Chapter Text
“See this?”
Dean crouched and set a bare finger to the red stain on the werewolf’s chest. Flipping open the shreds of cloth around it, he pointed at the bullet wound, then looked up at Castiel, who nodded.
“That’s a good goddamn shot,” Dean said, nodding once as he stood up. “You did good.”
Castiel didn’t try to hold down his smile. A low, rising happiness began in his gut, tingles solidifying in his fingertips. “Thank you, Dean.”
“Ahh, don’t thank me, it’s just the truth.” Dean flapped a dismissive hand, then lowered himself again to kneel on the bloodied floorboards, looking around for something. “Hey, Sammy, pass me a knife, would you?”
Sam huffed and lumbered across the room, disengaging the silver knife from his belt and putting it into Dean’s hand, handle first. When Sam straightened again, his head almost bumped the sloping rafters of the attic.
Castiel observed in still silence as Dean hummed and made considerative sounds, eyes looking over the dead werewolf carefully. He seemed to decide something, then plunged the knife into the body, less than an inch from the bullet wound. It made a very wet, squishing sound.
Dean muttered to himself, his fingers becoming reddened by the creature’s blood as he dug around inside its chest, wriggling the knife about. Sam watched, sighing slowly.
“What are you doing?” Castiel eventually asked, when Dean began to cuss under his breath.
“I’m getting this bullet out,” Dean said, like it was obvious.
“They’re expensive,” Sam explained, and Castiel looked at him gratefully. Sam was more patient than Dean when it came to... well, everything. “If we lose one bullet, we have to make another.”
“At least if I dig it out, we can just melt it down and use the same metal again,” Dean added.
He let out a triumphant exhale as his fingers pinched out the shining red blob, which turned silver again as his thumb brushed away the blood. Dean grunted as he stood up, then tossed the bullet into the air, caught it, then pocketed it. Castiel eyed the blood on his hands, which Dean uselessly smeared from one hand to the other, lip wrinkled in disgust.
“Here,” Castiel said, taking a step forward and putting his hand on Dean’s bare wrist. The blood vanished, and Dean turned his hands over, looking at his pale palms in the moonlight that came from the circular window at the side of the attic.
“Thanks, man,” Dean mumbled. Then, more brightly, he turned to Sam and said, “Come on, let’s get this god-ugly sonofabitch into the trunk, go find a place to dump it. And then I want burgers.”
“There’s a diner by the motel,” Sam suggested, bending at the knees to grasp the werewolf’s body by its underarms. It looked almost human - white-skinned, male, aged in the early forties. But as Sam tugged, the creature’s fanged mouth dropped open and its head began to drag along the floor. Truly, it was not human at all.
Castiel watched with a pinpoint scrutiny, as fascinated by the brothers as he always was. They talked about the food and sleep they looked forward to enjoying - which, to Castiel, remained an ambiguous and rather peculiar theory. He had eaten once, and he had slept once, and Dean had told him time and time again that in not doing those things again he was missing out, but he still did not understand why either activity was worthy of anticipation.
Castiel felt alien, trailing behind the loping shadows of the two men as they hefted the werewolf’s carcass down three flights of darkened stairs.
“Run and get the tarp from the trunk, would you? It’s the big, baggy blue thing,” Dean said over his shoulder at Castiel, once they reached the entrance hall of the house.
“Why?”
“Because, Cas. If there’s neighbours around, they might think it’s weird that we’re carrying their friendly neighbourhood gardening contractor to the trunk of the car.”
Castiel frowned, standing unmoving at the foot of the stairs, eyes on Sam, who swiped a light sheen of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “No, I mean, why do you want me to run?”
Dean let the body sag, and he wheezed as he turned to face Castiel. “Don’t run then. Try a nice swagger, sway your hips,” he said, one side of his lips quirked.
“He’s being sarcastic, Cas,” Sam offered, wearing a small smirk. “I’ll get it if you can’t―”
Castiel mentally rolled his eyes, not waiting for the rest of Sam’s sentence before leaving the house in a thunderclap of downturned angel wings. He retrieved the plastic tarp without opening the car’s trunk, and returned to Dean and Sam within one second of leaving.
“―manage... it.” Sam closed his mouth.
Dean smirked, and even when he turned away to drag the dead body onto the tarp to cover it, Castiel knew he had impressed Dean. That made him feel just as pleasant as Dean’s vocal compliments did.
They set the security alarm, and locked the house once they were outside, which Sam explained would be a deterrent for nosy neighbours. Castiel did not understand what their nasal cavities had to do with anything, but nodded in any case.
