Guardian Angel

Not my work but a serious inspiration and I wanted a record of it. Note: Dean and Sam saw Castiel fall form the sky years ago. Cass was surprised that a human with no belief for the lord would help an angel. He left once he was healed and now, years later has properly truly FALLEN in order to become Dean's Guardian Angel.

When the coffee maker whirred to life, Dean checked his phone. He had a text from Sam, a picture of one of his 100% test results and a text saying he got a few messages from Garth the night before. Dean felt himself blushing a little because apparently Sam was proud of Dean for actually taking Castiel out on the town. He also had a message from Bobby, just checking in on him. Dean texted his boss back and let him know that everything was good and they got home safe the night before

“Hrnnngh.” Castiel groaned as he stretched out on the couch. Den set his phone down and looked over. From where Dean stood, he could see arms stretched out over the back of the couch, feet sticking over the armrest and a mess of dark hair. Blue eyes popped up over the back of the couch and honed in on Dean. “Ah, good morning, Dean.” Castiel hummed in his rough voice. It sounded like his already rough voice was now tossed in gravel and heavy with sleep.

“Mornin’, Cas. Did I wake you?” Dean asked, his heart skipping a beat to the sound of that rough tone. No, Dean refused to get a boner just from someone’s morning voice. He refused.

“No, you didn’t.” Castiel answered, he sat up and stretched his arms out again. It had to be a good stretch because he groaned softly. “The magnificent scent of coffee woke me.” Castiel said with a small smile, he rose from the couch.

“Uh, did you sleep good?” Dean asked, he turned and grabbed their coffee cups from the strainer by the sink. “I’ve been thinking about buying a futon or something for you.” Dean said, trying to keep his mind off of the gravel sweet voice that seemed to tickle the very base of his spine.

 

“I slept alright.” Castiel answered, he walked into the kitchen. “What is a futon?” Castiel questioned with a tilt of his head. Gravel voice and cute-as-could-be head tilt? Dean had to bite his tongue.

 

“A futon is a couch that turns into a bed,” Dean answered, he set the mugs on the counter and looked at the disheveled angel. His borrowed clothes were wrinkled from sleep and the sleep pants he also borrowed were low on his hips. Dean was only drooling because he bit his tongue, surely.

 

“I find the couch suitable.” Castiel said, he leaned his crossed arms on the counter. Dean smiled a little at him, “though a bit more space would be nice.”

“I could get one for the living room or have one put in the office.” Dean told him, “that way you could have your own room sort of.”

“My own room?” Castiel questioned, his eyes on the coffee maker humming beside Dean.

“Yeah. Your own room, that gives you some… privacy, y’know? And I won’t accidentally wake you if you’re asleep and I need to go to the bathroom.” Dean explained with as much discrepancy he could manage. Did Castiel even know he had a dream that had him moaning last night? Was the angel aware that Dean had gone into the kitchen for pills and heard the fluttering breaths?

“You haven’t woken me up.” Castiel said, he looked Dean for a moment. “Do you mind if I stretch my wings?” He asked with a hint of awkwardness, like he was expecting a quick ‘no’.

“Cas, I’d love if you stretched your wings.” Dean answered, “I told you before, as long as it’s just you and me you can have your wings visible.” Dean told him with a smile. And Dean meant it, he would give anything to see those glorious limbs any moment he could. Castiel blushed faintly, looking back at the coffee maker. Dean would do anything just to see Castiel comfortable really.

 

“You’re sure?” Castiel asked quietly, uncertain.

 

“Castiel, I think your wings are awesome. They’re beautiful and I don’t mind if you’ve got them out.” Dean told him sincerely. Castiel glanced up at him through his lashes, “you’re not going to make me uncomfortable or anything. When we first met you had wings and a knife to my throat, it’s gonna take a bit more to scare me now.” He said with a smile. Castiel blinked at him and took a deep breath, uncertainty waning.

 

There was a shift in the pressure of the room. Dean felt static rush like a wave of water over his skin. Then, glorious black wings stretched out across the span of the kitchen. Glossy, iridescent black wings with an amount of feathers Dean couldn’t possibly count. They ruffled slightly as the large limbs outstretched and then folded in comfortably against the angel’s back.

 

“Do not worry about your shirt, I can use some of my power to mend it.” Castiel said, he craned his neck to look at his back. Sure enough, the black wings had slotted through a slit in the borrowed shirt. The feathers were puffed out where they came in contact with the fabric, but no damage was done to the downy fluff.

