#creature!cas

Cas’s large crow wings are folded up neatly against his back, though they twitch a little when he reaches over for something on the counter. He shakes some salt into a pan, that’s clearly got something burning in there, and the thick muscles surrounding his shoulder blades contract and ripple with the movement. Dean has seen and felt the extra muscles there before, but it’s like he’s newly fascinated by it all every time he sees it. Even from across the kitchen it’s also easy to see where the black feathers of the wings get smaller and smaller until they merge with flesh and just a few tiny feathers break through skin, like a collection of strange prickly black freckles.

Finally, Dean fully enters the kitchen and says, laughter in his voice, “Jesus, Cas, you trying to burn down the cabin?”

Cas’s wings flare in surprise as he whips around at the stove, spatula in hand, grease and soot smudged across his cheek. His hair is sticking up in nearly every direction on one side, while completely flat on the other, like he literally just got out of bed and stumbled down here to cook. Maybe he did. His broad chest and shoulders are also now fully on display, alongside his flared wings, and he should not be able to look both this adorable and badass at the same time.

There’s a pile of black toast, some extremely crispy bacon slices, and a few lumps of mystery goo, all strewn across the counter next to him. A bowl nearby has what looks like an attempt at pancake batter inside, but the spoon is standing straight up in the middle of it, so the consistency seems questionable.

“Dean,” Cas says, though it’s more an exhale of relief than anything. “I tried to cook you something. It’s not going well.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean looks around at the carnage. When Castiel turns to follow his gaze, bits of dried blood flake away from his skin. “Nice work,” Dean finally says. Resentment clings so heavily to his voice that it sounds like it physically pains him to give the compliment. “I would’ve been toast if you hadn’t come along.” His assessment of the situation is correct, but Castiel feigns modesty. “I just helped.” Dean’s narrowed eyes scream suspicion, but, apart from avoiding hubris, Castiel doesn’t want to call too much attention to himself. He doesn’t want Dean wondering just how he was able to so easily take out an entire nest of vampires. That would lead to several awkward questions and Castiel having to make several difficult decisions that he would rather avoid. “I’m Dean Winchester,” Dean finally says, after a short pause. He raises his eyebrows, waiting for Castiel’s response. Castiel casts through his mind, now gone infuriatingly blank. Humans have surnames; why can’t he think of any of them? Thousands of names run through Castiel’s mind (Smith? Is anyone unironically named Smith in this century?), but he finally lands on the name of a man he met several years ago. Shy, mid-western boy looking to break out of his shell. In a twist of coincidence, his physical appearance was fairly close to Castiel’s, which convinces him. “Castiel Novak,” he says. The name almost feels right. “Well,” Dean says, tucking his hands in his pockets and looking around the warehouse, “what should we do about this?” Castiel looks at Dean, one eyebrow creeping up his forehead. Is Dean actually asking his opinion? It’s then that Castiel realizes what Dean wants. He feels stupid that he didn’t before. The clothes should have been a dead giveaway. Dean and Castiel are dressed almost identically. Castiel's leather jacket is the only real difference between them. And Castiel would have to be blind to miss the light in Dean’s eyes when he saw the machete in Castiel’s hand. The full width and breadth of Dean’s desires might be a mystery, but Castiel knows at least one thing Dean wants. He wants a partner.

The being tilted his head; he looked confused, almost as though he’d never been asked before. “Most people refer to me as some sort of fae. It’s not exactly right, but it’s close enough; and I like that it puts me in a group with other magical creatures.”

Dean stifled a laugh. “No, I mean—” He stopped and shook his head. All right, fae it was then. If the guy didn’t want to tell Dean his name, that was his business. Besides, Dean knew that for some creatures, having someone’s name was associated with having a certain amount of power over them. Dean didn’t want the guy to think he was trying to get one up on him.

Before Dean could explain as much, though, the fae was gone.

The Healer

It was long enough before the fourth time that Dean had started to wonder if he would ever see the strange not-really-a-fae-but-call-me-fae again. The strange fae seemed so ethereal, intangible; Dean wondered how someone like him even really existed on the same plane of reality that Dean did, or even if he had perhaps imagined the whole thing.

