Chapter Text
If Dean had been upset by Castiel’s abrupt departure, he doesn’t show it. He and Sam continue out their cases as they’ve always done; largely by the skin of their teeth. Castiel watches as they manage to root out the Changeling Broodmother, then stumble right into a rather complicated tussle with a Rabbit’s Foot and a troublesome thief. As nerve-wracking as the case had been, Castiel is trying to stay off the radar at the moment. Hell knows now that the Winchesters have a pagan perched on their shoulders, and they are no doubt looking to put Castiel down as a result. Moreover, Castiel hasn’t done well reassuring himself he can focus on the task at hand when Dean is mere feet away.
Of course, he can’t stay hidden forever. Or at least not while also assisting the vessels of the apocalypse. The brothers get into far too much trouble for him to be absent, and with Ruby looming over them it’s too dangerous to stay away for long. The demon wasn’t anywhere near a match for Castiel, but she didn’t need to be. All she had to do was sow enough doubt and fear and it was practically a hand-out for Lillith.
Said vessels are currently speaking to an old friend of Dean’s--Richie, when Dean flips his phone open and presses speed-dial 3. Castiel, despite knowing exactly why he’s being called, allows his phone to ring for a few moments. Then, about when it would hit voicemail, Castiel picks up the phone.
“Hello, Dean.”
Being able to see and hear Dean’s soft grin pleases Castiel to no end, though he is immediately annoyed with himself for becoming distracted yet again.
“Fen! Sam says you can smell demons, that true?”
Castiel sighs into the phone, tone teasing even as he flexes his wings in preparation for flight. “My canine form hardly makes me a trained sniffing dog, Dean,” he beats them once, twice, then lands surreptitiously in the motel room with the hunters.
Dean’s grin widens when he sees Castiel, snapping his phone shut as Richie and Sam startle.
“The hell is that?” Richie exclaims. He’s got a knife pulled and looks about one second from stabbing it in Castiel’s general vicinity, but Dean just barks out a laugh.
“Sorry, sorry. Richie, this is Fenrir. He’s a friend, promise.”
Richie doesn’t look convinced, but he at least puts the knife back into his boot. He’s evidently smarter than Castiel had given him credit for on initial inspection, because Richie seems to recognize the name. “Didn’t know you were hanging around with a...Norse god?”
Castiel inclines his head, but gives the hunter a friendly smile. “How does the saying go, something about safety in the eye of storms?”
Richie relaxes fully then, as Dean lets out a noise of protest. Perhaps he’s not as good at getting people to trust him as Gabriel is, but Castiel thinks he does a fairly decent job most days. He’s managed to win over the Winchesters; Or at least mostly.
Sam clears his throat, and the light mood ebbs. “Not that the witty banter isn’t...” He squints, looking for the right word. “Er, entertaining? But people are dying, and we gotta figure out where these demons are before another body turns up.”
“Right. In that case, meet me at Trotter’s bar in a few hours. He should be there by then too, maybe Fen here can get a good look into what’s going on here.”
Richie leaves soon after, and the Winchesters seem to droop at the same time. Castiel frowns to himself, though doesn’t offer anything to the silent room. Instead, Sam and Dean duck and weave around each other, refreshing and preparing themselves for whatever awaits them in the town.
Whatever strange pseudo-telekenesis that the brothers have seems to somewhat extend to Castiel now too, because when he goes to spread his wings and allow them space, Dean stops him.
“Where you think you’re going?” He asks, and Castiel blinks in surprise. He knows that the Winchesters cannot see his wings, cannot see any extension of his true form other than what Gaia had bestowed, so the urge to flee must’ve been written all over his face.
“I--” Castiel shakes his head. “I was only meaning to give the two of you space until the hunt.”
Dean’s nose wrinkles a moment, and he gestures to the bed that his duffle bag has taken residence on. “You can sit on my bed. Or uh. I guess turn into a wolf. Dog. Whatever’s comfortable, man.”
Sam, in a voice not unlike the tone Gabriel takes when he’s feeling particularly irritating, calls out from the bathroom. “Oh what, so you can have a dog but I can’t?”