 

“I’m not worried about my shirt.” Dean said softly, his eyes taking in the velvety black wings before him. The coffee maker beeped and he tore his gaze away. He poured the coffee into the mugs, the dark liquid beautiful but it had nothing on the jet black appendages in the room.

 

“Also, I don’t think I ever apologized for that night.” Castiel said thoughtfully as Dean put the coffee mug in front of him. Dean raised a curious brow, unsure of what the gruff voiced angel meant. “For threatening to cut your throat.” Castiel clarified sheepishly.

 

“Oh!” Dean almost laughed. He picked up his mug and blew on the steaming hot liquid. “I don’t blame you, Cas. I probably would’ve done the same!” Dean told him. Castiel looked at him, smiling softly, blue eyes sparkling.

 

“You never cease to amaze me, Dean.” Castiel said as if it were just a simple comment. Dean felt his ears turn red and his tongue burnt on his coffee, but the pain was drowned out by the fire in his heart. “I could have acted without defense back then. You were a teenager, what harm could you have caused me?” Castiel murmured, “well, I suppose you could’ve done some damage if you needed to.”

“Cas, I wasn’t sure if you were an alien or not.” Dean chuckled, “you had wings, man. You still have wings! You fell from the sky in the middle of a field, you can’t blame me for being a little curious and scared.” Dean said, his mind wandering to the crazy storm.

 

“I still should not have drawn a blade on you.” Castiel sighed, he sipped his coffee. “I felt that if I had hurt you a lot of things would be different right now. I would have been punished too.”

“What are those sword things, anyway?” Dean asked, he wanted to pull the solemnity from Castiel. The angel quirked an eyebrow and looked at him. “Raphael had one too.” Dean pointed out.

“They are blades. Not quite a short sword, not quite a dagger. Forged by God for us angels to defend ourselves if the situation arose.” Castiel answered, he lifted a hand with a flick of his wrist he was holding the silver blade. “It is the only weapon in creation that can truly harm another angel, not counting demonic weaponry.” Castiel told him, he balanced the blade on two fingers. The weight was even along the silver, no tilt or wobble.

“A weapon that hurts angels?” Dean asked incredulously. It felt a little ridiculous that God would create a weapon that could hurt His Heavenly host. Castiel flipped the blade in his hand, offering the handle to Dean.

“Yes, hurts and potentially kills.” Castiel answered, he looked at Dean’s expression. Surprise and shock toward the blade. Dean hesitantly took it, the handle was the same material as the blade, only wider in girth. There was a lip for the guard and a small flare at the base for the pommel. The weight was nothing more than a few pounds, almost weightless and balanced to feel light.

“Isn’t that sort of… I dunno, macabre? He made a weapon just for angels to fight one another?” Dean said as he examined the blade. There were no blemishes on the silvery metal. It was as if God had forged it himself, and He did. Pristine and proper, no blemish, score, or stain, ruined the reflective surface.

“Yes,” Castiel said, his eyes watched in wonder as Dean flipped the blade under a scrutinous gaze. “I believe God knew there would arguments and fights between the angels in time. Thus he created a weapon for us to ‘duke it out’. No angel has died because of it though.”

“What happens if you get hurt by it?” Dean asked cautiously. He was holding the only known item that could cause actual harm to Castiel and honestly that scared him. Castiel was trusting him to hold the very item that could potentially kill him. Castiel trusted him. Castiel trusted that Dean wouldn’t lunge forward and pierce the silver blade through his chest.

“Well, you saw me when we first met.” Castiel answered, “the blade can pierce through my skin and instead of blood it is Grace that comes out.” Castiel told him, he sipped his coffee. Dean twisted the blade in his hand, the lights from the ceiling shot off of it in reflective angles. On the far wall of the kitchen was a rainbow of colour spread along the wall.

“Your Grace.” Dean murmured, he looked again at Castiel. “How… well, how is it now that you’ve Fallen?” Dean asked. He set the blade down on the counter, it rolled back and forth slightly before coming to a steady stop.

“Dean,” Castiel started. His brow furrowed and his feathers ruffled as his wings twitched. “Dean, I…” he trailed off, struggling to find words. Seeing him troubled and uncertain pulled at Dean’s heartstrings, it was almost as if he could feel it himself.

