Chapter Text
Dean Winchester is your average man. Thirty something, single, a hard worker. A hard rock enthusiast, an even bigger fan of pie, he knows his way around cars and he has a dusty jar on top of his fridge that he has been trying to unsuccessfully fill with money to go on holidays somewhere warm and close to the sea for years.
Born and raised in Kansas, he has never left his town for longer than a week, he is content here, comfortable.
There is nothing special about him, really, nothing weird about his life.
Well there wasn't anything weird about it, until yesterday at least.
He stares at his bedroom’s ceiling, trying to wrap his head around the past day’s events. The light passing through the curtains lets him know it’s already morning, probably almost his get up time.
He is beaten. He hasn’t slept at all, tossing and turning around all night.
Yesterday it was... he tries to focus, Wednesday?
No.
It was a Thursday, a normal one, as always.
And, as always, he had left for work in the morning. He works at his uncle’s auto shop. Bobby is not really his biological uncle, but he has taken care of both him and his brother like a father since theirs, John, packed a suitcase and left in the middle of the night without so much of an explanation and even less a goodbye.
His mom died when he was just a kid so, out of the blue, at the age of fourteen, he was left alone in the world with a younger brother to take care of.
He had lunch at Ellen’s, as always.
After work, he went for his weekly groceries run, as always.
He tried to tamper down that feeling of loneliness that almost everyday sits at the passenger seat while he drives back to his one-story home.
He called Sam before dinner, as always. Fighting even harder against the pang of loneliness in his chest at his brother's clear happiness with his fiancee, Eileen.
Sam left Kansas years ago to go to college, he is a lawyer now, and that's how he met Eileen, since they both applied and were hired at the same firm.
At least he knows all the sacrifices he made were worth something, Sam made it out, and that's all Dean cares about.
He still can't help but wonder, sometimes, how his life would have been if he had made it out of here too.
He shakes his head.
He would have amounted to nothing either.
So he was in the middle of one of his self-pity parties when it happened.
“Who would want to be with such a loser?” He asked himself, “and we better not get started with your inability to commit.” He accepted he has the emotional capacity of a rock a long time ago.
Nothing to be proud of, nothing accomplished in his life.
Who would want to stick around someone like him for longer than a week?
“No one.” He replied to himself with a tired sigh.
“You should stop talking about yourself in such a mean spirited manner.” Someone replied, tone serious, clearly leaving no room to any arguments.
A rough, masculine, voice, unknown to him.
“Well, buddy, I’ll talk about myself however I want to and-”
Then it registered,
“Who the fuck said that?” He jumped out of the couch, fist raised ready to fight whoever had trespassed into his house, trying not to think about how he was going to fight someone while barefoot and only in a t-shirt and boxer. There was really no dignity in being found like this, with sauce stains all over his t-shirt, by the cops.
There was no one there, though.
Only him, and his ragged breath and the deafening sound of his blood rushing in his ears.
"Okay, what's going on?" He looked around.
The front door was still locked, the one to the backyard too.
He felt a little jab on his right cheek then.
"Huh?"
He was too scared to look, trying to hold on tight to his last tendrils of sanity.
"Ghosts ain't real," he said under his breath, like a mantra, "they are stuff that only is real in movies, like vampires, great fathers and werewolves."
He turned his head, slowly, carefully.
And there he was.
Perched on his shoulder.
"Hello Dean."
A tiny man, maybe as tall as a pen, with a white robe and a halo formed by three concentric circles, he even had a pair of wings, black where the light didn't hit them, a deep ocean blue where it touched them with its glow.
With a headful of messy dark hair and intelligent blue eyes, he looked more or less Dean's age. Something deep in his chest told him he was actually far from being Dean's age, he could feel it in his bones the weight of the long centuries this being carried on his shoulders.
Dean waved at him awkwardly with his other hand, because, well, he is a polite guy. The angel waved back, just as awkwardly too.
"Hello, uhm," he waited for the angel to fill him in.
"Castiel." He even did a little flourish as he introduced himself.
Dean laughed hysterically, "where is your harp dude?"
The tiny man tilted his head, giving him a confused expression.
"I don't have a harp."
He had talked, Dean had heard him, but his mouth wasn't moving at all.
Dean laughed again, his hysteria upping up a notch.
"What? You overslept the day they were handing them out?" He joked, because joking seemed like the safest option when it came to all his possible reactions.
"That would be impossible, since I don't require sleep as you humans do."
“I am human,” Dean said, cleverly.
“Yes?” Castiel said slowly, clearly waiting for him to get to the point.
“You aren’t.” Dean finished, just as eloquently.
“No.”
“Am I hallucinating you, what do they put in the frozen pizzas these days?” He turnes around to give him empty dish an accusatory glance.
