hear me now (destiel fanfic)

.chapter 5.

Dean lowered his gun and looked left, resting a hand on Castiels shoulder.

"You alright, buddy?"

Castiel coughed a little bit.

"Dean." he barely seemed phased by the outburst.

"Was Sam your...partner?"

"Sammy was my brother, Castiel. He's the one I lost."

"Oh." Was the only sound that escaped his otherwise pursed lips. He turned the safety on his gun and slid in back into his belt.

Dean wasn't sure what Cas was thinking. As a matter of fact- nobody was ever sure what was going on inside his mind. Dean pictured it to be a swirling abyss of black and blue, clouds of smoke, like that of a demons.

Dean pulled a slip of paper from his back pocket and read it over again.

"I've got a lead as to where our killer might be, but that... woman showing up raised whole new questions. I've got friends on the other side of the law, Castiel. Come on, lets go and find them." Dean said, reaching towards Castiel's sleeve.

He tugged gently and Cas reached out for Dean's arm. In a bout of awkward shuffling and "Oopses" and "Sorry's", they managed to get back into the Impala, both still dazed at what exactly had occurred just then.

Castiel was more confused than frightened, though. Usually he was one to dismiss curiosity when it arose, but for some reason, he felt the urge to learn more about the situation. He knew things didn't add up, but went along with Dean anyways. In his presence, Castiel felt strange, but safe, which is what mattered.

As the Impala rumbled down the highway, Castiel felt the smoothness of pavement turn slightly rocky.

"Where exactly are we headed?" He asked, a dash of curiosity slipping into the question to make it more sincere. Castiel really didn't care where they were going, but he felt the need to break the silence between them.

"Red Creek." Dean answered bluntly.

"I used to swim there as a child..." Dean spoke softly, his words trailing off. They seemed to fall from his lips and disintegrate in the air, pausing their conversation once more.

As the silence grew thicker, Dean began to think of how he might go about explaining the situation to his newfound partner.

He wracked his brains for the right words to say, gently parting his lips as if to speak, but shutting them quickly, deciding whatever he was going to say was not right. The man who sat beside him had no knowledge of the creatures and demons who slipped from their world to ours with such ease. He knew Dean as Agent Brown, the man with a gun and real badge, who took down serial killers and murderers alike with his intellectual prowess and years of training. What Cas had in mind was a character who was the good guy. The agent, the officer, the man who kept people safe from other people, with slightly different motives than the rest of us.

But he wasn't Agent Brown, he was Dean Winchester. And he fought a different breed of killer, one he hoped Cas might never find the truth about.

Dean coughed, and took his eyes from the road to look at the raven haired man beside him. Running his tongue along his lower lip, he allowed for a long look at Castiel, while slowing the car slightly.

He noticed things that he hasn't before. The shady black stubble that was patchily shaven, due to Castiel's inability to see. He noticed how smooth his hands were as he rested them comfortably on each of his knees. They were a child's hands, compared to Deans own. His were weathered and aching from hand to hand combat and punches angled in his opponents favour. They were coloured with scars and dotted with a few freckles that mirrored the constellations.

Castiels were smooth, with thin black hairs on an otherwise smooth tanned canvas of heavenly skin.

The car jerked sideways and pulled Dean from

the moment, and knocked Castiel from his trancelike state.

"Shit! Watch where you're going!"

"Sorry about that." Dean muttered, glancing way from Castiel. He tightened his grip on the wheel and turned into a rocky driveway below a canopy of trees.

At the end of the drive, they pulled up beside a tiny log cabin that didn't seem as if it were in use at the time. Dean reminisced about parts of his childhood spent hunting in these woods.

"This is it. A family friend lives here. Garth. You'll like him, I think. He's...different."

"Aren't we all, Agent Brown?"

A sudden pang of guilt pulled in his stomach. It wasn't usually strange to be called by another name by the people he met and worked around. But with Castiel, it felt different. It felt wrong to lie, or rather, let Castiel believe it.

He looked towards Cas and began to speak.

"Listen, buddy, I haven't been all that--"

"Well look who showed up! If it isn't my favourite squirrely guy!"

Dean sighed.

"Hey Garth..." He shot Castiel a look out of habit, the same one he might give Sam when a half-sane friend of the family just stuck their head through the window of his car.

Dean swung his legs from the car and stepped out, rounding the front to help Castiel out. Leading him to a wooden chair, he patted his shoulder.

"I'll be right back, Cas." Dean muttered, scurrying after Garth into the tiny log cabin. Garth began tidying the place a bit while Dean took a seat on the old couch near the center of the room. He could barely remember sleeping restlessly here as a child. He didn't really want to remember.

"So, Dean..." Garth whispered with a small smile. The whole concept of hunting seemed to be a game to Garth, but Dean knew that he was quite good at his job, and very informational, despite the goofy attitude. Garth passed him a beer, and Dean gratefully accepted, pressing the bottle to his lips.

"Who's the hot potato in a trenchcoat you've left on my porch?" He asked, eyeing Dean with a smug grin from behind his beer.

Choking and spitting up the brown liquid Dean looked towards Garth with a wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression. He swallowed what was left of the beer in his throat and glared towards him.