“You’re not dying or anything, right?” Dean asked worriedly. Castiel cracked a mile for a second and shook his head.

“No, I am not dying.” Castiel answered, he took a deep breath. He set the coffee mug down and his expression hardened. “I have lied to you.” Castiel told him with an expression that should be unreadable. But Dean could read it, regret and shame, care and hurt.

“A-about what?” Dean asked quietly. Was Castiel not his guardian angel after all? Did Castiel not really Fall? What could the angel be lying about? It was making Dean nervous.

“Balthazar did not call upon me. I sent word to him.” Castiel answered, his eyes bore holes through the centre of Dean. The mechanics’ heart beat in a rhythm he didn’t know possible. “He did want to see how I was adjusting, but I wanted to ask him some questions.” Castiel said slowly.

“You could’ve told me that.” Dean said softly. Castiel wet his lips, his wings twitching as he took a nervous drink from his mug. “Oh, there’s more to it.” Dean murmured, taking a deep breath.

“My Grace will never fully replenish, Dean. When I Fell… I left a mark on you. I left a mark with my Grace and with that, I imprinted a portion of it upon you.” Castiel explained, his eyes drifting down to the blade on the counter. Dean stared at the angel so hard that if he had lasers for eyes, Castiel would be cut in half.

 

Dean was suddenly aware of the hand print on his left shoulder. He thought about the hospital and the rest of his burns that stung like sandpaper rubbed him raw, but the mark on his shoulder was soothed as if it were covered in balm. His ribs had mended at an impossible rate as well, including his wrist. Was that because of what Castiel left inside of him? An imprint of Grace. A fragment of angelic power.

“I…” Dean trailed off, he didn’t really know what he wanted to say. The only thing he could compare the situation to was a soap opera where one character confessed to giving their love interest an STD. Though this was nothing compared to that, this was an angelic power, Castiel’s Grace, not a sexually transmitted disease; at least he was pretty sure it wasn’t similar.

“I do not wish to make you uncomfortable, Dean.” Castiel said quietly. Dean looked at the angel’s face, he could see the shame and pain on his face.

“No, I’m not uncomfortable.” Dean told him and it was mostly true. He wasn’t uncomfortable, at least he didn’t think he was.

“Because of this… imprint… you and I share a profound bond.” Castiel said, he worried his lower lip with his teeth.

“You’re my guardian angel now, so that makes sense.” Dean murmured, he carefully picked his coffee mug back up. Castiel looked conflicted, as if the information he was trying to share was hard for him to bear.

“Your first night home,” Castiel started with a frown, “you had a bad dream. I… I could sense it, Dean.” Castiel told him, his eyes not quite meeting Dean’s.

“Sense it?” Dean asked quietly. He felt uneasy, but he couldn’t quite understand why.

“Yes, sense it. I could feel your… discomfort.” Castiel answered, he took a drawn out drink of his coffee. “You and I are connected in a very literal sense.” Dean stared at the angel, gobsmacked, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, and absolutely mind boggled. Castiel turned white as a ghost, to red, to a soft shade of pink. His blue eyes burned into what might have been Dean’s chest as he refused to make actual eye contact.

“What do you…” Dean trailed off, it made sense to him. The empty feeling in his chest, the hollow pain like part of him was missing. It was because of his ‘profound bond’ with Castiel. The two of them were connected on a spiritual, Heavenly, mental level. There was some sort of Heavenly binding wrapped around Dean’s very soul, cemented in angelic Grace and pulling him toward Castiel. It explained the sudden feelings that Dean would get, the ones that didn’t feel quite like his own. He too was sensing Castiel.

 

“Dean, I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Castiel told him, his face drooped with sadness. “I wasn’t even entirely sure until I spoke with Balthazar.” Dean looked at the Fallen angel, his guardian angel. He wasn’t mad, he didn’t have a reason to be mad. He felt a pain in his chest like grief and regret, a feeling that he now understood wasn’t his own.

“Cas, slow down.” Dean said with a forcefully light laugh. Castiel closed his mouth, his wings folding in tight, feathers lying flat, blue eyes locking onto Dean’s green.

“If you are angry with me, I understand.” Castiel said quietly and Dean could feel the apology in his words. All these feelings, all of it made more sense now. His imaginary need to be near Castiel made so much sense. It made sense but Dean knew in the very depths of his being that he would’ve felt the need even without their ‘profound bond’.