Dean has turned an interesting shade of dusted pink, and Castiel once again knows he’s fallen into the bed of distraction. He had spent a lot of time as a wolf in the earlier days, lounging with his brother in front of the hearth or atop the mountains in Europe. It’s as comfortable to him as Hel, or the vessel Gaia had gifted him, or even Jormungandr. But it’s also a form that leaves him big and vulnerable and truthfully a lot less limber.
Instead, he just smiles and sits on the edge of Dean’s bed. The hunter returns the smile with one of his own, a soft grin Castiel had really only seen him give Sam in the days before Dean sold Hel his soul.
“Apologies,” He says, though Castiel doesn’t really mean it. “But I’m afraid my canine form would take more room than this abode currently has available.”
Sam pokes his head out of the bathroom, evidently sucked into the conversation by the nature of his own curiosity. The look Castiel gets from the brothers as they flick their eyes around the room and back to the angel is nothing short of amusing.
It’s quiet for a moment before Dean turns back to rifling through his duffel bag. “Bet you say that to all the ladies,” He finally says, prompting a choking noise from Sam and a look of utter disbelief from Castiel.
For the first time, the angel can’t help but feel glad Gabriel hadn’t joined him in his crusade; This was already cropping up to be a disaster.
--
They leave shortly after, not wanting to keep Richie alone nor waiting long. Trotter’s is packed, even from what he can observe on the outside, though that’s not what has Castiel nervous. He feels demons before he sees them, but there’s little to be done about it in such a public space. So Castiel sits quietly as Dean ends up managing to talk to both demons in the span of a few minutes.
He’s tucked in tightly to his vessel, so he can’t help but wonder if the demons are intent on taunting the Winchesters in a manner a predator toys with its prey. ‘Father Gil’ is cordial, if unlike an actual holy man. The bartender, however, raises Castiel’s metaphorical hackles. Dean is his own man, belonging to none, yet something about the way she interacts with him has every atom in his being rankling.
Eventually both the bartender and the pastor are away from the table, but just as Castiel goes to warn the brothers, Sam is nudging Dean out of their seats, eyes drawn to a man holding a gun. The man manages to shoot what seems like a bystander in the head before anyone can act, raving something about his wife as Dean tackles him to the ground.
Which is, of course, about the time Castiel loses track of one of their targets. He’d been far more concerned with making sure Dean hadn’t been shot via misfire during his heroics, and Sam was glaring suspiciously at a man seated just a little ways away. By the time the commotion dies down, cops are on scene to escort both the man and corpse away and one of the demons has disappeared altogether.
“Dean,” Castiel speaks lowly as they navigate away from the detective. “One of the demons is missing. The bartender.”
“The bartender?” Dean whines, digging around in his pocket for his phone. “Aw man, should’ve known anyone who makes a drink that good ain’t human.”
Sam is still staring suspiciously at the man Castiel has been informed is called Trotter, though he does tune into the conversation at hand. He turns his gaze to the angel with questions in his eyes.
“And what about him?” He asks, jerking his chin toward Trotter. “He’s the other demon, right?”
Castiel only shakes his head, much to the Winchester’s concern. He lets his gaze wander until he eventually settles his eyes on the pastor they had been speaking to only moments before the evening’s events. Sam and Dean follow his gaze, heads swivelling back to stare at Castiel in shock only moments later.
“Father Gil?!” Sam only barely manages to keep his voice low, wincing when Dean stomps on his foot. “But he’s--!”
The angel merely shrugs. “In some ways that’s the best cover possible for a demon. Nobody would assume a holy man to be possessed.”
“What do we do about it?” Dean asks. He glances over his shoulder, a slow sweep of the many patrons of the bar, as if considering the pros and cons of stabbing a man in broad daylight. “I have Tsukuyomi on me, but I somehow don’t think the mass of people would appreciate a second murder tonight.”
“I can stay with him,” Sam says. “Keep an eye on him. You and Fen should find Richie. Didn’t he say he had a ‘thing’ with that bartender?”
Dean swears under his breath, already sliding out of the booth they’d commandeered. Castiel follows dutifully, though he doesn’t get far before Dean turns around. He digs in his pocket for a moment, coming up with the keys to the Impala and tossing them to Sam. “In case you need to get out quick. Fen, you good to zap us over?”
