Set Me as a Seal (Dean/Castiel, PG)
Sep. 5th, 2009 04:09 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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spn_meanttobeTitle: Set Me as a Seal
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dessert_first
Rating: PG
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Warnings (if any): None.
Prompt chosen: 73. The Domino Effect
Summary: Domino Black, professional assassin. I've killed too many to count. All in the name of United States security. I don't care. I don't feel — I just do what I'm told. My latest assignment was different. I had to sleep with the target. It was the only way. I showed up at his club, an enigma in black, and asked about renting the apartment above the club. He'd barely said yes before I had him in bed. It wasn't just sex. I made a fatal mistake — I fell in love!
Set Me as a Seal
Man
Dean stirs, blinks sleepily and smiles. "Hey," he says. His freckles are barely visible in the dim glow from the streetlights outside.
Castiel feels his own mouth echo the movement Dean's made, lips curving softly. When Dean kisses him, Castiel's arms curl around Dean, pulling him closer on the bed.
A baby's cry starts up in the next room.
Castiel presses a kiss to the sweetly scented skin of Dean's temple. "Will you go see to your daughter?"
Dean groans. "Yeah." Pushing a hand through his unruly hair, he rolls gracefully out of bed and pads across the room, naked.
Grabbing a pair of boxer shorts from a nearby chair, Dean slips them on and leaves. Soon his low voice in the next room drifts through the open door, as does Sam's sleepy answer. Dean returns, humming softly as he cradles the now silent child, her small brown face peacefully smooth in contented sleep.
"Shove over," Dean says, and Castiel does, the sheets shifting as he moves.
Dean brings the baby to the bed and lays her carefully between them, then stretches out beside her. "Be careful," he warns, and closes his eyes, one large hand gentle on the baby's stomach. Castiel watches them sleep.
He knows he must be very careful.
***
Angel
For the first time in two thousand years, Castiel found himself questioning his ability to do his job. When there was evil, he was meant to destroy it.
This was something new.
He stood on the corner, invisible to the busy human passersby, observing his target. Dean Winchester slid out of his beloved black car, slammed the door shut and walked to the entrance of his motel room, carrying several bulging shopping bags and no doubt a small arsenal of weapons secreted about his person. The door opened before Dean could juggle his bags enough to fish out the key, and his brother Sam stood limned in the doorway.
Castiel tilted his head, all of his superior hearing intent upon their conversation.
"Took you long enough," Sam groused, shifting a small bundle in his arms.
"Yeah, well, it's been a while since I had to do this, you know," Dean said, easing his way past Sam with his burdens. "You haven't needed diapers for at least a week."
Sam snorted. "Very funny, Dean. Here, I'll unload the groceries. Ceecee's been fussing the whole time you were gone." He handed over the little bundle in his arms and grabbed Dean's bags.
Dean scooped up the bundle, immediately making a most perplexing face at it. "That's because you know who the real man is around here, don't you, baby girl? Yeah, you do." He looked up at Sam. "Dude, where's her favorite blankie?"
"She spit up all over it," Sam said. "I had to clean it off and hang it up to dry."
"I'm sorry I left you with the mean Sasquatch who took your blankie, kiddo," Dean told the infant. "Next time Sammy goes to the store, right? And brings us pie."
Castiel frowned.
Smiting demons he could understand, but earning his way into a human's confidence? No duty he had ever carried out had prepared him for this.
***
Man
Castiel is in the kitchen, considering a bowlful of pancake mix, when Dean emerges from the shower. He is clad in only a towel, hair wet, lashes heavy with water. When he sees Castiel, Dean laughs, then strolls over and brackets his body, chest to Castiel's back and hands slipping into Castiel's front pockets.
"You still trying to tame the wily pancake?"
"A victory that has proved elusive," Castiel admits.
"Sweetheart, you have many amazing qualities, but cooking? Really not one of them." Dean moves Castiel out of the way and takes over, stirring the lumpy batter and checking on the frying pan.
Castiel allows himself a moment to admire Dean's economy of action; the quick, efficient moves that turn the heat up on the burner, grab a spatula and toss in some butter. Dean is at home in his body in a way that Castiel will never be in his. Castiel can imagine him with wings, bringing that same unconscious grace to flight.
Dean catches Castiel watching him and raises an eyebrow. "Sam back from his run yet?"
"No."
"He take Ceecee with him?"
"Yes."
With a grin, Dean turns the burner back off. "Getting that ridiculous racing stroller was the best idea ever."
Dean takes hold of one of Castiel's belt loops, and Castiel goes along, tugged up against Dean's body.
Castiel rests his hands on Dean's slim hips, running his fingers softly back and forth across the terrycloth wrapped around them. He finds the texture fascinating.
Dean kisses him, and Castiel lets his fingers wander up Dean's back, around the soft taut skin of his waist. He draws one hand slowly up Dean's spine and feels him shiver. Pulling away from the kiss, Castiel mouths at Dean's jaw and nestles his face into the crook of Dean's neck. The skin there is still shower-damp and sweet, clean and vulnerable. He tugs at Dean's towel, loosening it. Sam isn’t home yet.
They still have time.
***
Angel
Securing a vessel was difficult. Castiel appealed to many souls, but few were suitable vessels, able to withstand Castiel's presence within their fragile bodies. Fewer still were devout, and even fewer were both devout and willing to serve the Lord in this way. In the end, Jimmy Novak was to be Castiel's vessel, and Castiel dared not delay any further waiting for one more likely to appeal to Dean Winchester's tastes. Castiel accepted Jimmy Novak's offer, folded and tucked himself into Novak's body until he thought it would burst at the seams, his wings spilling over, and made his way to the Winchesters, intent on his mission.
He would not fail.
***
Man
Sam comes home, smelling of fresh sea air and sweat. He pulls Ceecee out of her stroller and hands her over to Castiel. “Pancakes?” Sam asks, crowding up behind Dean at the stove.
“Dude,” Dean says. “Shower.”
“Is there any more of that pie the abuelas gave you?” Sam wanders over to rummage in the refrigerator.
“How many times do I have to tell you, Sammy? Hands off my pie. I worked for that pie.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Hate to tell you, but teaching little old ladies how to throw a punch down at the community center is not work.”
“If is if you’re trying to get them to fight dirty,” Dean mutters.
Sam pours himself a glass of orange juice, then turns to Dean, inspired. “If you give me some pie I’ll shower.”
“You do remember you’re not six years old anymore, don’t you?”
“Like you weren’t saving some for me anyway.” Sam grins and heads towards the bathroom, leaving Dean to shake his head and smile.
Ceecee is babbling happily in Castiel’s lap. Her tiny hand pats his chest just above the letter “M” on Dean’s faded old Metallica t-shirt.
***
Angel
Dean was in a cemetery on the trail of a displaced spirit when Castiel decided to make his presence known. He could only hope he had chosen his moment well.
With a shotgun full of salt, Dean shot at the spirit, dispersing it. He failed to see the other spirit coalesce behind him, and Castiel stepped in between Dean's strong back and the growing mass of spirits, touched two fingers to Dean's head, and watched him drop into sleep.
Castiel turned and heard the spirits scream as he let them see through the vessel, the dark shadows of his wings, the unfiltered configuration of his face. They screamed and writhed, and a wave of his hand sent them off to their final rest—Heaven or Hell, Castiel did not know their destination. He only knew they would not return.
He looked down at Dean's body crumpled on the grass. Crouching, Castiel picked up Dean's shotgun and fired it into the ground. He turned Dean on his back and considered his face, so rarely at rest, before lightly touching his forehead.
Dean's wide green eyes opened with a start, and his gaze darted around in confusion. "What the—"
"Are you all right?" Castiel asked.
"I'm—" Dean leaped up, the pistol from his boot already in hand and pointed. He searched the vicinity, turning in a slow, controlled circle, until he ascertained they were alone. He looked at Castiel suspiciously, still crouched and holding Dean's shotgun. "What did you see?" Dean asked.
"There were spirits," Castiel replied. "You were attacked."
"Yeah, guess they must have knocked me out with something. I don't—" Dean rubs the back of his head absently. "Nothing hurts."
"Then you will be well." Castiel stood, handing Dean the shotgun.
Dean took it warily, and Castiel had to remind himself to turn and walk away as humans do.
"Wait," Dean said. "Who are you? What were you doing here? Did you have anything to do with this? Hey!"
Castiel did not answer. Walking at that glacial human pace, he left the edges of Dean's perception.
But he did not leave Dean.
Dean searched the area thoroughly, but there were no more spirits cast adrift for him to find—Castiel had banished them all. Finally, Dean made his way back to the motel where his brother and the child were waiting.
She was asleep on Sam's chest, peaceful, her mouth slightly open as she breathed, tiny brown fists curled. Sam was more than halfway to sleep himself, but he jerked awake at Dean's arrival, leveling a gun at the door.
"Ghosts are gone," Dean said, closing and locking the door behind him, shrugging off his jacket.
Sam put the gun on the nightstand and rubbed his eyes. "Hey, man," he said, then looked down at his chest and froze, as if surprised to see a baby lying there.
"Hey," Dean rummaged in his duffel bag. "How did it go with the kid?"
"Uh, good. I think she was happy." Sam remained immobile, one large hand dwarfing the child's back to prevent her falling.
She slept on, oblivious.
