Archive of Our Own ^beta

The second Castiel saw Anna’s replacement, he knew he was trouble.

He saw Dean before Dean saw him, and maybe that was for the better. Castiel always arrived at the garrison training rooms first and the mess hall last, so when he finally entered the giant dining hall for Heaven’s soldiers, his garrison was already seated at their designated table. All fourteen of them were there, laughing and talking and eating, save for Anna. Castiel’s redheaded sister had been replaced by a young male angel with the most beautiful wings Castiel had ever seen.

He was struck by the sight of his new soldier for a moment, frozen about twenty yards away from his empty seat at the head of the table. Castiel knew almost everything about him from the files he’d been given, including his name and the rather long list of discipline issues that came with him. What the files had failed to mention, though, was that Dean was absolutely physically stunning.

Even if the perfect symmetry of his handsome, boyish face and the luminous green of his eyes hadn’t been entrancing, the shape and color of his wings would be enough to draw any angel with functioning vision. Even from where he was standing, Castiel could see the healthy shine of them, bronze-golden and shining like precious metal under the sunlight streaming through the mess hall windows. The shape, sleek and strong, made Castiel wonder what they’d feel like pressed against his own, golden feathers meshing with black.

And then Dean lifted his green eyes from the angel he’d been talking to and met Castiel’s, and Castiel knew he was going to be a problem.

The smile that spread across Dean’s handsome face when he saw Castiel staring couldn’t have been described as anything but mischievous. He had the audacity to wink, and then the strange sort of trance Castiel seemed to have fallen into broke. He stiffened, his wings flicking disapprovingly behind him, and he made his way toward the seat he’d originally intended to sit in.

His soldiers paused their chattering to greet him as he sat down. He nodded respectfully at each in turn, choosing to pointedly ignore the newest addition to his garrison. He didn’t intend to acknowledge him after being caught staring. It was always a delicate thing, asserting his authority over a new arrival. He would have to tread carefully, and that included not getting distracted by Dean’s beauty.

The new angel, however, seemed to have a little more audaciousness in him than Castiel had originally imagined.

“You must be the commander,” he said, grinning when Castiel looked at him in surprise. His voice was pleasantly low and smooth. “Gotta say, you’re pretty much exactly what I was expectin’.”

Castiel raised a single, unimpressed eyebrow. “And why is that?”

He could feel his soldiers staring at him now, watching the exchange. Their anticipation and curiosity was so heavy in the air he could practically taste it.

Dean grinned at him. “All you commanders seem to have a stick up your asses,” he said, winking. “You, buddy, look like you got the whole tree.”

The rest of the garrison was wise enough to hide their amusement, though there was very little that was discreet about ducking their heads to hide their smiles. Castiel’s wings remained calm and loose behind him, his body relaxed. He refused to show how much that comment had grated on him. Instead of grinding out a reply, he simply said, “I hope you look for more than physical appearance when determining a good commander, Dean. If not, you’re going to have a challenging time serving in this particular company.”

Dean looked completely unconcerned. “Oh, I don’t think physical appearance is the problem at all, sweetheart.” He winked again, and Castiel prayed the surprised flush in his cheeks wasn’t visible.

He decided right then and there, not even five minutes after meeting him, that he didn’t like Dean. And unfortunately, the other angel did nothing to try to change that in the coming weeks.

When they weren’t being sent on campaigns against demons, the garrisons of Heaven focused on keeping up their skills. Castiel found that he enjoyed the steady routine of being a garrison in reserve, ready to fly off to battle at a moment’s notice, but not constantly marching and fighting. Some soldiers claimed they found the in-between space monotonous and taxing. They said they’d rather be fighting on missions or relaxing on leave, but Castiel didn’t mind waiting. It gave him something to focus on other than the rather depressing rut his life had fallen into.

The truth was, he loved his job as a commander. Perhaps a little too much, if the empty home and barren nest he slept in were anything to go by. A seraph of his ranking and age should have more than found a mate and settled down by now. His fellow commanders made sure to remind him of that whenever they could, and though Castiel brushed it off, he couldn’t deny that all the talk was getting to him.

It was easier to focus on his job as a commander and a leader. Less painful.

Now that Dean was here, Castiel had a lot more to think about, anyway. The new angel was a handful, and Castiel found himself regularly leaving training with a headache throbbing at his temples and his patience frayed to practically nothing. It seemed that when he’d first met Dean, the other angel had pegged him as an enemy just as much as he’d done in return. Castiel was beginning to contemplate the intricacies of the paperwork that would be needed to refer Dean to another garrison and ask for yet another replacement. It would be an incredibly painful process, but at this point, he was more than willing to consider it.

Dean made him want to rip his own feathers out. The bronze-winged angel did everything in his power to irritate Castiel, whether it was interrupting him while he spoke, ignoring his orders, or refusing to call him by the name his rank demanded. Instead of referring to him as “Commander Castiel,” as he should have, Dean seemed to have given him a nickname that he’d decided to use despite Castiel’s many disciplinary attempts to stop him.

“How long’re we runnin’ today, Cas?” Dean asked when Castiel arrived in the morning, as if the garrison didn’t run the same distance every day. Castiel usually ignored him, but today, his patience was running thinner than usual.

“The rest of us are running five miles, but you will be running seven,” he said. He hadn’t really intended to give Dean extra laps, but the sound of that blasted nickname had grated on something already irritated inside of him. It wasn’t uncommon for him to give Dean extra training drills, anyway.

Dean chuckled. “Oh, am I?” He sounded so unbothered, to the point where Castiel almost believed he was excited by the idea of running extra. He knew the other angel was only satisfied because he’d successfully gotten a reaction out of him, but it still heavily annoyed him to hear how unaffected Dean was.

“You are. You’d better get going, or you’re going to miss breakfast,” Castiel said.

He stared Dean down until the green-eyed angel realized he was serious and began to back away toward the entrance of the trail where they ran. He gave a cheeky little salute and said, “See you guys at breakfast, then.” With an irritating little flick of his wings, he turned and bounded off into the forest, disappearing into the brush with a gleam of bronze-gold wings.

Focusing on keeping his voice level, Castiel addressed the rest of the garrison. “Five miles, then be back at the mess hall early. We have a longer set of drills to run today, and I want to complete them before the sun gets too hot.”

With a chorus of, “Yes, commander!” his troops set off into the woods in the same direction Dean had gone. Castiel paused for a moment, shaking off the last of his irritation, then set off at a jog after them.

Despite how aggravated he’d begun the morning feeling, the run in the woods soothed him. It promised to be a hot day, but for now the air was still cool and the sun merely gilded the leaves, painting sunbeams in shafts of gold. Castiel’s wings fluttered behind him in the breeze of his passing, the wind through his feathers a pleasant sensation.

