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The Most Holy Thing There Is

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Cas never thought he’d end up calling Mick for help. Truthfully, he’d passed the business card straight to Sam once they were out of the room. Sam was the most likely to hang onto the card out of the three of them, though Cas doubted he’d ever use it, given the circumstances. 

But now that Sam and Dean have disappeared, he finds himself rooting through Sam’s desk trying to find it. It’s tucked near the back of a drawer, with a number of other business cards. He fishes it out, standing in Sam’s room while he calls. 

“Mick Davies,” a voice answers.

“Mick. It’s Castiel.” He’s always felt a little ridiculous using phones to communicate, but he supposes after millions of years of communicating via angel radio, that feeling will never pass. 

“I thought you’d tossed my card,” Mick admits, sounding surprisingly pleased. Cas has no idea why, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on the finer workings of human communication. 

“I did not. I need your help. Sam and Dean are missing.” The faster they get to it, the less likely it is that Sam and Dean will be dead before they get to them-- wherever they are. He has considered the possibility that they’ve purposefully dropped off the grid. It wouldn’t be the first time they failed to communicate something like that to him. 

Mick agrees to meet him at the bunker, and arrives within a few hours, looking completely unruffled by the late-night phone call. Cas offers him alcohol to be polite, and when Mick accepts, he pours himself a drink as well. It tends to make humans more comfortable when he does that. 

They drink and talk about finding leads. Unluckily, Cas has very few. He knows the last place that he saw Sam and Dean, and that’s about it. Even the other hunters have heard nothing. Mary has nothing. Their credit cards haven’t been used since they disappeared, and the tracking on their phones has ceased functioning. Cas is at a loss. Mick assures him that he’ll reach out to his contacts. “We’re good at finding people,” he says. “We found Sam Winchester once, didn’t we?” 

“That didn’t go very well,” Cas reminds him. 

“Right.” Mick finishes his drink, setting the empty glass on the war table. “I’ve got a question for you.” Cas just tilts his head, nodding slightly for Mick to continue. “Did you realize that I wasn’t just giving you my number for professional reasons?” 

Cas is at a loss for words. He puzzles over the question, but comes up short of an answer. Clearly he’s missing some information. “What do you mean?” 

“I was flirting with you.” It’s matter of fact, but Mick doesn’t sound like he’s surprised at all. “I wasn’t sure if angels… did that sort of thing.” 

There’s a long pause where Cas just stares at Mick, processing. Most of the time, Dean points out when someone is flirting with him-- typically a waitress. The only other time he can remember was with the reaper who ended up trying to kill him. Then with Nora from the Gas n Sip, who hadn’t actually been flirting with him at all. It’s easy to misconstrue things. 

Apparently he hesitates for too long, because Mick speaks again. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

“You didn’t,” Cas responds quickly. “I’m still learning the ins and outs of human communication. Flirting still confuses me. I must have missed it.” He still isn’t sure how to respond. He’s had such a one-track-mind about his feelings for Dean that he has to force himself to really look at Mick and think about what he feels about him. 

He is a fairly good-looking man. He’s well put together, and has striking blue eyes. They meet Cas’ confidently, and he appreciates that. He spends so much time around the Winchesters trying not to make too much eye contact, and trying not to get too close, since Dean always makes comments about personal space. Plus, his voice is pleasant to his ears. 

But now isn’t really the time to be thinking about this. “We can’t afford any distractions right now,” Cas decides, using the same line he’d used on Hannah. It worked last time. 

Mick nods in understanding. “Of course. You know where to find me if you change your mind. I’ll let you know if my contacts find anything.” 




For the most part, Cas is too busy worrying about the Winchesters to spare a second thought for Mick. It’s only after he has them back safe in the bunker that he even remembers the interaction. 

Dean is ignoring him. They haven’t spoken since he killed Billie to save them, though Cas has tried. He’s found over many years of trial and error that the best method of dealing with Dean is to either let him work it out on his own, or get him angry enough that he’ll actually talk about it. Cas is reluctant to do the latter, so he keeps his distance. 

Keeping his distance, in this case, means he’s actually considering the idea of seeing Mick again. It might be nice to be around someone who really wants to be around him. 