Dean looked at the two of them and his face softened, lips curving in a small smile, duffel bag forgotten for the moment.
"How was the hunt?"
"Well, the job got done, anyway." Dean rifled through the bag, pulling out a clean t-shirt and pair of boxers. "Some weird guy showed up, must have scared them off. I checked all over with the EMF meter, and zip."
Sam frowned. "You mean another hunter?"
"I guess so."
"Well, what's his name?'
"He didn't say." Dean shrugged and headed into the bathroom, fresh shirt and boxers in hand.
***
Man
"Oh, man," Sam pushes away his plate, gleaming with the sticky remains of syrup. "I ate way too much."
"Sammy only eats when he's happy," Dean grins. "Or on the brink of passing out from his perpetual hunger strikes against the world."
"So he is happy," Castiel says, intent on holding Ceecee's bottle correctly. She's latched onto the plastic nipple and is drinking furiously. Her slight weight is almost undetectable in his arms.
"Well, I still could be…"
Dean gives Sam a warning look.
"I mean, sure. I'm pretty happy, I guess. Dean's really happy. I never would have thought it, but, hey." Sam takes a sip of his coffee and smirks. "You've made an honest man out of him."
"Sam," Dean says.
"Dean has always been a righteous man," Castiel observes. "And that is better than being honest."
***
Angel
Castiel waited another few days before he allowed Dean to see him again. He kept watching Dean, though: rocking the child to sleep, his large frame dwarfing her, feeding her a bottle, eating far too much unhealthy food at diners, teasing his brother.
Sam went out hunting, and Dean spent the entire time pacing their small motel room, holding the baby in his arms, his cell phone clutched tight in one hand, body tense whenever Sam called to report his progress.
He quickly concealed his relief when Sam came home, put the baby on the bed amongst a fortress of protective pillows while he cleaned and dressed a minor wound on his brother's arm.
***
Man
"Yeah, I don't think so," Dean says into his cellphone. He looks back at Sam, Castiel and Ceecee, sharp eyes taking in the surroundings. "Sorry." He closes the phone and strolls over.
Sam is lying back on one side of their blanket, eyes closed but wide awake, letting the sun soak into his skin, drying off the droplets of water from his earlier swim. Castiel sits on the blanket's edge, bare feet braced in the sand, and cradles Ceecee in his lap. Dean tosses his cell aside and drops onto the blanket, holding his arms out for Ceecee. Castiel hands her over.
"Duffy called in sick," Dean tells him. "They wanted me to come in to work today."
"And you refused."
"I told them I was spending the day with my family."
Castiel nods, looks out at the ocean before them, teeming with life, then up at the sky, heavy with secrets. Sam hasn’t moved from his apparently careless sprawl. He looks harmless.
“If you need to work,” Castiel says, “we will understand.”
“No,” Dean says. He puts Ceecee down safely in the middle of the blanket and she gurgles up at a passing bird, waving her chubby fists. “Not today.” Dean leans into Castiel, bears him down onto the blanket, kisses him.
Castiel allows the kiss, feels his mouth shape to Dean’s, the myriad of human sensations unfolding: the scent of Dean’s skin, the taste of his mouth, the feel of the uneven sand lumping the blanket under Castiel’s back, the firm grip of Dean’s fingers on Castiel’s biceps. Brisk sea air smell, hot sun on his skin, chirping concerto of a nearby pair of seabirds. Soft-bristled texture of Dean’s hair under Castiel’s hands. Nothing could possibly have prepared him for this; he realizes that now.
Dean kisses him, and all Castiel can do is kiss him back.
***
Angel
Dean slammed the motel's office door, heeding the baby in the sling across his chest.
"He wouldn't believe she's my kid," Dean glared back at the door.
"Dude, she's not," Sam said. "You do remember that, don't you?"
"She could be," Dean insisted. "What the hell business is it of his?"
"Well, I guess, you know, genetically…" Sam trailed off.
"What, because I'm white? That's bullshit Sam, and you know it."
"Dean," Sam said. "She's not your kid. We're still just doing this as a favor for Missouri, right? I mean, the plan still is to drop the baby off with her at the end of this trip, isn't it?"
"Yeah, and how do we know the demon that killed her parents won't be back for her?"
"We don’t even know if it was a demon. It could have been an electrical fire, like the police said."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Sam. When has it ever been an electrical fire?" He laid a protective hand over the infant's forehead and walked towards their car. With short, efficient movements he opened the door and settled the child into the infant carseat in the back. "She's six months old, Sam, and a fire in her house killed her mother, Missouri had a vision about it, and it's all just a big coincidence? I don't think so. That yellow-eyed bastard is up to something again, I know it."
"It's over! His endgame came and went, and it's done. He's played out, Dean. You made sure of that."
Dean flinched. Having secured the child into place, he turned defiantly back to Sam.
"We don't know that he's done, and we don't know that he's not starting over with a whole new batch of kids. He's not getting her, Sam. Not now, not twenty-two years from now. Not on my watch."
"So, what, you're gonna watch her for the next twenty-two years? You can't raise a child and live this life, Dean."
"Then maybe it's time to stop living this life." Dean got into the driver's seat.
Sam paused outside, frozen, then slowly opened his door and folded himself into the car. "You're not serious."
"If I could have given you this, I would have, Sammy."
"Dean, you were just a kid."
"Yeah, well, I'm not anymore." Dean started the engine and the brothers drove in a heavy silence for the next few hours.
***
Man
The brothers are playing in the water, wrestling and trying to push each other under the waves. Sam rises up, sputtering, wet hair hanging in his face, and Dean laughs long and loud enough for his brother to sweep his feet out from under him. The go down together in a flurry of splashes.
A ways off, one of the abuelas is standing waist-deep in the water, sprinkling tobacco leaves in offering to the old gods. Dolphins slide sleek over and under the surface, fins flashing in the sun. A little girl and her brother make a castle in the sand and adorn it with seaweed.
Castiel sits on their blanket, Ceecee in his lap, hot sun on the bare skin of his arms and chest, and considers the child. He wonders if Jimmy ever sat on the beach with his family, what his daughter was like at Ceecee's age.
He has no power to change his mission or the means by which he is meant to carry it out, but for the first time in his existence, Castiel feels something akin to regret.
***
Angel
They were in another state when next Castiel appeared to Dean. Dean was in an old, broken-down house, flashlight making holes in the darkness. He held a machine in his hand, listening intently to the noises it made.
"There is no one here," Castiel said.
Dean started. "You," he said. "From the other night."
"Yes."
"So, what, you checked the place out, no monsters hiding in the woodwork? No things that go bump in the night?"
"No."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Any idea where they might be?"
"Yes."
"Close-mouthed bastard, aren't ya?" Dean frowned. "C'mon, lead the way."
Castiel tilted his head, considering. There were no evil creatures present because he had already laid the waste on them, but he could find more elsewhere, if Dean wished. He turned in the direction of the nearest nest of creatures in need of banishment.
"I'm Dean, by the way. You a hunter? Got a name?"
"I am Castiel," he said.
Dean's eyebrows rose. "Okay. Lead the way, Castiel."
***
Man
The sun sets in fiery beauty, a riot of color across the ocean. Birds fly and families, couples and singles sit all along the stretch of sand on chairs and blankets, watching the spectacle. Ceecee pays rapt attention, beating little hands on Dean’s thigh in happiness. Dean cradles her on his lap, and the fading rays of sunlight paint his face.
Castiel forgets, sometimes, how beautiful Dean’s physical body is. How lovely the perfection of his face, the fullness of his lips, the thickness of his lashes. The startling color of his golden-green eyes.
When he looks at Dean, he sees the inside first, and it is that beauty which stays with Castiel even after he closes his human eyes, lingering like an afterimage from staring too long into the sun. As men or angels reckon, Dean is beautiful.
Sam laughs at a joke from a nearby couple, wide smile and dimples in a happy face. Castiel can see inside him, too, the seed of evil Azazel planted so long ago, the poison flowing sluggish through his blood.
Castiel cannot see the future. That is not one of his gifts. He sees what is before him, and he does as he is told. He does his duty.
He is a soldier.
***
Angel
The third time Castiel appeared before Dean, a demon had taken hold of the child. She was fussing, discomfited, but didn't cry as the creature inside a slightly built male vessel cradled her close, smirking at the brothers.
"Let her go," Dean grated, knife pointed at the demon.
"C'mon, boys," the demon said. "It's simple physics here. Even the kid I'm wearing could figure it out. You whack me, I drop the baby, the baby falls. Smoosh."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Sam said, holding his hands palms up. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. Just give us the baby and we can talk about all this. Tell us what you really want."
The demon opened its mouth, but Castiel was faster. With a rustle of his wings, he appeared before the demon, put his hand upon the demon's brow and began to sear it. With his other hand, Castiel took the baby from the demon's weakening grip.
"Take her," he said, and one of brothers did. Castiel focused all his attention on the demon, angelic whispers filling the room, until the demon cried out sharply and died, extinguished. It no longer existed on any plane, snuffed out like the flame of a candle.
He could not be allowed simple banishment back to hell for fear he would spread word of the day's events.
When Castiel turned back, his human eyes confirmed what his sense had already told him: the brothers and the child were gone.