By the time he’d finished his run and seen his soldiers off to the mess hall, Castiel was sufficiently calmed. He waited at the entrance to the trail for Dean to finish, checking the sun in the sky and deciding the bronze-winged angel would likely be finished within fifteen minutes or so. Dean was many things, but he was quick on foot and in the air. Castiel had yet to see him in a real battle situation, but he would grudgingly admit that the other angel’s speed might come in handy someday.

Barely ten minutes had passed when Dean came jogging out of the forest, face pinked with exertion and shiny with sweat. He grinned when he saw Castiel, wings flicking behind him in a greeting that lacked even an ounce of the respect he ought to show. “Aw, you waited for me,” he panted as he came up, beaming. “That’s real nice of you, Cas, I gotta say.”

“I wanted to make sure you completed your run in the manner I directed,” Castiel said stiffly.

Dean grinned, completely unaffected by the unsubtle dig at his integrity. “Well, I did. Whaddya think?” He spread his arms and wings, like his current state was something to be proud of. There was certainly something to be said about the way his pinked face made his green eyes glow, but that was a train of thought that Castiel firmly shoved to the back of his mind to never see the light of day again.

“Make sure to wash up before you go to the mess hall,” Castiel said flatly, looking Dean up and down. “I’m unsure how you managed to get so filthy, but I won’t be reprimanded for my soldiers tracking mud in the dining space.”

With that, he turned to go, wings flicking in a cold, disapproving gesture as he went. He wasn’t sure why, but the expression he barely caught flickering across Dean’s face struck him as something close to disappointment. Why that sort of emotion would be there, he had no idea. He didn’t much care, either, so he focused on getting to the mess hall so he could get something to eat.

Later, during training, Dean was just as infuriating as usual. Castiel ended up giving him extra drills, figuring the extra practice wouldn’t hurt him. The young angel was a force to be reckoned with when he had a sword in his hands, but he was practically useless with a spear and shield. Castiel got frustrated with his sarcastic quips and clumsy execution and barked at him to stay in the training circle and complete extra drills.

He stayed with Dean even after the other angels left for a relaxing afternoon, standing sentry at the edge of the dusty courtyard to make sure Dean didn’t shirk his punishment. The extra miles that he’d been given that morning seemed to be affecting Dean as he worked under the hot sun, because he didn’t have the energy to make much more than a passing comment or two.

Castiel, for his part, remained stony and silent. He knew the best way to get Dean to shut up was to ignore him, since the other angel typically let up after he didn’t get a reaction. That held true as he watched Dean go through his drills, the soldier eventually falling into a focused, weary silence.

The sun grew hotter overhead, scorching the hot, dusty courtyard. Dean’s movements, clumsy as they’d been before, only grew sloppier as he grew more tired. Castiel watched in faint disgust as Dean missed a jab with his spear altogether, stumbling a little as he righted himself.

“Sorry,” the other angel said, glancing at him with an expression that could have been called nervousness if it hadn’t been from Dean. “It’s gettin’ real hot. Just got a little dizzy, ‘s all.”

“Perhaps if you’d showed me the proper respect and listened closer when I demonstrated this particular set, you wouldn’t need to be here,” Castiel said coldly. “Your skills with the spear and shield are abysmal, Dean, as is your respect for authority. Both will get you killed, if you’re not careful.”

Dean’s shoulders slumped a little, though his face was painted with a weak little grin as he turned to look at Castiel. “You threatenin’ me, Cas?”

Castiel stared at him flatly, unimpressed. “Finish this set, and then we’re done here. You’re only getting sloppier.”

The droop of Dean’s wings was likely from the heat. Castiel watched him clumsily go through the set one more time, and then he turned to leave, trusting that Dean was at least smart enough to put his equipment away correctly. The sun really was getting uncomfortable just to stand in, and Castiel was eager to get inside and into the shade.

He made Dean work harder than the other angels in the garrison whenever the bronze-winged soldier grew too irritating to handle. It baffled Castiel, how much of a glutton for punishment Dean seemed to be, but the continued exhaustion that came with so much extra training didn’t seem to affect him. Even if Castiel worked him to near-collapse one day, he’d show up the next beaming and mischievous once again. If Castiel was being honest, he was beginning to grudgingly find it a little admirable.

Then came the day they were called to war.

Castiel and the rest of the garrison commanders received word over breakfast. He was called away, and even as he walked toward the exit so he could fly to the messenger station where the general would address the commanders, he knew what news he was going to receive. By the time he returned to the mess hall, all the soldiers already knew that the time had come for battle.

Castiel’s garrison was assigned to the Western front, a barren but still heavily-active side of the war against the demons. It wasn’t as bad as the Northern front, where many garrisons went and never returned, but Castiel understood as he led his soldiers on the march that this would be a dangerous campaign.

Their mission was to stay and defend the main base, but to be ready to advance on enemy territory if needed. The day they arrived at the base in question, demons bombed their camp with hellfire. It was a disastrous beginning, one that Castiel didn’t take lightly.

That night, in the much-smaller mess hall of the base, he addressed his solemn garrison. Even Dean was silent this time, his sarcastic quips and irritating comments silenced by the miniature battle fought earlier today.

“There’s a good chance Commander Raphael will be ordered to advance, and that we will accompany his garrison to flank whatever demonic forces they meet,” Castiel said. “I expect all of you to be prepared and ready. Rest well tonight. We’ll march any day now.”

That turned out to be true. The garrison stayed at the base only three days before Raphael was called forward. The demons had ceased their attacks for the time being, and the angels saw that as their opportunity to make progress into enemy territory.

The day they set off on their march, Castiel snapped at Dean for having his helmet unbuckled, to which the other angel winked and ignored his order to fasten it correctly. Castiel could have slapped him right then, but instead he pushed forward and focused on the action they would no doubt meet sometime soon. It troubled him that Dean still found it appropriate to be so impudent even in the middle of a warzone, but he—rather weakly—tried to convince himself that when the time came, the other angel would obey orders.

Their first day of marching was peaceful, but by midday of the second, they came upon a camp full of demons that apparently had plenty of hellfire bombs left. As they ducked behind the reddened rocks of Hell’s landscape, Castiel attempted to shout orders while making sure his soldiers were shielded from the burning shrapnel raining down around them.

“Stay hidden!” he roared over the explosions. “I won’t have anyone incapacitated so soon and by so untrained an enemy. Keep your calm, and you’ll keep your lives, too!”

He expected nothing but agreement, but of course Dean needed to ruin everything. “Raphael’s guys are getting hammered out there, Cas! We can’t just sit here; we gotta help ‘em!”

Why can’t he give even the other commanders their due respect? Castiel wondered, just as he shouted back, “I told you to stay, Dean. For Father’s sake, do as you’re told for once!” The last few words of his sentence were drowned out by another barrage of hellfire bombs above them, green fire blooming over red rocks.