“I am not a hallucination produced by food poisoning, here,” he poked Dean’s cheek again, “see?”
“Stop that!”
“Sorry, Dean.” And he really didn’t sound apologetic at all.
"You are an angel," a nod, full of infinite patience.
“So the tales are true?” Dean took a deep breath, trying to calm down a bit. “That silly little story about an angel and a demon sitting on your shoulders telling you what to do.”
“Crowley is never here and he barely does his job, but, essentially, yes. You are the human assigned to us.”
“Crowley?”
Castiel nodded, “that’s the demon that should be tempting you, but he is incredibly irresponsible, it has happened before so I’m not surprised about it.”
“You have worked together before?” Another nod, Dean’s neck was starting to cramp from the twisted position he had it in in order to keep eye contact with the tiny angel on his shoulder, he lifted a hand, “hop on, please? My neck is killing me.” He put the hand even closer to Castiel, waiting for him to jump on it before putting his hand in front of his face, much better. Castiel didn’t weigh anything at all, light as a feather, but Dean still could feel the light press of his bare feet on the palm of his hand.
“To answer your question,” Castiel said, his mouth still not moving, his blue eyes trained on Dean’s, making him slightly uncomfortable. He feels like a bug being observed under a microscope, like this being can see all there is inside of him, even his very soul. And he probably can, Dean thinks to himself, and Dean hasn't had much time lately to tidy the mess it might be up, “Crowley and I have worked together, yes, there have been many humans before you.”
“What? You have been going around giving them all the freaking heart attack you have just given me?”
Castiel looked down at his hand at that, Dean thought he almost looked ashamed of himself.
A shake of head.
Great, Dean thought to himself, he was probably messing it all so badly his guardian angel had decided to intervene for the very first time in his millenia long career.
At least Mary was right, he did have an angel watching over him after all, just like she used to tell him when putting him to bed.
“I’m going nuts,” he gently lowered Cas on top of the back of the couch before stepping back from him, “this isn’t real, I am dreaming.”
Castiel had the audacity of rolling his eyes at him.
“We have already been over this, Dean, I am real.” Castiel’s voice was starting to sound frustrated.
Dean started walking at a fast pace in front of the couch.
Three steps forwards, turn around, three steps more.
Like a caged animal.
"Wait a fucking minute," he comes to a sudden halt, walking around the couch before resuming his pacing in front of the other side of it, making Castiel turn around.
"No need to keep cursing like that, Dean." Castiel chastised, his gaze trained on him, following him as he paced nervously around the living room’s coffee table.
"You are always there?" He finished, ignoring Castiel's comment.
Castiel nodded, cautiously, like he was trying to assess whether this was or wasn't going to be another reason for Dean to completely lose it, as he knows humans put it.
"Basically, but-"
"No way." Dean stopped dead in his tracks.
"That's our mission, we go everywhere with you and try to influence your choices, not always, you still have Free Will, of course."
"You have seen me naked?”
"I don't think you are focusing on what really is relevant in this issue and I can assure you I-"
“Oh man, you have totally seen me naked.” Dean groaned. “Okay, Cas,” a pause. “ Can I call you Cas?” He prayed to anyone out there he hadn't offended the uptight looking angel with his familiarity and boldness.
Cas just felt way more reachable than untouchable Castiel.
“Of course, Dean.”
“Okay, then what should I be focusing on, huh?” Dean made a wide gesture with both his hands as if wanting to say “lay it all on me”, “Why are you here?”
Suddenly, Dean noticed, Castiel was dead quiet.
“To sum it up, because it's a long story,” he finally said, “God created everything and then he gave you freedom to do everything you want, to choose your own path, but souls are power, they fuel Heaven and Hell, our graces, so the demons and the angels reached a deal, we would influence a bit in your lives to try and make sure your souls would be for us or for them.”
“Cool story, made me feel like a pawn in a twisted trade war, and not what I asked you.” Dean added the last part with a pointed look at the angel.
Castiel sighed, “I don’t think talking to yourself the way you do is fair to you, Dean. You aren’t a bad man, quite the opposite.”
“Well," Dean huffed, every fiber of his being rebelling against the gentle tone of the angel's voice, his kind words, " maybe because my demon is on a permanent vacation.”
“Listen, Dean-”
“No, I don’t wanna know, I’m nothing special, I’m not that great Cas, look thanks for trying, okay? Now go back to being invisible again, or whatever, you could go on a holiday too, somewhere nice, like the beach,” he is not worth the effort, “ I’m going to sleep, if I’m not sleeping already.”
He had a sinking feeling he was wide awake.
He swallows, he is going mad, that’s the only explanation he has. Maybe he is in a coma.
Yeah, that 's it!
