head back to see him.
“We’ll find you when we need you.”
And then the angel was gone.
Dean had said nothing.
Dean wasn’t even sure what to think.
Maybe sleep wasn’t out of the question tonight.