When Castiel dared to peek out around their cover to look for the other garrison, he found that unfortunately, Dean was right. Raphael’s garrison had been less fortunate when diving for cover, and they’d split in half between two small rocks that did very little to shield them from the hellfire bombs. Even from this position, Castiel could see a horde of demon soldiers scrambling over the terrain toward them, blades glinting darkly in the dim red light that seemed to suffuse Hell’s ashy sky.

“They’re gonna get ambushed,” Dean said, suddenly right next to Castiel. His green eyes were wide, his handsome face smudged with soot and dirt. “We gotta help them, Cas! We can’t just sit here!”

“Dean, there’s a whole platoon of demons with their aim focused right on this spot,” Castiel said, just as a bomb exploded above them, proving his point. He had to wait for the roar of fire to pass before shouting, “We can’t leave this cover! We need to wait for them to run out of bombs!”

“That’s gonna take forever! They’re gonna get hurt before then!” Dean shouted back. In the light of the hellfire, his green eyes looked otherworldly, like they contained fire of their own. “All we need to do is warn them! If they’re ready for the attack, they can handle those fuckers.” Another bomb exploded above them, and in its wake, Castiel understood what Dean was about to propose. “You only need one guy to go warn ‘em!”

“Dean, no!” Castiel bellowed. He lunged forward, reaching for his stupid, foolish soldier, as if he could physically keep him from launching himself into danger. But Dean had always been far too nimble, and he dodged out of Castiel’s way. By the time the commander recovered, Dean was already sprinting from the cover of the rock, right into view of the demons still launching bombs at them.

“Commander!” Castiel heard, and he turned around just in time to see demons come around the other side of the large rock they were hiding behind. His angels were ready, and it only took him a split second to raise his sword and join them in fighting back the small group of enemies that had descended upon them. In the commotion, he lost sight of Dean.

Rage drove Castiel into a frenzy, fueled not only by his hatred for the foes he cut down, but also for the blatant disregard for his authority that had just been shoved in his face. If Dean didn’t die, Castiel was going to drag him back and kill him himself. He swore on his Father that he’d give that foolish angel a sound beating.

Dean just needed to survive.

By the time Castiel finished cutting down the demons that had dared to rush at them, the hellfire had stopped raining so frequently. When he managed to look beyond the rock they were still sheltered behind, he could see that most of the demons had either died by the blade of his garrison or were fleeing in the opposite direction.

“Shoot them!” he ordered his soldiers. “I’m going to help Commander Raphael!”

What demons remained were engaged near the rocks fifty yards away, hellfire burning green around them. Castiel could see Raphael’s storm-gray wings glinting in the reddened light of Hell, his brother’s sword flashing with black demon blood. As Castiel sprinted over, his wings aiding him in swiftness, he spotted Dean among the fray.

The green-eyed angel was bleeding, a gash trailing up his left arm. He still used his sword masterfully, but Castiel could see he was tired. He was engaged with three demons at once, the bastards slavering as they attempted to get past the flashing protection of Dean’s sword so they could claw into his flesh. Castiel sent a blast of grace outward, knocking them to the ground, and arrived at Dean’s side just in time to cut one in half.

There was no time to scold Dean, despite his desire to shout at him right then and there. He and Castiel fell into lockstep as they fought back the remaining two demons, dodging lingering billows of hellfire that burned on the ashen earth. Castiel flared dangerous, razor-edged wings as one of the demons got too close, whirling to cut her head off before she could claw at him.

“Cas, look out!” he heard.

Castiel turned in time to see yet another demon, previously unseen, bearing down on him. He barely caught the wild glint in his attacker’s eyes before a wall of bronze-gold feathers flared in his vision. Dean gave an agonized cry as the demon slashed into his wing instead of Castiel’s throat, the sound hitting Castiel like a hellfire bomb to the chest.

“Get down, Dean!” he bellowed, and for once, the foolish soldier obeyed. Dean collapsed more than he ducked, but Castiel had no time to worry about him before he was swinging his sword in a wide arc, cutting the demon before him clean in half.

Raphael’s garrison fought off the last of the demons, joining Castiel’s in cutting them down with arrows as they fled. Castiel watched them for a moment, then turned his attention to Dean, who was still kneeling on the ground.

The green-eyed angel was pale, his jaw clenched with evident pain. He’d curved his mangled wing in toward himself, cradling it weakly against his body. He was breathing hard through gritted teeth, his face shiny with sweat and what might have been tears.

“You idiot,” Castiel growled at him, glancing back toward the demon camp, wary of more attackers. They would need to retreat, especially if some of Raphael’s soldiers were wounded. “You utter fool. You could have died!”

Maybe there was a little too much ire in his voice, but he couldn’t help the ugly sickness that seemed to have taken up residence in his gut. It might have started when he’d heard Dean’s cry of pain, it might have started when he’d seen the angel run off in the first place, but whenever it had begun, it was Dean’s fault. Castiel wanted to grab him and shake him.

“Commander Castiel,” he heard, and he looked up to see Raphael before him. “We’ve successfully fought them off for now. My garrison sustained minor injuries.”

“This soldier needs medical attention,” Castiel said, glancing back at the rest of his garrison. They were making their way over, and he could see Hester limping badly. “I believe I need to take my soldiers back to base.”

“You should do so, then. We can loot this camp and hold it while reinforcements come,” Raphael said. “Send someone ahead to call more garrisons to us, then take your soldiers back so they can rest. You did your job well, we were grateful for your help.” He paused, looking down at Dean, and his wings flicked gratefully. “You, boy. Your actions today saved our lives. I’ll make sure General Michael learns of your bravery when we all return home.”

Castiel wouldn’t call what Dean had done bravery, but he supposed that could be used to describe what the green-eyed soldier had just done. Stupidity, certainly. He wasn’t cruel enough to chew Dean out in front of everyone, and while he was injured to boot, but he would certainly have words with him when they’d returned to base.

“Get up,” he said to his soldier, a little more bite than usual in his tone. “We need to get marching. Jariel, are you well enough to fly fast?” He grabbed Dean’s upper arm and helped to heave him up to his feet, ignoring his grunt of pain. When his other soldiers joined him, he ordered two of them to fly ahead and retrieve reinforcements for Raphael’s garrison, then began to lead the way back to the base on foot.

Of the fifteen of them, two had been minorly wounded and two had been hurt badly enough that they would likely need to sit out for the rest of the campaign. Dean had sustained the worst injuries, which was completely his own fault. Castiel had little patience or sympathy for his pain as he hurried his garrison along, intent on getting them safely back to base before any more demons could arrive to ambush them.

Dean seemed exhausted not even an hour into their trek. He leaned heavily on Castiel for support, and Castiel let him. He wasn’t sure why, but he figured it was better to do that than to listen to Dean’s sounds of agony as he tried to walk on his own. Perhaps it was the paleness of his fellow angel, too, that softened his heart. He kept his grip on Dean’s waist gentle, not wanting to cause him any more pain than he was already in.