But one day, Dean was in the woods—hurt, shaking, with venom slowly working its way through him, and alone. At least, he’d thought he was alone; but as he crumpled to the soft leaf-covered dirt and rolled to look up at the blurry canopy, a blue that didn’t belong to the sky also filled his vision. He felt a warm hand grip his shoulder, and relief flooded through him.

Dean gasped, blinking up at blue eyes and a mess of dark hair as his vision cleared. “You can touch me,” he breathed.

The fae frowned a little. “I’m sorry. Perhaps I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to be presumptuous…”

Dean shook his head and reached up to run his fingers along the most beautiful face he’d ever seen. “No, I just meant...you’re real.”

The fae’s frown deepened. “Of course I’m real.”

Dean smiled lazily. 

If asked, he would forever blame what came out next on the venom still being in his system. It wasn’t, but he’d blame it anyway, because what he had meant to say was thanks for the help, but what actually came out was, “You’re too beautiful to be real.”

The eyes above Dean widened, and the fae stared at Dean openly before jolting back as though he’d been burned.

Dean shook his head and sat up, but the fae was already gone. He groaned, dropped his head in his hands, and sighed. “Way to go, Winchester…”

The Trap

It was years before the fifth time. 

Dean had begun to wonder again if he’d imagined the strange fae...but the feeling of warm skin under Dean’s fingertips, the rush of heat and relief that had flowed into Dean from where the fae had gripped his shoulder...those things were real. 

Occasionally, Dean thought he saw something in his periphery—a glimpse of dark hair or an outline that didn’t seem to belong—but if the fae truly was there, he never revealed himself. 

From time to time, though, there would be a basket of fruit outside Dean’s door when he came out in the morning. At first, (even though no one would claim doing it), Dean had assumed it was some of his neighbors or friends from the village dropping off food to share. After all, Dean did the same for them with his honey. However, when he began waking up to flowers on his bedside table, he knew it wasn’t the neighbors. 

He knew these things should have made him feel uncomfortable, invaded. It should have been weird to him to feel so watched.

It didn’t.

It made him smile. It made him want more. It made Dean want to see the fae, maybe catch him in the act one day. And so if Dean also spent more and more time outside these days, that was nobody’s business but his own. He’d always liked the outdoors anyway. He just...stayed out a little more now. Nobody needed to know that he was always hoping for another glimpse.

Still, he felt stupid. He felt stupid and guilty for losing himself so badly the last time he’d seen the fae that he’d apparently freaked him out enough to make him run away, calling him beautiful and touching him, and all this after trying to talk a name out of him the time before, when he knew that among the fae names could have so much power.

No wonder the guy ran away, and no wonder Dean was being avoided. The guy probably thought Dean was some freak trying to collect him or something. After all, some would; there were so many who would do him harm or try to  claim him like a prize. Dean wished the fae would give him a chance to set it right, prove that he wasn’t up to anything ill-intentioned.

One day in the woods, Dean heard a loud metallic clank, followed by a sharp cry, and he ran towards the source. As he got closer, he thought he heard some shuffling; but before he could pinpoint it, the sounds stopped.

“Hey,” Dean called, looking around. There was nothing to prove it, but he just had a feeling. “It’s you, isn’t it?” he whispered. He spun in circles, trying to catch a glimpse, to figure out where the sound had come from. “Come on, man. I’m not gonna try anything, I promise. Just...please, come out.”

He heard a rustling sound mixed with muffled grunts from the underbrush to his left and turned towards them. There was a heavy sigh followed by some more shuffling and a frustrated groan. Then, finally… 

“I’m here.”

That voice...the things it did to Dean were worse than he’d remembered. 

Dammit, Dean, get a hold of yourself. Don’t scare him off again like last time.

Dean cautiously moved towards the sound of it. Soon, he saw the fae sitting amidst a bramble of thorns. Dean’s eyes roamed curiously until they landed on where the guy’s leg was caught in what looked to be some sort of bear trap. “Fuck…” he breathed.