It was a peaceful night, the sky with few clouds and fewer stars; insects trilled from the trees in the nearby park, and a single chihuahua yapped from the window of a bedroom across the street. The streetlamps lit everywhere except the place the Impala was parked; Castiel recognised that this was a strategic parking move on Dean’s part, in order to shelter their activity as much as possible.
They made it to the car and dumped the werewolf inside the wide trunk, making the entire car jolt on its framework. Castiel put their guns inside too, and then Dean pushed the lid down until it closed with a thump.
Castiel supposed they were close to making their escape, but then they simultaneously spied a neighbour approaching, and both brothers’ shoulders stiffened. Sam hid his hands behind his back, so the woman ahead wouldn’t see the blood.
The woman was tan-skinned, wearing house-slippers and a fluffy hot pink dressing gown, her shoulders bowed forward, weighed down by old age. Her makeup had been removed for the night, but when Castiel squinted, he could see a line of false eyelashes she had forgotten to remove. She stopped shuffling as she made the side of the car and looked carefully at the Winchesters.
“Hi there. Are you - friends with Roger?” she asked, a cautious smile on her wrinkled lips.
Castiel sensed that she had been exceptionally well-proportioned when she was much younger, with the kind of slender bone structure that Dean appreciated in his pornography. Now, however, Dean displayed no signs of human attraction, but of nervousness.
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered her, bowing his head in considerative respect. “Just came out here to take this here dog away for him.” Dean patted the closed trunk of his car with his open hand. It thumped flatly, no longer hollow.
“Dog? Oh, I didn’t realise Roger had a dog.”
“He doesn’t,” Sam said. “Well, not any more. Poor thing... passed away tonight.”
“Oh! Dangit,” the woman said, slapping a wrinkled hand to her soft cheek. “M-May I see?”
Dean shot a hand across the car’s rear, blocking the woman’s prying hand. “I think he’d rather you didn’t, ma’am. He was mighty protective of her, almost like his kid, you know?”
“But I’ve never even seen him with a dog... Are you sure―?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sam nodded softly, his lowered chin in sync with Dean’s to the beat. “She was pretty sick, these past few years. Didn’t like to leave the house.”
“Oh...”
Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder, gripping his utility jacket with a clench. Castiel didn’t understand the signal, but he knew it was significant.
The woman still had her hand on her cheek. “I ought to give him a look-in,” she muttered, eyes turning up towards the tall house that Dean, Sam and Castiel had just vacated.
“No!” Dean blurted, covering his haste with a charming grin, which prompted the neighbour to smile back. “That may not be a good idea. He’s a bit broken up about it, you know how it is. He probably needs, what―” he checked with Sam and shrugged, “two days grace? Three? Give him a mourning period before you start taking him cakes and... fancy baked goods, and waffles, or whatever. Yeah?”
The woman considered that, humming under her breath.
To hurry the interaction along, Dean reached out a hand and touched the woman’s arm gently. “He’ll be fine. He said he doesn’t feel like going to work for a few days either, so don’t panic if you don’t see him around. He’s probably just napping.”
Dean started to back away around the car. Sam gave the lady a strained smile, before retreating too.
“But,” she said, “what about that noise earlier, did you hear it too?”
Castiel thought he ought to participate. “Which noise?”
“A big bang! It sounded like a gunshot.”
“It was... most likely flatulence,” Castiel stated. He nodded decisively when the woman’s eyes snapped up to meet his. “Yes. You ought to consume less foods containing lactose, you are mildly allergic. Also, your daughter knows who her real father is, she found him through the internet.”
“All right, buddy, time to go,” Dean said, striding up to Castiel’s side and grabbing him hard on the bicep, dragging him into the road. “Have a nice night, ma’am. Don’t mind him, he’s... uh.” Dean shook his head, then shoved Castiel into the backseat of the car, hand on the crown of his head so he didn’t bump it.
Castiel sat patiently as Dean closed the back door with a slam and muttered another farewell to the woman. Castiel met Sam’s reassuring smile from the front seat with an inexpressive stare, just waiting to move on.
Dean sighed as he fell into the driver’s seat, and shut his door with approximately twice as much force as he needed. He sighed again as he turned the car on, making the floor shake and the glass of the windows vibrate inside their metal frames.
Castiel watched the night-darkened road scroll past as the car pulled into the driving lane, which was empty apart from them. Then, in the rear-view mirror, he watched the old woman growing smaller where she stood alone on the sidewalk, staring in bemusement as they left.