***
Man
Castiel is waiting. He has been waiting for so long, he has almost forgotten what he is waiting for. He watches Sam, waits to see if the seed in him will take root and grow, evil blossoming like some exotic bloom. If it does, it will be Castiel’s job to cut him down.
He watches Ceecee grow, watches the brothers tend to her and sing her old, half-remembered lullabies and the harder, fasters songs Dean favors in the Impala, the tempo slowed and sweetened. He watches Dean soften, too, his smiles, his eyes, the tension in his muscles. Dean is brimming over with something entirely new, and it suits him.
Castiel wants to record it, to put down a reckoning of this journey for others to see. This is the unremarkable journey of a man. He builds a home. He cares for his family. He cooks and eats and sleeps and learns, awkwardly, to surf.
He ripens into something new.
***
Angel
"Who are you?" Dean asked, a dangerous edge to his voice.
He had wandered out into the deep of a forest, by a lake reputed to be haunted. Hands open, palms turned up, arms down by his sides, Dean stood waiting until Castiel sharpened back into the range of human perception and walked out from among the cover of the trees.
"I am Castiel," he said simply.
Dean frowned. "Yeah, I got that. What are you?"
Castiel considered the question. "I am… also a hunter."
"Yeah, well, you're still not telling me a whole hell of a lot. What did you do to that demon?"
"It is an old trick. A banishment of sorts."
"Do I need to worry about him?"
"No."
"See, now that worries me. You just wander around saving people for no particular reason?"
"Is that not what you do?"
Dean stiffened. "What do you know about me?'
"Many people speak of the Winchester brothers, carrying on your father's legacy."
"So, what, are you like a groupie?" Dean scoffed.
Castiel tilted his head.
Dean blushed. "Look, I—forget I said that."
"Are your brother and the child well?"
"Yeah. Yeah, they're fine. Thanks for, uh, your help back there," Dean said grudgingly. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Listen, I'm being kind of a dick. Can I buy you a drink?"
***
Man
That night, Dean and Castiel make love.
Later, they lie curled around each other, breath and heartbeats gradually slowing back down.
"Cas," Dean says. "There's something I have to tell you. It's about Ceecee."
Castiel puts his fingers over Dean's beautiful mouth, silencing him. "Dean." He looks up surreptitiously. "It’s all right."
"No, I should—you should know who I really am. And Ceecee isn't—"
Castiel stops the flow of words with a kiss. "Please. Your news will keep for another night, Dean."
But it is already too late.
***
Angel
"You know, you can stop that anytime," Dean said, shifting his shoulders as if uncomfortable.
"Stop what?" Castiel asked.
"Staring. You're staring at me, man. It's kind of weird."
Castiel looked down at his drink.
"Why do you do it?" Dean asked.
"Do what?"
"What you do. Hunt things. You know what's out there. Why do you do it?"
"I do as my Father wills."
"Yeah?" Dean laughed. "Me, too. Never thought there was anything else for us. Me and my brother. But Sam, he thought different."
"Did he disobey your father?"
"Well, he left us. Went away to school. Landed himself a scholarship and he fucking bussed tables and did all kinds of shit jobs to put himself through school. Wouldn't take any money from us. Said that wasn't the way he wanted to live anymore." Dean shrugged. "I hustled a hell of a lot of pool for that money, too. What was I gonna spend it on besides guns and ammo?"
"But you are together now."
"Yeah. I should've made him stay, made him—made him try for that normal life he always wanted a shot at. Shouldn't have let him come with me."
"And yet you did."
"Yeah. Yeah, I did, and I can't say I'm sorry, even now. This job's gotta be done, but I don't want to do it alone, and Sam's all I've got. Sam and Ceecee."
"The child."
"Yeah."
"How did you come across her?"
"She's my kid," Dean said.
Castiel tilted his head. "Where is her mother?"
"She's gone ahead to meet up with her mom back home. Ceecee's too young to fly and I'm not much for flying anyway, so Sam and I are driving cross country to meet up with her."
"What is her name?"
Dean closed his eyes. "Cassie," he lied. "Her name's Cassie. Ceecee looks just like her."
***
Man
Zachariah comes to Castiel that night. Angels do not sleep, but as Castiel lies beside Dean’s slumbering body at night, he sometimes closes his eyes and travels, back to the earliest days of humankind, back to his first days in this human vessel, back to his first meeting of the Winchesters, back to his first glimpse of Dean.
He is remembering the first time he allowed himself to touch the spray of freckles on Dean’s nose, curious, when Zachariah appears.
“Nice,” Zachariah says, looking around. He is wearing the body of a middle aged human man, balding and proper, the same vessel he used the last time Castiel saw him.
In Castiel’s mind, Dean fades away, the memory folded and hidden out of Zachariah’s reach. It is his alone.
“I see you’ve made the best of a bad lot, Castiel,” Zachariah says. “Well done. At this rate, you might even get promoted.”
“Why are you here?” Castiel asks.
“You've done it, soldier! You have finally earned Dean Winchester’s trust, a real place in his heart. He's ready to tell you all his secrets; you've proved that tonight. He'll listen to you now, when you tell him the Lord’s will.” Zachariah spreads his hands. “Kill his brother.”
Castiel starts. “He has done nothing wrong!”
Zachariah tilts his head. “I’m sorry. I thought I heard you object to our Father’s will.”
“Sam Winchester poses no danger—”
“That is not for you to decide. You will follow your orders, or someone else will carry them out,” Zachariah says. "Don't make the mistake of thinking you're indispensable, Castiel. We can replace you, and Dean will never know the difference. In fact, we can take over that very vessel you are using now, the one he knows so well, and it will be just like you never left."
Castiel thinks of flying, of the sensation of flight. He thinks of stretching out his long-cramped wings and bursting forth from this vessel, sailing through the heavens, elemental.
"I will do my duty," he says, and Zachariah smiles.
***
Angel
Castiel had been hunting and socializing with Dean for three weeks, getting steadily closer, when Zachariah appeared. He wore the body of a middle-aged man, neatly suited, and his smile was almost kindly as he gave Castiel his new orders.
"Dean Winchester is beginning to trust me," Castiel protested. "You will undo all my work."
"No, I will simply make all your work… superfluous." Zachariah shrugged. "Sam Winchester is Dean's blood and the child needs protection. You must find a way to tie Dean to yourself as strongly as they are. Your only remaining avenue is to take advantage of the human weakness for things of the body."
With a thought, they were beside Dean, who sat on the trunk of the Impala, drinking a beer. When he saw them appear, he grabbed for the gun nestled at the small of his back. "What the—"
Zachariah touched two fingers to Dean's forehead. Dean blinked, disoriented for an instant, then looked up at Castiel with a smile.
"Hey," he said. "Where've you been? I was waiting for you."
With a satisfied smile, Zachariah gave Castiel a nod. "If you'll excuse me. I have another brother to visit."
Dean didn't seem to hear or notice him. "C'mere," he told Castiel. "You want one?" He lifted his beer as if in offer.
Hesitantly, Castiel perched beside him on the hood of the car.
"It's a drag coming home to an empty bed after a hunt, you know?" Dean said. "And Ceecee always fusses if you don’t help me put her to sleep." He leaned in and kissed Castiel, a soft, familiar kiss that tasted of beer and hot human skin.
It was Castiel's first, but to Dean Winchester, it was their thousandth. Castiel closed his eyes and felt a slight stir of emotions, doorways to doubt.
***
Man
Castiel lies in their soft, warm bed, fingers threading through Dean's short hair, thinking of Heaven, of flight brushing treetops, of creating a new apple from a broken piece of seed, feeling it firm and ripe in the palm of his hand. He does not think of Zachariah or his duty. He does not think of Sam or Ceecee. He does not think of Dean.
Softly, between one heartbeat and the next, he slips into his lover's dreams.
***
Angel
Zachariah had given Sam and Dean memories that placed Castiel as Dean's occasional lover for four years, whenever their paths would cross on hunts. They had met while Sam was still in college, and had traveled together for a short while.
In their new memories, a few weeks after Dean and Sam found Ceecee, they had met Castiel again, and had not parted since.
"It makes sense to have a third, Dean," Sam had insisted. "That way there can always be someone with the baby, and no one has to go out hunting without backup."
"That's how Dad always did it," Dean protested.
"Yeah, well, that's not how we do it. We have each other."
Dean always touched Castiel as a man would touch an old, familiar lover, and Sam would always smile when he saw them together. They were a family.
***
Man
There is the sound of children's laughter. Castiel follows it.
He is in the back yard of a house, the laughter's source just outside his line of sight. The closer Castiel gets, the further it moves, until he turns a corner and sees a flash, a woman's long blonde hair.
"Mama," a child says, and it is Dean, a little boy with reddish hair and freckles. He is laughing.
"Dean," Castiel says, and the boy looks up at him, a strange man in his yard wearing suit, tie and rumpled trench coat, the same as he wore when he first met Dean. "We need to talk."
***
Angel
They found a home in a small town in Florida, across the country from the place the Winchesters had found Ceecee. They had stopped to eat at a little restaurant and an elderly woman had taken away their menus, smiling, and ordered for them, bringing them more food than even three grown men could consume.
It was amazing—Castiel often ate with the brothers, of course, so they would not think it odd to never see him eat—but he did not particularly enjoy food. It was an exercise, part of his disguise, his human vessel.
But this food was something altogether new; earthy, salty, spicy, sweet. Flavors exploded in his mouth. They ate until they could eat no more, and the elderly woman held Ceecee gently and smiled at them.