He was working on that sedan yesterday morning, he was looking at the engine and bam! the hood of the car fell all of a sudden, hitting him in the head.
That makes sense, yeah.
His alarm goes off, obnoxiously loud. He groans.
He should call Bobby and ask for the day off.
"Last night I was visited by an angel, Bobby, I need a day to come around the idea of it." Sounds good, a solid excuse.
He sits up and yawns, he shakes his head, he can’t do that to his boss and coworkers, not in such a short notice and with the amount of work they have this week.
He gets out of the bed, but, the moment he reaches his closed door, he freezes on the spot.
He can’t go out there, what if the tiny angel is still there, sitting on the back of his couch?
He gets closer to the door, his steps heavy, slow, he reaches for the doorknob.
He can't do this.
.
Castiel stares at the closed door to Dean's bedroom, he patiently waits for him to fully turn the doorknob and open the door.
But he doesn't.
Castiel gets it. He doesn't know how he would react if suddenly his whole world and existence were turned upside down. If all he thought wasn't real was all of a sudden a very real presence in his life.
He believes a part of him is hoping Dean won't open the door, because the moment they see each other this will be real, completely real.
He shouldn't have done this, he should have stayed quiet and stuck to the rules, as he has always done.
But he couldn't do that.
Not this time around.
Because this time is different, Dean is different. He knew it from the moment he became his charge, he was supposed to be Michael's, but the archangel was way too busy to meddle with a little human's business so Castiel, number one guardian angel of his promotion, was trusted with his soul the year Dean turned 20.
Good news for Crowley, since Michael had already threatened to smite him out of existence more times that he can count.
From the moment he saw Dean's soul for the first time he knew, all his doubts about their mission growing louder and louder.
They always show off about the job they do, about the influence on their human charges, but Castiel feels that's a lie. They could be doing more, they could be helping the charges they are trusted with in so many ways.
He hates to see such a bright soul as Dean's being obscured by his insecurities and fears, the weight of the pain of his past, his lack of faith in a bright future for himself.
He needs a friendly shoulder to lean on and Castiel is way more than happy to be that for him. He is going to do things right.
There must be something else apart from greedily counting souls over and over again.
He looks around while he waits, just to distract himself, he knows the house well, he remembers the day Dean moved in with the help of his brother and some of their friends, it was nice to see Dean doing something for himself, especially after the way Lisa had broken Dean’s heart. Castiel had never liked her to begin with, a weird feeling, now that he thinks about it, especially taking into account he shouldn't be experiencing that kind of feelings in the first place.
On his left, there is an open kitchen, bright with the sunlight filtering through the curtains, those curtains Ellen bought for Dean as a housewarming gift, the ones he thought were ugly but that he has on full display because he refuses to hurt the woman's feelings. It's not a big space, cozy, with all Dean needs to make his famous burgers and a wooden table to share them at. The fridge is covered in magnets, half of them from places Sam and Charlie have visited and the other half a chaotic group of cultural references that go beyond Castiel’s understanding.
He is in the living room right now, with its shelves, fill to the brim with books and board games, and its dark green walls, Castiel likes that color, it reminds him of the beauty of the wild nature around them. A bigger table takes up almost all the room, because Dean likes having a spot for all his loved ones. There is also a big screen where Dean watches his movies. A couch, a second-hand that Dean fell in love with at a yard sale and that, according to what Dean told his adoptive uncle over the phone was a nightmare to get through the door, no matter how much Sam and him tried to get inside.
Castiel likes Bobby, he is a good man, he saw two children in need of help and, without a second thought he stepped up to the challenge of raising them like they were his own. He has always given them good advice, a safe space to find out every little detail about themselves, Castiel knows, and never a hard time for making mistakes as they grew and learned.
Right in front of him, he can see the door to Dean’s bedroom, he has never seen the inside of it, always aware of how private that space is for humans and he has always tried his best to respect the privacy of his charges.
Finally the doorknob turns slowly, as slowly as Dean proceeds to open the door, he peers outside, his face going from cautious hope to a defeated acceptance once his eyes find Castiel's and he comes to the realization that, yes, what happened last night was all real and Castiel is still here.
Castiel isn't versed on human interactions, social skills rusty, a big lack in the experience department, but he can feel the lingering feel of awkwardness hanging in the air between.
He clears his throat, a pretty human gesture he has never tried before, he can't decide if he likes it or not yet, and looks around them looking for something, anything, he can use to strike a conversation with Dean.
His eyes fall on the jar on top of the fridge, he reads the label, even if he doesn't need to, he knows well what the jar is.
Beach trip the white label reads, it's starting to peel off, one the corners almost completely lifted.
