Cannonball
The first time Castiel met Dean was when Dean was four years old; a month before the tragedy that would place him on the trajectory to become the righteous man.
Castiel appeared to him, a man in a trench coat, who watched him playing in the sand. From the park bench, his mother would smile down at his baby brother. Her eyes traveled towards Castiel every few minutes, narrowed. Castiel ignored her, for he knew he was under strict orders to not interact with any of the Winchesters. Even then, the fact that he had borrowed his vessel out of time had stretched the boundaries a bit.
As his coat billowed in the cool air, Castiel had closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them to find Dean standing before him. With a small, determined fist, Dean tugged on the hem of his coat. Castiel's eyes went wide, met with a pair of bright green eyes looking up at him.
Dean asked him to play in the sand, a wide smile across his face that made his eyes close slightly. Castiel had declined with a polite shake of his head. That was a moment that Dean would not remember, so Castiel left the memory intact.
The next time they met was when Dean was eight. Castiel went against orders again, but as he told himself, it wasn't really. He watched Dean often, and if it meant he sometimes intervened, then he figured it was alright. At least one part of his order he had known was vital; keep Dean safe. That was why when Dean was in a fight outside an arcade, Castiel hovered nearby; his heart had expanded with pride as Dean defended a younger boy.
As Dean took each punch, he gave one out too. Castiel had bit the inside of his mouth to keep himself from moving to protect Dean and wrap him close. He watched as blood dripped from his busted open lip, and how Dean winced in pain when his fist connected with the older boy's jaw. That was when Castiel wished for the first time that he could be there for Dean, to talk to him.
Despite his valiant efforts to protect the smaller boy, it hadn't won Dean a new friend. As he walked back to the motel, Castiel had told himself that he was only doing what was necessary. He borrowed a vessel again, out of time. His eyes swept down to the ground that was much closer at this time than it had been last time he had worn Jimmy Novak. Jimmy's hair was shaggy, sticking out over his ears, and much lighter colored than it was when he was an adult.
He walked behind Dean for some time, but he was sure to maintain his distance. It happened suddenly, so quickly that Castiel had only reacted just in time. An oncoming car lost control, speeding towards Dean, who had bent down on the side of the road to tie his shoe. Castiel never told anyone that Dean's thoughts at that moment were hovering around "slow down, someone is following you; don't let them follow you all the way to the hotel". That guilt was strong, but Castiel swallowed it like a stone, and found it easy to stomach it in the moments when he pushed Dean out of harm's way.
They landed softly against the other side of the road. Dean's green eyes were wide with surprise as he landed on top of Castiel. He quickly got up and mumbled "thank you" and offered a hand towards Castiel to help him up. Castiel accepted, but once he was on his feet, he quickly pressed two fingers to Dean's forehead. Dean doesn't remember this having happened.
When Dean was 11, Castiel ventured to break his orders again. This time his vessel was a bit taller; the same height as Dean now. Jimmy's hair had settled into a darker brown, and he wasn't quite as scrawny as before. He was wearing a baseball jersey and jeans, along with a hat that Castiel promptly removed. He also had some sort of metal in his mouth, which Castiel understood is being used to straighten his teeth. It didn't bother him much, so he left it.
Castiel watched Dean at first, as he slid his coins into the soda machine, kicking it when nothing came out. For a moment, Castiel had felt a surprising sensation, which he identified as a laugh. Dean had turned around, as if he could hear Castiel. Castiel watched as Dean wrapped his arms around himself as he shivered, and Castiel finally realized what season it was. It was Christmas, and snow was gently falling.
This would not be the only instance in which Castiel would do this, but at the time he thought "just this once". He walked slowly up to the soda machine and tapped it gently. Two cans fell out, and he handed one to Dean. Similar to the last time they had met, Dean's first words were a garbled "thank you". He took his soda and sat down on the bench next to the soda machine, his eyes looking quizzically at Castiel.
"Why aren't you wearing a coat? It's winter out here," he said, as he cracked open his drink.