"You look like you have been traveling for a long time," she said, with a slight Mexican accent. "Moving so much is not good for a baby. You should stay in town. This is a good place to live."
"Is it?" Sam frowned. "How's the job market?"
"I have many friends in town," she said. "I can ask about jobs. And there are many places for rent, this time of year."
She gave them extra food to take with them, and directions to a nearby motel.
"One place is as good as the next," Dean shrugged as they loaded the food and Ceecee into the Impala. "We could give it a shot."
"Yeah," Sam said, looking around at the clean street, the neat row of shops. "Okay. We'll give it a shot."
***
Man
Dean is a grown man now, sitting on the swing on his parents' back porch, gently rocking back and forth. "You always look so serious," he says, smiling. "Even in my dreams."
"Dean," Castiel says. "We don't have much time. You must listen carefully."
"What's wrong?" Dean is instantly on the alert.
"I have… doubts," Castiel says softly.
"About us?" Dean frowns.
"You are the one thing I am certain of," Castiel says. "But everything else, I have begun to question."
"What do you mean?"
"There is too much to tell and too little time. I cannot hope to explain it all, but you must trust me."
"I do."
"Then you must take Sam and Ceecee and run."
"From what?"
"From me."
***
Angel
Their first night in the new home, a small furnished rental near the beach, Dean had stretched out on their bed and sighed. "Did you ever think we'd have this?" he asked.
"No," Castiel answered honestly. He sat on the edge of the bed, having shed his trench coat and jacket. "But perhaps it was our destiny all along."
"You believe in that stuff?"
"Don't you?"
Dean frowned. "I guess… I guess some things will happen no matter what, but it's up to us to make our choices, deal with the fallout the way we decide."
***
Man
"This is the only way I could communicate with you undetected. They are not yet monitoring your dreams. We will be safe, for now."
"Okay, this is the weirdest, most fucked up dream I have ever had, but I am going to wake up, and Sam and Ceecee are gonna be sleeping safely in the next room with loaded guns in the nightstand, and you are gonna be there in my bed, your hair looking completely insane like it always does after we—"
"Dean. Please. You must listen. You must trust me."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because I am in love with you."
Dean's eyes widen.
"When they learn of my deception, they will hunt me down. They will take over this body. After that, you must not heed me, no matter what I say. It will not be me."
"This is crazy!"
"You must protect Ceecee."
"Ceecee's not a part of this."
"She is at the very heart of this. Her destiny--"
"What? No! No destiny crap. Not for her. She's just a baby, Cas, just an ordinary kid."
"She is not."
"No. No. This is exactly why Sam and I took her. At least we know what's out there, waiting to get her for God knows what. Whenever her psychic shit kicks in, Sam will be able to help her, and when the demons come we'll be prepared. We can stop them."
"Dean. Ceecee is not one of Azazel's children. She has not been tainted with demon blood."
"Are you serious? But… but her house burned down. Her parents. She was exactly six months old, just like Sammy and the others, and there were demons after her. She's a psychic, or--"
"She is a prophet of the Lord."
***
Angel
Dean found a job at the local community center, teaching self defense and swimming. Sam worked at a legal office, and Castiel was given a place in a small bookstore, where he read more books than he sold. The range of human literature was fascinating, and he always brought extra books home in his pockets for Sam and Dean. They took turns so someone was always home with Ceecee.
Whenever they had time off, they would go to the beach.
"This is a holy place," Castiel told Dean one evening, listening to the surf as the sun sank below the horizon.
Dean looked over at him, amused, Ceecee sleeping peacefully in his arms. "Oh, yeah? How come?"
Castiel pointed out towards the sunset. "Earth meets water meets sky meets fire." He collected a handful of sand and let it sift through his fingers. Jimmy Novak's fingers. He lifted up another handful and took Dean's hand, pouring the sand into the cup of Dean's palm. "These are ancient things. They can protect you."
***
Man
"She's just a baby! She's just a little kid. You can't put all this on her, it's too much."
"You are all children in my Father's eyes. You all have destinies to fulfill. Is it not fortunate that she will always know hers? Never suffer doubt or loss of purpose?"
"No! That isn't how it works, okay? Not for her. Not being human. She should get to have a choice, damn it. You're just taking away all her choices, and she shouldn't—she shouldn't have a job already, she's not even—she can't even talk yet, how can you—"
Ceecee fussed, moving her little limbs fitfully, her face scrunched up in a sour expression.
"Dean. I do not know how prophets are chosen, but they are not abandoned. She will have an archangel assigned to her, protecting her. She will be looked after."
"Well, they've done a bang-up job of it so far. Her parents are dead, Cas. Where was her archangel when that happened?"
***
Angel
One of the abuelas, a woman with soft white hair tied in a neat knot at the back of her head and sleepy green eyes, was talking with Sam when Castiel and Dean came out of the grocery store. She was smiling down at Ceecee, who slept soundly in a sling tied around Sam's chest.
"What do you see?" the abuela whispered, leaning in close to the small, tight coils of Ceecee's hair.
When she looked up, Castiel saw Zachariah peering out of her eyes.
"You boys take care, now," Zachariah said, and smiled.
***
Man
"I don't know what is right and what is wrong anymore," Castiel admits. "For the first time, I feel…"
"You feel what?"
"I… feel." Castiel looks around. There is a sensation creeping up, a sound as if of rustling wings. The angels are near. He seizes Dean's hand. "Time runs short. When you open your eyes, I will already be awake. I will kiss your right hand and lace my fingers with yours—that will be your signal. You will know that what has been said here is real. Do not speak to me of it. We would be heard. You must simply take Sam and Ceecee and go, quietly, as if for a normal outing. Then you must drive as long and as far as you can."
"But wait, you haven't told me anything yet! Who is after us? Who do you work for? How do you know these things?"
"Neither of us is what we have pretended to be."
"Got that right." Dean glares.
"Dean. Whatever you learn about me in the days to come, know this. I was not made to feel emotions, to feel love. But I do. Because of you."
"But what—"
The rustling of wings grows closer, and Castiel takes his leave.
When Dean awakens, he stirs restlessly, then opens his eyes and blinks, confused. His gaze falls on Castiel and he smiles, a hint of relief in his eyes.
Castiel looks down, and Dean pales when he notices the fingers of his right hand entwined in Castiel's. Castiel raises the hand slowly to his lips and kisses it: the slightly freckled back, the calloused fingers, the broad palm.
Dean's body stills, the color draining from his face. Castiel feels like he has shattered something.
***
Angel
They had been living in the house in Florida for a few weeks when the argument took place. Castiel was meant to be out working late, but the shop closed early and he'd gone home.
"It's Cas," Sam was saying. "He loves you. He knows who you are, and he loves you anyway. Don't throw that away."
"He doesn't know everything," Dean said. "He doesn't know all of it. He doesn't know how I killed Jake."
"He knows more than anyone ever has, Dean. And he's still here. Give him a chance, okay?"
Dean shook his head. "The things I've done."
"So tell him. Tell him what I am; what you did to protect me; what Ceecee is. Tell him everything."
"And if he's not who you think he is?" Dean demanded.
"You're going to have to trust someone other than me and Bobby at some point in your life, Dean," Sam said.
"There's Ellen," Dean crossed his arms.
"Great, that's three of us. I'm honored. You've known Cas for years." Sam leaned closer to his brother, face painfully earnest. "I have this poison inside of me. There's nothing I can do to get it out—I'm tainted, Dean. Wrong. All along, you were the one who had a shot at a normal life, not me. I want you to have this. The question is if you'll let yourself."
***
Man
There are old symbols, ancient things, older even than angels. Castiel knows them all, makes use of them when he is commanded to.
He goes to the place of power at the holy hour: sunset on the beach, just as he taught Dean. Earth meets water meets fire meets sky. He uses the vessel's blood to mark his body, binding it against further possessions by anyone. He is finishing the last of the spells when the angels come.
They stand before him, defiant, in shining splendor his human eyes should not be able to withstand. Quickly, Castiel finishes the spell and dives into the sea.
***
Both
"Do you have any idea how hard it is to find an angel in a haystack?" Dean asks casually. "And then, when you finally do find the angel in a haystack, he turns out to be an ad space salesman named Jimmy Novak, who will die a happy man if he never sees or hears from another angel again."
Ceecee gurgles, and Dean shifts her in his arms to more easily pat her back.
"But it does turn out that Jimmy Novak gave someone else a gift."
Castiel folds his arms more tightly around himself. He is wearing an old, worn-out tee shirt and some beat-up jeans one of the abuelas gave him. With the lock of hair Jimmy had given him, Castiel had had just enough material to remake him—a new body just for himself, Castiel's first.
He had folded and tucked himself into the new body until he thought it would burst at the seams, his wings spilling over, and slowly healed from his wounds. The abuelas helped.
"I told you to take Sam and Ceecee and leave," Castiel says.
"You did," Dean agrees. "But we didn't. It turns out a little bargaining was all that was called for. Did you know that angels love bargaining? We have twenty years of unsupervised custody, and then we'll see. I don't know if it's a bum deal; I've never really bargained with angels before."
"We could use a partner," Sam adds, peering at Castiel from behind Dean's shoulder.
"So what do you think?" Dean asks.
Castiel smiles.