Castiel nods his acquiescence even as Sam’s brow furrows. Dean holds his phone out to Castiel then, and the angel is forced to look away and to the screen. There is a flashing red dot on the screen, and approximate coordinates.
“Can you get us here?” He asks, as if Dean isn’t intimately aware of the power that thrums beneath Castiel’s skin. The angel gives a short nod, reaching forward to grip onto the hunter’s forearm. Dean’s pulse is rapid but steady, and Castiel momentarily basks in the trust this human has bestowed upon him.
Then he is flexing his strong wings and they’re landing in front of a rather nice, if not old, home. Castiel takes a moment to flood the area with his being to confirm that the demon is, in fact, on premises. He can feel the staccato beating of Richie’s soul as well, and he wastes no time in rushing toward it. Dean is on his heels, evidently concerned with his friend’s well-being, and they make it down a set of stairs just in time to see Richie pull a knife.
“Hey!” Dean bellows, just enough of a distraction for Castiel to fly himself behind the demon and lock his arms around it’s torso. The demon screeches in protest as the angel drags her backward, hissing and spitting. “Keep her alive, might need her as bait.”
Once there’s enough space between the humans and the demon, Dean gets to work on a devil’s trap. Castiel holds firm as the hunter works, though Richie seems to be giving Castiel a thoughtful look. The trap is complete before long and Castiel doesn’t hesitate to throw her into it. She screams in anger once more, but otherwise says nothing as she glares them all down.
Castiel returns to Dean’s side to observe her, though Dean does pull out his phone.
“You,” She hisses, eyes narrowed in on Castiel. “What the hell are you?”
Shifting slightly on his feet, Castiel does not answer. Dean glances at him with a grin, but it melts back into a scowl as he looks at his phone. “Shit. No signal. I’m gonna go outside to call Sammy, you good here?”
Castiel nods, though Richie’s gaze tears away from his would-be killer to look at Dean. “I’m coming with. Bitch gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
Watching as they exit the building, Castiel slowly releases a well of power. It’s not much, barely more than enough to tell him if the other demon steps foot on the grounds, but enough to ensure he can protect the hunters. Unfortunately, this does happen to encompass the concrete flooring that the demon stands on, and she gives Castiel a feral grin.
“Oh this is too good.
You’re
the pagan perched on the Winchester’s shoulders?” The demon spits, though she looks more than thrilled to know her adversary. Castiel still says nothing, so she continues to goad him. “It’s not going to matter, you know. Dean’s got a one-way ticket to the slammer. It won’t matter if you banish me here, I’ll see him again real soon.”
Castiel schools his face, but internally he is somewhat surprised. Crowley had indeed kept his word, if this demon believed Dean’s contract was to Hell. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so cross with Gabriel earlier, even if his elder brother was irritating on the best of days. Truthfully, the whole affair feels too easy to Castiel. Not that he’d intended on Dean selling his soul to the pagan to begin with, but it does solve the issue of raising Dean without the host to guard his back in Hell.
Still, there is the issue of Lillith, and what she will do when she discovers Dean is not in Hell. Furthermore, there are their plans for Sam; He is to be the boy-king, though Castiel has done well to (mostly) warn the brothers off Ruby. He wrinkles his nose a bit as he remembers that Sam had run into the demon only a week or so ago; What had she been telling him? They had been interrupted before Castiel could interrogate Sam, and an uneasy feeling ripples through his Grace.
“Hey,” The demon barks. “Are you even paying attention? Your little ‘friend’ is going to Hell, and you can’t do a thing to stop it.”
Annoyed to be pulled from his thoughts, Castiel finally casts a glare at the demon. “Quiet, abomination. I am well aware of Dean’s fate, and I have no plans to stop it.”
The demon looks rather surprised, recoiling from where she’s still standing in the center of the trap. Thankfully the angel is spared any further commentary from her by the sound of footsteps coming down the steps. Dean and Richie reappear moments later, the former looking hesitantly between the two supernatural beings while the latter simply looks relieved.
“Sam’s got the other one with him, they’re on the way. They think I’m trapped down here with Hell’s bartender and you two are dead in a ditch somewhere.”