Castiel stood there, before smiling softly as he chose his words carefully.
"I don't mind," he replied, his voice coming out deeper and more graveled than he had intended.
Dean had shrugged his shoulders and continued to sip on his soda. Castiel had known that he was feigning indifference, and that this Dean was already carrying more baggage than others his age. Castiel could see his soul, and he could see the pain. He didn't see the point in asking questions that he knew the answers to. He knew that John was on a hunt, and Sam was sleeping off a winter cold. Castiel knew that Dean wasn't in school because it was winter break and he also knew that Dean hadn't had a friend to talk to for weeks.
Castiel hadn't been sure what he could even say, so they sat there quietly. Dean sipped on his soda and Castiel watched the snow fall in front of them, while he periodically looked at Dean. Their eyes met on several occasions, but Dean only gave him a small smile each time. It was Dean who finally broke the silence.
"So how come you're in a hotel on Christmas?" he had asked as his worn shoes kicked at the snow on the ground beneath their bench.
Castiel had turned his head to the side as he wondered how to answer. "I'm here for a friend," he had replied, as he returned Dean's question with a small smile.
Dean had taken a deep breathe, while his mind mulled over the decision to open up to a stranger. Castiel had waited patiently, as usual. It wasn't long before Dean's loneliness won out and he began to tell Castiel about Sam and the many places he had been to in the last month. Sometimes Dean asked questions about Castiel, but he never asked more questions than he had to.
Castiel hadn't meant for this to happen, but if he was honest with himself, it was something he wanted. Even if his orders were to protect Dean from harm, it wasn't like the harm had to be something fatal. Castiel had wanted to see Dean's soul shine just a little bit more that night.
When the night air turned colder, Dean had looked at Castiel, his eyes heavy and his nose red. He had shaken his head, wondering how Castiel wasn't freezing. Dean smiled widely as he stood up and extended a hand towards Castiel.
"What's your name by the way? I'm Dean. Dean Winchester."
Castiel had blinked a couple times before he realized that their time was up. He stood up, taking Dean's hand again, regretting his next two decisions.
"I'm Castiel".
Quickly, two fingers brushed against Dean's forehead and Castiel was gone again. That time, Castiel had not waited around, as a heavy emotion had found a way to sink into him. He didn't look back.
The next few years, it had been harder to stay away, but Castiel followed orders. That was until his orders changed. Even now, he wonders how he had been given these (and expected to obey). He was to follow Dean closely, for reasons unknown to him even now, but not to interact with Dean. This meant borrowing Jimmy's vessel once again, which wasn't that bad since it just meant sending Jimmy to a religious institution for a small time frame. Dean was 15.
It had been made clear to Castiel, very quickly, that angels had no true understanding about high school. He had been given a false identity and told to blend in. Of course, when the order was to watch over Dean but not interact with him, they must not have been serious. At least that is what Castiel had thought as he walked in on his first day.
He hadn't expected to walk up to his locker and find that the person who had the locker next to him was Dean Winchester. For a moment, Castiel had been taken aback, surprised to see those same green eyes looking at him again so closely. He had grown very used to watching Dean from far away. Castiel had quickly looked at Dean, his eyes traveling from his feet, up his baggy jeans, to his oversized plaid shirt, and finally to his eyes again. Dean had been just barely taller than Castiel, or well, Jimmy technically.
Dean had flashed Castiel a cheesy grin before sticking out his hand to introduce himself.
"I'm Dean. Dean Winchester. What's your name? You're a freshman too, right?"
Castiel had fidgeted with his bag for a moment, as it had slipped from his shoulder when he had abruptly stopped to look at Dean.
"I'm Castiel. Yes, I am also a freshman," he replied as he returned Dean's handshake, which was firm but gentle. Castiel had been surprised to find that his own hands had a roughness to them, which was better explained when he realized that his own vessel had been going through something resembling a rebellious phase. Jimmy played guitar, and if his current long hair was any indication, he probably played it loud as well.
"That's a cool name, Cas," Dean had said with a wink. That was the first time Castiel had been given a nickname.