End.
Author's Note: The title is from the Song of Solomon.
Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death…
Author:
dessert_firstRating: PG
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Warnings (if any): None.
Prompt chosen: 73. The Domino Effect
Summary: Domino Black, professional assassin. I've killed too many to count. All in the name of United States security. I don't care. I don't feel — I just do what I'm told. My latest assignment was different. I had to sleep with the target. It was the only way. I showed up at his club, an enigma in black, and asked about renting the apartment above the club. He'd barely said yes before I had him in bed. It wasn't just sex. I made a fatal mistake — I fell in love!
Set Me as a Seal
Man
Dean stirs, blinks sleepily and smiles. "Hey," he says. His freckles are barely visible in the dim glow from the streetlights outside.
Castiel feels his own mouth echo the movement Dean's made, lips curving softly. When Dean kisses him, Castiel's arms curl around Dean, pulling him closer on the bed.
A baby's cry starts up in the next room.
Castiel presses a kiss to the sweetly scented skin of Dean's temple. "Will you go see to your daughter?"
Dean groans. "Yeah." Pushing a hand through his unruly hair, he rolls gracefully out of bed and pads across the room, naked.
Grabbing a pair of boxer shorts from a nearby chair, Dean slips them on and leaves. Soon his low voice in the next room drifts through the open door, as does Sam's sleepy answer. Dean returns, humming softly as he cradles the now silent child, her small brown face peacefully smooth in contented sleep.
"Shove over," Dean says, and Castiel does, the sheets shifting as he moves.
Dean brings the baby to the bed and lays her carefully between them, then stretches out beside her. "Be careful," he warns, and closes his eyes, one large hand gentle on the baby's stomach. Castiel watches them sleep.
He knows he must be very careful.
***
Angel
For the first time in two thousand years, Castiel found himself questioning his ability to do his job. When there was evil, he was meant to destroy it.
This was something new.
He stood on the corner, invisible to the busy human passersby, observing his target. Dean Winchester slid out of his beloved black car, slammed the door shut and walked to the entrance of his motel room, carrying several bulging shopping bags and no doubt a small arsenal of weapons secreted about his person. The door opened before Dean could juggle his bags enough to fish out the key, and his brother Sam stood limned in the doorway.
Castiel tilted his head, all of his superior hearing intent upon their conversation.
"Took you long enough," Sam groused, shifting a small bundle in his arms.
"Yeah, well, it's been a while since I had to do this, you know," Dean said, easing his way past Sam with his burdens. "You haven't needed diapers for at least a week."
Sam snorted. "Very funny, Dean. Here, I'll unload the groceries. Ceecee's been fussing the whole time you were gone." He handed over the little bundle in his arms and grabbed Dean's bags.
Dean scooped up the bundle, immediately making a most perplexing face at it. "That's because you know who the real man is around here, don't you, baby girl? Yeah, you do." He looked up at Sam. "Dude, where's her favorite blankie?"
"She spit up all over it," Sam said. "I had to clean it off and hang it up to dry."
"I'm sorry I left you with the mean Sasquatch who took your blankie, kiddo," Dean told the infant. "Next time Sammy goes to the store, right? And brings us pie."
Castiel frowned.
Smiting demons he could understand, but earning his way into a human's confidence? No duty he had ever carried out had prepared him for this.
***
Man
Castiel is in the kitchen, considering a bowlful of pancake mix, when Dean emerges from the shower. He is clad in only a towel, hair wet, lashes heavy with water. When he sees Castiel, Dean laughs, then strolls over and brackets his body, chest to Castiel's back and hands slipping into Castiel's front pockets.
"You still trying to tame the wily pancake?"
"A victory that has proved elusive," Castiel admits.
"Sweetheart, you have many amazing qualities, but cooking? Really not one of them." Dean moves Castiel out of the way and takes over, stirring the lumpy batter and checking on the frying pan.
Castiel allows himself a moment to admire Dean's economy of action; the quick, efficient moves that turn the heat up on the burner, grab a spatula and toss in some butter. Dean is at home in his body in a way that Castiel will never be in his. Castiel can imagine him with wings, bringing that same unconscious grace to flight.
Dean catches Castiel watching him and raises an eyebrow. "Sam back from his run yet?"
"No."
"He take Ceecee with him?"
"Yes."
With a grin, Dean turns the burner back off. "Getting that ridiculous racing stroller was the best idea ever."
Dean takes hold of one of Castiel's belt loops, and Castiel goes along, tugged up against Dean's body.
Castiel rests his hands on Dean's slim hips, running his fingers softly back and forth across the terrycloth wrapped around them. He finds the texture fascinating.
Dean kisses him, and Castiel lets his fingers wander up Dean's back, around the soft taut skin of his waist. He draws one hand slowly up Dean's spine and feels him shiver. Pulling away from the kiss, Castiel mouths at Dean's jaw and nestles his face into the crook of Dean's neck. The skin there is still shower-damp and sweet, clean and vulnerable. He tugs at Dean's towel, loosening it. Sam isn’t home yet.
They still have time.
***
Angel
Securing a vessel was difficult. Castiel appealed to many souls, but few were suitable vessels, able to withstand Castiel's presence within their fragile bodies. Fewer still were devout, and even fewer were both devout and willing to serve the Lord in this way. In the end, Jimmy Novak was to be Castiel's vessel, and Castiel dared not delay any further waiting for one more likely to appeal to Dean Winchester's tastes. Castiel accepted Jimmy Novak's offer, folded and tucked himself into Novak's body until he thought it would burst at the seams, his wings spilling over, and made his way to the Winchesters, intent on his mission.
He would not fail.
***
Man
Sam comes home, smelling of fresh sea air and sweat. He pulls Ceecee out of her stroller and hands her over to Castiel. “Pancakes?” Sam asks, crowding up behind Dean at the stove.
“Dude,” Dean says. “Shower.”
“Is there any more of that pie the abuelas gave you?” Sam wanders over to rummage in the refrigerator.
“How many times do I have to tell you, Sammy? Hands off my pie. I worked for that pie.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Hate to tell you, but teaching little old ladies how to throw a punch down at the community center is not work.”
“If is if you’re trying to get them to fight dirty,” Dean mutters.
Sam pours himself a glass of orange juice, then turns to Dean, inspired. “If you give me some pie I’ll shower.”
“You do remember you’re not six years old anymore, don’t you?”
“Like you weren’t saving some for me anyway.” Sam grins and heads towards the bathroom, leaving Dean to shake his head and smile.
Ceecee is babbling happily in Castiel’s lap. Her tiny hand pats his chest just above the letter “M” on Dean’s faded old Metallica t-shirt.
***
Angel
Dean was in a cemetery on the trail of a displaced spirit when Castiel decided to make his presence known. He could only hope he had chosen his moment well.
With a shotgun full of salt, Dean shot at the spirit, dispersing it. He failed to see the other spirit coalesce behind him, and Castiel stepped in between Dean's strong back and the growing mass of spirits, touched two fingers to Dean's head, and watched him drop into sleep.
Castiel turned and heard the spirits scream as he let them see through the vessel, the dark shadows of his wings, the unfiltered configuration of his face. They screamed and writhed, and a wave of his hand sent them off to their final rest—Heaven or Hell, Castiel did not know their destination. He only knew they would not return.
He looked down at Dean's body crumpled on the grass. Crouching, Castiel picked up Dean's shotgun and fired it into the ground. He turned Dean on his back and considered his face, so rarely at rest, before lightly touching his forehead.
Dean's wide green eyes opened with a start, and his gaze darted around in confusion. "What the—"
"Are you all right?" Castiel asked.
"I'm—" Dean leaped up, the pistol from his boot already in hand and pointed. He searched the vicinity, turning in a slow, controlled circle, until he ascertained they were alone. He looked at Castiel suspiciously, still crouched and holding Dean's shotgun. "What did you see?" Dean asked.
"There were spirits," Castiel replied. "You were attacked."
"Yeah, guess they must have knocked me out with something. I don't—" Dean rubs the back of his head absently. "Nothing hurts."
"Then you will be well." Castiel stood, handing Dean the shotgun.
Dean took it warily, and Castiel had to remind himself to turn and walk away as humans do.
"Wait," Dean said. "Who are you? What were you doing here? Did you have anything to do with this? Hey!"
Castiel did not answer. Walking at that glacial human pace, he left the edges of Dean's perception.
But he did not leave Dean.
Dean searched the area thoroughly, but there were no more spirits cast adrift for him to find—Castiel had banished them all. Finally, Dean made his way back to the motel where his brother and the child were waiting.
She was asleep on Sam's chest, peaceful, her mouth slightly open as she breathed, tiny brown fists curled. Sam was more than halfway to sleep himself, but he jerked awake at Dean's arrival, leveling a gun at the door.
"Ghosts are gone," Dean said, closing and locking the door behind him, shrugging off his jacket.
Sam put the gun on the nightstand and rubbed his eyes. "Hey, man," he said, then looked down at his chest and froze, as if surprised to see a baby lying there.
"Hey," Dean rummaged in his duffel bag. "How did it go with the kid?"
"Uh, good. I think she was happy." Sam remained immobile, one large hand dwarfing the child's back to prevent her falling.
She slept on, oblivious.
Dean looked at the two of them and his face softened, lips curving in a small smile, duffel bag forgotten for the moment.