“You still mad at me?” Dean panted, sometime halfway through their trek.

“You blatantly ignored my orders and could have gotten yourself killed not even a week into this campaign, costing me a soldier,” Castiel told him, fixing his gaze firmly on the horizon. “I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.”

He expected a snarky comment or two, but Dean fell silent after that. Castiel tried to convince himself he was relieved for the quiet.

They reached the base after a grueling trek, made worse by their exhaustion. The two messengers Castiel had sent ahead had already arrived and were helping to mobilize the two garrisons that were being sent out to reinforce Raphael’s soldiers, Jariel fluttering around with a sheaf of paper that contained directions toward the demon camp.

Castiel sent his able-bodied soldiers to their barracks with orders to eat and rest. He led the injured angels to the infirmary, practically dragging Dean along with him. As they’d gotten closer to the base, the bronze-winged angel had become less and less able to carry his own weight. He was struggling hard now, breath hissing between clenched teeth, pale face shiny with sweat. Castiel’s right wing was soaked with blood from where Dean’s had been nudging against it. The other angel’s bronze-gold feathers were stained darkly crimson.

The healers anticipated them coming, likely because of the soldiers Castiel had sent ahead. They rushed forward to help Castiel carry Dean into the infirmary, some of them hurrying to assist Hester as well. Castiel released Dean as soon as he could, shaking his wing out with a grimace.

He stayed for a moment, waiting to see that all his soldiers were being taken care of. The healers were efficient as they worked to immobilize Hester’s injured ankle and spread out Dean’s wounded wing. Castiel tried not to look at the rather gruesome slashes through the beautiful golden feathers, wondering why the sight of it made him feel nauseous.

“You ever seen that human movie, Cas? White Christmas, the one with Bing Crosby?” Dean asked. His words were melting together, becoming hard to understand. He laughed a little to himself, head lolling to the side to stare at his injured wing. “Guess I’m the Davis t’your Wallace.”

Stiffly, Castiel said, “I don’t understand that reference.”

“You still gonna be mad a’me ‘f I die?” Dean slurred, looking at him with half-lidded green eyes.

“You’re not going to die,” Castiel snapped, and immediately after he spoke, he felt guilty for how aggressive his tone had been. He wasn’t sure where the emotion had come from, but he forced himself to tamp it down.

Dean turned his head to the side, looking to the ceiling. “Was just tryin’a do th’ right thing,” he mumbled, almost to himself. Castiel heard it anyway. “Never ‘nough for you.”

Castiel frowned, wanting to ask him what he could possibly mean by that. Before he could, however, the healers stuck Dean with a drug that would put him to sleep and respectfully but firmly herded Castiel out of the infirmary. He looked over his shoulder as he was guided out the door, his eyes catching on the agonized jerk of Dean’s body as the healers began their work.

It was strange how much the sight of Dean’s pain disturbed him. Castiel cared about each of his soldiers, of course, but he couldn’t deny that Dean wasn’t exactly his favorite. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for the bronze-winged angel, but he had to admit that Dean wouldn’t be very sorely missed if he were to transfer to a different garrison.

At least, Castiel was pretty sure that was true. It had definitely been true before, when Dean had first entered his unit.

In the back of his mind, Castiel wondered if that had changed.

He shook off the thoughts that plagued him like a stubborn morning fog, hoping some food and rest would clear his head. The battle and the long, grueling march back to base had left him more exhausted than he cared to admit. He only hoped his mind would allow him to sleep peacefully without the torment of nightmares or memories of the battle they’d just fought.

Castiel’s garrison was called into action twice more before Heaven’s army managed to capture a major demon base, killing three high-ranking commanders along with it. General Michael deemed that enough of a victory to cycle the garrisons out, calling Castiel’s unit home.

Four months after they’d first ventured into Hell, Castiel and his garrison returned to Heaven weary but glad to be home. They were met with a large celebration, which was unexpected but welcomed. Before the day was out, Castiel received a medal for his leadership, and Dean received one for his bravery in combat. His wings, one still bandaged but back to gleaming bronze-gold in the sunlight, flicked with shy gratitude as General Michael placed the medal over his head.

Dean hadn’t said anything about that day in the infirmary, and Castiel hadn’t asked. He wasn’t sure the other angel remembered what he’d said, anyway. After Dean had been released from the infirmary, he’d been just as irritating and defiant as ever. Castiel had nearly smacked him during one of the last battles of their campaign, frustrated with the loud, public way Dean contested his carefully-laid plan to scale the walls of the demon base and take out the cannons and turrets atop them.

In the end, Castiel had grudgingly needed to incorporate some of Dean’s suggestions, but that had only really increased his ire toward the other angel. All in all, they were not on good terms when they arrived back in Heaven for a few months of well-earned leave. Throughout the ceremony welcoming them home, Castiel could feel Dean’s eyes on him. He ignored him every single time, uninterested in hearing his irritating chatter.

Castiel had never done very well while on leave. The first day was always nice, since he could sleep in without the need to be ready for drills and breakfast in the mess hall, but after that, the constant lack of things to do began to grate on him. He forced himself to settle into a routine of training and working out to keep up with his fighting form before, but he couldn’t make himself exercise all day. At some point, he needed to return to his empty home at the top of a beautiful hill on the western side of Heaven. He dreaded it every single time.

About a week into the garrison’s leave, Castiel found himself in his office near the barracks, going through paperwork to clean out some of his file cabinets. The rest of the building was completely locked up and empty, seeing as all the other commanders he’d gone to battle with were off enjoying time with their mates and fledglings. Castiel had had to use a special key to get in.

That was why he was so surprised when he heard a sudden knock on his door. Castiel snapped his head up from where he’d been examining an old battle plan, wondering who could possibly be in the office on a beautiful day like this, aside from himself.

“Who is it?” he called.

Instead of an answer, the door just swung open. Castiel tensed, half-prepared for an attack, but then he saw the angel standing in the doorway and he found himself relaxing despite the sight of his least favorite soldier.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean greeted. He strolled right into Castiel’s office, as if he’d been given a very warm invitation instead of no invitation at all. There was a familiar ring of keys in his hand, one of which he must have used to let himself into the building.

“What in Father’s name are you doing here?” Castiel demanded, too late to keep the irritation and disbelief from his voice.

Dean flopped down in the chair across the desk, grinning at him. He looked gorgeous in the sun that streamed through the window behind Castiel. It looked out at a secluded section of birch forest, light beaming through the gaps in the branches.

“I wanted to see what you were doin’. I didn’t think even someone like you could stand to do paperwork on a day like today, but here you are,” Dean said. He jangled the keys obnoxiously in his hands, as if he wanted Castiel to notice them.

Teeth gritted, Castiel asked, “Who did you steal those from?”

“Zachariah,” Dean said, winking. “Stupid asshole doesn’t even remember where he puts ‘em, and he’s too lazy to look. He got a new set without even bothering to wonder where these are.”

