#witch!dean

It’s not forbidden persay, shacking up with your familiar, but it is the kind of weird that gets you talked about at parties. It’s taboo enough that only the fringe elements of the community will even entertain the notion, and then in whispers and titters. Kind of like having people figure out that you like weird kinky sex stuff. There’s no law against it, but they sure as hell look at you differently. 

Dean’s not sure if he’s ready for that. And he’s damn sure not going to make a move until he’s sure that Cas is interested. And as for that…Dean has no idea. They may share a bond, but the bond doesn’t stretch to their every thought, which means that they can hide things from each other. And Cas can be closed off when he wants to be, which makes him almost impossible to read. 

So Dean grits his teeth, keeps running his shop, and tries not to have a coronary every time he goes to sleep with Cas in his cat form at the foot of his bed and wakes up with Cas in human form snuggled up next to him (that probably means something, right? What? What does it mean?). 

And then there are the times that he tries not to scream, like right now, when he poses another question to Cas, and the irritated scrabbling at the back of his mind gets louder. Cas pins him with a long look before he deliberately flattens his ears to his skull. A second later, he lifts up his lips to reveal two delicately pointed canines and hisses softly.

“Jesus, it was a fucking accident,” Dean mutters, turning away from Cas. See if two can play that game. He’s interrupted from his brief pity party by the sudden absence of aggravation from Cas. Instead, it’s replaced by intent focus, that steel-trap mind narrowing its sight until it finds a single focal point. 

Forewarned, Dean is facing the door, magic already sparking at his fingertips, when it opens and Crowley comes through. 

Crowley, who’s been after him for months to join the coven he keeps under his thumb. Crowley, who trades and barters in souls instead of money. Crowley, whose eyes flash red as he neatly sidesteps the Devil’s Trap Dean keeps hidden underneath the rug. 

A low growl rumbles from Cas’ chest as he stalks over to Dean. It never ceases; Dean can feel it shaking through his body as Cas presses against his elbow. Their bond tightens and Dean feels the additional surge of magic, the familiar supporting his witch and boosting his powers. The magic surges through Dean, the purest drug he’ll ever need, and that, combined with the presence of Cas at his side, gives Dean enough fortitude to look at Crowley and snarl “Get the fuck out.” 

Crowley pretends to be hurt. “Such a cold welcome Squirrel. And after everything I’ve done for you.” 

Dean forces a brittle laugh. “You? You’ve never done shit for me, except try to get me in your pocket from Day 1. I told you then and I’m telling you now–I’m not for sale.” Next to him, Castiel hisses in punctuation, lips curling back to reveal his bared teeth. Without looking, Dean reaches down and settles his hand on top of Cas. He feels the fur standing on end, the tension running taut through every inch of Cas’ frame. 

Crowley flicks a dismissive eye towards Castiel. “Can it pussycat,” he sneers, before he turns back to Dean, ignoring how Castiel’s growl rises in pitch. His eyes glow red in warning. “Last chance Winchester. Take the deal before something goes wrong.” 

Dean doesn’t even need to consider. “How about you go to hell?” 

He senses Crowley moving before he does, but it’s Cas who acts. With an inhuman screech, he launches himself from the counter straight at Crowley, claws outstretched. 

A flick of Crowley’s fingers sends Cas flying across the room, his small body hitting the shelves. Cas’ high, anguished scream, somewhere in between a human and cat cry, strikes straight at Dean’s heart. 

Magic sparks at his fingertips and this time it’s his turn to flick his fingers. He’s never been adept at nonverbal magic, but it turns out that with rage clouding his vision, he’s amazing at it. It doesn’t feel like it takes any effort at all for him to hold Crowley stationary, hand outstretched. No matter how much Crowley struggles, he can’t break free. 

Dean chances a glance to the other side of the room. His chest clenches in worry when he catches sight of Cas’ human frame, sprawled unmoving on the floor, back to him. For Cas to lose control of his form–Dean turns back to Crowley. For the first time, the demon’s face shows fear. 

