I kind of fell in love with fellowadventurers’ design for Cas’s true form and may or may not have doodled him all over my sketchbook. SERIOUSLY THOUGH LOOK AT THAT GUY. So cool.
Back home, Dean had found it easy to forget Cas wasn’t human. He always knew, of course, in the same abstract way he always knew, for instance, that the earth went round the sun, or that humans could die of old age. But until the Leviathan came, until Purgatory opened and swallowed them whole, Dean never let himself peer too closely at that knowledge—because if he did, then maybe he’d have to face what else he always knew: that it wasn’t falling in love with a man that had had him so terrified all these years.
But in Purgatory? Well. Dean clearly had too much time on his hands.
“My brother dated a werewolf once,” said Dean as casually as he could one night, as they sat close to the small campfire. To see a creature the size of a skyscraper huddling around a fire for warmth used to make Dean laugh. Now it just makes him homesick. “Pretty cute, too. Until she started biting.”
Such is in their nature. Dean didn’t so much hear Cas’s true voice as resonate with it, the words spreading through his body like ripples in a pond. It was nice, once you got used to it, although Dean sometimes missed good-old fashioned gravel.
“You—you won’t bite, will you?” Dean tossed a broken stick on the fire and did not look up at Cas.
Depends—came the voice several heartbeats later, giving Dean plenty of time to swallow and fidget and regret saying anything at all—if you bite first.
Dean let loose a puff of breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, and nearly toppled over.
“Dude,” he said softly, smirking up at the angel’s zebra face. He slid his hand on the edge of Cas’s wing, though he no longer needed the balance. “Is that a flirtation?”
It is a warning, said Cas. Dean frowned. Do not let Purgatory provoke you into becoming a monster.
“Oh,” he huffed and dropped his hand back onto his lap. “Still know how to kill the mood, I see.”
Silence fell between them then, the last resonance of Cas’s voice fading from Dean’s body. Dean glared at the fire and hugged his arms under his jacket. The fire popped once, loudly, like an insult.
Zacahriah used to warn us about you. Cas spoke as if startled into it. Don’t tease the ants, he said. They’ll swarm. They’ll bite. And they’ll never, ever stop.
“Rich, coming from him,” sulked Dean.
My big brother knew so much, and yet so little. No understanding of humanity—Cas paused ever so slightly, weighing his next words carefully—or consent.
“No shit,” Dean shrugged his shoulders, “if he thought he could dick-wave me into saying yes.”
Exactly what I mean. Cas brought his mask face low and even with Dean’s. And close. Real close. Heat prickled Dean’s cheeks, and his throat suddenly felt very, very dry. You shouldn’t say yes to angels, Dean. Then they’ll feel free to use your body however they please.
Dean opened and closed his mouth wordlessly a few times.
“Um,” he managed eventually, “so that was a flirtation, right?”
Consider it—Cas’s lips curled into a barely perceptible smirk—an invitation.