So he calls Mick. He does it late at night, when there’s no chance of Sam and Dean hearing him. “Hello?” Mick answers, voice thick with sleep. 

“I’m sorry. I’m not sure when you sleep,” he explains, immediately regretting his decision. The Winchesters sleep at varying hours due to their hunts, so he tends to forget a normal sleep schedule.

“No apology necessary. How can I help you?” 

Cas widens his eyes in panic, glad that Mick can’t see him. He hasn’t actually considered how to phrase this next part. This area of human interaction is profoundly unfamiliar to him. He searches his memory of pop culture for some kind of help. There has to have been some movie with this kind of situation in it. “Would you like to drink alcohol with me?” He finally supplies, and considers hanging up out of panic. 

“Yes. Absolutely,” Mick responds easily. “Text me the time and place. Now get some sleep, angel, or you’ll be too exhausted to have any fun.” 

Cas understands what he means by that , and it makes him go mute for a moment. Mick is smooth and unafraid with this kind of thing. It’s refreshing, but also terrifying. He feels completely out of his depth. “I don’t sleep,” he answers, knowing he doesn’t sound remotely human. 

Mick sighs on the other end. Cas has no idea what it means, but it sounds like it might be a good thing. “I have lots of questions for you when we meet.” 




They decide to meet up a few towns over from Lebanon.

Cas tries to remember how Dean fixed his outfit the last time he went on a date. He ditches his trench coat and his tie, and unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt. There’s not much else he can do. He doesn’t have any other clothes, and though they’re close to the same size, the idea of rooting around in Dean’s closet for something to wear is mortifying. Dean will definitely question him about where he’s going, and there are at least a dozen reasons that he’s not prepared for that conversation. 

He slips out the front door while Sam and Dean are talking in the kitchen. 

The first thing he does when he arrives is order a drink. For him, this means a full glass of vodka. The bartender thinks he's joking when he orders it, but he doesn't care. He won’t feel anything otherwise, and tonight he needs the “social lubricant,” as he’s heard it called. He’s already halfway through it when Mick arrives and sits beside him at the bar. “Are you drinking water?” He asks incredulously.

“No, it’s vodka,” Cas explains. “I have an extremely high tolerance.” 

Mick orders his own drink, looking Cas up and down. “So, you don’t sweat, you don’t sleep, and you can hold your liquor. What else? Do you have super strength?” 

“I am much stronger than a human being, yes.” Cas watches for Mick’s reaction.

It doesn’t disappoint. Mick shifts in his seat, letting out one of those now-familiar sighs. Cas is starting to realize that it might be a sign of attraction. “Amazing.” That would make Cas blush, if he didn’t have full control over his vessel’s vasculature. Maybe he should blush. He’s unfamiliar with the social norm here. “Can I ask, is this a date?” Mick doesn’t hesitate in asking. 

“I don’t know. What constitutes a date? I don’t think I’ve ever been on one,” Cas admits. Not a real one, at least. 

Mick shrugs. “Drinking, chatting, getting to know one another.” 

“Oh. That sounds easy.” If that’s the case, Cas is pretty sure he’s been on many dates. Of course, most of those were with Dean, and Dean has explicitly stated that he sees Cas as a brother, so clearly they weren’t dates. It’s all very confusing and convoluted, as most of human interaction is. “Then yes, it’s a date. Let’s get to know one another.” 

Mick gives him a wide, charming grin. “Good. Tell me about yourself.”

“Well, I was created by God over four hundred million--”

“Woah, woah," Mick cuts him off, waving a hand. "Not that kind of stuff. I mean, I’m fascinated, and I’d love to hear it one day, but right now I’m just interested in what makes you you . You know, what are your interests? Outside of saving the Winchesters, of course.” 

That turns out to be harder to answer. So far, Cas’ main human interest has been all things Dean. Saving Dean, helping Dean, fixing things for Dean. Trying to get Dean to stop being angry at him. But Mick specifically said outside of saving the Winchesters . He wracks his brain for something else. “I like insects,” he starts. “And flowers. When I helped build this Earth, life was in its infancy. I saw the predecessors of these organisms, but not the evolution to what they’ve become now. It’s fascinating that so few creatures have now evolved into over nine-hundred thousand species of insects.” 

