Twist And Shout Destiel (Not my story)

Part Seven

POV: Third person omniscient (Dean)

Dean crouched down next to Bobby’s still body, frantically checking for a pulse. He didn’t trust this creature standing in front of him in the least.

“…Your friend’s alive.”

Dean’s head snapped up and he gave the thing a long, hard glare, fury and fright intermingling in his chest. After making sure Bobby was indeed still breathing, he stood up and turned his full attention to the creature.

“Who are you?” Dean asked roughly, the hint of fear in his voice just barely recognizable.

Dean had no idea what this thing was. Salt had zero effect on it, it walked right past the devil’s trap they had set up at the door, and not even Ruby’s knife could make a dent on it. This creature was unlike anything he’s ever seen or heard of.

“Castiel.” The creature answered without even looking at him, too absorbed in reading their books about different talismans and sigils. At least it didn’t seem too dangerous, but Dean had been on the road long enough to not let first impressions fool him.

“Yeah, I figured that much. I mean what are you?”

At this, it finally looked him straight in the eye. There was a brief pause, almost as if it were contemplating something, before it spoke.

“I’m an angel of the Lord.”

Like Hell it is. Dean got up slowly, never taking his eyes off the creature. His tone dripped with contempt as he growled, “Get the hell out of here. There’s no such thing.”

A small smile played on the “man’s” lips. The small gesture was harmless enough, but Dean couldn’t help but feel there was something more to it.

“This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith.”

Lightning flashed and the loud rumble of the thunder soon followed. The untamed power reverberated and echoed inside the warehouse, causing Dean to jump. But it was nothing compared to what he saw erupting from Castiel’s back—

A pair of enormous wings.

They should be enough to convince most people, but Dean still had a hard time believing this thing. According to their research, to what the demons said, the thing that pulled him out of Hell was bad mofo. He thought it might be one of the Greater Demons, or some other kind of sinister monster. But an angel? A motherfucking angel? No way.

Dean sneered. “Some angel you are. You burned out that poor woman’s eyes.”

Castiel shifted his gaze from Dean. “I…I warned her not to spy on my true form.” He said, with a hint of something in his voice Dean couldn’t exactly put his finger on. “It can be... overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice. But you already knew that.”

Oh, so the ear-shattering screeches he heard over the past few days was actually an angel talking. What did that say about sounding like an angel?

“You mean the gas station and the motel. That was you talking?” Cas nodded, with that same unidentifiable look Dean saw just now. “Buddy, next time, lower the volume.”

Castiel pursed his lips and sounded genuinely sorry when he said, “That was my mistake. Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong.”

“And what visage are you in now, huh? What, holy tax accountant?” Dean spat, incredulity evident in his tone.

“I can mold my body into something that can be looked at directly by humans. After all, I was once of your kin. But the spell your… friend used, pried into my true form as an angel. And that, is too much for your kind to even catch a glimpse at.”

Dean wasn’t convinced. Angels didn’t exist. And even if they did, they were supposed to be little bundles of joy with fluffy wings. Not something that could burn away a person’s eyes. That was a job for demons.

“And why would an angel, rescue me from Hell?”

Dean was certain that the other man couldn’t answer this. It could pretend that it was a celestial being all it wants, but it’ll never come up with a reply. He was an abomination, an unredeemable man, a monster himself. There was no way, an angel would save him. He deserved to rot in the pit for eternity.

“…Good things do happen, Dean.”

Ha, yeah, right.

His mother died, burning on the ceiling. His father had given up on them, left them to their own devices. Sam’s been killed, and he’s used his soul to trade for his life. He’s been thrown into Hell, and he’s been continuously tortured in there for God knows how many years. Good things do not happen. At least not to him.

“Not in my experience.”

The angel walked closer and stared at him, his eyes boring into Dean’s soul.

Suddenly, something flashed across his mind—a shadow of a man. He couldn’t see any of his facial features, but he had a vague sense that he once knew who this man was. A spark of pain lodged itself in Dean’s heart, though he couldn’t figure out why. He just knew that he was forgetting something, something that was incredibly important. Something that had once been as significant as life itself. But what was it?

“What’s the matter? You don’t think you deserve to be saved?”

The voice of the angel interrupted Dean’s train of thoughts. He forced himself to focus back on what was happening now.

“Why’d you do it?”

The features of the angel hardened, and he looked straight at Dean when he said, “Because God commanded it.”

“...Because we have work for you.”