“You head back to that pit of brimstone you crawled out of,” Dean snarls. The urge to hurt, to rend rises in him, dark and ugly–But then he feels, muted but still blessedly present, the calm pulse of Castiel in the back of his mind. It soothes the violence in Dean, long enough for him to look at Crowley and enunciate every word, just so that there’s no misunderstanding. “If I ever see you in this shop again, I won’t hesitate to rip you right out of that meatsuit and shove you down so far into the pit that it’ll take decades for you to crawl back out.” 

He leaves Crowley pinned for a moment, just to make sure that the demon gets the message, before he relaxes his hand. Crowley’s feet don’t even touch the floor before he disappears. 

Dean rushes to Cas’ side, gently turning him over. A thin trickle of blood runs from Cas’ hairline to his temple. Dean’s blood boils, but before he can perform a summoning to yank Crowley’s ass back and take every bit of Cas’ suffering out of his hide, Cas’ eyes flutter open. 

Now, as always, Dean’s caught in their piercing gaze. His mouth goes dry and he becomes aware that he’s gently thumbing over the bolt of Cas’ jaw. He doesn’t stop. 

“Crowley gone?” Cas asks, voice thicker and rougher than usual, but his eyes are lucid. 

“Yeah. Asshole hightailed it out of here.” 

And before he can second-guess himself, give himself a list of reasons of why he shouldn’t, Dean leans down and kisses Cas. It’s firm, unyielding and unapologetic, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind what he means. 

Cas freezes, but only for a moment, and then he’s kissing back, hands reaching up to rest against Dean’s cheek. His fingers hook into the soft spot behind Dean’s ear, pulling him closer, and Dean goes willingly. 

“Finally,” Cas murmurs, once they part. 

“Finally?” Dean echoes, drunk on the memory of Cas’ stubble scraping against his chin, the bold sweep of Cas’ tongue against the seam of his lips. 

Cas gives him his best flat stare. “I was spooning you every morning for two straight weeks. What did you think I was trying to do?” 

Dean swallows, aware that he may not be as suave as he likes to pretend. “I thought you were cold?” he offers, when it becomes clear Cas is waiting for his answer. 

“You thought I…” Cas murmurs to himself, before he rolls his eyes. “What would you do without me?” he asks, rhetorically, before he’s pulling Dean’s face down to his once more. 

Don’t know, Dean thinks blissfully, as he proceeds to learn Cas and the variety of noises that Cas can be persuaded to make. 

“Excuse me?” Dean asks. “Are you Casteel?”

“Castiel,” Castiel corrects faintly. 

Dean looks him over, brief enough not to feel inappropriate, and smiles. “Hey, I’m Dean.”

He holds out his hand. Castiel takes it, palm tingling at the touch. He has felt Dean’s hand on him before, softly petting his feathers or offering him a comfortable perch. It feels different touching him as a human, more charged somehow, and Castiel knows he’s not the only one who feels that way when Dean’s hand lingers, dropping reluctantly only when Dean takes his seat across from him.

“Not to sound like a cliché, but have we met before?” Dean asks. “You look kind of familiar.”

He’s looking Castiel right in the eye as he says that, and Castiel flushes when he realizes that he recognizes the color.

So much for not pining. 

Castiel opens his mouth, fully intending to explain the situation to Dean but something stops him. What if Dean, like him, has been raised to believe that magic and romance don’t mix? What if he’s one of those witches who wouldn’t dream of pursuing their familiar? Some of them do consider it a form of bestiality, as incredibly insulting as that is.

“I don’t think so,” he lies. “I’m certain I would remember.”

He can’t regret laying the lie on so thick when Dean blushes prettily at the compliment, smile turning softer.

“Just getting this out of the way, Balthazar told you that I’m a witch, right?” 

Castiel nods, even though Balthazar did nothing of the sort. “What did he tell you about me?” 

“Well, he didn’t tell me you were so good looking,” Dean says, and now it is Castiel’s turn to blush. “Didn’t tell me much, really. Just your name, that you are his brother, and that you work at the animal shelter downtown.”

Castiel nods in confirmation. He knows he should tell Dean the truth now, before this goes too far, but he can’t bring himself to do it just yet. He wants the chance to get to know Dean as a human, before Dean’s impression is inevitably colored by the fact that he spends half his time covered in feathers. 