"How was the hunt?"
"Well, the job got done, anyway." Dean rifled through the bag, pulling out a clean t-shirt and pair of boxers. "Some weird guy showed up, must have scared them off. I checked all over with the EMF meter, and zip."
Sam frowned. "You mean another hunter?"
"I guess so."
"Well, what's his name?'
"He didn't say." Dean shrugged and headed into the bathroom, fresh shirt and boxers in hand.
***
Man
"Oh, man," Sam pushes away his plate, gleaming with the sticky remains of syrup. "I ate way too much."
"Sammy only eats when he's happy," Dean grins. "Or on the brink of passing out from his perpetual hunger strikes against the world."
"So he is happy," Castiel says, intent on holding Ceecee's bottle correctly. She's latched onto the plastic nipple and is drinking furiously. Her slight weight is almost undetectable in his arms.
"Well, I still could be…"
Dean gives Sam a warning look.
"I mean, sure. I'm pretty happy, I guess. Dean's really happy. I never would have thought it, but, hey." Sam takes a sip of his coffee and smirks. "You've made an honest man out of him."
"Sam," Dean says.
"Dean has always been a righteous man," Castiel observes. "And that is better than being honest."
***
Angel
Castiel waited another few days before he allowed Dean to see him again. He kept watching Dean, though: rocking the child to sleep, his large frame dwarfing her, feeding her a bottle, eating far too much unhealthy food at diners, teasing his brother.
Sam went out hunting, and Dean spent the entire time pacing their small motel room, holding the baby in his arms, his cell phone clutched tight in one hand, body tense whenever Sam called to report his progress.
He quickly concealed his relief when Sam came home, put the baby on the bed amongst a fortress of protective pillows while he cleaned and dressed a minor wound on his brother's arm.
***
Man
"Yeah, I don't think so," Dean says into his cellphone. He looks back at Sam, Castiel and Ceecee, sharp eyes taking in the surroundings. "Sorry." He closes the phone and strolls over.
Sam is lying back on one side of their blanket, eyes closed but wide awake, letting the sun soak into his skin, drying off the droplets of water from his earlier swim. Castiel sits on the blanket's edge, bare feet braced in the sand, and cradles Ceecee in his lap. Dean tosses his cell aside and drops onto the blanket, holding his arms out for Ceecee. Castiel hands her over.
"Duffy called in sick," Dean tells him. "They wanted me to come in to work today."
"And you refused."
"I told them I was spending the day with my family."
Castiel nods, looks out at the ocean before them, teeming with life, then up at the sky, heavy with secrets. Sam hasn’t moved from his apparently careless sprawl. He looks harmless.
“If you need to work,” Castiel says, “we will understand.”
“No,” Dean says. He puts Ceecee down safely in the middle of the blanket and she gurgles up at a passing bird, waving her chubby fists. “Not today.” Dean leans into Castiel, bears him down onto the blanket, kisses him.
Castiel allows the kiss, feels his mouth shape to Dean’s, the myriad of human sensations unfolding: the scent of Dean’s skin, the taste of his mouth, the feel of the uneven sand lumping the blanket under Castiel’s back, the firm grip of Dean’s fingers on Castiel’s biceps. Brisk sea air smell, hot sun on his skin, chirping concerto of a nearby pair of seabirds. Soft-bristled texture of Dean’s hair under Castiel’s hands. Nothing could possibly have prepared him for this; he realizes that now.
Dean kisses him, and all Castiel can do is kiss him back.
***
Angel
Dean slammed the motel's office door, heeding the baby in the sling across his chest.
"He wouldn't believe she's my kid," Dean glared back at the door.
"Dude, she's not," Sam said. "You do remember that, don't you?"
"She could be," Dean insisted. "What the hell business is it of his?"
"Well, I guess, you know, genetically…" Sam trailed off.
"What, because I'm white? That's bullshit Sam, and you know it."
"Dean," Sam said. "She's not your kid. We're still just doing this as a favor for Missouri, right? I mean, the plan still is to drop the baby off with her at the end of this trip, isn't it?"
"Yeah, and how do we know the demon that killed her parents won't be back for her?"
"We don’t even know if it was a demon. It could have been an electrical fire, like the police said."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Sam. When has it ever been an electrical fire?" He laid a protective hand over the infant's forehead and walked towards their car. With short, efficient movements he opened the door and settled the child into the infant carseat in the back. "She's six months old, Sam, and a fire in her house killed her mother, Missouri had a vision about it, and it's all just a big coincidence? I don't think so. That yellow-eyed bastard is up to something again, I know it."
"It's over! His endgame came and went, and it's done. He's played out, Dean. You made sure of that."
Dean flinched. Having secured the child into place, he turned defiantly back to Sam.
"We don't know that he's done, and we don't know that he's not starting over with a whole new batch of kids. He's not getting her, Sam. Not now, not twenty-two years from now. Not on my watch."
"So, what, you're gonna watch her for the next twenty-two years? You can't raise a child and live this life, Dean."
"Then maybe it's time to stop living this life." Dean got into the driver's seat.
Sam paused outside, frozen, then slowly opened his door and folded himself into the car. "You're not serious."
"If I could have given you this, I would have, Sammy."
"Dean, you were just a kid."
"Yeah, well, I'm not anymore." Dean started the engine and the brothers drove in a heavy silence for the next few hours.
***
Man
The brothers are playing in the water, wrestling and trying to push each other under the waves. Sam rises up, sputtering, wet hair hanging in his face, and Dean laughs long and loud enough for his brother to sweep his feet out from under him. The go down together in a flurry of splashes.
A ways off, one of the abuelas is standing waist-deep in the water, sprinkling tobacco leaves in offering to the old gods. Dolphins slide sleek over and under the surface, fins flashing in the sun. A little girl and her brother make a castle in the sand and adorn it with seaweed.
Castiel sits on their blanket, Ceecee in his lap, hot sun on the bare skin of his arms and chest, and considers the child. He wonders if Jimmy ever sat on the beach with his family, what his daughter was like at Ceecee's age.
He has no power to change his mission or the means by which he is meant to carry it out, but for the first time in his existence, Castiel feels something akin to regret.
***
Angel
They were in another state when next Castiel appeared to Dean. Dean was in an old, broken-down house, flashlight making holes in the darkness. He held a machine in his hand, listening intently to the noises it made.
"There is no one here," Castiel said.
Dean started. "You," he said. "From the other night."
"Yes."
"So, what, you checked the place out, no monsters hiding in the woodwork? No things that go bump in the night?"
"No."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Any idea where they might be?"
"Yes."
"Close-mouthed bastard, aren't ya?" Dean frowned. "C'mon, lead the way."
Castiel tilted his head, considering. There were no evil creatures present because he had already laid the waste on them, but he could find more elsewhere, if Dean wished. He turned in the direction of the nearest nest of creatures in need of banishment.
"I'm Dean, by the way. You a hunter? Got a name?"
"I am Castiel," he said.
Dean's eyebrows rose. "Okay. Lead the way, Castiel."
***
Man
The sun sets in fiery beauty, a riot of color across the ocean. Birds fly and families, couples and singles sit all along the stretch of sand on chairs and blankets, watching the spectacle. Ceecee pays rapt attention, beating little hands on Dean’s thigh in happiness. Dean cradles her on his lap, and the fading rays of sunlight paint his face.
Castiel forgets, sometimes, how beautiful Dean’s physical body is. How lovely the perfection of his face, the fullness of his lips, the thickness of his lashes. The startling color of his golden-green eyes.
When he looks at Dean, he sees the inside first, and it is that beauty which stays with Castiel even after he closes his human eyes, lingering like an afterimage from staring too long into the sun. As men or angels reckon, Dean is beautiful.
Sam laughs at a joke from a nearby couple, wide smile and dimples in a happy face. Castiel can see inside him, too, the seed of evil Azazel planted so long ago, the poison flowing sluggish through his blood.
Castiel cannot see the future. That is not one of his gifts. He sees what is before him, and he does as he is told. He does his duty.
He is a soldier.
***
Angel
The third time Castiel appeared before Dean, a demon had taken hold of the child. She was fussing, discomfited, but didn't cry as the creature inside a slightly built male vessel cradled her close, smirking at the brothers.
"Let her go," Dean grated, knife pointed at the demon.
"C'mon, boys," the demon said. "It's simple physics here. Even the kid I'm wearing could figure it out. You whack me, I drop the baby, the baby falls. Smoosh."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Sam said, holding his hands palms up. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. Just give us the baby and we can talk about all this. Tell us what you really want."
The demon opened its mouth, but Castiel was faster. With a rustle of his wings, he appeared before the demon, put his hand upon the demon's brow and began to sear it. With his other hand, Castiel took the baby from the demon's weakening grip.
"Take her," he said, and one of brothers did. Castiel focused all his attention on the demon, angelic whispers filling the room, until the demon cried out sharply and died, extinguished. It no longer existed on any plane, snuffed out like the flame of a candle.
He could not be allowed simple banishment back to hell for fear he would spread word of the day's events.
When Castiel turned back, his human eyes confirmed what his sense had already told him: the brothers and the child were gone.
***
Man
Castiel is waiting. He has been waiting for so long, he has almost forgotten what he is waiting for. He watches Sam, waits to see if the seed in him will take root and grow, evil blossoming like some exotic bloom. If it does, it will be Castiel’s job to cut him down.
