#asexualcas

It’s no easy task.

Dean starts lingering every time he heads over to the guy’s apartment, trying to get a foot in through the door (while being acutely aware of the fact that the dude’s been sending him death threats for two whole weeks now).

“Did it—did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” Dean mumbles the first time he manages to get a pick-up line out of his mouth. Something about that must intrigue Castiel because he nods slowly.

“Yes, I remember the knife that stabbed me when—”

But on the topic of blades and piercing flesh, Dean reels with horror and hastily makes an excuse to get out of there.

.

The next time that Dean tries to woo his murderous neighbour, he doesn’t use a pick-up line. Instead, he hopes that some intimate touches might do the trick to calm the blood lust within Castiel.

When he hands over death threat no. 18—a loaded Colt, with a note reminding him that any creature in the universe can be killed with it—Dean tries his best to make some contact. He lets his fingers drag along Castiel’s wrist. He puts his hand on his assassin neighbour’s shoulder, holds him there and looks him in the eyes with what he hopes is a loving expression. Maybe it works a little because Castiel gazes back at him softly, and for the first time, he says, “Dean,” in a voice that seems a little desperate, a little wanting.

“I’m here,” Dean says, just as gentle, and he’s confused—suddenly, he’s not sure who he is anymore.

But then Castiel groans and reality comes crashing back.

“Here?” Castiel says and he looks practically tortured. “Purgatory. Hell. It seems that all of these evil places where blood is shed, it is the only place that you and I will be together.”

And upon hearing promises of sending Dean to hell, Dean’s heartbeat thuds in his ears. Dean’s frightened out of his wits. Dean gives a strained smile, nods vigorously as if he’s totally down with his neighbour’s obsession with Satan and death, and then takes one step backwards before he chickens out and runs away.

.

He’s so terrified that he doesn’t go back to Castiel’s apartment for days.

He hides. He calls in sick for work so that he doesn’t have to leave the safety of his home (he’s taking no chances!), and he curls up into bed with ice cream and wine and rewatches Legally Blonde for days. All the while, Castiel’s aggressive packages don’t stop, although they start getting really weird, enclosed with things that are uncool like pictures of Impalas, and some dude named Sam Winchester. There are even manuals on how to get out of something called a “djinn dream” when you’re really in some major denial.  

The last death threat that he receives is a mixtape, and Dean doesn’t listen to it for fear that it’ll contain satanic chanting or, even worse, a back-mask recording of Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven, which Dean had listened to once and…well, never again. Led Zeppelin was clearly a band for devil worshippers, Dean reasoned, and nobody could possibly ever like them.

But after the mixtape, the death threats stop.

For thirteen days, there are no more letters.

And then, the last one comes.

.

I’ve tried everything, Dean. When we found that the djinn’s hold was too strong, Sam said that telling you that I love you would work. That he believed that you loved me. So I entered your mind and courted you. I tried every sort of flirtation that I could think of.

But nothing’s worked. Because what I fear is true.

Sam was wrong.

You don’t love me. Not like that. Not in the way that I do. You ran from me whenever you could and now I realize that my presence has made you uncomfortable all these years.

So I’m sorry. I’m sending you one last letter.

Please remember. Please come home. I promise I’ll leave and you can live the life that you’ve always wanted without me.

Cas.

.

Dean jolts awake.

Sam’s there. And Cas. Both by his side.

Cas’ shoulders slump. He doesn’t look at Dean. But he says quietly, “I’ll be gone by morning light.”

.

“You asshole!”

Dean ought to be weak after being drained of blood by the djinn but there’s only energy coursing through him. He slams Cas up against the wall. He presses their foreheads together, bumps their noses, gasps and gasps as if he needs air, but he doesn’t—he closes the gap between their open mouths and kisses him instead.

“I love you,” Dean says every time that they pull apart. “You dumbass, I need you with me at every morning light.”

.

