Heaven's Most Wanted

celestial nuke in polyester casing

[fallenangelwings]

Selective, canon-divergent RP blog for Supernatural's Castiel. Expect horror, gore, violence, and everything else that comes with shielding the innocent from evil, by any means necessary. Every day, the purpose he was carved from stardust to serve wages war against the guidance of those who want more for him. He was made to protect, but who protects the protectors?

Sideblog Est. 2017 | Archived/Moved 2018 | Rebooted 2025 Mun is 30+ | Written by Bowie | Follows from @nichtschaden Carrd | Memes | In Character writing Other Muses SPN OC Bern | Multifandom OC Fritz | MCU Loki | Multifandom Multimuse Music TILT | Fury, Then Silence

[bloodsalted]

unlock your muscles. easier said than done, mister billions years old angel guy! dean doesn't unlock his muscles. they only get worse as he pinches his eyes tightly together and balls up his fists. teeth bared and cinched. and then? you know i've got you. castiel's voice is reassuring and soft. deep. weirdly soothing in a way that it seeps into dean's bones and muscles--that relax. slowly melting as he hands over trust that he barely yields to anyone on this level. face going slack, his frame is encompassed by arms he lets pull him in as he wraps his around shoulders wondering if that's an okay place to hold..

cas doesn't move them, so he figures it is..

the hunter is still like that when they land. holding on. legs buckling just slightly before he finds his footing again--he leans firmly against the seraph's chest until he comes around. queasy? yeah. manageable? he'll tell in just a second.. a shade or two of green colors his skin. but he doesn't bend over and throw up right away. call that progress? huh?

once he's steady. breathing normally--the hunter steps back. the light scent of rain isn't foreign to him now. he knows it is tangled up in cas's power. a long inhale lets the air settle into his chest. upon his shoulder? nerve endings tingle and dance. dean seems to debate whether or not he's prepared to hand his keys over. he's driven in worse shape than he is now. bloodied, broken, damn near half dead. made it to where he needed to be more than once. on sheer determination, road grease, and the refusal to die.

..but cas has worried about him enough today. did enough and he's not going to argue. THIS TIME. palming the keychain, he places it in the other's hand and and gives him a solid stare. not a threat. a freaking dean winchester look that says business but his kind of business when he isn't being a jerk. just.. him. "don't get used to it, though. she's mine." small smile and he pats cas's shoulder before stepping around him, "and this time? owner keeps the radio..." not that cas doesn't know the secret of how to lull him off anyway with his music. that starts to play soon as the engine roars to life. black sabbath. balm to an aching soul. his head rests against the window and frame. eyes aimed out the passenger window. "you ever just wonder.. the hell you did to get stuck in the winchester family mess? seems like a freakin' punishment if you ask me.."

[fallenangelwings]

Bowed legs buckled, but held, and Castiel braced Dean until the sensation passed. The fact that he hadn't thrown himself backward and vomited was an improvement, and the angel made careful note for next time. If flight was their only option, that seemed to be the most manageable means for the hunter to endure it.

The look he received for the audacity of even asking for the keys to his beloved vehicle was expected. And endearing. Castiel's hand closed around the metal offering with a faint smile of his own. "I would be indifferent to this car if it wasn't yours." The Impala was a machine, doing what it was designed to do. It was Dean's love that made it Baby. A stake was claimed on the music, and Castiel did not argue, leaning back to watch the rear window as the tires reversed, and turned to find the dirt road they'd pulled off of. Not quite as smooth as pavement, but Dean didn't seem alarmed.

Black Sabbath was turned down low, almost too low to hear, and the Impala's heat was turned up. Castiel was well aware that the music being low imitated how sounds grew distant while falling asleep, and the warmth was added comfort to help lull him under. It'd worked before, several times, and would work again in the future. Never a guarantee, but the success rate was statistically significant. His brows raised a bit at the question, but blue eyes remained fixed to the winding road.

