College AU: Castiel’s birthday is coming up.
“Seriously, Cas? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s not such a big deal.”
“Of course it is! You need awesome bithday party.”
“You’re not gonna have a shitty birthday, Cas. Not on my watch.”
Castiel tilted his head to the side curiously. He had never been so close to the one he had been charged with. He had such bright green eyes. He stepped closer, close to Dean, blinking at the freckles dusted across high cheekbones.
“I am Castiel, an angel of the Lord,” he said, “I am… sorry that I do not fit most humans’ interpretation of angels.” His wings rustled behind him as he spoke, pressing against his back in an attempt to make them a little less noticeable.
He hadn’t ever been this close to a human before, let alone so solidly on Earth. He was doing this right, wasn’t he? How he had been instructed? He had waited for so long to get a charge of his own, thousands of years- and now finally, here he was. Gabriel had always said that he would wind up with someone different- and he certainly had. Dean was not like other humans he had seen.
Dean’s looked turned sour. He didn’t have time for this nonsense. There was no God, and there certainly were no angels. Looking the man up and down, he scoffed. “Yeah buddy, you really fit the part. Where’s the halo? What’s with the trench coat?” He circled around, trying to get a better look at the man, and reached a hesitant hand out to feel the feathers- and then he swallowed thickly, because things were getting just a little too real for him.
His eyes drifted to where wings met back and they were… well they seemed genuinely attached. Dean stumbled back a few steps, shaking his head. “Alright, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you’re gonna be in a world of hurt if you’re fuckin’ with me man. I am not sober enough for this kinda crap. I gotta- I gotta go. Thanks for helping me with uh, whatever that was back there. I owe you one.”
And then he stuffed his hands in his pocket and turned around, walking briskly towards the hotel. He needed to get the hell out of there. For all he knew this was some trap set up by some kinda monsters or something. He had his personal gun on him but some backup would be nice. Dean picked up his pace, refusing to look back. Just play it cool, play it cool.
Castiel had spent a flicker of time watching over this human. Watching him grow, doing small things when he could. Sunny days to try and give some sort of warmth to a boy vowing colder with age, days that were peaceful when he could arrange them with a slight nudging.
Dean Winchester needed more warmth than he could give.
Castiel’s brow pinched with worry as he saw the glint of a knife in the night, watching formless as the stranger approached his charge. He slid into a comfortable form, and knelt beside Dean with the light flutter of his great, dark wings. None but the charge would be able to see them, and his brothers. He had never liked them, teased upon occasion for their darkness and slightly ruffled appearance.
Gabriel had always said they just marked how different he was from the other angels. But for now, Castiel placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder, calling upon his Grace to heal the wound.
“Dean Winchester, it is not your time yet,” he said, a little surprised at the gravelly sound of his voice as he peered with bright, bright blue eyes at the young man.
The pain was gone all of a sudden and Dean looked up blearily when he heard a voice. He’d seen a lot of things in his time as a Hunter, but he had never seen anything with… wings? Deciding he was just in a drunken stupor, or had actually probably died from the knife wound, he snorted and brushed the hand on his shoulder away as he stood up on unsteady legs.
Checking the supposed wound he found that it was missing, and wondered if he’d just imagined it all. Had he just bumped his head and was dreaming? Everything certainly seemed real… Dean scowled and raised a skeptic brow at the man who’d appeared out of nowhere. “Who the hell are you supposed to be? ‘This a dream? What’s with the getup?” he gestured to the wings.
It was late at night, he was drunk off his ass, and he really should be getting home. “Nevermind… uh, thanks for the help dude. Hafta get home now, catch ya later, Angel boy…” he snorted at the name. Yeah, an Angel. Because those were real.
Dean I do not understand why there are pictures of us that people have drawn and taken of us. How do they know us?
Oh, yeah… about that. It’s probably because they’ve read the books. The ones Chuck wrote. Honestly I’m not sure whether to be creeped out or flattered that they draw me so damn sexy.
It had been another terrible night in the Winchester family. Sammy and Dad had gotten into another fight and Dean had gotten in between them and ended up with a bloodied lip and a black eye. John Winchester wasn’t the friendliest of drunks, and easily provoked to boot. Unfortunately it was when John drank that Sam was the most likely to say something to him. The father and the eldest son would be sitting on the couch watching football, Dean there but not really, and Sam would be trying to do his homework until he got fed up with the way their father stumbled around the room and cussed.
To stop his little brother getting thrown around, Dean would always do his best to get between them, stop the violence as soon as possible. It usually ended up with him gaining at least a few new bruises. As it did tonight, and as a result Dean was leaving the house, getting out for a few hours, heading down town to the bar where he’d drink himself stupid but not stupid enough to hit anyone or say something he shouldn’t to a stranger. Dean was good about keeping to himself when he got drunk.
Five or Six beers later, Dean trudged out of the bar, drunk but not quite plastered. The hotel the Winchesters occupied this week was nearby, a block away maybe, and he trusted himself to walk it. What he hadn’t expected was a mugger coming out of the hedges as he walked along the sidewalk, no working streetlights to light his way. He barely felt the sting of the knife as it dug into his side, didn’t notice he’d been stabbed until he felt a hand reaching into the inside of his jacket and trying to grab at his wallet.
“H-hey, what the fuck, man!” he gurgled weakly as he fell onto his hands and knees.
A skilled Hunter, dying from a stab wound given by a random mugger in the middle of the night? Well this is pathetic.
Well hello. How can I help you?