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"Even the most humble gift, if given in love, will be acceptable in His eyes."
- The story of the Poinsettia
Since falling Cas had decided he hated July. It was always too hot, too humid or too dry. It was always uncomfortable. He helped Magdalin with the camp cleaning. Always out under the hot sun, he was thankful for the work, don’t get him wrong. The heat just grated on him. They’d settled here in May and instantly Dean was brought in as a substantial asset. Of course he had been. He was an extraordinary hunter after all.
Cas had— well, Cas had not been welcomed so easily. But Maggy took him under her wing. Had given him work when the leader refused to make him part of the patrol. Dean had been on edge about the decision for weeks after, but Cas brushed it off. They were jumpy, sure, but they couldn’t have known about his fallen Angel status. They had probably just taken a look at his bloodshot eyes and decided him worthless.
That was okay with Cas.
Unfortunately for Cas, it was not the case at all.
Dean had been out on a patrol with Steven, Thomas and Stephanie the day it happened. Maggy had told Cas to take the day off, and he didn’t think twice about it. He’d decided a week ago to clean up his and Dean’s hut and that had been the perfect opportunity. And then he got home.
And the leader of the group was standing in their house. He was frowning down at a large iridescent black feather in his hand. Cas froze the second Wes looked up and caught his gaze. “Ah. There you are, Angel.” He spat the word out and Cas flinched back.
“I am not an Angel.” It wasn’t a lie. He wasn’t, not anymore. His eyes flicked down to the feather again and he swallowed, throat tight. “Where did you get that? Give it back.” Wes sneered and snapped the feather in half between his thumb and forefinger. Cas flinched at the sharp sound and watched with wide eyes as the broken pinion fell to the ground.
Wes took three strides forward and grabbed the front of Cas’s shirt, yanking him forward. Wes was a good half a foot taller than him and Cas tried to pull back as far as he could. Brown eyes narrowed in anger and he growled out, “What’s an Angel doing Earthside? Give me one reason I shouldn’t kill you right now.” His fingers twisted the shirt and his other came up to wrap around Cas’s throat.
Cas barely had time to open his mouth before there was a loud ruckus outside the house. A rumbling engine cut off. Loud, deep laughter. The crack of beer cans opening. He felt his heart leap from his chest as realization hit him. It was the patrol. They were back. Dean was back. He watched Wes’s lip curl back in disgust before he was roughly shoved away. His back hit the wall with a thud. The second his hand released Cas’s neck the door opened.
Taking in heaving breaths Cas glared at the floor between them as Wes stood up straighter. In the doorway Dean’s eyes narrowed, the happy grin slipped away instantly. “What’s going on here then?” Flashing the hunter a condescending smile, Wes stepped over and clapped him on the shoulder. Dean glanced at it briefly before sweeping his eyes back over to where Cas was slumped against the wall. A quick look over him and he seemed unharmed, if not a little rumpled. Then his eyes fell to the broken feather about two feet away and his blood ran cold.
“Just having a little chat.” Then he was sauntering out the door with a careless wave of his hand. Once the door clicked back into place Dean was across the room and dropped to his knees beside Cas. His hands flew to his cheeks and forced Cas to look up at him.
“What happened.” Dean demanded quietly, thumbs running over the bags under his eyes. “Are you alright? Where did he get the feather from, Cas?” Shaking his head to attempt to clear it Cas gulped and closed his eyes. With a shaking hand he reached up to press it against Dean’s chest, right over his heart.
Without opening his eyes he whispered, “It’s fine, Dean. I’m fine. It was nothing.” It was the worst lie Dean had ever heard and they both knew it. He let it slide though because the haunted look in Cas’s eyes told him to. Told him he didn’t want to deal with it. Leaning forward Dean pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and sighed. With a slight nod he pulled back and moved to stand up. They’d have to talk about it eventually.
Eventually came almost a month later. Cas had been jumpy and on edge for weeks. Always glancing over his shoulder, flinching away from Dean’s touch. It hurt more than what Dean was letting on and it was frustrating him. And then he started noticing them. Tiny bruises Cas tried hiding under long sleeves and higher collars. Cuts that didn’t make sense for household chores. He didn’t mention them. Then Cas refused to let Dean see him naked anymore.
It was when they were at a patrol meeting that Dean started understanding. Cas was there on Dean’s request. Sitting quietly at his side and diligently taking notes. As Steven was speaking Cas suddenly froze, his foot jerked over to tap against Dean’s and the hunter shot him a glance through his peripherals. His face had gone white and his bloodshot eyes were wide. The clench of his jaw had Dean tipping his head slightly in confusion. Then he saw the hand.
Wes had his hand gripping Cas’s upper thigh tightly, his fingertips digging into the dark denim carelessly. Jerking his head over to stare at the so called leader, Dean felt his blood start to boil. “May I ask what the fuck you think you’re doing?” He growled lowly, cutting off Steven’s report. All eyes around the table jumped between Dean’s angry stance and Wes’s collected indifference. His hand stayed where it was for a beat longer as Wes met Dean’s gaze.