There was so much about what he’d just said that grated on Castiel. His wings shifted angrily behind him, despite his best attempts to keep them still and unbothered. “Watch your tongue, boy,” he snapped. “It’s bad enough that you’re admitting to stealing from a senior commander, but adding insults to the mix will not end well for you.”

Dean only grinned at him, jangling the keys some more. “You gonna report me?”

Castiel glared at him for a long moment, trying to understand why he seemed almost excited about that. “Do you truly love to get in trouble?” he demanded. “Do you find some kind of perverse joy in inconveniencing those around you?”

Dean shrugged, his smile slipping ever so slightly. It was barely enough to be noticeable, but Castiel caught it. “I ain’t tryin’ to inconvenience you,” he said. “Just tryin’ to have a little fun. I don’t know why you always gotta be so grumpy. ‘S like you hate me, or something.” He looked down at the keys he’d stolen with petulance, almost like a fledgling complaining about something not being fair.

It was infuriating.

“You’ve been a pain in my ass ever since you were transferred to my garrison,” Castiel snapped, dark wings flicking as his temper flared. “What did you expect when you pulled off that stunt? A congratulations? Praise? For me to tell you that I’m proud of you?”

He expected more of Dean’s infuriating defiance, so he was shocked when the other angel ducked his head instead, freckled cheekbones tinging a delicate pink. Castiel stared as Dean looked away, bronze wings curving in tight to his back, an uncharacteristic show of vulnerability.

…Oh.

Oh.

“You do want that. You acted out for attention. For my attention.” Castiel stared at Dean with eyes that were wide with surprise, but Dean merely looked at the ground. His silence was as damning as any answer he could have given, and Castiel felt the surprise in him begin to change, morphing into something deeper and more heated. “Well,” he said darkly, “you certainly have it now.”

Dean’s blush only deepened, becoming a darker pink. His wings tucked in tighter, looking almost frightened in the way they pressed against his back. With the way they were curled, Castiel could barely even see the bandage. “Wasn’t lookin’ for nothin’,” Dean muttered, but it was too late. He’d already given himself away.

In the back of his mind, Castiel couldn’t believe this was happening. The rational part of him was demanding that he back up and think about this, consider all the possibilities before he jumped into whatever shitstorm he was about to get himself caught up in.

The other part of him, though… The other part of him was beginning to realize that Dean’s defiance and resistance to authority looked a lot more like brattiness now that he took a step back and really thought of it.

“Do you want to know what I think?” he questioned, leaning forward in the chair he was sitting in. Dean seemed to shrink back, as if he was trying to maintain the distance between them. “I think you’re acting out because you’re looking for someone to control you, Dean. I think you’re purposefully being a nuisance because you want me to pay attention to you. Is that right?”

Dean shifted uncomfortably, his voice taking on a bite of defensive anger. “No. I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” It almost sounded convincing, but his cheeks were still pink, and his wings were betraying him. They’d peeked out from behind him, curious and wanting, curling toward Castiel in a way that spoke of interest, of desire, of need.

Castiel stood.

Dean flinched a little at the sound of the chair scraping on the floor. He looked up at Castiel, green eyes comically wide, as the commander stalked around his desk and came to a stop right in front of him. Castiel felt strangely powerful as he looked down at Dean, his dark wings arching invitingly above him.

“If you truly don’t want this, Dean, I suggest you leave,” he said quietly, knowing he wouldn’t be able to live with himself later if he didn’t give Dean an out.

Dean stayed where he was, practically trembling, looking up at Castiel like he was the sun itself.

Castiel bent down and grabbed the other angel by the collar of his tunic, jerking him upright with barely any effort. Dean’s small yelp of surprise was immediately swallowed by Castiel’s lips on his, hungry and demanding, starving for something he suddenly felt like he’d been waiting forever for. His burning desire wasn’t helped by the way Dean went sort of limp against him, pliant and obedient as Castiel licked into his mouth, exploring for as long as his lungs would allow before he was forced to pull back and take a breath.

“Cas—” Dean breathed, the word little more than a gasp.

“Brat,” Castiel snapped, slightly surprised by Dean’s little flinch at the admonishment. “Disobedient little angel, aren’t you? You know what you’re supposed to call me.”

Dean gave a soft, apologetic whimper. “Please—Commander, sir, please… ‘M sorry.”

Castiel hummed, the title satiating something deep inside of him, making his gut twist hotly. “Good,” he praised.

He didn’t think much of the word, so he wasn’t prepared for the way Dean shuddered in his grip, a tiny, weak whine leaving his lips. His gorgeous eyelashes fluttered, his body going limp against Castiel’s, pressing in closer. He closed his eyes and blushed deeply, wings curling in toward his body in a display of fierce embarrassment.

Castiel froze for a moment, feeling something in his chest sort of give way. “You like that,” he realized, his voice low, intrigued. “You like hearing that you’re good. That you’re doing well.”

As if in response, Dean sucked in a shuddering gasp. Castiel could feel just how much he liked being praised, the other angel’s erection pressing hard against his hip. Dean wasn’t bucking into the pressure, though. He was merely staying melted against Castiel, the collar of his tunic still clenched tight in Castiel’s right hand.

Very good.

“I can tell you that I’m proud of you,” Castiel said quietly, remembering their conversation earlier. Dean trembled in his grasp. “I can give you a chance to be my good boy. But you have to earn it, dear one.”

Dean gave a tiny, gasping whimper, a hand coming up to clutch tightly at the side of Castiel’s tunic. “Please, sir,” he begged, eyelashes fluttering open, and oh, there were tears in his green eyes. “Please, lemme be good for you. Please, sir, please.”

“You have a history of being disobedient,” Castiel said, pretending to think about it. “You have a history of being bad.”

Dean gasped at that last word, something like a sob punching free from his throat, ragged and shockingly desperate. His grip on Castiel’s tunic tightened, his wings coming forward in a beseeching display that sucked the breath from Castiel’s lungs. “Please, sir, no,” Dean begged, the tears in his beautiful eyes welling. “I can be good, I swear. I swear I can be good, please, please.”

Castiel should have felt guilty, and maybe he did, just a little. But that guilt was overshadowed by hot satisfaction, because Father above, he liked seeing Dean cry. Just… perhaps for a different reason.

“I’ll give you a chance,” he said, his words underlined with a soothing tone. “But you’re going to have to listen to everything I tell you to do, do you understand?” At Dean’s eager, desperate nod, Castiel hesitated, then added, “If there’s anything that frightens you or that you truly don’t want to do, I want you to say ‘hellfire,’ and we’ll stop. Understand?”

Dean nodded again. “Yes, yeah. I understand, sir.”

Castiel felt a small smile curve his lips, pleased. “Good,” he said, and he watched Dean shudder with joy. “Now I want you to get undressed. Fold your clothes and leave them on this chair.”

