A/N: Just a Dean/Cas drabble. I said to my friend, 'Let's write something! Should I make it angsty, funny or smutty?' 'All three!' she replied, but it ended up just being schoomy angst. Enjoy :)
Castiel had once thought Dean totally infallible, impenetrable and had never thought anyone could faze him – that was, until he saw the hunter turn torturer, using the skills he learned in Hell on none other than his own tutor.
He could see Dean's expression was stoic, focussed...but behind that stony countenance lay years of pent-up anguish. Castiel was certainly an expert in reading souls; right now Dean's was as torn and bruised as his body had been, ripped apart by Hellhounds.
He didn't quite know whether to be impressed or frightened of this new Dean, who stood so imposingly in front of the Devil's Trap, Ruby's knife poised and ready. He watched Dean slice into the suddenly trembling Alistair, seeming not to notice the blood that flowed down the blade, and his hands.
He hated to be the one making Dean like this – after all, it was he who convinced him to take the metaphorical wheel once again, even though he could see in Dean's eyes how little he wanted to. Even though he refused to show it, Castiel had seen a little flash of doubt in Dean's eyes. Sam knew it, and now Castiel knew it too: Dean wasn't strong enough to do this. He hadn't been for a while.
In his head, once again, flashed images of what he imagined Dean's time in Hell to be like – they attacked him unbidden and refused to leave sometimes. He saw the reflection of that torturing soul now – blade in hand, a vengeful lust in his green eyes.
He knew he would want revenge on his former torturer...but what of Alistair when he had turned tutor? The relationship of servant and master was a different spectrum to that of student and master. A pupil and his teacher were bound by comradeship – both searched for a means to a common end.
That thought frightened Castiel.
With the stab of fear in his chest came a different emotion Castiel had never experienced. With that thrill of fear came a different thrill; the urge to go into the room and pull him away from the tethers of the demon who knew how to control him so well – who knew how to manipulate his mind and soul to bend to his will. For though it was Alistair that was in chains, he knew Dean was the one being controlled; the one who was being slowly weakened by the torture, not the other way round.
But he restrained himself – orders from heaven and his own sense of self-protection stopped him from going in there.
Until, that was, Castiel found himself watching as Alistair broke free from his tethers. Torturer turned on torturer, and Cas knew this was a battle Dean could never win.
Castiel would spend his life damning the Hunter for making him do this, because Castiel realized that he wasn't doing anything because a so-called higher power told him to. No; he wasn't fighting a demon because that was his job…he was fighting a demon because to not do so would mean Dean getting hurt. That, he realized, was something Castiel could not bear to have on his head.
In hindsight, that was the moment Castiel would always say that he'd realized he had feelings for Dean. The thrill of jealousy, the desperate need to protect him and be by his side, no matter what heaven told him – that was what tipped him off.
With Alistair disposed of – by means of which Castiel was most displeased – and Dean brought to hospital, Castiel felt he could relax. There was nothing but tension in Castiel's life now…with the breaking of the first seal, saving Dean, and the subsequent falling seals which seemed impossible to stop. Castiel was damned; he knew that, because the Righteous Man who started it all – the one who had to finish it all – had found his way into his own heart, whether unwittingly or not.
He watched the Hunter sleep peacefully, trying to not let himself be bothered by the cuts on his face or all the machines he was attached to. When he woke, Castiel's heart beamed, but to see his soul broken by worry was worse than Castiel could have imagined.
Yes, it's you, he had to tell him, and he broke as Dean broke, feeling in his own soul the pain Dean felt in his as his lip wobbled. His face hardly reflected the sympathy, but the truth was, he loved this broken, flawed man more than he should have. For a second, he didn't care. He would gladly give up Heaven for Dean. It didn't matter if he was a Righteous Man, or if he shed blood in Hell. It didn't matter if he wasn't perfect…he was Dean, and that would always be sacred to Castiel.
Seeing Cas as his future self was harrowing for Dean – the guy was popping pills and organizing orgies and all Dean could think about was how Cas was the first time he'd seen him. He remembered the moment like it was yesterday, when he'd seen the angel's impressive wings – he'd seen the angel at his best, glorious and imposing and…whole.
But now Cas was broken. He was a fraction of the person he used to be, and it was heartbreaking for Dean to watch. A fallen angel indeed – that, if anything, was a sin. He'd looked like Castiel, the angel he knew, who was awkward and culturally retarded and had no semblance of personal space. His voice belonged to Castiel, gruff and low and intense in an octave his vessel didn't even dare to try and reach.
He looked and sounded like Castiel, but he wasn't. This person was someone entirely different. Cas – his friend – had apparently died long ago, along with the hope the angel had always seemed to have, no matter how hopeless things got.
When he'd told Cas to never change, he'd meant it. It was beyond Dean's powers of description to say how relieved he was to see that old, wrinkled trench coat and the off-kilter tie. The angel's blue eyes were how he remembered them – not soulless and hopeless and glazed over with whatever high he was on.
That was when Dean was tipped off. He'd narrowly resisted the urge to hug Castiel right then, if he hadn't thought the angel would get pissed and push him away or smite him or something. It was only then that he'd realized just how often he'd thought about hugging the angel, and just how often he thought about – dreamed about – the time in the Beautiful Room, where he was held against the wall by Cas' hand and sheer will. It was then that he realized how much he wanted to protect Cas; shield him from all the pain and the helplessness of the future, maybe hold him close and tell him it would all be okay.
Castiel had immediately bypassed Dean, not pegging him as one to be a 'true servant of Heaven.' He assumed Heaven wouldn't be too pleased with the pathetic offering of Dean Winchester – the one who was clutching at straws and steadfastly refusing to say yes to Michael.
He'd seen the care in his eyes when he'd tossed the bottle of aspirin to him, and heard the honest desperation in his voice. Through blurry, pain-obscured eyes, he'd seen the grim determination on Dean's face as he gripped the stake and stabbed it through the Whore's heart. He'd seen the shock when Dean saw that the false Prophet had been successfully slain.
Castiel simply watched the Hunter sleep that night. It wasn't a peaceful sleep – it hadn't been for almost two years now. Castiel couldn't resist and reached a hand out to stroke his brow; Dean shifted, relaxing into the angel's touch, but still not waking. With a rare smile on his face, Castiel leaned down and placed a single, chaste kiss to Dean's temple. Still he didn't wake. With that, he disappeared, leaving Dean to his dreamless sleep.
Sure, maybe he hadn't pegged Dean as a 'true servant of Heaven,' but whether Dean was the best servant Heaven could ask for, or an abomination like his brother, or anything in between, Castiel didn't mind. He would gladly take him as he was, because he was Dean…and that would always be sacred to Castiel.
Du wirst fur mich immer heilig sein ~ You will always be sacred to me
Ich sterb fur unsere Unsterblichkeit ~ I'm dying for our immortality
Meine Hand von Anfang an uber dir ~ I have always been watching over you
Ich glaub an dich ~ I believe in you
Du wirst fur mich immer heilig sein ~ You will always be sacred to me
A/N: Sorry the translation's a little shoddy. If you have corrections, tell me. I know the 3rd line's not exactly right, but it's what they were getting at I think.