Mick is staring at him, and Cas wonders if he’s going to write it off as lame, the way Dean would. But instead he gives him what Cas can only guess is an affectionate look. “That is fascinating,” he agrees. “You must know a lot about them.” 

“Only a little. There’s so much to learn. I did devote a good amount of time to learning about honeybees,” he tells Mick, excited to talk about it now that he has a listening ear. 

The conversation drifts away from insects at some point, and Cas doesn’t mind. He likes hearing about Mick’s interests too. He enjoys reading and writing, and Cas is content to listen to him talk about that for as long as he wants to. It’s pleasant to watch someone talk about something they’re passionate about without any restraint. Plus, now that he has a working knowledge of pop culture, he can also talk about many books. Mick suggests a few to him, telling him that they might give him a little more insight into humanity. That's another of Cas' interests; humanity itself. Mick tells him it's very biblical of him, and Cas gives him a sheepish smile. 

They end up talking until near closing time, when the bartender has started wiping things down and giving them the occasional glare. Together they head out to the parking lot. Their cars are the only two left. Cas walks Mick to his car. “Can you drive?” He asks. “I can drive you, if you need me to. Or I can make you sober.” He lifts his hand, two fingers at the ready. 

“That’s neat,” Mick comments, but ducks away from his hand. “No, I’m okay. Actually, I’ve got a motel room in town. Would you like to come back with me?” Before Cas can say anything, Mick is going on. “You can say no. I know you can’t exactly use the old ‘I’m too tired’ excuse, or ‘I have work tomorrow.’” 

Cas recognizes this moment from movies, and from the times Dean has described it to him. Mick is propositioning him. He has to think for a moment, but he can’t really come up with a single reason not to go with him. It might be fun. He enjoyed sex the last time it happened, even if that was with a reaper who immediately tried to kill him. It really couldn’t hurt to take another shot at it. “Okay,” he agrees. “I’ll meet you there.” 

Mick is waiting outside for him when he arrives. “Can’t believe I’ve invited a four hundred million year old cosmic being back to my motel,” he muses as he unlocks the door and leads Cas inside. “And he said yes. ” 

“To be fair, I am a fallen angel,” Cas points out. “Historically we’re much easier to entice into bed.” He follows Mick inside, and suddenly has no idea what to do with himself, so he stands near the door, putting his hands in the pockets of his coat.

Mick rolls his eyes. “Let me enjoy this, Castiel. I’d like to think I’m dragging you away from something holy.” He steps closer, close enough now that Cas can smell the gin on his lips. 

“Contrary to popular human belief, sex between two men is actually not unholy at all,” Cas tells him, eyeing his lips. He wants to kiss him, but he’s worried he won’t remember how. It’s not something you can read about in a book. It’s learned from experience, and Cas has very little of it. 

Luckily, Mick takes the hint and closes the gap for him. It’s a gentle kiss at first, but as soon as Cas loses his nerves, he’s taking his hands out of his pockets and gripping the front of Mick’s coat, tugging him closer so their bodies are flush together. He deepens the kiss, and then sucks Mick’s lower lip into his mouth, dragging his teeth against it. It draws a low moan from Mick, a sound that feeds that sudden urgent hunger that has arisen in Cas. 

It feels good. It feels too good. Angels aren’t supposed to want . They don’t eat, don’t sleep, don’t sweat when it’s too hot or shiver when it’s too cold. But whatever part of Cas broke all those years ago when he chose to rebel against Heaven has created an insatiable hunger within him. Until now, he hadn’t even realized it was there. This helps. It’s hardly a fix, but it’s something. He’s like a starved man, finally sinking his teeth into food. It makes him so happy that he could cry.

He pushes Mick’s coat off of his shoulders, and Mick does the same to him. Then he’s urging the other man back towards the bed, careful not to let him fall too hard onto the mattress when they make it there. Mick smiles up at him from the bed, breathing heavily already. “You can’t tell me this isn’t a little bit unholy.” 