Finally he pulled it away and Cas let out the long breath he had been holding and scrambled back closer toward Dean. “Relax, Winchester, it’s all harmless fun. Right Angel.” The only thing keeping Dean from ripping his throat out right then and there was the terrified look Cas shot him.
It was like walking on eggshells around them. The tension could be felt through the whole camp. There was a storm coming, everyone could feel it.
“Dean, you have to go.” Cas muttered one night two weeks later. Thomas had approached them earlier that evening telling Dean they were headed out at daybreak and would appreciate his help. Dean had tried to refuse but Thomas just leveled him with an imploring look and told him to think about it. Without a single look at Cas he left again.
Dean sighed into the skin of Cas’s shoulder. “I know… I just worry.” Cas nodded in understanding. He’d go. They both knew it but there was still an edge.
“I’ll be fine, Dean.”
He shouldn’t have gone. He shouldn’t have, but he did and now… Now Cas was hurt. They’d just gotten back and there was a tension in the camp. A tension that radiated from every face that refused to look him in the eye. Tension that bubbled over when Wes didn’t show up at the debriefing.
“Tori.” Dean growled out slowly, eyes taking inventory of everyone. Two people were missing. Wes and… “Where’s Cas.” The woman looked away, eyes downcast and so so sad. Dean’s stomach dropped and his throat went dry. Without another word he tore from the building. How could he have been so fucking stupid. Why didn’t he go check on Cas the moment they got back?
His vision went red the second he opened the hut door. Wes stood over Cas’s broken and naked form. He was just zipping up his pants, and Dean didn’t hesitate. The gunshots rang through the dark without another thought. Wes let out an ear splitting scream and crumbled to the floor, hands flying to the bullet wound in his leg. He jerked his head back to stare, wide eyed at Dean. “You-- You shot me. You turned on your own kind for him? Why?”
Dean took a few measured steps forward, his eyes narrowing and his lips thinning out. Slipping the large knife from its place on his hip he growled out, “Because, he’s my Angel.” The knife point was roughly shoved against Wes’s Adam’s Apple and Dean’s jaw tightened as blood welled up under the point. “And you fucking touched him.”
There was a disgusted sneer on his face, and he left the knife protruding from Wes’s neck as he scooped Cas up into his arms. The former Angel was out cold and Dean tried his best to keep from waking him as he pulled a soft sweater over his bruised torso. He ignored the red staining the floor boards. He ignored the red smears across his arms and hands and legs.
He tried to ignore the bright red coating Cas’s pale thighs. Brilliant flower petals against fresh snow. He couldn’t. He saw the tears hit the ground before it registered they were even falling. He saw them mix with the blood, Castiel’s blood, and pool on the ground.
He felt sick. He found a pair of still soft sleep pants that Cas loved and gently pulled them over sticky legs. He’d have to help him clean up when Cas finally wakes up. For now though, he had to get them out of here. He had no doubt the camp won’t be very welcoming to them when they find Wes’s body. No matter what the reason was, they would always put their own before Cas.
Dean felt sick, but not because he’d murdered him.
It took 3 days for Cas to wake up again. On the first day Dean had gotten him into the Impala and just drove. Wanting to put as many states between them and that settlement as possible. In the early morning of the second day he’d found an abandoned country home with a working fireplace and a usable well. After getting a fire going he’d scavenged together enough blankets to form a sort of nest on the threadbare couch.
He pushed it as close to the fire as he dared, letting it warm up before he went back to Baby where Cas was still in the backseat. With almost reverent hands he tucked Cas into the blankets, smoothing them down to fit snug against his body. Threading his fingers through dark fringe Dean sighed, “I’m sorry, Cas.”
He kept watch throughout the night, sitting with his back against the sofa nearest Cas’s head, and his knees drawn up to his chest. He must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing he became aware of was long fingers trailing over his ear and down his neck. Looking back his gaze met sleep disoriented blue and he exhaled sharply. “Hello, Dean.” Cas croaked, frowning at the dryness in his throat.
Letting himself smile for the first time in days Dean whispered back, “Hey, Cas.” Cas looked around their surroundings and his eyes narrowed as his frown deepened. There seemed to be a thought fighting to get through and Dean braced himself. His hand came up to rest against the one now resting on his shoulder and let their fingers twine together. He felt the second Cas remembered what happened.
There was a bite to his nails as they dug through Dean’s shirt, and a tremble in his hands. Dean’s heart ached for him when there was a sharp intake of breath and a shaky exhale. “What happened?” He broke off to lay back, his body instantly curling around Dean where he still leaned against the couch. “After he-- What happened?”
“I killed him.” Dean muttered, tone matter of fact and blunt. His grip on Cas’s hand tightened, thumb smoothing over his palm reassuringly. I don’t regret it at all. He fucking hurt you and I just… I lost it. I killed him, Cas.” The watery sound of Cas breathing mixed with the crackle from the fireplace. Neither of them spoke again. Neither of them had to.
It was an act done in the name of love.
An act they both knew would be repeated. Over and over again because that was who they were. It was the only gift they could give the other. True, they would die for each other in a heartbeat if it came down to it. More importantly though, they would kill for each other.