He watches Ceecee grow, watches the brothers tend to her and sing her old, half-remembered lullabies and the harder, fasters songs Dean favors in the Impala, the tempo slowed and sweetened. He watches Dean soften, too, his smiles, his eyes, the tension in his muscles. Dean is brimming over with something entirely new, and it suits him.
Castiel wants to record it, to put down a reckoning of this journey for others to see. This is the unremarkable journey of a man. He builds a home. He cares for his family. He cooks and eats and sleeps and learns, awkwardly, to surf.
He ripens into something new.
***
Angel
"Who are you?" Dean asked, a dangerous edge to his voice.
He had wandered out into the deep of a forest, by a lake reputed to be haunted. Hands open, palms turned up, arms down by his sides, Dean stood waiting until Castiel sharpened back into the range of human perception and walked out from among the cover of the trees.
"I am Castiel," he said simply.
Dean frowned. "Yeah, I got that. What are you?"
Castiel considered the question. "I am… also a hunter."
"Yeah, well, you're still not telling me a whole hell of a lot. What did you do to that demon?"
"It is an old trick. A banishment of sorts."
"Do I need to worry about him?"
"No."
"See, now that worries me. You just wander around saving people for no particular reason?"
"Is that not what you do?"
Dean stiffened. "What do you know about me?'
"Many people speak of the Winchester brothers, carrying on your father's legacy."
"So, what, are you like a groupie?" Dean scoffed.
Castiel tilted his head.
Dean blushed. "Look, I—forget I said that."
"Are your brother and the child well?"
"Yeah. Yeah, they're fine. Thanks for, uh, your help back there," Dean said grudgingly. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Listen, I'm being kind of a dick. Can I buy you a drink?"
***
Man
That night, Dean and Castiel make love.
Later, they lie curled around each other, breath and heartbeats gradually slowing back down.
"Cas," Dean says. "There's something I have to tell you. It's about Ceecee."
Castiel puts his fingers over Dean's beautiful mouth, silencing him. "Dean." He looks up surreptitiously. "It’s all right."
"No, I should—you should know who I really am. And Ceecee isn't—"
Castiel stops the flow of words with a kiss. "Please. Your news will keep for another night, Dean."
But it is already too late.
***
Angel
"You know, you can stop that anytime," Dean said, shifting his shoulders as if uncomfortable.
"Stop what?" Castiel asked.
"Staring. You're staring at me, man. It's kind of weird."
Castiel looked down at his drink.
"Why do you do it?" Dean asked.
"Do what?"
"What you do. Hunt things. You know what's out there. Why do you do it?"
"I do as my Father wills."
"Yeah?" Dean laughed. "Me, too. Never thought there was anything else for us. Me and my brother. But Sam, he thought different."
"Did he disobey your father?"
"Well, he left us. Went away to school. Landed himself a scholarship and he fucking bussed tables and did all kinds of shit jobs to put himself through school. Wouldn't take any money from us. Said that wasn't the way he wanted to live anymore." Dean shrugged. "I hustled a hell of a lot of pool for that money, too. What was I gonna spend it on besides guns and ammo?"
"But you are together now."
"Yeah. I should've made him stay, made him—made him try for that normal life he always wanted a shot at. Shouldn't have let him come with me."
"And yet you did."
"Yeah. Yeah, I did, and I can't say I'm sorry, even now. This job's gotta be done, but I don't want to do it alone, and Sam's all I've got. Sam and Ceecee."
"The child."
"Yeah."
"How did you come across her?"
"She's my kid," Dean said.
Castiel tilted his head. "Where is her mother?"
"She's gone ahead to meet up with her mom back home. Ceecee's too young to fly and I'm not much for flying anyway, so Sam and I are driving cross country to meet up with her."
"What is her name?"
Dean closed his eyes. "Cassie," he lied. "Her name's Cassie. Ceecee looks just like her."
***
Man
Zachariah comes to Castiel that night. Angels do not sleep, but as Castiel lies beside Dean’s slumbering body at night, he sometimes closes his eyes and travels, back to the earliest days of humankind, back to his first days in this human vessel, back to his first meeting of the Winchesters, back to his first glimpse of Dean.
He is remembering the first time he allowed himself to touch the spray of freckles on Dean’s nose, curious, when Zachariah appears.
“Nice,” Zachariah says, looking around. He is wearing the body of a middle aged human man, balding and proper, the same vessel he used the last time Castiel saw him.
In Castiel’s mind, Dean fades away, the memory folded and hidden out of Zachariah’s reach. It is his alone.
“I see you’ve made the best of a bad lot, Castiel,” Zachariah says. “Well done. At this rate, you might even get promoted.”
“Why are you here?” Castiel asks.
“You've done it, soldier! You have finally earned Dean Winchester’s trust, a real place in his heart. He's ready to tell you all his secrets; you've proved that tonight. He'll listen to you now, when you tell him the Lord’s will.” Zachariah spreads his hands. “Kill his brother.”
Castiel starts. “He has done nothing wrong!”
Zachariah tilts his head. “I’m sorry. I thought I heard you object to our Father’s will.”
“Sam Winchester poses no danger—”
“That is not for you to decide. You will follow your orders, or someone else will carry them out,” Zachariah says. "Don't make the mistake of thinking you're indispensable, Castiel. We can replace you, and Dean will never know the difference. In fact, we can take over that very vessel you are using now, the one he knows so well, and it will be just like you never left."
Castiel thinks of flying, of the sensation of flight. He thinks of stretching out his long-cramped wings and bursting forth from this vessel, sailing through the heavens, elemental.
"I will do my duty," he says, and Zachariah smiles.
***
Angel
Castiel had been hunting and socializing with Dean for three weeks, getting steadily closer, when Zachariah appeared. He wore the body of a middle-aged man, neatly suited, and his smile was almost kindly as he gave Castiel his new orders.
"Dean Winchester is beginning to trust me," Castiel protested. "You will undo all my work."
"No, I will simply make all your work… superfluous." Zachariah shrugged. "Sam Winchester is Dean's blood and the child needs protection. You must find a way to tie Dean to yourself as strongly as they are. Your only remaining avenue is to take advantage of the human weakness for things of the body."
With a thought, they were beside Dean, who sat on the trunk of the Impala, drinking a beer. When he saw them appear, he grabbed for the gun nestled at the small of his back. "What the—"
Zachariah touched two fingers to Dean's forehead. Dean blinked, disoriented for an instant, then looked up at Castiel with a smile.
"Hey," he said. "Where've you been? I was waiting for you."
With a satisfied smile, Zachariah gave Castiel a nod. "If you'll excuse me. I have another brother to visit."
Dean didn't seem to hear or notice him. "C'mere," he told Castiel. "You want one?" He lifted his beer as if in offer.
Hesitantly, Castiel perched beside him on the hood of the car.
"It's a drag coming home to an empty bed after a hunt, you know?" Dean said. "And Ceecee always fusses if you don’t help me put her to sleep." He leaned in and kissed Castiel, a soft, familiar kiss that tasted of beer and hot human skin.
It was Castiel's first, but to Dean Winchester, it was their thousandth. Castiel closed his eyes and felt a slight stir of emotions, doorways to doubt.
***
Man
Castiel lies in their soft, warm bed, fingers threading through Dean's short hair, thinking of Heaven, of flight brushing treetops, of creating a new apple from a broken piece of seed, feeling it firm and ripe in the palm of his hand. He does not think of Zachariah or his duty. He does not think of Sam or Ceecee. He does not think of Dean.
Softly, between one heartbeat and the next, he slips into his lover's dreams.
***
Angel
Zachariah had given Sam and Dean memories that placed Castiel as Dean's occasional lover for four years, whenever their paths would cross on hunts. They had met while Sam was still in college, and had traveled together for a short while.
In their new memories, a few weeks after Dean and Sam found Ceecee, they had met Castiel again, and had not parted since.
"It makes sense to have a third, Dean," Sam had insisted. "That way there can always be someone with the baby, and no one has to go out hunting without backup."
"That's how Dad always did it," Dean protested.
"Yeah, well, that's not how we do it. We have each other."
Dean always touched Castiel as a man would touch an old, familiar lover, and Sam would always smile when he saw them together. They were a family.
***
Man
There is the sound of children's laughter. Castiel follows it.
He is in the back yard of a house, the laughter's source just outside his line of sight. The closer Castiel gets, the further it moves, until he turns a corner and sees a flash, a woman's long blonde hair.
"Mama," a child says, and it is Dean, a little boy with reddish hair and freckles. He is laughing.
"Dean," Castiel says, and the boy looks up at him, a strange man in his yard wearing suit, tie and rumpled trench coat, the same as he wore when he first met Dean. "We need to talk."
***
Angel
They found a home in a small town in Florida, across the country from the place the Winchesters had found Ceecee. They had stopped to eat at a little restaurant and an elderly woman had taken away their menus, smiling, and ordered for them, bringing them more food than even three grown men could consume.
It was amazing—Castiel often ate with the brothers, of course, so they would not think it odd to never see him eat—but he did not particularly enjoy food. It was an exercise, part of his disguise, his human vessel.
But this food was something altogether new; earthy, salty, spicy, sweet. Flavors exploded in his mouth. They ate until they could eat no more, and the elderly woman held Ceecee gently and smiled at them.