Said bartender snarls, launching at the invisible barriers that separate her from the hunters. “He’ll slaughter you all. And I’ll laugh as I watch him paint the floor with your guts--”
“Alright,” Dean interrupts, pulling Tsukuyomi from where it had been strapped to the inside back of his jacket. “That’s enough of that. Fen, is Casey alive in there?”
Castiel shakes his head as the demon shrinks back in the silver light of the blade, hissing as her eyes glaze over black. “What--where did you-!?”
Like the demons back in Illinois, she screams as she dies, lighting up from the inside out with unearthly golden light.
“Kinda pathetic as last words go.” Richie comments, scratching at his jaw.
Dean chuckles, removing the blade from her intestines. Castiel merely sighs, catching the lifeless body as it falls. He can’t help but feel regretful that they were unable to save the Host. Still, it’s one less demon filling the ranks of Hell and thus one less threat to deal with.
As if by perfect timing, Sam and the demon inhabiting Father Gil arrive with the rumble of the Impala’s engine. Dean nods to Castiel, a quick confirmation that the demon was still possessing the clergymen.
“Fen, were you able to tell if Father Gil--?” He asks, even as the footsteps crunch closer on the gravel.
“The pastor is still alive, yes. If we can trick him into the devil’s trap, it’ll be easier to exorcise him.”
It’s a solid plan, to be fair. Unfortunately, best laid plans typically don’t go as expected. Sam gets the demon as far as the steps before the demon seems to notice that A) His demon buddy is nowhere on premises and B) There is no cave-in. That spurs him into action pretty quickly, shoving Sam
hard
down the steps and into his brother, momentarily distracting Dean long enough for it to sweep its hands and fling both brothers and the hidden Richie into the walls. Castiel does not move from where he’s hidden, magic and grace alike pulled tight to his core as he waits for an opportunity.
The ground shakes as the devil’s trap hidden precariously under the rug is shattered, and this time the roof really
does
cave in. Richie appears to be knocked out, though Sam and Dean fare a bit better as they both seem awake.
Dean recovers first, though he and Sam are still entirely pinned.
“This is far more troublesome than I anticipated,” The demon clucks. Gil’s eyes are swamped in black, and cockiness oozes from his voice. “Though the catch is more than worth it. A contracted soul and the boy-king? In one night?” he hums, looking far too pleased for himself.
While it’s by no means a prince or knight of Hell, Castiel can feel the power radiating off this one in waves compared to the mere ripples of the bartender. There’s not much this demon could do in the face of an angel, but compared to a lesser pagan? He runs through the options. So far, the best one he can come up with is rushing it and hoping he can pin it before it damages his vessel. He’d live, without a doubt, but the blue-white of his grace would be hard to explain to the Winchesters.
Then another thought occurs to him. The demons are already cognizant of his involvement; Though they weren’t sure what he looked like or who he was, judging by the other demon’s delight in his revelation earlier. He already knows this demon will be returning to Hell, it has to if they want to prevent the death of the host, so why not give Hell a bit of a goose-chase?
Drawing a deep breath, Castiel stretches himself. He pushes his bones outward even as his wings curl inward, until he is growing and expanding, fur and teeth replacing what had been skin and gums. It’s unavoidable that the demon notices him, because Castiel is now an eight-foot-tall wolf with a maw larger than a grown man’s head. Like this he is still vulnerable -- it *is* still the vessel Gaia had gifted him, just changed -- but it’s far easier to incapacitate without causing too much damage.
“Well well,” The demon snarls as Castiel slinks out from the shadows of the corner he’d hid himself in. “This must be the famous Winchester pagan I’ve heard so much about. You’re pretty good, doggie. I didn’t even feel you in here until now!”
Castiel growls in response. He will not sully himself by communicating mind-to-mind with this creature, so he instead sends a nudge toward the brothers.
Are you okay? Castiel asks. They both flinch, not expecting the telepathy, but they don’t look afraid of him at least. Dean manages to give a slight nod, but Sam screws up his face in concentration. Then, as if placing a piece of a puzzle in the correct slot, his face relaxes.
Holy shit. Sam says, which jolts Dean -- not that either of them can move much. It surprises Castiel a bit, but he figures it’s a result of Azazel’s tainted blood. You’re fucking huge .