He stepped back, releasing his hold on Dean. The bronze-winged angel began to fumble with this tunic, eagerness making him clumsy. Castiel could see nervousness shaking his wings, too, and he felt a little more guilty for teasing Dean earlier. He hadn’t anticipated the other angel being so desperate to please. He’d need to be careful with his words, to make sure he didn’t accidentally make Dean think he was disappointed in him.

As he watched Dean strip appreciatively, Castiel thought of all the times he’d snapped at Dean before. He thought of his firm refusal to give Dean even an ounce of attention, let alone praise, and he realized with a start that he’d been going about this all wrong.

The answer wasn’t to punish Dean when he was bad, though Castiel wasn’t about to start going soft on him. The answer was to reward him when he was good.

Dean’s mischievous disrespect over these past few months had been nothing short of a cry for attention, for recognition, for Castiel to notice him. Castiel had been so frugal with praise, even when Dean did as he was told, that it was no wonder the other angel had gotten desperate.

“You’re beautiful,” Castiel said without really meaning to, eyes roving Dean’s bared body appreciatively. Dean was attempting to fold his pants, his hands shaking a little as he did so, and his wings curled inward shyly when he heard the compliment. Castiel spotted the bandage, still wrapped around the left wing even weeks later, and he asked, “Is your injury bothering you at all?”

Dean shook his head, finished folding his clothes. “No, sir. I barely feel it anymore. Just keepin’ the bandage on so the scab doesn’t get messed up.”

“That’s good,” Castiel said, stepping close to him again, reveling in the warmth he could feel radiating off of Dean’s skin even when he was a few inches away from touching him. “We wouldn’t want such gorgeous wings to be harmed any more than they already were, would we? Did you know these were the first things I saw, when I spotted you the first time?” He leaned in, lips close enough to Dean’s ear to make the other angel shiver. “I was speechless.”

Dean’s wings curved inward, shy and endearing as they simultaneously attempted to hide behind him and also reach for Castiel’s bigger, broader black wings. “Sir,” he whispered, sounding strangled. Castiel could see how aroused he was by all of this, his erection standing proudly against his stomach, already colored a deep red and leaking beads of precome.

Unable to help himself, Castiel reached down and wrapped his hand around the base of Dean’s cock loosely, just wanting to touch. Dean gave a low, pleading whine and bucked into the touch, one hand coming out to grasp Castiel’s side bracingly.

“No, don’t move,” Castiel chided, watching curiously as Dean seemed to cringe a little at the admonishment. “Just stay there and be a good boy.”

He might as well have put a sword to Dean’s throat. The other angel went so still, he was practically shaking with the effort. Castiel hummed low in his throat, incredibly pleased, and stroked his hand up Dean’s length as a reward. Though it must have felt incredible, Dean merely gave a shaking gasp and tightened his grip on Castiel’s tunic.

“I should keep you like this,” Castiel murmured, eyes fixed hungrily on Dean’s face. “I should make you stay like this as punishment for how naughty you’ve been these past few months.”

Dean gave a low, trembling whine. “Please,” he whispered, looking at Castiel with begging, tear-filled eyes. “Please, sir, no.”

Castiel hummed, praying he was hiding his delight better than he thought. “You’re being so good for me now, so I suppose you can earn a chance to come. If you hold your release until after I’ve achieved mine, I’ll let you orgasm. Does that sound like a reasonable deal?”

Dean nodded eagerly, desperately. “Can I suck you off, sir?” he asked, reaching up with the hand that wasn’t clutching at Castiel so he could wipe at his eyes, brushing those pleading tears away. “Please, sir. I can make it feel real good, promise.”

How could Castiel possibly resist? Especially when he sounded so eager?

“You’d better impress me,” he warned, a false sternness entering his voice. “You don’t want to know what will happen if I’m not pleased.” The threat was all for show, of course, because he wouldn’t be upset with Dean if he didn’t perform incredibly well. The other angel’s enthusiasm had already made this one of the best trysts Castiel had ever had, and he was already planning what else he could do with Dean in the future in his head.

Dean seemed to take his threat seriously, however. He nodded determinedly and immediately sank to his knees, right there in the middle of Castiel’s office.

He paused when he got to the hidden zipper of Castiel’s pants, green eyes flicking up, searching out permission. Castiel had to hide his smile at how obedient Dean was being. Father almighty, if he’d known this was the way to get Dean to behave, he would have done it a long time ago.

“Go ahead,” he encouraged, reaching down to sink a hand into Dean’s fluffy hair. “Good boy, asking for permission.”

Dean whimpered softly and leaned into the touch, nudging into it for a moment before he returned to his mission of opening Castiel’s pants. Castiel had to hold his breath as he watched, heart stumbling in his chest over how gorgeous Dean looked on his knees. The near-reverent, hungry way he looked at Castiel’s cock when he finally freed it from its confines didn’t hurt, either. At this point, if Dean didn’t hurry, Castiel wasn’t going to last very long.

Thankfully, the kneeling angel seemed plenty eager to get things moving. With one more glance up at Castiel for permission, he leaned in and took the head of his cock into his mouth, suckling it gently, glancing up again when Castiel released a soft groan.

Ah. Castiel understood what he was looking for.

“Good boy,” he said, grunting as Dean sucked with renewed vigor, cheeks tinting that gorgeous pink again. “Such a good boy, such a talented mouth you have. So—oh—so good. Such a good boy.”

Dean’s wings curled shyly toward him, seeking touch, and Castiel’s dark wings lowered to meet them. A happy shudder ran through Dean’s whole body as their feathers brushed against each other, black and gold mixing in a dizzyingly beautiful combination. Castiel was struck by the sudden desire to see those golden feathers in his nest, mixed in with his own, for the rest of his life.

Before he could panic about that train of thought, Dean bobbed his head along his shaft, taking more of him deeper into the wet, scorching heat of his mouth. Castiel’s breath hissed through his teeth, his wings jerking a little at the intensely pleasurable sensation. Dean’s fluttered happily against his, pressing gently against where Castiel blanketed them.

“So good,” Castiel panted, hand tightening a little in Dean’s hair as the pressure of his throat became known. “Such a good boy. So attentive, so obedient. You’re pleasing me very much, Dean. I’m very—ah, very happy with you right now.”

Dean made a whimpering noise around his cock, and the vibration felt incredible. Castiel groaned, long and loud, grateful that no one else was in the building. The office was warm with the sun that was streaming through the window behind him, lighting Dean’s bronze-gold wings like fire. They pressed shyly against Castiel’s still, seeking pressure and touch, the approval that came with every spasm of pleasure through Castiel’s entire body.

The combination of the sight of Dean on his knees and the rather impressive blowjob he was giving ensured that Castiel wouldn’t last long. Dean was doing something expert with his tongue, a little rolling and flicking motion at the sensitive underside of Castiel’s cock. It made pleasure run like lightning up his spine.