Dean turned to put a stack of books into his locker, arranging them neatly. Castiel had kept his face from breaking into a large smile, because this was something he knew about Dean. Dean was orderly when possible, even when his demeanor and attitude would lead you to believe he was not. Castiel followed suit, arranging his books and storing his jacket. He only dared turn his attention back to Dean when he heard him chuckle softly.
"You go to a Catholic grade school, Cas?" Dean had said, with no real mockery in his voice.
Castiel had looked down at his clothing, wondering what he meant, before quickly gazing around at the crowded hallway. His own tan pants, button-down shirt, and sweater vest were apparently not the normal clothing for this time. Castiel suspected it was because he had borrowed Jimmy's vessel from while Jimmy was in church.
"If you mean because of my…attire…I'm afraid I am just not very fashionable," Castiel had managed to reply. Half of him had wanted to end the conversation there before he broke more of his orders, but half of him had also wanted to continue talking.
Castiel didn't have to hope for too long. He had found that he shared three classes with Dean, and that despite his best (well maybe not best) efforts, they became friends. It was several weeks into school, and Castiel found that he had fallen into a comfortable rhythm of eating lunch with Dean and walking home from school with Dean (which mostly meant that Castiel pretended to have a home nearby). They also were partners whenever necessary in their classes.
It wasn't long before Castiel had begun to truly worry about his orders, and why he hadn't been called home yet. This was not the first time he had broken protocol, but it seemed more serious this time. He knew it, because he had begun to feel something, and the sadness that covered him when he thought of leaving, was insurmountable.
While eating lunch one day, Dean had opened up to Castiel, and told him about his father and about Sam. They were people that Castiel never asked about, not due to any form of politeness, but because he already knew more about them than perhaps Dean did. Castiel listened at first with indifference, particularly towards Sam. Sam's destiny was no secret in heaven.
Over time, Dean had begun to leak his secrets to Castiel, and Castiel had found himself listening intently. Where he once was indifferent and ambivalent, he found himself drunk on the knowledge of Dean's life. Not from the facts that he could observe with his own eyes, but from Dean's own retelling. This was when Castiel should have known to stop, but he didn't.
He didn't until he found himself locked in a supply closet with Dean, who was doubled over with laughter. The sight of Dean laughing was enough to bring a smile to Castiel's face, although he could not understand why Dean had thought it necessary to set off what he called a "stink bomb" near the teacher's lounge.
Castiel spoke up, to voice his disapproval in a mocking tone, "Dean, I don't think that was very wise"
"Ya, whatever, Cas," Dean replied, his laughter suddenly stopping as he narrowed his eyes.
That was new, and Castiel feared the words that came next.
"It doesn't matter because we're moving again".
Castiel had opened his mouth to speak but stopped when Dean stepped forward, and wrapped his arms around Castiel's neck and pushed him against the door of the supply room. Castiel held still for a moment before he moved his own arms up to rest against Dean's back.
While human time typically passes slowly for angels, that was the longest and most pure moment Castiel had ever felt. He was quiet, as he felt Dean's tears wet on his own cheek. He had been watching Dean's soul for fifteen years now, and that was the closest he had ever felt to understanding what it meant to have a soul.
As they pulled away, Castiel had done something he knew he would regret. He had brushed his lips gently against Dean's cheek. He didn't wait to see how Dean would respond; he gently pressed his two fingers to Dean's forehead.
That time, he waited and watched, invisible. Dean would have no memory of having met Castiel again. Castiel would become "Daniel" and take on the image of a red-headed boy who moved away a week ago. As his own heart mourned the memory that Dean would never have, Castiel had been surprised to see Dean run a hand over his cheek, where Castiel's lips had just been.
Castiel promised himself then that he would be more careful, stay further away, because he had been flying to close to the sun. It turned out that Castiel really liked the sun though.
It was only two years before Castiel was again ordered to return to Earth, to borrow his vessel's body, and watch over Dean. The orders were mysteriously similar to the ones he had received before, but this time Castiel intended to truly follow them.