"No, I'm very aware of how it happened." The angel's voice was its usual graveled deadpan as the car slowed to a crawl around a deep dip in the road that Dean had minded on the drive in. "See, there this man. With green eyes I must have had a premonition of in my fledgeling years. Before Earth was even an idea. Because I chased that shade of green for eons, and then I found it." His head tilted at the irony, "In all places, Hell. And after this man's resurrection, he kept making this error. Repeatedly. I'm a divine construct of the Lord's will, and yet, he kept mistaking me for a person. To him, I wasn't a machine. I wasn't a celestial weapon. A cog in the divine plan, I was Cas."

Graveled tones softened the longer he spoke, until they barely carried above the sound of the engine and the radio. Above all else, he still wanted Dean to rest after that violent healing. "Then, when Lucifer was about to break free of his cage. That man looked at me with those green eyes. And begged me to do something. Cursed me when I wouldn't. Claimed I was already dead... In a way, he was right. Those watchful days with him felt like the most I'd ever lived. And there I was. Choosing the machine, because it was all I'd ever known." Castiel looked over toward Dean as he drove. "I rebelled for him. I was slaughtered for it, but. I was given a second chance. He calls that second chance the 'family mess,' but I call it freedom."

[nevver]

I see green, icy blue - Giorgos Galanopoulos

[pjackk]

Dont be very woried about me since i deserve all of this

[scoobydoodean]

Thee season 4 Castiel trajectory is so good.

You don't think you deserve to be saved -> I dragged you out of hell I can throw you back in. -> I was praying that you would choose to save the town -> Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul? -> I have doubts. -> He has this weakness. He likes you. -> Whatever I ask, you seem to do the exact opposite. -> I would give anything not to have you do this. -> I'm considering disobedience. -> Anna. I don't know what to do. Please tell me what to do. -> Just so you understand... why I can't help. -> Meet me here. -> I learned my lesson while I was away, Dean. I serve heaven, I don't serve man, and I certainly don't serve you. -> We're making it up as we go. -> I'll hold him off! I'll hold them all off! Just stop Sam!

[fallenangelwings]

/// the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse, but it's Cas, Fritz, Bern, and Loki

[knuckle-velvet7]

I REALLY like this picture 😽

[strawlessandbraless]

But the thing is, in a show that was all about choice, they took his away. A lifetime of choices stolen from him, by his father, by their mission, by a spiteful, bored god. And yet somehow, after everything, he’s free; free to choose, free to live, free to love - maybe even for the first time. But instead they kill his best friend, who dies saving and loving him, and then nail Dean to the cross too

​greek tragedies ain’t got nothing on supernatural

[szlez]

Cuffs

Terribly delayed second art for restraintstiel week courtesy of @valdelion and @niceworkhuggybear

Other instalments: Collar , Ropes, Living Restraints, Tie

[qapsiel]

@nichtschaden liked the starter call (still accepting) and gets it for @fallenangelwings

                                 CASTIEL IS LEFT BEHIND TO BABYSIT. Dean didn't phrase it that way, but Castiel isn't dumb. Sometimes, he can read between the lines, too. The thing is, he has to agree: They can't just leave a baby angel behind in a bunker full of dangerous artifacts, and they can't bring it along on hunts or store it anywhere else. So: somebody has to watch Lu. And who better than another angel, huh? Dean had said, like the ass that he is sometimes.

                                 Castiel glares at the bunker door that has closed behind Sam and Dean just two seconds ago, before he turns to face Lu. "Um," he says, feeling slightly awkward. "Do you want to read more books in the library? Or watch a movie?" They can mess up the Dean cave as some sorta retaliation.

[fallenangelwings]

The bunker was awash in the blue-white light of the fledgeling's grace. Devoid of facial features though he may be, aside from the fabricated pupil-less eyes where eyes should be, it was easy to tell when the young Castiel was disappointed. He had stolen Sam's silhouette for quite some time, enamored with the taller brother's long mane of hair. To the point where Sam had to slap his shining hand away more than once. Yet, the moment 'Lu' realized the brothers were leaving, his glowing body had reverted back to its featureless humanoid state. Slenderman-mode, Dean called it. The rotating rings of eyes were small and tight, and his wings were clamped. The fledgeling stood with every eye fixed on the door as well until his elder spoke, and then every orb snapped to him.