The date goes well, near as Castiel can tell. Dean is even more attractive when he is trying to be, all confidence, compliments and teasing grins. He tells Castiel some things he already knows, about his craft and his recently acquired familiar, and some things he didn’t, mostly about his family which he is clearly very fond of.

They finish their lunch and leave the café together. Dean takes Castiel’s hand once they’re outside and Castiel lets him, heart pounding harder when Dean’s fingers intertwine with his own. 

“You live close by?” Dean asks.

Castiel nods mutely. He feels a strange mix of flustered and guilty, the two conflicting emotions making his stomach churn unpleasantly.

“Can I walk you home, then?”

Again, Castiel nods. He needs to tell Dean the truth before this date ends, he decides then. Keeping up the deception won’t just affect any potential romantic relationship but their connection as witch and familiar as well. 

He takes them the long way home, both wanting to put off an awkward conversation and to hold Dean’s hand just a little bit longer. Eventually, though, they arrive at his doorstep. 

“I had fun,” Dean tells him, and the way he says it warm and low makes it feel like more than a routine statement. 

“Me too,” Castiel says. He draws in a deep breath. “Dean, I-”

That’s as far as he gets before Dean leans in, kissing him softly. It’s a brief kiss, just barely long enough for Castiel to catch on and begin kissing him back before Dean pulls away.

“Sorry,” he says, licking his lips. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, I just wanted-”

Castiel cups his cheek and pulls him in, shutting him up with another kiss. They’re both smiling like idiots when they part.

“Wow,” Dean breathes. “Um. I’ll call you?”

“Please do.”

It’s only once Dean is gone that Castiel realizes that he didn’t tell him after all.

That evening, Dean summons him. 

They’ve spent more evening together than not lately so it’s hardly a surprise, but it puts Castiel on immediate alert anyway. He takes flight from his living room window with trepidation, too nervous to enjoy it like he usually does.

In too short a time he’s arriving at Dean’s home, landing on a perch in his kitchen that Dean set up shortly after they met.

“Hey,” Dean greets, smiling. He has changed out of his previous outfit into tattered jeans and a faded t-shirt, the kind of clothes more appropriate for potentially messy spell casting. “That was quick.”

Castiel responds with a trill, feeling a rush of pride despite his anxiety. 

“How was your day?” Dean asks, smile widening when Castiel replies with another trill. He can’t actually understand Castiel in this form yet but he likes to pretend he does. “Yeah, mine too. I had a date, it went pretty great. Hot guy, looks adorable when he blushes.”

Castiel inclines his head, knowing that if he could blush now he would.

“He had beautiful eyes, too.” Dean gives Castiel a fond look. “Kind of looked like, yours, actually. Who knew I was such a sucker for blue eyes?”

Castiel fidgets, the pleasure at Dean’s flattery turning into heavy guilt. He can’t keep this from Dean any longer.

He shakes his wings, kicking himself off his perch and transforming midair. Dean’s eyes widen, expression going from delighted surprise to recognition to plain shock in moments. 

“I enjoyed the date as well,” Castiel says. “I was hoping there would be another but if not, I understand.”

Dean stares at him wordlessly.

“Just please tell me that I can remain your familiar.”

Dean opens his mouth. Closes it again. “You lied,” he finally says. 

“I did,” Castiel admits. “But I wanted to go on this date with you and I was afraid that it wouldn’t happen if you knew the truth.”

Dean looks him over. “Did you lie about anything else?”

“No! I haven’t ever lied to a date like this before. If we continue our relationship in any way, I promise to be honest with you from now on.” Castiel cringes, reluctantly adding, “Of course, I understand if you can’t trust my word.”

Dean’s expression is closed off, impossible to read. “Guess I don’t have to call you, then.”

Castiel’s stomach drops. “I - I suppose not.”

“Summoning’s a lot more convenient, anyway.” Dean smiles and relief floods Castiel. “Cheaper, too. I don’t have a great data plan.”

“Dean, I - thank you.”

“You’ll stay on as my familiar, right?” Dean asks. He takes a step closer, and Castiel can feel the pull between them; it’s magic but it’s more than that. “I know some people have issues with mixing magic and romance, but I’m willing to try if you are.”