When Castiel felt himself nearing that edge, the doorstep of ecstasy, he tugged gently on Dean’s hair and said, “Alright, that’s enough. Good boy, that was fantastic.”

Dean pulled off when he was asked, looking up at Castiel with a mix of adoration and confusion in his green eyes. “Sir?” he questioned, glancing down at Castiel’s throbbing cock.

“Shh, you did well,” Castiel soothed, reaching down to bring Dean up, holding him as the younger angel stumbled a little when he finally stood. “I want to fuck you, now. Is that something you’re okay with?”

Dean sucked in a breath, nodding eagerly. “Yes please, sir, please, I—” He cut himself off, wings drawing back from where they’d been pressed against Castiel’s, curling inward in a display of embarrassment.

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Tell me,” he commanded.

It seemed that at his core, Dean truly was a good boy. He barely hesitated before obeying. “I just… I was just, um… I was just gonna s-say that I’ve imagined this, um, sir. A lot. Sorry.” He looked down, evidently embarrassed and maybe a little ashamed, and Castiel couldn’t let that continue. He reached out to tilt Dean’s chin back up gently, looking at him kindly.

“How did you imagine it?” he asked. His voice was low, quiet, like they were sharing a secret. “How did you imagine me fucking you?”

Dean gulped, his throat fluttering against the edges of Castiel’s fingers. “I imagined it lots’a ways,” he admitted. “But, um… My favorite was right here, or in the, uh, the war room. You… You would open me up with m-my wing oil. And then y-you’d fuck me over the table.” He gulped, eyes sliding down guiltily, as if that hadn’t just made Castiel’s cock throb hard enough to ache.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered. “So you imagined us here, did you?” He reached out, making sure to gentle his hands as he grabbed onto the arch of Dean’s wing, surprised at the gasp the contact tore from his soldier. Dean’s wing pressed weakly into his touch, the feathers already slick with the mating oils both of them had been releasing for quite some time now.

Dean was so pliant and soft as Castiel maneuvered him around, pressing him up against the edge of his desk. He whimpered as Castiel stroked through his feathers, slicking his fingers with the copious amounts of oil he found there.

“Wait, I wanna—” Dean cut himself off, evidently unsure if he was allowed to ask for anything.

Castiel softened. “What is it you want, sweetheart?” he asked. Dean’s wings trembled in his hands at the endearment.

“I… I wanna see you,” Dean said. “Just, um… Just your shirt, I just wanna see you. Please? You’re wearing too many clothes still.”

Castiel chuckled, surprised by how simple the request was. “Very well. I’ll make a deal with you, dear one,” he said. He sought out Dean’s hand and rubbed oil-soaked fingers against the younger angel’s palm. “Start opening yourself up, and I’ll see about getting out of some of these clothes.”

Dean nodded eagerly, looking comically excited as he began to stroke through his own wings with hands that were jerky with eagerness. Castiel paused to remind him to be gentle with himself, then set to work on his tunic and the light, casual set of armor he’d been wearing. It was surprisingly more challenging to take off than he’d thought, what with his slick fingers, raging arousal, and the presence of a very beautiful, very willing angel before him.

The noises Dean made as he opened himself up should have been illegal. They weren’t even very loud, just soft little gasps of pleasure as he worked his fingers inside himself, little drops of oil sliding down his inner thighs. Castiel paused after he’d bared his chest and torso, stopping to just watch Dean writhe on his own fingers.

“Such a beautiful boy,” he praised, leaning close to pepper kisses along Dean’s jaw and throat. Dean whined and leaned into him, body trembling as he worked his fingers in and out of himself. “Such a good, beautiful boy. That’s enough, sweetheart. Let me take care of you now.”

Dean whimpered at that, pulling his fingers from his body. He turned around obediently as Castiel directed him, planting his hands on the desk to brace himself. Clenching his jaw a little to keep his arousal under control, Castiel gripped Dean’s slim hips and guided his cock, slicked with wing oil of his own, to Dean’s entrance. They both tensed for half a moment, and then Castiel was sliding in slowly, releasing a long, low groan that seemed to come from the very bottom of his lungs.

“Oh,” Dean gasped, arching back, wings nudging against Castiel’s, pushing into the blanketing embrace of the older angel’s wingspan. “Oh, sir, ah… That feels… That feels friggin’ incredible.”

Castiel nosed at the soft, warm skin of Dean’s shoulder, marveling at the gleam of his skin under the sun coming through the window, the individual little freckles he could count there. It almost distracted him from the impossibly tight, velvety heat he’d sunk his aching cock into. Almost.

The first time he pulled out and rocked back in, it was as if sparks had gone off in his gut, warm and bright. Dean made a noise that was half-groan, half-whine, beautiful and thready in the sun-warmed air. Castiel’s left hand stayed on his hip, but his right wandered up, traveling the lean, muscled expanse of Dean’s torso as he began to rock back and forth into his welcoming body. The combination of the sensations could have sent a lesser creature to their knees.

“So beautiful,” Castiel breathed as he thrusted into Dean firmly, punching a gasp out of him. “So obedient. You’ve been trying to be good for me for a while, haven’t you, dear one?”

Dean huffed another sound, this one closer to a sob than a gasp. “Y-Yeah,” he rasped, head tilting back into the kisses that Castiel was laying against his neck. “Yeah, just… just wanted t’make you proud.”

“Mmm,” Castiel hummed, picking up the pace ever so slightly. He was already close, he could feel it. He blamed the incredible blowjob he’d had earlier and the heartstopping beauty of the angel braced against his desk. “I don’t deserve your devotion. I didn’t even notice your efforts. I was blind to how good you were trying to be.”

Dean whimpered, wings pushing back into Castiel’s. Castiel pressed into them, relishing the shiver that ran through Dean’s entire body at the firm pressure. Their feathers meshed, soft and slick with oil, gold and black mixing together. Castiel’s wings were broader and stronger than Dean’s, and the difference made something inside him tremble at its very foundations.

“Should’a been better,” Dean breathed, even as the breath was pushed from his lungs by Castiel’s thrusts. “Should’a… Should’a been better behaved.”

“You didn’t know how else to ask,” Castiel murmured gently. “It’s okay, dear one. You do now.”

His right arm stretched around Dean’s chest, his hand coming to settle on the younger angel’s left shoulder, cradling Dean against him. Dean had stopped leaning over the desk and was now arching back into the warm line of Castiel’s body, soft and pliant and wanting. Castiel breathed in the scent of their combined arousal, of the wing oil that soaked their feathers, and he thought privately that he could do this for the rest of his life.

“Gotta—Gotta—Please, sir, I gotta come,” Dean gasped, crying out as Castiel shifted the angle just slightly, striking a spot inside him that made him writhe. “Please—Please, oh!” Castiel kept the angle he’d found, pounding into Dean steadily, feeling his own orgasm coil tighter and tighter in his stomach, moments away from the edge.

