#tenyearsofcastiel

“Humans have a high regard for their 'dress code', I believe it is called,” provides Hannah helpfully.

Even without seeing it, the whole flock that stands in a circle around the entrance of the Bunker can feel Balthazar's eye-roll as a wave rolling through their graces. “Someone who thinks wearing those ridiculous plaid scraps of clothing is à la mode has no business judging other people's fashion senses, trust me, darling.”

Anna rounds on him. “And you,” she says, pointing an almost accusing finger at him. “Behave. No snide remarks towards Dean. In fact,” she considers, face turning oddly green around the edges as she visualises the multitude of Balthazar's possible social transgressions. “Don't talk to Dean at all. Find an unobtrusive corner and when approached talk about... wine. Yes, that might be for the best.”

“I'll just talk about fighting techniques and military strategy,” Inias practically bounces with excitement at the prospect of acquainting himself with these humans. “They are all hunters, right? They'll love the subject of war.”

Anna looks around the group one last time and asks if everyone's ready before she presses the door bell. After just a few seconds, the door opens and Castiel greets them with a mild smile and excitedly buzzing grace. “You're here!” he says, and then, more subdued, “Thank you for coming. I hope you found the way without complications.”

“Hello, Castiel!” greets Samandriel. He'd only ever caught glimpses of The Rebellious One, and it is an honor to be graced with his presence. “Your trench coat is magnificent,” he says, and judging by the warning squint Anna sends his way and Balthazars gleeful amusement he must have promptly made a fool of himself.

But Castiel doesn't seem to notice. “Thank you. I wear it every day.”

Behind his back, Samandriel hears Balthazar murmur something that sounds like “This promises to be very entertaining.”

At this very moment, another figure joins them at Castiel's side, rubbing a hand up and down his back in a manner that seems like it’s a familiar gesture between them. Castiel leans into the touch and smiles up at Dean Winchester.

“Hey, so, glad to have you here and all that,” Dean greets them half-heartedly, but Samandriel beams right over his lack of courtesy and sticks out his laden arms towards him.

“We bear gifts for our hosts!”

Reluctantly, like he suspects the carton to hold a bomb instead of a dessert native to human cuisine, he accepts the present. “It's pie!” Samandriel encourages, until Dean finally opens the lid.

He observes the contents, and then a judgmental look that could rival Archangel Raphael's (may he rest for their peace) hits Samandriel from under long lashes. “That's not pie,” Dean corrects drily. “That's cake.”

Samandriel shifts again, nervous about having misstepped. “I-,” he stammers. “Aren't those... the same?”

A heavy silence follows, so charged that it reminds him of the calm of the gathering of Grace before a smiting. Then: “They're not the same!”

“Dean.” Castiel intervenes by laying a hand on top of Dean's shoulder, and the effect is instant. Dean puts on a more relaxed posture and plasters on a smile.

“Thanks for the... cake. Can I offer you some of it? Maybe,” he shrugs a shoulder. “All of it?”

Before Samandriel can respond, Anna pushes her way past him into the Bunker, halting just in front of the hosts. “That would be most gracious of you, thanks.” With another warning glare towards the group of angels, she leads the way to the center of Castiel's birthday party.

Inside, there are people Samandriel has heard of from the Gospels. Sam Winchester may be the most prominent of them, but there's also Claire Novak of the bloodline of Castiel's vessels, and the prophet Kevin Tran as well as who appears to be his mother looking askance at the angels. The woman beside Sam Winchester is a Man of Letter legacy and huntress with the name Eileen Leahy, as she tells them. Two other women surprise Samandriel by throwing their arms around him in greeting, appearing to prefer a much less formal greeting ritual than the rest of the hunters. The one with the red hair, Samandriel learns, rules over a land called Moondoor, and the other one introduces herself as Donna, a sheriff of some American state that is not Kansas, where they’re currently located.

Human hunters are not the only guests on this party, however. There's a gruff looking vampire who grunts out he's “Benny” and then disappears to whisper something into Dean's ears, a young psychic by the name of Patience and an anxious looking dreamwalker who never leaves Claire Novak's side for too long.

In the dark haired young girl who laughs about something the other sheriff, Jody Mills, is saying, Samandriel can sense faint traces of vampirism. He's curious about the story she could tell, but hesitates to approach.

“Samandriel!” Castiel's voice catches him unaware and he whirls around. His little heart beats against the fragile ribcage of his borrowed body. Castiel is carrying a plate with a slice of the cake he brought and offers it to Samandriel. “Sorry, I should have told you. Dean prefers pie. But I personally find your cake most excellent. Can I ask, where did you buy it?”

“I made it myself!” Samandriel says, his wings spreading proudly over his head in the etheric plane.

Castiel seems impressed indeed, just as Samandriel had hoped. “Good work,” he praises and Samandriel feels as if the skin on his vessel's face heats up.

When Dean again steps up next to Castiel, he supposes his chance has come. He'll befriend the new family of The Rebellious One. “What did you think about the movie Tombstone?” he asks, apropos of nothing. Anna had briefed them about social etiquette, but her lecture about How To Start A Conversation had seemed so unnecessary complicated to him back then.

Dean raises an eyebrow his way. “You've watched Tombstone?”