Even now, Castiel can admit that he had never meant to disobey, but Dean temporarily blinded him as usual, and so he flew even higher.
Dean was 17 at this point, and Castiel had trouble recognizing him this time. He wore his fathers oversized leather coat, a worn t-shirt with the name of (what Castiel assumed) a band, and torn jeans. Dean didn't bother to say hello to the person who had the locker next to him (Castiel).
Castiel had felt a pang of something similar to pain, as he watched Dean walk into his first class, no books or notebooks in his arms. He looked down at his own body, Jimmy's, wondering what had changed. He had been wearing a black shirt that said "Zero" on it, as well as worn jeans. For once, he had felt he was in the correct attire for a high school student of 1996.
When Castiel finally worked up the courage to speak to Dean, he was so nervous that he asked only one of the many questions that had been working its way around his mind for a week and a half.
"Why don't you bring any books to class?"
Dean had turned to look at Castiel, his eyes narrowed. When his own eyes met Castiel's though, they softened as he ran a hand through his hair slowly.
"I'll be out of this school in a week or so. There's just no point," he said with a sad smile as he shut his locker and walked down the hall and out the front doors of the school.
Castiel had fought the urge to follow, and won in the end. He went to class, pretending to listen while he allowed his attention to follow Dean quietly.
It turned out that his orders this time had been important for another reason. Dean was a danger to himself, and so Castiel was given more specific instructions when he asked. He was to keep Dean from harm.
That was how Castiel found himself at his first high school party. He felt a buzzing in his bones, and he knew he was to protect Dean here. He quickly found Dean, and sat down next to him on an empty couch covered in stains and unwelcome smells. Dean was already inebriated, and Castiel felt another stone drop to the pit of his stomach.
"Hey, uhhh, you're Castiel right?" Dean had said, with a sloppy grin, as he put his arm around Castiel's shoulders.
Castiel could only nod in return.
"What do you think of this music?" Dean asked, speaking loudly over the music blaring from the speakers in the other room.
"I'm indifferent to it," Castiel had said, his attention focused entirely on Dean.
"Man, first they played Nirvana which is cool but now it's Spice Girls. What's up with that?" Dean said as he laughed. He punched Castiel lightly on the shoulder before he stood up. "You have a cool name, Cas".
Castiel stood up quickly to follow Dean. He hadn't meant to get separated but there were so many people. By the time he reached the kitchen, he had lost sight of Dean. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, he was standing outside.
The image crossed before his eyes quickly, too fast for him to even act. Dean slipped into the pool and hit his head on the bottom of the shallow end. Castiel was there in an instant, and he pulled Dean from the pool, healing him as he went.
Dean had opened his eyes slowly, his pupils fully dilated. Castiel had struggled to recognize the green around the blackness that hazed Dean's mind.
"Either I'm tripping really hard right now man or you have wings," Dean had said with a small smile as he slid his eyes closed again.
For the first time in a long time, Castiel had felt his own anger build and finally boil over. His own body was sopping wet, clothing hanging heavy from him. Dean's was no different, as they sat by the pool in a circumstance that had been avoidable if Dean hadn't been insistent on giving up. He pulled Dean up by his shirt, which caused his eyes open quickly. With a touch from Castiel, Dean's cloudiness was wiped; the effects of the alcohol and acid.
Castiel had pulled Dean closer, his voice low and menacing, "I do not understand why you do this to yourself, Dean Winchester".
Dean's eyes closed again for a moment before he opened them and laughed as he pulled himself up even closer to Castiel.
"Because I can", he said, and pushed his lips onto Castiel's in a defiant and defensive maneuver.
Castiel recited ever spell he knew to keep the heavenly host from seeing them. That was the first time he felt his wings get burned. He wasn't sure if he had saved Dean that time, but he couldn't continue. He pressed two fingers to Dean's forehead and removed the memories, and placed Dean back in his hotel for the night.
That was the last high school Dean attended.
Castiel kept away for a long time after that. He had learned his lesson. He watched as Dean turned into a man he wasn't, and buried himself in the man his father wanted him to become.