"Oh. Um." Lu sounded uncertain, like a reprimand was in order. "I. I read them all. Was I not supposed to?" Left to his own devices in the early morning hours when everyone was sleeping and he wasn't allowed to watch (he'd tried to watch Dean once, but hadn't anticipated his elder to be there first, or for his divine glow to wake Dean up, or to have a book hurled at him, or to be called a 'fucking Lite Brite bitch,' or to be told by two separate voices to GET OUT), he'd had to fill the time doing something. So, methodically, every book had been pulled from the shelves, twenty at a time, and devoured. Then put back where they belonged. It was better than the telescope, it always showed something frightening when he looked.

"... Superior, could we go outside? Please?" Lu couldn't quite keep the desperate edge out of his young voice. He'd been underground since they found him in the woods, and he had behaved like they ordered him to, but. "It's so small down here."

[bloodsalted]

nearly ten minutes goes by before the phone rings back. a slew of questions greets the angel. where at in milwaukee? are there any more? has he heard from sam? all while dean's packing everything in a speed that is born out of a lifetime of having to get the fuck out of dodge in a minute's notice or less. voice a little off from biting the small piece of paper in his teeth as he shrugs on his coat, "just get to a place we can meet at. tell me where it is and i'll be there. s'gonna take me seven hours." not a question. there's an urgency to his voice. don't do something stupid til i get there.

the hunter grabs bags that're messily stuffed and plucks the paper out from his teeth, phone sandwiched between his jawline and shoulder as he lets himself out and bowed legs carry him quickly towards the impala parked directly in front of the damn near close to bates motel lookin' place he found just off the highway right outside the city.

back window still open, the bags are tossed inside. "if i remember right, there's a motel right off the interstate. third exit inside the city. one of our type." no tell motel. cas's gotta learned by now they have a brand. "hang tight. i'm on my way.." a brief pause and the rattling of keys and the slamming of his door can be heard. engine roars to life and zeppelin blares on the radio. sharply turned down with an apologetically murmured, "..sorry. sorry." gravel and dirt fly into the air as the impala pivots in a 180 towards the pavement. "m'on my way.. make it six." though he'll be there in less. he always is. magic ability to make his own speed limits? one of dean's most relied on abilities. (and one of the most fun.)

"..and cas? thank you for calling.. for.. yeah. just. thanks." the phone goes silent. both hands grip the wheel and he's heading directly towards wisconsin.

[fallenangelwings]

He heard it. The plea under every word. Don't go in. Wait for me. "I'll be at that motel when you arrive." Dean expressed his gratitude, and the line went dead. A sigh was pushed through his vessel's nose, and the phone was returned to the folds of his trenchcoat. As much as his instincts screamed to finish the job, Dean would be livid if he drove the five hours and 49 minutes it would probably take him to get there.

Castiel had been ordered not to engage, but he hadn't been ordered not to observe. It was a task he threw himself into, studying the comings and goings of every demon. Which windows they lingered in. What items they held. What clothes they wore. Seventeen adults aged between 20 and 60. Five teenagers between 17 and 19. Three children kept near the entrances, either to lull intruders into a false sense of safety, or to dissuade creatures like himself from smiting them. Not so very long ago, Castiel would not have hesitated. Demons needed to be destroyed, and the humans they occupied would be granted peace in the halls of Heaven. The Seraph forced his mind elsewhere, and scrutinized the building itself. Abandoned though it may be, the fire prevention systems appeared to be intact, and that gave him an idea.

Hours later, Castiel was waiting outside of their brand of motel, three exits into the city, right off the interstate. Midnight Oil Motel. Dated, faded, and cheap. Somehow still in business since Dean saw it last, unchanged aside from a new sign? Or perhaps the same one, just power-washed and stripped of the grime it spent several decades collecting. The angel was seated on a bench outside, still to the point that at least one person walking past mistook him for a detailed statue until blue eyes flicked to theirs, and they quickened their pace. Beside him was a greasy takeout bag, and instead of Dean's preferred soda, it was a large cup filled with ice water. He heard the roar of the car far down the road, and was on his feet waiting by the time it rolled to a stop in front of the motel. The cheeseburger and fries were still fairly warm, and the water still full of ice.