Cas follows him onto the bed, biting kisses up his neck. “Holy means… worthy of complete devotion, as one perfect in goodness and righteousness,” he murmurs against Mick’s skin. “This is the most holy thing there is.” Maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration, but he's always had a flair for the dramatic. He sucks a red mark into Mick's skin, just above his collarbone. At the moment, he really feels that way. This is holy, and perfect, and most of what he's wanted ever since he started feeling in the first place. He wraps an arm around Mick, dragging him further up the bed so his legs aren’t hanging off the edge. 

Once Mick’s head is on the pillow, he starts on the buttons of his shirt, fumbling his way down and kissing his chest along the way. His movements are hurried, hands shaking as he struggles with the buttons. He only stops when Mick reaches down and curls a finger under his chin, drawing his gaze up to those striking blue eyes. “Slow down,” Mick suggests-- then stops suddenly, his brows pulling together in a concerned look. “Are you okay?” 

Cas stares at him, perplexed. “Of course.” 

“You’re crying,” Mick points out.

"No I'm not." Cas hesitates, and then reaches a hand up to his face, and realizes that Mick is right. There are tears in his eyes, and they spill over and drop onto Mick’s white shirt when he blinks. That’s strange.  

He moves off of Mick, sitting on the edge of the bed. Mick sits up with him, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “What’s going on?” His voice is so gentle and kind-- something Cas isn’t used to whatsoever. The Winchesters are so abrupt, and tough. This is new to him, and it doesn’t help the tears stop-- if anything, it only brings up more.

“I’m figuring that out,” Cas tells him, trying to form feelings into words . Part of him knows what it is. He knows what that hunger inside of him is, too. It’s so insatiable because the one thing he wants is off limits. This, with Mick, is the closest he’s ever come to it, and it doesn’t even come close to sating him. That’s what’s making him cry. The fact that he’ll always feel that gap within himself, even when he’s really enjoying the moment with Mick. “I’m in love,” he says eventually. 

It’s stupid to tell him, especially when he doesn’t know Mick’s true alliance. But he has to tell someone. “With who?” Mick asks, squeezing his shoulder. 

Cas shakes his head. That would be too much information. If Dean ever found out, he would stop speaking to him. It’s better that he keeps it to himself. “It’s irrelevant. They won’t ever love me back. But you should know that before we go any further. I wouldn’t want to cause any emotional harm, if you intended this to be something more than sex.” He wipes away his tears, frustrated with himself for losing control like that. If that ever happened in front of Dean, he wouldn’t know what to say. It’s not like he can flap his wings and disappear every time he’s uncomfortable anymore. Dean would probably clam up and back off, and then incessantly pester him about it later when he refused to admit what was bothering him.

“I don’t know what I wanted from this,” Mick admits. “But I’m glad you told me. I’m sorry you’re going through that. Unrequited love is painful.” He reaches up to trail his fingers along Cas’ jaw, turning his face so Cas will look at him. “Can’t believe I made an angel cry. That’s something poetic right there.” 

You didn’t make me cry,” Cas insists, but he manages a smile, knowing that Mick is joking. “Should I go?” 

Mick unbuttons the last few buttons on his shirt, and lays back on the duvet, shaking his head. “No. Stay. Come here and tell me about the honeybees.” 

So Cas does, resting beside him and describing the way some bees communicate through a sort of dance. Mick falls asleep in the middle of it, but he doesn't mind. He drifts closer throughout the night, and eventually ends up with Mick’s head resting on his chest. He’s snoring slightly. Once, he startles awake from a dream, and Cas brushes a thumb over his cheekbone and uses some of his grace to lull him back to sleep. 

It's peaceful. He's content to feel the gentle rise and fall of Mick's chest, and stare out the crack in the blinds at the passing cars.

Once the sun rises, he wakes Mick up to kiss him goodbye. “We should do this again, Castiel,” Mick suggests, yawning. He looks all disheveled and sleepy. It’s endearing. 

“Yes,” Cas agrees. He grabs his coat from the floor, glancing back at Mick just before he leaves. “You can call me Cas.”