"I remember when Charlie told you about her dream, how she wanted to open a bookstore and-,
"Comics, actually." Dean corrects him, softly, in an automatic response.
"Yes, comics, you are right, and she told you how much money it was going to cost her, and how she had been working two different jobs and then I came back after a week and the jar, that used to be full of money, more than enough for your trip was empty and Charlie’s project was more of a reality than a daydream.” He gives Dean an appraising look, enjoying the way little constellations float weightless around his soul.
.
Dean looks Castiel up and down, ignoring for now the memories about the jar, now that he is normal-sized he can really see all of him. He was right about the estimation of an age he did the night before, at least in external appearance. He is still sure Castiel is way older than he seems, but he ain't going to ask him just in case asking angels about their age is rude or something.
He has dark, tousled hair, he is tall, just a tad bit shorter than Dean himself. With a strong jaw that compliments his handsome features and bright blue eyes.
He has Dean wondering if all angels are this beautiful or if it's just his luck that this, totally out of his league, guy is.
Okay, probably not an okay way to think about an angel either.
Damn, he needs to get laid.
At least now he doesn't feel the need to run and hide from the world's prying eyes when he has thoughts like that about another male.
The robe has grown with him too, Dean notices, but is not enough to hide his whole physique to Dean's eyes. Do they have gyms in Heaven?
He should have paid more attention at church, apparently. In his defense he has only gone to mass the grand total of ten times in his life.
Castiel seems to be waiting for an answer, "huh," Dean says eloquently.
He locks eyes with Castiel, he thinks of the clear blue skies above his head in a summer hot day spent at the lake Bobby used to take them to when they were kids. He thinks back to the first and only time he has seen the vast expanse of the ocean. He thinks of the warm, fuzzy, blanket his mother used to wrap around him in the winter, the one he wrapped around Sammy when his dad handed him to Dean so they could escape the fire consuming their home and all the memories it held.
The one that took his mom away, and his dad too, maybe he had made it out alive but Dean knows his heart burned to the ground that night too.
His mind also seems to register the fact Castiel has used his voice now, it's rough, low and warm, way richer than the one he could listen to in his head the night before.
"Charlie deserved it," he adds, he remembers how worried he was about his best friend, how tired and sick she looked.
"You deserve good things too, Dean." There it is again, it pains Dean, deep in his chest, he doesn't deserve this, he just want Castiel to shut up so badly.
"I did what anyone would have done for a friend, that's all." He replies, harshly, crossing his arms over his chest.
Castiel makes a face, but doesn't say anything else, his expression enough to send Dean a clear message about his disagreement.
“Look I need to go to work, okay? So I’m having breakfast,” he stands on the spot, for a moment, awkwardly, "you want something?"
"I don't require sustenance." Castiel replies, shaking his head.
"I am guessing that's a no."
He doesn't wait for another reply, he simply turns on his heels and marches to the kitchen, he really needs a cup of coffee right now.
“What are you doing, Cas?” Dean asks, his hand closed around his keys, lifted mid-way in its path to the ignition.
Castiel gives him a look from where he has materialized from thin air on the passenger seat of the impala, completely unbothered by Dean's clear as day awkwardness.
“What I do everyday, going with you, wherever you go."
"Riiiiight, wherever I go, everywhere I go, you are always there."
"Yes, Dean I am."
Dean cringes internally trying not to think about what he does alone, well not alone because it turns out he had an audience all along.
His head is spinning, his thoughts racing a million miles per hour.
He shouldn't be thinking about this, he shouldn't picture Cas there watching him cook, watching him being a lazy couch potato when he told himself he was going to change the porch's lightbulb, he was there too when Dean did some really unholy things to his own body.
Oh man.
He feels his cheeks heating up from his embarrassment.
"I haven't seen you naked." Castiel blurts out out of the blue.
"What?"
"You didn't let me explain myself last night." He replies, "I wanted to tell you that I am technically not always there, I leave sometimes because I have other duties to take care of or to give you privacy when I know you need it."
"Oh, uhm, thank you, I guess?"
Castiel smiles at him with a slow nod. Dean does feel a bit better now that he knows that.
Dean stares out the windshield, he puts the keys in the ignition, but he doesn't start the car, turning his head to look at Cas once more.
"Could you at least make yourself invisible again, please?" He doesn't really want to tell anyone a story about the grown ass man that has suddenly appeared in his life and that goes with him to work like a weirdo. He is also pretty sure Castiel wants this to be a secret, since Dean feels he is going against some rules Dean has never heard of.
Without a word Castiel vanishes from the passenger seat and Dean takes a deep breath.
“I need some Led Zeppelin right now.”
“The flying machine?" He hears in his head, "I thought you were scared of flying, Dean.”
Dean resists the urge to slam his head against the steering wheel.