“No, I’m not angry.” Dean said, he took a big-probably too big-gulp of his coffee. He set his mug down and cleared his throat. “I don’t think I’m angry, at least.” He mumbled, he ran a hand across his face. “Cas, how much of me do you… feel?” Dean asked and boy was he impressed at himself for asking, but also more than ashamed.

Castiel stared at Dean silently for enough time that Dean thought he was going to go bald. Castiel finished his cup of coffee and stretched his wings nonchalantly, if one could call a stretch that made wings shake nonchalant. Dean felt a bubble of anger, not quite anger but flustered frustration forming in his chest.

 

“Castiel!” Dean said and his voice was a bit louder than he intended. The Fallen angel snapped his eyes back on Dean and turned a shade of pink Dean would consider rose gold.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Castiel said bashfully. He shifted awkwardly on his feet, “I realize I should have told you sooner.”

“Cas, I’m not mad.” Dean told him again and he bravely reached out his right hand to touch Castiel’s arm. Damn, his forearm was muscular. Muscles and lithe, it looked lean and thin but it was definitely hiding a layer of muscle that could probably lift a freight train with ease. Castiel took a deep breath, a glance at Dean’s hand on his arm, and then at his face.

“I did not mean for this.” Castiel murmured, “I only meant to protect you.” the expression on his face just hurt Dean to his very core. The angel Fell for him and accidentally connected their souls or whatever, how could he possibly be mad? Dean set his empty mug down and took a deep breath.

Dean’s green eyes grazed over Castiel’s face. His sharp cheekbones, angular nose, square jaw, the stubble that never seemed to need tending to. Blue eyes, so blue they made the oceans look dirty. So blue the sky was put to shame. So expressive it made Sam’s puppy dog eyes whimper. Wings, blacker than night and trembling with uncertainty. Endearing uncertainty.

“If you think I’m mad or upset, you’re wrong.” Dean finally managed to say. “Cas, I like having you here. Profound bond or not.” Dean told him sternly because he sure as Hell meant it.

“I’m not trying to manipulate you… I’m not trying to be like Raphael.” Castiel started rambling. Dean could see the spiral before it even began twisting.

“Cas.” Dean said, he pushed himself away from the counter and walked around. His right hand gripped Castiel’s left shoulder. He didn’t even realize he was mimicking the mark on his own shoulder.

“Dean?” Castiel replied quietly. His voice was so quiet, so diluted, that Dean realized it didn’t have a single beat of the power he knew Castiel commanded within him.

“I’m not mad. I’m not upset.” Dean repeated with as much intensity as he could. Blue eyes burned into green, worriedly hitting a titanium wall. “Castiel, the moment I met you… It’s like… it was magical.” Dean said awkwardly, but finally saying it aloud. He shifted back on his heels and rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably with his brace. Was he really about to do this? Confess his most likely irrational feelings?

Castiel looked at Dean, his expression guilty and also curious. Innocent and willing to learn. Dean could tell then and there that Castiel didn’t mean to leave the mark on him, he didn’t mean to leave a piece of his Grace within him. Castiel was just as innocent as Dean was.

“Since you’ve been back… every time I go somewhere that you’re not, it’s like a piece of me is missing.” Dean told him after a moment more of consideration. Castiel tilted his head a little. “It’s obviously not my imagination either.” He added with a faint smile and shrug.

“I’ve felt it too.” Castiel said quietly, eyes lowered. Dean gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, Castiel took a sharp breath inward. “I fear I am the reason that Heaven is in disarray.” He murmured, eyes hesitantly looking to Dean.

“Because of this?” Dean questioned.

“Yes, because of this. There has never been a human with angelic Grace before.”

 

“Is it going to kill me?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Is it why my ribs are practically healed?”

“I believe so. You are indeed healing at an extraordinary rate.”

“Is it going to hurt you?” Dean asked and Castiel looked at him hard. Dean pressed his lips together, his hand falling from Castiel’s shoulder. “Cas,” he said quietly, worriedly.

“Not that I’m aware of.” Castiel answered after a moment, “I cannot know for sure.”

“Can you just… take it back?” Dean asked, he looked down at his chest. He could feel a small roiling bit of anger forming in his chest and it certainly wasn’t coming from him. Castiel frowned at him, shaking his head. “You don’t want to, either.” Dean whispered, understanding the anger from Castiel.