At First Sight
Castiel imagine requested by anon! âFor Cas, what if only angels soulmates can see their wings, and when the boys introduce you to Castiel, you compliment his wings, the boys canât see them and wonder why, and Castiel gets all embarrassed and tells you why.â Alright, minions, this is the first installment of a many, many part series. All future installments will be posted on the âThe Story ContinuesâŠâ page. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. On my old blog, this was my single most popular imagine, and my most popular series. Iâve grown incredibly fond. This imagine has been edited for reposting to add a little detail here and there. Hope you like it!
âLook, Y/n, heâs not the tea party type, alright? Heâs not used to-â Dean circled his hands at chest-height, his eyes scanning the overcast skies for the proper wording, the exact emphasis he could use to adequately describe this angel youâd heard so much about. Dean settled on a term, his eyes dropping back to yours, cautious and confident in the same moment, emotions swirling together as one. âHuman stuff. Give him some time, heâll get better. You just have to let him get used to you. Trust me; youâll love him.â He assured, his hand on your back guiding you through the doorway and into the Men Of Letters bunker. You were just now returning home from a rather successful vampire hunt with Dean, having slain three and purified two new recruits. The rough denim of your jeans suctioned to your skin beneath with drying blood, crimson paint coating your body in splashes and bucket-fulls. A lot of blood is produced when you sever a head. You would have been safer, and quite a lot cleaner, in a hazmat suit and galoshes. You admitted you looked atrocious, so splattered in gore as you were, but Dean assured you that Castiel would pay no attention to your physical appearance. An angel thing, he had warned. All they were supposed to see were glowing orbs of light or⊠he didnât know, lists of sins scribed across your skin. Deanâs lips had ducked to your ear, lowering his voice despite the fact that you were alone, standing outside the bunkerâs second entrance. âOh, and let him know if you donât like the whole mind-reading thing. Angel thing.â
You shook the recent memory of Deanâs warnings from your head, quieting your assumptions (lest this Castiel sneak a peak inside your head) as you were lead inside the bunker and down the spiral stairs gracing the foyer. Your hand trailed over the wrought iron railing, the smooth, cold surface gliding beneath your skin, your fingers holding to the banister as long as was possible before your arm smacked into your side. Your feet reached ground-level as you progressed towards the library, your eyes falling on the electronic table you had helped Charlie boot up. Well, holding her hair out of her face as she fiddled with copper wires hardly counted as helping, but she insisted you were crucial to the operation, supplying her with conversation as she broke down the hunting communities most highly protected database. The fixture now served as a map of the world, lighting up with every monstrous location known to hunters and civilians alike. Of course, the civilians had no idea they were waltzing around during human open-season, hence the existence of your occupation.
Deanâs hand left your back stranded, your tie broken like the orbit of a moon around a destroyed planet, his eyes cautioning you once more before directing your gaze to the two men huddled by each other, concealed by a brilliant mass of light and feathers. You felt your jaw unhinge and drop, your vision going hazy from the sheer magnificence of the sight before you. God, how did they even fit in here? How overwhelming it must become, to live in such close proximity to these⊠these⊠intoxicatingly delicate wings.The shuddering canopy of gray feathers brushed against the bookshelves, the table, the light fixtures⊠like liquid, they molded themselves around everything, catching the lamplight like dulled gemstones. The feathers bristled when Deanâs footsteps filled the room, his heavy boots alerting the duo of your arrival before you feet could cross the threshold. Then, as if following the complicated choreography to some kind of obscenely organized dance, the two men turned to acknowledge your return. The feathers skirted around anything they may topple, intricate maneuvers keeping stacks of books from falling to the floor, every single plume flowing as if on a wave. When you found the resolve to turn away from the magnificence around you, you saw Samâs face was bursting with happiness to see you returned unharmed, though you were coated quite generously with blood.
You sorted through the impossible amount of fluttering feathers until your eyes rested upon an unfamiliar face. The angelâs expression was stoic, unfeeling save his eyes, which pooled with crystalline curiosity, his gaze dissecting your every feature. His shoulders straightened, pushing back with rigid formality, his wings flattening as best they could behind him. For such an immense mass as his wings, the extensions were downsized impressively, though the very tips of his wings yearned for freedom, feathers bristling. You clenched your teeth together, fearing you seemed rude, gawking at the angelâs hardware with such unapologetic curiosity. Then again, the angelâs eyes had done the same to your face. It must be another angel thing Dean had forgotten to mention during your ride home. The Winchester in question stepped forward, gesturing to the celestial being nestled into the confines of the library, both brothers seemingly oblivious to the masses that grew from Castielâs shoulder blades. Were they really that used to it? You didnât think youâd ever grow accustomed to the intimidating wings.
âCas, this is Y/n. Y/n, Cas.â Dean grumbled, taking a seat and kicking off his blood-slick boots as he finished his informal introduction. You gave a little wave, moving forward and into the library with intent to shake the angelâs hand. As you drew nearer, the angelâs eyes widened, though the rest of his face and body remained unmoving. He extended his hand, his palm sliding easily into yours. His warmth was unlike anything youâd ever experienced from so cold a demeanor.