“You...” Dean began, eyes catching Castiel’s in the mirror. “You should not be allowed. Just. I mean―”
“He did okay,” Sam said, talking to Dean while looking out of the window. “For a beginner, he did pretty well, actually.”
“But flatulence?! Did he seriously tell the old bat that a gunshot was actually a fart?”
Sam coughed up a laugh, but stifled it before it escaped his mouth. Castiel saw the tears of amusement in his eyes.
And then, after a while, he caught sight of Dean’s smile in the mirror.
Castiel had not failed.
● ● ●
Once all pockets were checked, Dean shot Sam an unctuous grin. Besides the flinty, unimpressed look Sam gave in return, the younger Winchester made no complaint about the cash notes Dean pocketed.
An owl hooted in the distance, calling for its mate. Castiel watched a single car’s headlights approaching from half a mile away, heading for the bridge. Its light stuttered out as it drove behind a copse of trees.
“On three,” Sam said, boosting half of the dead werewolf’s weight, while Dean struggled to balance the other half on his knee.
“One,” Sam adjusted his feet, letting out a steadying breath. The barrier of the bridge was at the height of his shoulders, so Castiel supposed it would be quite a feat for both of them to lift the body over. “Two.”
“Would you care for some assistance?” Castiel said blandly, calculating that they had less than thirty seconds before the driver of the approaching car saw the brothers disposing of a dead man into a river.
“N- No thanks,” Dean gasped, trying his best to heave the weight up past his stomach. “We got - uhf! - we got this...”
Castiel waited ten more seconds, blinking once as Sam gritted out, “Thrrrreeee,” but beyond an extra jump of energetic lifting, neither brother got their load much closer to the railing.
Castiel wondered if they actually realised that he had the ability to do what they were doing with only a single finger.
The nearing car bumped up the border between the deserted road and the bridge; they had no time to waste. Castiel supposed that they could thank him later. He stepped forward and poked the werewolf’s body with a fingertip, and it vanished. Dean almost collapsed at the sudden lack of effort he needed to stay upright, but Castiel’s hand was there to hold him steady.
“Where the - hell did you― What?!” Dean panted, frowning distractedly as the car drove past.
The car slowed down, the driver squinting at them in suspicion. Castiel invited the thought into their mind that this was merely a friendly altercation, and would be resolved with a manly embrace and the offering of a bottle of a chilled beverage. The driver drove on, increasing their speed.
“I transported Roger’s body into the Mariana Trench,” Castiel explained, letting go of Dean when he forcefully tried to escape Castiel’s firm grip. “It will never reach the surface, but be crushed by the pressure of the water, and following that, will be torn apart by a set of teeth belonging to a species of fish that humans have not yet discovered.”
Sam made an impressed sound. “Nice.”
“Huh.” Dean shucked his jacket on straighter. “Yeah, well. We weren’t having any trouble.”
Castiel supposed this was one of the times Sam had told him about, when Dean told unnecessary lies to protect his overinflated need to prove himself. Castiel inclined his head, eyes not leaving Dean. “I agree, you were succeeding. Only, I thought it was important to succeed faster.”
Dean scoffed, but Castiel did not miss the smile that he tried to hide with a frown. When Sam met his eyes too, Castiel saw him mouth a silent word: “Thanks.”
Castiel lowered his head in welcome, but rather than returning to the car, he waited on the sidewalk.
Dean paused as he set a foot in his car. “You not comin’ with?”
“I have matters to attend to in Heaven,” Castiel told him. It was not strictly true, but he did not see the appeal of joining the brothers for a meal he had no requirement to share. “I will return in time for my next lesson.”
Dean wasn’t smiling now. Castiel thought that meant he didn’t look forward to Castiel’s next lesson, and Castiel felt a reactive disappointment at that. Perhaps Castiel never should have asked to learn, and gone on observing the strange activities of the Winchesters without prying them for questions and examples and demonstrations. As always, he had only wanted to achieve his means faster.
Dean lowered his head and eyes, licking his lips. “Uh. Okay,” he said, gruffly. “Sure.”
Castiel met Sam’s eye, searching for guidance, and Sam looked back pointedly. Castiel again did not understand the significance. Yet, he wanted to assure Dean of his own feelings on the matter, and so he said to him, “I look forward to it.”
And then Castiel left.
Certainly, he anticipated seeing Dean as much as Dean anticipated food and sleep. Perhaps even more so.