Dean makes a face like he’s focusing really hard, though whatever he attempts to say gets lost in the haze of his own thoughts. It’s no doubt something dirty, and Castiel is unconcerned as long as the brothers are unharmed. Unfortunately, this clues the demon into their silent conversation, and he shouts in anger.
“Arrogant pagan! Just like the rest of your kin. Your ignorance will be your demise,” it threatens, but Castiel only snorts as he stalks toward the demon. It does not back down, even as Castiel stops a few feet from it, snarling like some sort of terrible impression of a muscle car.
It’s a bonafide stand-off, but Castiel has the odds stacked in his favor. The demon can’t touch Sam, not really, and Dean is currently ‘property-of-Crowley’. Which means Castiel isn’t splitting his focus between holding the hunters down and fighting off his adversary at the same time.
Castiel leaps.
The demon can’t push him away, not really, though it’s physical strength is a pretty close match to Castiel’s own. It releases the Winchesters in order to fight the massive wolf pinning it, and from there it’s almost too easy. The angel manages to keep ‘Father Gil’ pinned long enough for Sam to rattle off the exorcism, and then there’s nothing but black smoke swirling angrily, down and down until nothing remains. Not ideal, for it to technically still be alive, but better than vanquishing the human soul inside as well.
Richie is still passed out, so Castiel takes a moment to look over Father Gil. He’s breathing sharply, but more importantly, his eyes are wide open. He looks terrified, even as Castiel moves off of him and allows Dean to offer a hand up in assistance.
“You good in there, padre?” Dean asks, more casual than truly concerned. Father Gil nods shakily, glancing between Dean, Sam, and Castiel. “Sorry about the wolf slobber. He’s still in training.”
Castiel lets out a short bark in protest. I am not some common house pet! He says, outraged.
Father Gil jumps at the intrusion on his mind, and Castiel dips his head in apology.
“Yeah, uh, that was new to us too.” Sam supplies. Castiel has not spent much time in this form lately, and he contemplates changing back for a moment. But then he takes in the look on Dean and Sam’s faces (and the one on Father Gil’s, though he cares much less for his opinion), and sits down on his haunches instead.
Someone should probably check on Richie . Castiel reminds them, twisting his great head to gesture to the hunter. For a moment neither of the brothers move, though Sam glances at Dean with a curious expression. The older brother makes a range of emotions, none of which Castiel can decipher from the speed at which they change, before Sam rolls his eyes and makes his way toward their fallen comrade.
Father Gil is still inching away from Castiel, and Dean chuckles. “Relax, he’s not gonna eat you. Once we clear this cave-in we’ll get you home safe and sound.”
The pastor nods warily, inching toward a secluded corner. “Right. Thank you. All of you.”
Castiel woof s gently in acknowledgement, Dean just grins. Once Father Gil is safely tucked away from any wreckage, Dean turns back to his companion.
“Fen, about earlier,” He begins, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just meant...You’re welcome to stick around with us, y’know?”
At first Castiel is confused, but then he remembers. Indiana, outside of that woman’s house. Dean, standing abashedly, same stance. Same face. Same everything.
For all Castiel’s love of humanity, he is not terribly intimate with the inner workings. Society often changes too quickly for him to keep up with in certain parts of the world, and other times he had been too busy attending to his duties as a pagan deity of death. But this, this expression has been the same since he had set foot on the Earth.
Dean...
wants
him to stick around. There’s a rush of emotions then, joy and excitement. But also guilt. Castiel has no illusions that his facade as a pagan god will not last him forever, has no qualms about his eventual exposure to the Winchesters. But he had never intended on getting this close, either. Something about Dean seemed to draw him in more than any other living being Castiel had ever met--something that seemed to be drawing Dean to Castiel as well. As much as he’d like to blame the mark on Dean’s chest, he knows this same calling pulled him to Dean long before the hunter had ever made that deal with him.
In no universe does this end well if this goes where the seraph feels this is heading. Still, he is helpless in the face of this righteous man. The Righteous Man. A man whose soul glows so brightly, Castiel somehow wonders if he hasn’t mistaken Dean for his Father.
Castiel already knows he’s going to do the only thing he’s ever been able to do in the presence of Dean Winchester.
He gives in.