"I can give you the details while you eat." Castiel lifted both the cup and the bag to show him. "I'm assuming you've consumed nothing since we last spoke. I haven't secured a room, I confess I don't know the parameters you and Sam apply, I just know they are specific and contingent on the layout." There was a pause. "... And no, I—I haven't seen him."

[bloodsalted]

unaware of the reasons he was being watched so closely, the hunter chalked cas's narrow-eyed observation of his every move up to, well, cas being cas. that's how the angel is wired. to stare at him like he's some kinda bug under a microscope. only it's a kind of bug that was unknown until now. recently discovered. new and fascinating and something to pick apart every detail of because it was so odd and strange and... who knows what else about him was going through the angel's mind at any moment? certainly not him.

does he want to know?

there's a level of uncertainty there that says the maybe cas regrets ever being stuck with him. too much trouble, too much work. though he doubts it. or he wouldn't keep coming back? or maybe he just likes to be busy---god knows him and sam keep him bouncing from one bullshit situation to another.

not that it doesn't go both ways. heaven's put him into some bullshit situations himself...

soles of boots that've carried him from one fight to the next. one pothole paved mile to however many disappear under the wheels of his car trudge through the mess of what was left behind in the aftermath of a castiel shaped bomb going off. pausing to meet that watchful gaze, dean cracks a small smile, guilty but not guilty. if that makes sense? how his brain works is beyond himself sometimes, can't really blame cas if he doesn't get it. that every word of agreement that taper off into a stuttering quiet.

..head bowed forward, dean closes his eyes. lips purse into an uneven smirk while he gathers up the balls to murmur, "i get it.. i do. and you won't." conviction plastered into his voice to solidify a promise he's not sure he can keep but will do his fucking best.. don't think why. don't think how. don't think what it means.. cans of worms he's not ready to open. and, today, he doesn't have to.. cause cas is offering to fly them back to the car and dean knows that makes the most sense. nose crinkles at the thought--but with a little groan--he gives in. "yeah, okay. shit. let's get out of here." a pointer juts towards the sky, "but!!! we're not makin' this a habit. crap gets me dizzy as HELL!"

[fallenangelwings]

And you won't. Despite how devastatingly close Castiel had come to losing Dean, despite how any number of things could break that vow for him at any given moment... it still lowered his shoulders a fraction. There was no other way this could have gone, that meant they both could walk away. God may have been watching, and brought him back once. Spared their lives once. But day by day, Castiel was convinced he was only brought back for Dean. To keep his watch over the righteous man. But he didn't trust fortune enough to hope that his Father would have reached down and undo that mess. He might have sent another, more capable angel that Dean would never accept. Castiel knew him well enough to be sure of that, he would refuse a replacement. Violently.

The fact that Dean was well enough to protest sound logic in his usual dramatic manner? That lifted several more weights from the Seraph's body and mind. Even his ire was endearing, because it was Dean's. No matter what state, if he was even the slightest bit lucid, and his vocal cords were unhindered, he would complain. For a second, Castiel was thrown all the way back to 2005, invisible in the body of a hematologist, listening to Dean crack jokes from a hospital bed he was meant to die in. Dragging himself back to Sam, because he could not perish where the nursing staff was unattractive. He wasn't dying now, he was free to complain unrestricted, and Castiel couldn't be more grateful.

The Seraph stepped forward, and he felt the brace of Dean's muscles in preparation, but he didn't grab his shoulder and take off. Castiel wrapped his arms under Dean's, and pulled him into an embrace, anchoring him flush to his chest. For a moment, he just let his eyes shut and took comfort in the closeness. The pulse he could feel and hear. "... Unlock your muscles. You know I've got you. It may be easier on your body if you relax." He waited until Dean at least made an attempt before the sound of massive wings stole them both from that razed ruin.

Seconds later, two pairs of shoes touched down beside the Impala, and Castiel held on until he was certain Dean was steady. Even at that distance, the angel could smell his own grace. Both from the vaporized house and the forest it had regrown behind it. Even Dean still smelled like his divine essence, and would for at least a day. Perhaps too faint for the hunter to notice, but another angel would know how much it had taken to put him back together. "... You need to rest, after being healed like that. You should let me drive." Had he ever driven on anything but pavement? No, but how much different could a dirt road be.