In reality, Samandriel has only read the synopsis on the back of this flat visual device humans use to play back their animated pictures, but he nods eagerly.

“Well, it's one of my favourite movies. What was you favourite scene?”

And that question makes Samandriel's mind go blank. “Uhhhm,” he stumbles through an answer that won't come, can't come because he can't have a favourite scene of something he has never watched. “When they... engraved... the tombstone?” He tries, thinking he can't be too far off when the title already features a tombstone.

One side of Dean's mouth twitch, and he opens it to keep their conversation going, but before he can do so, Castiel takes his hand and moves to pull him away from the little circle they’ve formed. “Can I speak to you for a minute, Dean? Sorry to leave you, Samandriel, if you would join Charlie over there, I believe she wanted to show you how the Google worked.”

And with that, they're gone. Samandriel turns his attention to the young woman who grins and waves him over with a gesture of her hand.

***

“Why are you mad at me? It's your angel friends who're screwing up your birthday party! You should be yelling at them!”

Dean storms through the door to their bedroom, directly followed by Cas who closes the door to give them even more privacy.

“They're not the problem, Dean. You've been dismissive, contrary, and downright rude to them when all they've been doing is try to fit in. You completely thwarted Inias' and Samandriel's attempts at conversation!”

Dean rolls his eyes. “If you can call that a conversation...”

“When Inias started his retelling of angelic warfare you claimed such conversation topics were banned in the Bunker. That was an outright lie, there's almost nothing you like talking about more than beating up enemies!”

“Not with them, I don't.”

With a sigh, Dean lets himself flop onto their bed. The springs squeak but there's another noise accompanying it that has nothing to do with old furniture. He exchanges a look with Cas, and notices he's already drawn his angel blade. With Cas as rear cover, he jumps off the mattress and peeks under the bed.

Three pairs of blue eyes are blinking back at them.

“Surprise?” Balthazar tries.

*

“In my defense, I was just trying to keep them in check,” says Anna, as Cas drags them all back to the war room. He can't believe he'd been so wrong about his brothers and sisters. Well, again.

“I was trying to investigate your recreational interests to find a common ground for social bonding,” defends Inias, facial expression distorted into a sad frown.

“You mean you were spying on us,” barks Dean. He turns around to confront Balthazar. “And what's your excuse?”

Balthazar shrugs, not looking guilty at all. “Just wanted to raid your secret alcohol stash.”

While Dean's still trying to put his indignation into words that aren't stammers, Anna turns to Cas. “I'm sorry, Cas. I tried to hold them back.”

Castiel touches her forearm gently. “Don't blame yourself, Anna. I should've known this was a bad idea.” He turns towards the rest of their guests. Despite the fact that this 'birthday party' had not been a wish of his – Sam and Dean had insisted, not taking no, or 'I'm an angel, I don't have a birthday' for an answer – he feels dejected about the less than favorable turn of events.

“Maybe,” he starts, shoulders slumping with defeat. “Maybe it's best if you go. All of you.” He gestures to the angels, making sure they know he's addressing them and only them.

Anna nods at him sadly but understandingly. She moves to usher the ragtag group of angels towards the door.

But: “Wait!”

The sudden protest surprises both Cas and the angels. And most of all, probably, the speaker himself: Dean's scratching at his neck in a manner Cas knows indicates his nervousness.

“I mean – Cas, you don't have to,” he sighs, looking a bit out of place in this strange circumstance where he finds himself defending the angels of all people. “They meant well, don't punish them on my account.”

“Dean, it's not-”

“I was giving 'em a hard time, Cas, you were right,” he looks sheepishly at Cas. “I'm just wary whenever angels are in the picture, I can't help it. You've been hurt so many times, and I can't stand watching you go through this every time. But these guys,” he gestures to Anna and Samandriel, and even Balthazar, “they're good people, Cas, and you wanted them here and I shouldn't have been such a... jerk,” he laughs dryly. “It's your party and you should enjoy it with everyone you love, and if that includes those no-good, pain-in-the-ass angels, then who am I to stand in the way. You deserve it, man.”

Castiel takes a look around, notes the look of hope on Samandriel and Inias' faces, watches Rachel's hard frown melting away in the face of Donna's winning enthusiasm, the quiet curiosity with which Hannah pokes at a bagel on her plate, and finally, catches Balthazar's encouraging grin.

They are good people, he thinks. Dean's right, he shouldn't throw that away because of a minor faux-pas. He turns to Dean again, leans forward to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Dean.” For indulging him. For trying to protect him even when the situation doesn't necessarily warrant it.

And also, “No one's ever expended such an effort for me.” He gestures around at the party, at all the people who've shown up to celebrate his existence. His grace beats a happy rhythm against his ribcage.

Dean smiles back at him.

“Well, it's about time,” comments Balthazar, the softness in his eyes betraying his posed nonchalance as he nips at his newly snatched wine glass.

Castiel bumps his shoulder against him in a brotherly affection that is new to him. He decides he likes it. “Thank you, too,” he says. He takes in the mix of bright souls and pulsing graces, and thinks that what they've created today, the merging of his two worlds, might indeed work, could even be something good, if they'll let it.