Castiel hadn't been surprised when he was asked to keep Dean from harm once again. Dean had somehow found himself in his twenty-third year, relatively physically unscathed from his lifestyle of hunting recklessly, drinking, and the occasional drug use. Castiel had trouble recognizing him for the first time.
His physical features didn't look too different from the boy he had seen at seventeen. His short hair was cut in a military style, and he had filled out more, adding muscle to his frame. Castiel recognized the bottle in his hand as well. It was his soul that was different, and Castiel felt another one of the millions of stones in his heart drop to a pit inside of him, where he kept all the emotions he wasn't supposed to have.
Dean's soul had always been the sun, shining brighter than anything else. It still did in all honestly, but Castiel was shocked to see how much less it did than before. He no longer felt like Icarus, with no dangerous sun to burn his wings off.
He had borrowed Jimmy's vessel once again, a neat college student who certainly looked the part now. Castiel had taken the bar seat next to Dean, a daring venture on Castiel's part.
"Hi, I'm Cas-"
"Look, man, I'm not in the mood to talk or get hit on…whatever your game is ok?"
Castiel hadn't been prepared to handle that sort of response, so he had left. He waited outside for hours, invisible. Occasionally he would look inside the bar, to make sure that Dean had not drunk himself to death.
It was nearly 2:00am when Dean finally left the bar, stumbling. Castiel had taken the hint. He had a job to do, and it could be done without a pretense of friendship. For the millionth time, Castiel had wondered why he bothered in the first place since he always had to wipe the memories from Dean anyway.
He played his part perfectly this time, no damage to be done to his wings. Dean attempted to drive home inebriated. Castiel ignored the weight on Dean's chest, the pained look on his face, and simply did what he had been told. Two fingers to Dean's forehead put him into a deep sleep, in his own hotel bed, with his car waiting outside. Castiel would not have noticed except for a creeping memory of a time in High School when Dean had been fourteen…Sam was not here and had not been here for a long time.
Castiel put the thought out of his mind.
When Dean's car was hit by a semi-truck, Castiel had screamed, and had to be held down. He remembers this often. It was the first time he had not been allowed to protect Dean. It would not be the last time.
"There is a reason for this, Castiel, this tragedy must occur".
That was also the first time Castiel experienced true doubt.
The next time Castiel had to be restrained, was several years later. He had watched in bitter agony as Dean had sold his own soul to hell. When he begged to at least ease Dean's pain, Castiel had been told again, "Dean must bear these things, for they make him into the righteous man".
Castiel had cried and through his teeth he had hissed, "He has always been the righteous man".
The most surprising of Castiel's orders had been when he was told that he would lead the battle to retrieve Dean's soul from hell. He had barely opened his mouth to ask "why me?" before he was told, "Because you know Dean's soul better than anyone else, Castiel. This has to be done by you; we have little time."
Castiel's faith had been restored, as his mission was successful. When he had fought his way through hell, it had taken not a moment for him to identify Dean's soul, glowing brighter than any in existence.
Again, Castiel had thought, "do I dare fly so close?"
When Castiel fell, it wasn't because he had flown too close to the sun. He had fallen because he had been afraid to fly, and it wCasn't until now that he realized…you don't need wings to fly.
Castiel has spent the last few days running over everything in his head, how to say it, how to apologize, where to even begin. Now, he is seated on the end of Dean's bed, twisting his fingers around the corner of the linens.
"Cas, just spit it out, ok, whatever it is…it's fine."
Castiel looks up, exasperated, his blue eyes large and pleading. "Dean, it would be easy normally, because I could go like this-"and Castiel places two fingers against Dean's forehead, "and you would know everything".
"Well, I'm sorry, but you have to do it the human way now" Dean says with a gentle laugh, "talk to me".
Castiel exhales again and makes an annoyed sound before he pulls himself closer to Dean and quickly places a gentle kiss on his lips before pulling back again.
"Ok, so…the first time I met you, was when you were four years old".