[hymaziie]

[bloodsalted]

"you don't need to be useful, remember? you just being here is enough," dean doesn't look up from what he's working on when he corrects the graceless angel. page after page is flipped. the silver around his right finger glints as the tips of four press down lightly under each row of hand written letters. though he gets an idea that makes him come to a stop. worked on sam every time his younger brother refused to go to bed until dean finished whatever he was doing and went to sleep to.

when they were kids. even now.

those god damn puppy eyes pull his heart strings just right and he ends up grumbling the entire way to the mattress. sam smiling in victory as he lays down and ends up falling asleep within a handful of seconds. so? why not turn the tables and use sam winchester's technique on someone else rather than have it used on himself.

"you can help, though," he murmurs setting the pen down on his page to the spot marked. fingers curl around the back of the chair and use it as leverage to push his tired body in the upright position. tonight, we're riding the song of the hypocrite who knows he looks just as fucking tired as castiel does but isn't willing to give up until he finds what he's looking for. and where cas and him aren't very much different right now. the only thing he has in depth above the angel?

he's done this running on empty shit damn near his entire life. perfected it. lived it. needless to say? dean isn't castiel's inferior when it comes to navigating the rocky road of insomnia and thriving in it. steps carry him over to the electric kettle sam bought bobby years ago. out of place in the dated things all around him. however, shows quite a bit of use for someone who rolled his eyes when it was handed over.

boxes of tea are dug through and it's chamomile and lavender with just enough honey to make it sweet but not overly as much that seeps through the water. dirty trick. this shit will lull anyone off. especially a tired person that's about to be combined with one of the most boring tasks dean can think of. the fucking encyclopedia brittanica of witchcraft writings. some on wicca grabbed off a local bookstore shelf gets handed to the angel, as well as the mug. "drink that while you look through and try to find me any pop culture witchy shit that might help us out, huh? any sign of spirits, conjuring, or ancient ritual spots? give it a highlight. c'mon. let's take this to the living room." dean grabs up his own book, his mug--not saying what's in that--and heads into the dimly lit living room. purposefully taking up the chair so cas is forced to take up the couch. dirty, underhanded set up? meh. whatever!

[fallenangelwings]

There was a frustrated scowl at the reminder, given to Bobby's old kitchen cabinets while Dean kept turning pages. Castiel was too tired to argue, to explain that his instincts remained even if his grace did not. If anything, they had compounded. No longer was it a shift of loyalties, it was trying to fulfill divine purpose with a mundane body. He'd lost not only his grace, but his sight. Hearing, taste, smell, strength, endurance, all of it the smallest of fractions of what they used to be. Dean had only ever been human, living with the limits of the human body, and Castiel couldn't make him understand how quietly terrifying it was. It felt like being tasked to watch the sky, while being trapped underwater. More jarring still was the absence of his wings. They still existed, on a plane he couldn't hope to reach until his grace recovered. Months, years, or decades from now. It was hard to put that instinct to be useful aside, when it felt like one of the few things he had left.

A tired, hopeful look lightened Jimmy's face when Dean had a task for him. Castiel watched Dean dig through tea and brew him a cup, taking whatever had previously been in his own, and guiding them both to the living room. The angel looked odd in plaid pajama pants and an old heather gray t-shirt of Dean's. Thinner, less imposing. The firm and calculated weight to every movement was gone, even while rested. Scope of work established, Castiel sipped the tea and set it on the coffee table before grabbing a highlighter and settling on the couch to study.

A few passages were underlined, more tea was drank, and the angel felt himself sink deeper into the couch. His eyes were getting heavy, harder to open, and the words started to slide across the page. Exhaustion was trying to swallow his mind, his senses, and the thought made him sit up straighter. Concentrate harder. Until blue irises disappeared. Castiel's head rested against the back of the couch, and it looked like Dean's plans were successful. For about a minute, until the angel stirred with a sharp inhale through his nose, and reached up to rub a hand over his face.