“Remember what I said,” Castiel panted, even as he felt himself falling underneath the tidal wave of pleasure that had been threatening for what felt like hours now. “Remember to be—ah, to be a good boy, fuck—”

He grunted as he came in Dean’s ass, pulse after pulse of ecstasy flooding through him. It washed over him in a suffocating, liberating tsunami, whiting out his hearing and sound. He was aware of his ragged breathing, of the wonderful tight heat around his cock. He was aware of how tightly he was gripping Dean, his wings pressing almost harshly against the other angel’s. He held Dean against him almost desperately, feeling as if a piece of his grace would be ripped away if Dean were to part with him in that moment.

It felt like it took forever and no time at all for him to return to the present. When Castiel had regained his bearings, he found Dean pressed rigidly against him, his whole body trembling with a tension that seemed infused in his very bones.

“Please,” Dean begged, barely a whisper in the sun-gilded air. “Please, sir, please…”

Castiel reached down, circling a hand around Dean’s rock hard cock, and as he pumped him to completion, he murmured fiercely, “Good boy, Dean. I’m so proud of you, dear one.”

Dean came with a cry of ecstasy, his body arching back against Castiel’s, golden wings pressing tight against black. Castiel held him through the waves of his orgasm, stroking him until he shuddered with overstimulation. After that, he simply wrapped his arms tight around Dean and held him, listening as his breathing slowed from a gasping pant to slow, even, measured breaths.

“Sir?” Dean eventually asked, sounding tentative and unsure. He was still pressing back against Castiel like he was trying to join them together as one, his skin silky soft against Castiel’s, perfect in every way.

“You don’t need to bother with calling me that anymore,” Castiel said, daring to press a gentle kiss to the graceful column of Dean’s neck. “I believe I like ‘Cas’ better anyway.”

Dean laughed a little, soft, and Castiel felt something in his heart swell at the sound. “Okay, Cas. I, um…” He trailed off for a moment, evidently searching for words, but eventually just settled on, “Wow.”

Castiel hummed, caressing Dean’s wings gently with his own, heart squeezing at the delighted little flutters the action earned him. “I agree,” he murmured. “Wow.”

Dean leaned back against him happily, silky skin warm against Castiel’s bare chest. It was a delicious feeling, being so close. Castiel couldn’t help but imagine enjoying the sensation in the early morning, wrapped up with Dean in his nest instead of standing in his sun-filled office.

“Can we, uh… Can we do this again? Sometime? Maybe?” Dean asked. He sounded painfully unsure of himself. His wings were curling away from Castiel’s now, shy and uncertain, like before.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Castiel murmured. He felt the way Dean physically melted into his arms at that, at the reassurance that he would be welcome again, tension flowing from his muscles like water in a stream. Castiel’s heart squeezed, and he couldn’t stop himself from adding, “In fact, Dean, I want you to come to me whenever you feel the need to misbehave. I’m not joking when I say that your defiance is dangerous, sometimes. I don’t want you to get hurt.” As he spoke, he caressed gentle fingers over the bandage on Dean’s injured wing.

Dean ducked his head a little. “But I saved Commander Raphael,” he mumbled.

“Yes, and I never told you that I’m proud of you for that,” Castiel said. He cursed himself for it, grateful that at least he had the chance to say it now. “I’m impressed by your courage and your heart, Dean. But I don’t want you to put yourself in unnecessary danger again. If you simply listened to me sometimes, you would get into much less trouble.”

Dean laughed a little, seeming to catch the lightness in Castiel’s tone. “Okay,” he said softly, pressing tentatively back into Castiel’s hold. Castiel pulled him in tight, a physical reassurance that he was wanted, that he was allowed to be here, to seek and enjoy comfort and closeness. It seemed to relax the other angel immensely.

They stood there for a long time, just holding each other, wings pressed so close that their feathers meshed together. Eventually, they parted so they could get dressed and Castiel could dump the ruined files from his desktop into the wastebin. He’d been intending to throw them out anyway.

With everything in the office cleaned and Dean dressed again, there was nothing keeping Castiel in the building. He caught the unsure way Dean hovered near the door and extended his wing to tuck it around the younger angel, wondering how he could have missed how insecure Dean was underneath all that bravado and defiance. It seemed Dean wasn’t the only thickheaded one of the two of them.

Castiel held Dean under his wing until they reached the exit of the building. When they stood in the warm sunlight, staring out at the manicured lawn, Castiel retracted his wing but kept his hand on the other angel’s shoulder.

“My home is in the western hills, near the river,” Castiel said, turning to look at Dean. By all that was holy, he looked radiant in the sunlight. “If you… If you’d like, you could come around sometime. I suppose I’m more lonely than I’d care to admit, so I would very much like your company. If you were interested, of course.”

Dean beamed at him, and that was like another sun in itself. “‘Course I’ll come see you,” he said. He flicked his wings bashfully. “If, um… If it wasn’t obvious already, I kinda have a massive crush on you. Like, embarrassingly big. So, uh… yeah.”

Castiel smiled. “That was clear, yes.” He nudged the edge of his wing against Dean’s, gentle. “I must admit to having experienced some attraction to you as well, though I attempted to suppress it because I was rather annoyed with you most of the time. I’m glad we’ve reached an understanding now.”

Dean ducked his head, giving a small nod. “Yeah. You, uh…” He trailed off, glancing up at Castiel uncertainly. When he got a nod of encouragement, he blurted, “You’re not gonna get annoyed about that, right? If I—If I come, uh, ask for help? You won’t get mad? Or, um… Or make fun’a me?”

Castiel softened. “Of course not, Dean. Trust me, that was a far more enjoyable method of dealing with your defiance than making you run extra laps. Despite how it may seem, I don’t actually enjoy punishing you. I would much rather you come to me when you’re feeling upset or in need of release, so that we may explore a more pleasurable solution.”

Dean grinned at him, relaxing a little. “Okay. Then I’m definitely gonna take you up on that in the future.”

“Please do, Dean,” Castiel said. He extended his wing again, but this time, he gently nudged Dean forward, out into the sunlight. “Go enjoy your free time, now. It won’t be long before we’re back to drilling and training.”

“I’ll see you ‘round, Cas,” Dean said, stepping out onto the lawn. He gave Castiel a little wave, endearing and sweet and far too magnetic for Castiel’s liking. He’d need to be careful around this one, he already knew it. If he wasn’t cautious, he could find himself with feelings for Dean that were a little too much like love.

Even as Castiel thought that, he had a feeling it was a bit too late. As he watched Dean flare his gorgeous golden wings and take off, he knew it was too late.

But as Castiel watched Dean fly until he was but a speck in the distance, he reflected that the warmth he felt toward him wasn’t really all that new, nor was it something to be afraid of. It was something to be celebrated, to be excited about.

With a small smile on his face and a strange new hope in his heart, Castiel opened his wings and took to the sky.