"You look like you have been traveling for a long time," she said, with a slight Mexican accent. "Moving so much is not good for a baby. You should stay in town. This is a good place to live."
"Is it?" Sam frowned. "How's the job market?"
"I have many friends in town," she said. "I can ask about jobs. And there are many places for rent, this time of year."
She gave them extra food to take with them, and directions to a nearby motel.
"One place is as good as the next," Dean shrugged as they loaded the food and Ceecee into the Impala. "We could give it a shot."
"Yeah," Sam said, looking around at the clean street, the neat row of shops. "Okay. We'll give it a shot."
***
Man
Dean is a grown man now, sitting on the swing on his parents' back porch, gently rocking back and forth. "You always look so serious," he says, smiling. "Even in my dreams."
"Dean," Castiel says. "We don't have much time. You must listen carefully."
"What's wrong?" Dean is instantly on the alert.
"I have… doubts," Castiel says softly.
"About us?" Dean frowns.
"You are the one thing I am certain of," Castiel says. "But everything else, I have begun to question."
"What do you mean?"
"There is too much to tell and too little time. I cannot hope to explain it all, but you must trust me."
"I do."
"Then you must take Sam and Ceecee and run."
"From what?"
"From me."
***
Angel
Their first night in the new home, a small furnished rental near the beach, Dean had stretched out on their bed and sighed. "Did you ever think we'd have this?" he asked.
"No," Castiel answered honestly. He sat on the edge of the bed, having shed his trench coat and jacket. "But perhaps it was our destiny all along."
"You believe in that stuff?"
"Don't you?"
Dean frowned. "I guess… I guess some things will happen no matter what, but it's up to us to make our choices, deal with the fallout the way we decide."
***
Man
"This is the only way I could communicate with you undetected. They are not yet monitoring your dreams. We will be safe, for now."
"Okay, this is the weirdest, most fucked up dream I have ever had, but I am going to wake up, and Sam and Ceecee are gonna be sleeping safely in the next room with loaded guns in the nightstand, and you are gonna be there in my bed, your hair looking completely insane like it always does after we—"
"Dean. Please. You must listen. You must trust me."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because I am in love with you."
Dean's eyes widen.
"When they learn of my deception, they will hunt me down. They will take over this body. After that, you must not heed me, no matter what I say. It will not be me."
"This is crazy!"
"You must protect Ceecee."
"Ceecee's not a part of this."
"She is at the very heart of this. Her destiny--"
"What? No! No destiny crap. Not for her. She's just a baby, Cas, just an ordinary kid."
"She is not."
"No. No. This is exactly why Sam and I took her. At least we know what's out there, waiting to get her for God knows what. Whenever her psychic shit kicks in, Sam will be able to help her, and when the demons come we'll be prepared. We can stop them."
"Dean. Ceecee is not one of Azazel's children. She has not been tainted with demon blood."
"Are you serious? But… but her house burned down. Her parents. She was exactly six months old, just like Sammy and the others, and there were demons after her. She's a psychic, or--"
"She is a prophet of the Lord."
***
Angel
Dean found a job at the local community center, teaching self defense and swimming. Sam worked at a legal office, and Castiel was given a place in a small bookstore, where he read more books than he sold. The range of human literature was fascinating, and he always brought extra books home in his pockets for Sam and Dean. They took turns so someone was always home with Ceecee.
Whenever they had time off, they would go to the beach.
"This is a holy place," Castiel told Dean one evening, listening to the surf as the sun sank below the horizon.
Dean looked over at him, amused, Ceecee sleeping peacefully in his arms. "Oh, yeah? How come?"
Castiel pointed out towards the sunset. "Earth meets water meets sky meets fire." He collected a handful of sand and let it sift through his fingers. Jimmy Novak's fingers. He lifted up another handful and took Dean's hand, pouring the sand into the cup of Dean's palm. "These are ancient things. They can protect you."
***
Man
"She's just a baby! She's just a little kid. You can't put all this on her, it's too much."
"You are all children in my Father's eyes. You all have destinies to fulfill. Is it not fortunate that she will always know hers? Never suffer doubt or loss of purpose?"
"No! That isn't how it works, okay? Not for her. Not being human. She should get to have a choice, damn it. You're just taking away all her choices, and she shouldn't—she shouldn't have a job already, she's not even—she can't even talk yet, how can you—"
Ceecee fussed, moving her little limbs fitfully, her face scrunched up in a sour expression.
"Dean. I do not know how prophets are chosen, but they are not abandoned. She will have an archangel assigned to her, protecting her. She will be looked after."
"Well, they've done a bang-up job of it so far. Her parents are dead, Cas. Where was her archangel when that happened?"
***
Angel
One of the abuelas, a woman with soft white hair tied in a neat knot at the back of her head and sleepy green eyes, was talking with Sam when Castiel and Dean came out of the grocery store. She was smiling down at Ceecee, who slept soundly in a sling tied around Sam's chest.
"What do you see?" the abuela whispered, leaning in close to the small, tight coils of Ceecee's hair.
When she looked up, Castiel saw Zachariah peering out of her eyes.
"You boys take care, now," Zachariah said, and smiled.
***
Man
"I don't know what is right and what is wrong anymore," Castiel admits. "For the first time, I feel…"
"You feel what?"
"I… feel." Castiel looks around. There is a sensation creeping up, a sound as if of rustling wings. The angels are near. He seizes Dean's hand. "Time runs short. When you open your eyes, I will already be awake. I will kiss your right hand and lace my fingers with yours—that will be your signal. You will know that what has been said here is real. Do not speak to me of it. We would be heard. You must simply take Sam and Ceecee and go, quietly, as if for a normal outing. Then you must drive as long and as far as you can."
"But wait, you haven't told me anything yet! Who is after us? Who do you work for? How do you know these things?"
"Neither of us is what we have pretended to be."
"Got that right." Dean glares.
"Dean. Whatever you learn about me in the days to come, know this. I was not made to feel emotions, to feel love. But I do. Because of you."
"But what—"
The rustling of wings grows closer, and Castiel takes his leave.
When Dean awakens, he stirs restlessly, then opens his eyes and blinks, confused. His gaze falls on Castiel and he smiles, a hint of relief in his eyes.
Castiel looks down, and Dean pales when he notices the fingers of his right hand entwined in Castiel's. Castiel raises the hand slowly to his lips and kisses it: the slightly freckled back, the calloused fingers, the broad palm.
Dean's body stills, the color draining from his face. Castiel feels like he has shattered something.
***
Angel
They had been living in the house in Florida for a few weeks when the argument took place. Castiel was meant to be out working late, but the shop closed early and he'd gone home.
"It's Cas," Sam was saying. "He loves you. He knows who you are, and he loves you anyway. Don't throw that away."
"He doesn't know everything," Dean said. "He doesn't know all of it. He doesn't know how I killed Jake."
"He knows more than anyone ever has, Dean. And he's still here. Give him a chance, okay?"
Dean shook his head. "The things I've done."
"So tell him. Tell him what I am; what you did to protect me; what Ceecee is. Tell him everything."
"And if he's not who you think he is?" Dean demanded.
"You're going to have to trust someone other than me and Bobby at some point in your life, Dean," Sam said.
"There's Ellen," Dean crossed his arms.
"Great, that's three of us. I'm honored. You've known Cas for years." Sam leaned closer to his brother, face painfully earnest. "I have this poison inside of me. There's nothing I can do to get it out—I'm tainted, Dean. Wrong. All along, you were the one who had a shot at a normal life, not me. I want you to have this. The question is if you'll let yourself."
***
Man
There are old symbols, ancient things, older even than angels. Castiel knows them all, makes use of them when he is commanded to.
He goes to the place of power at the holy hour: sunset on the beach, just as he taught Dean. Earth meets water meets fire meets sky. He uses the vessel's blood to mark his body, binding it against further possessions by anyone. He is finishing the last of the spells when the angels come.
They stand before him, defiant, in shining splendor his human eyes should not be able to withstand. Quickly, Castiel finishes the spell and dives into the sea.
***
Both
"Do you have any idea how hard it is to find an angel in a haystack?" Dean asks casually. "And then, when you finally do find the angel in a haystack, he turns out to be an ad space salesman named Jimmy Novak, who will die a happy man if he never sees or hears from another angel again."
Ceecee gurgles, and Dean shifts her in his arms to more easily pat her back.
"But it does turn out that Jimmy Novak gave someone else a gift."
Castiel folds his arms more tightly around himself. He is wearing an old, worn-out tee shirt and some beat-up jeans one of the abuelas gave him. With the lock of hair Jimmy had given him, Castiel had had just enough material to remake him—a new body just for himself, Castiel's first.
He had folded and tucked himself into the new body until he thought it would burst at the seams, his wings spilling over, and slowly healed from his wounds. The abuelas helped.
"I told you to take Sam and Ceecee and leave," Castiel says.
"You did," Dean agrees. "But we didn't. It turns out a little bargaining was all that was called for. Did you know that angels love bargaining? We have twenty years of unsupervised custody, and then we'll see. I don't know if it's a bum deal; I've never really bargained with angels before."
"We could use a partner," Sam adds, peering at Castiel from behind Dean's shoulder.
"So what do you think?" Dean asks.
Castiel smiles.
End.
Author's Note: The title is from the Song of Solomon.
Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death…
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