Notice: This is a gathering of Oneshots about Castiel and Dean. They do not depend on eachother and is meant to be read individually.
Summary: Dean and Castiel are stuck in the white room, after Dean has been chased down by Hell Hounds. While they are waiting for the Hounds to lose Dean's sent they get to know each other better. Set during season 4.
Warnings: Mentions of hell, but other than that it's fluffy. Unbeta'ed as always.
A/N: Extra gift for Kelly(aka caswouldratherbehere over at Tumblr), to make sure she got some fluff for her b-day.
Dean's biggest concern at this moment: How do you act around an angel?
And when he say act, he mean play pretend. Because Dean is 99% crap and so used to wearing his mask that he's forgotten how his real face looks like. But he can't use that mask around Castiel, frigging angel of the Lord.
Because Castiel has saved him from Hell. He's seen Dean's soul, and Castiel - well, Castiel is the only one who completely disregards those 99% and sees right into that 1% of honesty and fear and emotion and pain.
So yeah, Dean kinda hates the angel for that, hates the way he pops up out of nowhere with heavenly orders for Dean. Hates the way he looks at Dean like he's sorry for the things he's asking, as if he cares, even though Dean honestly doubts the angel feels true compassion. But most of all, and most importantly, Dean hates the way that Castiel looks at him. As if that 1% that Dean hates is something beautiful and amazing and worth going to Hell and back again for.
Dean shifts in the chair and moves his arms from his lap and onto the table. Across form him Castiel shifts, just the tiniest bit, but it's still more than he's moved in the past hour.
"Are you reading my mind?" Dean asks, incredulous, eyes narrowing.
"I don't have to." Castiel answers quickly, face still expressionless.
"That's not an answer." Dean points out. There is no reaction from Castiel.
"How long are you guys gonna keep me here?" He tries again, determined to get some kind of reaction from the angel.
"Until we feel safe that the Hell Hounds have lost your trace." Castiel responds. When Dean continue to look at him, the angel sighs and continues. "It could take a few days."
"A few days, stuck here, with you?" Dean presses on, unable to keep the rising annoyance out of his voice.
"I can leave if you prefer?"
"And miss out on your enlightening and charming company? No chance in hell!" Dean says, throwing out his arms in mockery.
Across the table Castiel frowns. "I find your choice of words inappropriate and distasteful." He says, pronouncing every word clearly and mechanically.
Dean smiles. He smiles because Castiel finally offered an opinion and because he was right.
Here sits Castiel, who braved Hellfires and sulfur fumes to retrieve Dean's soul from the deepest pits of the abyss, and here sits Dean, the Righteous Man, talking about chances in hell.
Actually Dean doesn't think he ever did thank Castiel for pulling him out, not really, anyway.
"You're welcome." Castiel says, head tilting to one side and Dean knows he's being studied.
"I thought you didn't read my mind?"
"I said I didn't have to." The angel corrects aptly. "I find your thoughts... interesting."
"Interesting? That's one way of putting it, I suppose." Dean deflects easily.
"Are you ashamed?" Castiel inquires, and Dean smiles again, once more because Castiel is right in his observations and Dean instinctively wants to force the mask back on, back to cover the truth, but of cause that won't work against the angel sitting across the table.
And for a fleeting moment, Dean thinks that he doesn't even mind. There's something about the angel, something soothing and comforting. Something that makes Dean want to open up and allow himself to be seen.
"I think your soul is very beautiful." Castiel suddenly says, and Dean can feel his face redden with heat.
"Jesus. You can't just say stuff like that!" Dean complains roughly, making Castiel frown. Castiel frowning is an adorable thing, little wrinkles at the sides of his nose and eyes lined with an even deeper confusion than usually. Dean looks down at his hands.
He tries not to think about Castiel, makes himself think about Sam, who is off with Ruby, but Dean finds very quickly that if he lets his mind drift, if he doesn't focus on the present, his thoughts has a tendency to relapse back into devouring flames and piercing screams.
"It was very easy to find." Castiel's deep voice drowns out the screams at once and Dean has never been more grateful. "Your soul." The angel clarifies. "It was very bright and beautiful."
This time Dean doesn't blush. Instead he lifts his eyes, easily meeting Castiel's.
"I was expecting a soul like yours to be warped and broken, considering what you had been put through. I wasn't expecting you."
Dean doesn't know if it's an angel-thing to be this honest, or if it's simply a Castiel-thing, but he finds that he doesn't care. He's just grateful right now, that the creature in front of him seems to accept him so easily. It's such a wonderful thing.
"You're thoughts are very affectionately." Castiel interrupts, and Dean can see a small smile playing on his lips.
"Stop reading my mind!" Dean complains half-heatedly. He doesn't even attempt to keep the smile off his face.
"Your thoughts are very loud." The angel counters and Dean has to lower his eyes back on his hands to keep from grinning.
Hiding away from Hell Hounds for the next few days, might not be such a bad deal. Having your own guardian angel? Definitively a better deal than Dean had been expecting.