"... No." The books were stacked and set down beside the half-empty mug, and Castiel pushed himself to his feet. "This can be accomplished tomorrow." He crossed the room, and a stubborn hand pressed down on the book in Dean's. "We're going to bed. We're going to bed. All the world's knowledge on witchcraft won't save us if we're too tired to fight." There was a time when Castiel could have just lifted Dean out of that chair and flown them both upstairs, but that time had passed. All he could do was move his hand from the book to his shoulder and squeeze. "... I rest easier when you're with me. Please."

[katteens]

[luciferious-archive]

It had to be done.

See it bigger over on my dA!

[bloodsalted]

as the warmth of castiel's hand slides into his own, dean's long fingers curl around his palm and give it a gentle, welcoming squeeze. something about that touch ignites a quickness in his chest. heart speeds up as skin slides against skin and grips down. perhaps the ghost of a memory. rotted picnic tables and an overlook off the side of the road. that same hand cupped his face. those same fingers carded through his hair. those eyes staring down at him with such a gentle but determined concern fluttered closed with his when their..

the hunter doesn't realize how deeply he was staring until the angel's voice lures him back from the trail his mind darted down. hell. that was fast. maybe cause it's been a while and hasn't happened since. not like that anyway. brows pinch together before they melt back into place softening the crease that was stamped between them. dean smiles, grateful. "yeah, you are.." what else does he have to say to that? everything and nothing all at once..

..thank you. for staying. that'd be number one. the rest? mind blank, no thoughts. only stare. so we'll go with option one. "thanks.." blowing out a breath, he looks down at his belly and shrugs. "s'fine. usually settles right after the dizzy stops. m'good. we'll keep the medicine anyway. might help after devouring all the snacks you brought." offering up a toothy grin--he gives that hand a tug and gestures to the spot beside him by dipping his chin towards it. "hope stickin' around here doesn't drive you up the wall. does me sometimes. not used to being idle.. but.."

one glance out the window at the swirling snow coming down heavy and hard. the smell in the air that it brings. it's pretty. and when the street lights it it later? dean's always been a sucker for that golden glow over sparkling white. "least the view's good." totally only talking about the snow.. right? totally.

[fallenangelwings]

The hunter's heart sped up, and his eyes glazed. Castiel's head tilted, studying that distant look, but his voice stirred Dean easy enough. The smile that followed was warm. Grateful. Something inside the Seraph's ancient being sang at the sight of it. Not hindered by the ache in his chest, but amplified.

A tug of his hand guided him to sit on the bed beside Dean, and he did, refusing to let go once he had. Dusk blue eyes followed forest green to the window and watched it become buried by snow. It was one aspect of earth that Castiel did love. Landing in a pristine stretch of snow, unbroken by footprints, staying still to watch the giant flakes gather on the trees around him. It was a lonely vigil, but it was still a gift to have that beauty all to himself. Dean would probably enjoy that as well, but it would require flight. A much greater distance than the gas station across the street.

"I'm not used to being idle at all." Again, the idea of it grated against his very being. "I wasn't made for it, but... it's easier. If you need me to stay. As long as I have a purpose, it feels less like dereliction of duty." Castiel's gaze shifted from the snowy window to Dean. "... You do need me to stay, correct?" The hunter knew him well enough to know what that tiny shift in expression meant. Please say yes. Please make this easier for both of us. Give him that 'out,' so to speak. It wasn't quite the first time... or the second. He'd faked an illness to give Castiel's wings time to heal after hell. Not so long ago, he'd convinced the Seraph to stay and recover his grace after their battle with the abominations in Appalachia. He had been idle. Just not when he himself was in good working order with grace to spare.

He kept his hold on Dean's hand, steady and warm. Maybe the hunter had noticed that the room's temperature had increased from chilly to comfortable without his having to touch the thermostat, or fight with the rattling heater. Maybe he noticed his dad's old jacket had made its way to the end of the bed without his permission, as a reminder of a discussion not forgotten. Little ways the angel cared for the man who had become more than just his mission. The man he raised from hell, and rebelled for. The man who was slowly learning how to take care of him, too.