The fae grimaced. “Indeed.” He looked bitterly up at Dean. “Is this yours?” he asked, gesturing at the trap.

Dean clenched his fists. “Hell no. I don’t use that shit; and if I did, it’d be around my house as some sort of protection or something, not out here in the middle of the woods to make something suffer for no goddamn reason.”

The fae measured Dean for a moment; then, his hard stare began to soften. “I had hoped not.” He looked back down at his leg. “Something’s...not right about it. I—I seem to be unable to remove it.”

Dean nodded. “Okay. Um, do you want—can I help?”

The fae took a deep breath and nodded.

Dean sighed. “Awesome. Hang tight then. Lemme just…” He looked at the mass of vines and underbrush surrounding his mysterious friend. Dean bent down, prepared to fight his way through them; but as he reached his hand out, the fae simply waved a hand, and the vines parted. Dean stared in wonder as they slowly retreated. He looked up curiously. 

The fae just shrugged.

Dean moved forward to kneel in front of him, looking down at the injured leg and suppressing a shudder. Now that he was close, he could see that what he’d assumed was simply a bear trap had been spelled to catch other things. It had various types of sigils and spellwork engraved all over it. 

Dean grit his teeth. He never understood why people couldn’t just leave stuff alone. Sure, a lot of fae were hostile (Dean himself had been in more than a few fights with some), but it was no wonder when some humans had the tendency to mark anything non-human as either food or enemy. Besides, every single race had its assholes. Dean sure knew that humans certainly had their fair share.

“I’m Dean, by the way,” he offered as he inspected the trap. 

“Dean…” The sound slid down Dean’s spine.

Dean’s eyes flicked up to the fae’s face as he seemed to roll the name on his tongue, mulling it over. Dean would be lying if he said he didn’t like the way it sounded in his mouth.

“Hello, Dean.” He smiled. “I’m Castiel.”

Dean paused and looked back up. “Castiel?”

The fae nodded. 

“Huh...I didn’t expect you to give me a name.”

“I didn’t. It’s still mine, but you’re welcome to call me by it.”

Dean chuckled. “No, I mean...I didn’t expect you to tell me what it was.”

Castiel tilted his head. “Why would I not tell you my name?”

“Well, because—ah, never mind.” 

He refocused his attention on Castiel’s leg. At least the trap didn’t seem to have any physical enhancements to go with the spellwork, so Dean should be able to pry it off easily enough. It was gonna suck, though. “This is gonna hurt like a bitch,” he said, looking up at Castiel. “You ready?”

Castiel set his jaw and nodded.

Dean shifted into a low crouch. He used his foot to apply pressure to the spring mechanism while prying the jaws apart with his hands. 

Castiel grunted a little as the teeth pulled from his flesh but otherwise made no comment. As soon as his leg was free, he lifted it from the trap and scrambled back. He tried to get up but stumbled.

Dean hurriedly reached out to catch him. “Woah! Hey, just hang on a minute, huh?”

Castiel scowled at him indignantly.

Dean sighed. “Look, I know you’re eager to go, but just...let me help you with that leg. It’s bleeding bad, and may even be broken for all we know. I’ve got some bandages and stuff at the house. So, let me help you clean it up. Then, you can disappear off to wherever it is you go, and you don’t have to see me again if that’s what you want. Okay?” Dean let go of Castiel carefully but kept his hands hovering nearby, in case Castiel wasn’t as steady as his expression would have Dean believe. “Just...let me help you,” Dean begged.

Castiel looked down. “That’s not what I want.”

Dean’s heart sank. He tried to ignore it. He gripped the fabric at his left shoulder and tore down his sleeve. “Well, then at least lemme try to stop the bleeding before you go.”

Castiel’s brows drew together for a moment before relaxing back out. He shook his head. “No. What I mean is...not seeing you again—it’s not what I want.”

“You...oh.”

“And also…” Castiel wobbled a little as he stared up at Dean, “it does seem as though I could use your assistance.” His eyes fluttered closed, and he fell forward into Dean’s arms.

(Part 2 is here) (Part 3 is here) (Part 4 is here) (Part 5 is here)