âNice to meet you,â you mumbled, still awe-stricken. Up close, they were even grander; the feathers were singing against each other, humming a sweet, soft tune. It was as if bells were rung as a lullaby, or (you concluded, unimpressed with your slow-moving connection) as if an angel were singing. He released your hand after an extended moment (or were you just too absorbed in his wings to account for time?), your eyes skirting back to the brilliance behind him. Where the artificial light branded them, they shot off every color you could name, and some you couldnât, shattering spectrums like a faceted diamond. Their dulled reflections were vibrant now. Perhaps it was your proximity? His eyes, you noticed, had followed yours, a genuine expression of confusion and⊠diluted relaxation painting his chiseled face. âIâve never seen anything so beautiful,â you complimented, your tone breathy in appreciation. Castielâs gaze locked on you, a sudden, silent movement of the eye, his wings going silent, completely immobile, not a single feather daring to move. The angelâs face now held the faint contouring of shock. Samâs brow was pinched, his mouth quizzical.
âYeah, heâs a looker, we know,â Dean scoffed, coaxing a chuckle from his younger brother at your apparent loss of control. âJesus, Y/n, pull it together,â Dean whispered, his smile infectious. You shook your head at their idiocy, too invested in the angelâs glorious wings to bother blushing from embarrassment, your eyes locking with Castielâs, their ocean-esque depth reeling you in. Perhaps this was an angel thing⊠those eyes. They were hardened sapphires, glowing internally as if each stone had harvested a single flame. His face had yet to shift, his wings yet to move, his form rigid as a plank under your inspection. Maybe it was rude to stare.
âNo⊠I mean, well, yeah, but⊠his wings,â You stammered, irritated by the brothersâ lack of interest in the beauty they hadnât warned you of, watching realization and something close to fear burst in the angelâs divine eyes. Dean made a sound of gruff uncertainty, the sound almost missed entirely under the sound of flustered bells⊠if bells could become flustered. Castielâs hand had wrapped around your wrist, his skin flooding your arm with heat, the song of his wings unwinding as if relieved their owner was in contact with you. Castiel began to move then, leading you to the corner of the library, his hands gripping your wrists by your sides, releasing your hands once your fingers had spread against the wall behind you. The murmuring of bells increased, pealing in what sounded, absurdly, to be a whine.
âThe Hell is she talking about, Cas?â Sam inquired, the angel rolling his eyes at his comment, his pupils diving into yours, his attention split unwillingly from his scientific analysis of your eyes.
âShe was attempting to make a joke of my race,â Castiel explained, his eyes searching yours with complete concentration. You were certain he was joking, only his tone never deviated from a professional, if slightly disconnected, quality. Sam let out a breathy laugh before turning away, his hazel eyes praising your falsified wit. Your back bit into the wall as Castiel inched closer, careful to keep a respectful distance between your body and his. He lowered his voice, bringing his face closer to your own. He was clearly unfazed by the amount of gore painting your body, just as Dean had promised. "Please forgive my explanation. They cannot⊠humans arenât supposed to be able toâŠâ he trailed off, his eyes ducking to the floorboards as he fought for words. âWhat you see is a fragment of my true visage, something neither Sam nor Dean nor anyone else can view. My wings are only visible to one human. I had assumed that human would never come in contact with me. The odds are very slim,â his voice dropped once again, his eyes scanning the molding that tied the wall to the floor, his head shaking slowly. His ocean eyes lifted to meet yours once again, the fire within burning with a serious intensity. âThis gift you possess is granted only to those destined to⊠fall for an angel. Do you understand? You may have heard it referred to as having a soul mate.â If his proximity hadnât startled you, his statement surely did the job. This was not merely an angel thing.
You inhaled slowly, watching his wings unfurl around you like a shield, blocking the brothers from your view. He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably, clearly in an attempt to wrench his feathers away from you, but the duel masses were having none of his resistance; the quills trilled against each other, tips reaching, stretching toward you. He spoke apologies with his eyes, his cheeks glowing dimly with his embarrassment. You tentatively reached for the feathers at the very bottom of his wings, the billowy plumes that were brushing against your side, your fingertip encountering only cloud. Your touch activating a higher pitched song, as if you had excited them. Your heart as well had been excited; you felt as if youâd recently recovered from a high-voltage shock, the way your pulse was racing. Glancing at his face, you realized youâd made him blush deeper, either by your touch or by your presence, you couldnât be sure. Your mouth stretched into a shaky, timid smile, though your mind was unable to comprehend how you already felt so close to this stranger⊠but you were not nearly close enough to fling yourself into his arms and prance (or more appropriately, fly) off into the sunset. The angel nodded, his eyes sympathetic and⊠disappointed, it seemed, though he obviously meant to hide that emotion.
"Iâm aware that love is generally a longer process for you, and Iâm willing to give you the time necessary for you to be comfortable. Itâs⊠overwhelming, I know.â To this, you nodded, thankful for his understanding of the human species, remembering that your thoughts werenât safeguarded from Castiel. He ducked his head, though his eyes flickered to your face, closing in comfortable bliss as you buried your fingers in his wings, their exhilarated song filling you with warmth.