Valentine’s Day rolls around and Cas isn’t any better at flirting. He sends Dean a letter with a ring enclosed inside, and Dean’s not afraid when he reads what appears to be another death threat where Cas promises that the circular band will squeeze Dean’s finger as if in a chokehold to remind him of his eternal bondage to Cas until death do us part (they’re getting married).

Instead, Dean slips the ring on and gives him a wedding band of his own, kissing every one of Cas’ fingers even as Cas gravely tells him that there’s no escape now.

"What do you want?" Cas asks. He weighs his options. If he can get Micheal talking, perhaps he'll buy himself enough time to escape the room. His own seraph's blade will do nothing against an archangel and Sam had hidden Gabriel's blade elsewhere in the bunker. Castiel knows he's not capable of taking down Micheal on his own, especially while trying to keep Dean alive in the process.

Micheal, he's sure, has no such compunction about keeping Cas alive.

"I believe that's my line," Micheal says. He steps closer, sizing Cas up. "But with you... I don't even need to ask."

"What do you mean?" Cas asks, tensing as Micheal draws even closer.

"I've heard a lot about you, Castiel," Micheal says. "What few angels this world has left... they fear you."

Cas flinches, guilt and sorrow rising like bile in his throat.

"The demons, too," Micheal continues. "The monsters... everyone knows about the 'guardian angel' on the Winchesters' shoulders."

"Make your point," Cas snaps. He knows his own, bloody history. He doesn't need a lesson in it. Micheal smiles.

"Your Micheal was weak. He only cared about defeating his Lucifer and was content to let this world rot," Micheal says. "He's not known to the creatures of this world the way I made myself known to mine. The sound of my name made grown men weep, and yet here... I am little more than a boogeyman."

"What does that have to do with me?" Cas asks, though deep in the pit of his stomach, he knows.

"You are known to them," Micheal says. "'Micheal' may be a distant concept, but Castiel is a known threat."

"You want me to join you," Cas says, disbeliving.

"Yes," Micheal says. Cas bristles.

"Why would I-" he starts, but Micheal interrupts.

"I can give you what you want."

Cas pauses. He looks at Micheal with narrowed eyes.

"Oh really?" he asks flatly. "And what is it that I want? My wings? Heaven to be restored? Peace on Earth?"

Micheal waves a hand dismissively.

"No, I mean what you really want," Micheal says. He spreads his arms in a welcoming manner. "I can give you Dean."

"You'll let him go?" Cas asks, stunned. And, for a brief moment, he considers it. Micheal chuckles.

"No, unfortunately I still require this vessel," he says. He studies Castiel for a moment. "But I can give you everything else."

"What?" Cas asks. Micheal moves closer still, now well within Cas's personal space, but Cas doesn't move back. He feels like a mouse cornered by the serpent; one move, one sign of weakness, and the viper will strike.

"I could kiss you," Micheal offers. He reaches out a hand and strokes Castiel's cheek gently. "I could touch you the way you wish he would. I could make him yours and you wouldn't even know the difference."

As if to demonstrate, Micheal's posture suddenly relaxes. His expression turns warm and fond and familiar and Cas's heart leaps in response.

"Cas," Dean says, bringing his other hand up to cup Cas's cheek. Dean leans in and, Father help him, but Cas doesn't move.

Dean leans his forehead against Castiel's, mouths an inch apart, the air heated between them.

"Stay with me?" Dean asks. "I'll make it good for you, Cas, I'll make it so good... Just say yes."

Cas comes back to himself. With a shameful amount of effort, he wrenches himself away.

"Let him go, Micheal," Cas says, voice breaking. Quick as a flash, the mask drops and all the warmth in Micheal's expression vanishes.

"Very well," he says. He cocks his head. "The offer is open, should you reconsider. But I am not known for my patience."

Abruptly, Micheal vanishes, leaving only the sound of fluttering wings in his wake. Cas looks around his room, heartsick and aching.

He touches a hand to his cheek. The skin is unbroken now, healed by the faintest touch of Micheal's Grace.