anonymous prompt: Dean is taking too long in the shower so cas decides to use his mojo from the other room to speed things along. and listens to dean’s echoey laughs through the door.
Words: 1,250
(Publishing today for TickleTober day 11: “I’m not even touching you!”)
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Steam fogged the mirror, collecting and streaking tiny, meandering rivulets down the length of the glass. The continuous spatter of hot water was occasionally broken with rushes of fatter drops splashing against the drain and low humming notes of Led Zeppelin's “Ramble On.” A towel hung just an arm’s reach from the closed edge of the shower curtain, waiting.
Castiel was also waiting.
And waiting.
He lay atop the motel bed, counting the number of pockmarks in the ceiling that fell into the slow-shifting shadows of the slatted blinds. It wasn’t the shower he waited for, since he’d been cleaned thoroughly with a brief thought before even climbing into the passenger seat of the Impala nearly an hour ago. They’d passed a number of restaurants on the way back to the motel, but while Dean had complained of hunger, he’d complained of encrusted gore all the louder. Castiel wanted to get him fed (wanted to sit near him in the quiet public privacy of a booth and watch him smile between french fries), but still he lay waiting.
“Are you nearly finished?” Castiel finally called out.
The humming paused.
“There’s a detachable shower head,” came the echoing answer through the cracked door, as if that were a justification. “S’got massage settings and everything.”
The humming resumed.
Castiel turned his head on the pillow and squinted suspiciously at the door. He’d have gladly coaxed Dean’s tense shoulders to relaxation himself, if Dean had asked. “Are you replacing me with plumbing?”
“You jealous, Cas?” The humming faltered and dipped into a groan, perhaps a touch more theatrically than necessary. “You know, you’re welcome to join me…”
Castiel closed his eyes in equal exasperation and resistance. “Then you’d only take even longer.”
“Yeah, but you could have fun,” tempted the disembodied voice.
“I’m perfectly capable of ‘having fun’ from out here,” Castiel said, and punctuated it with a haphazard pinch of Grace in the direction of Dean’s remote backside.
A surprised yelp cut through the steam. The staccato pattern of spraying water stopped shifting, as though whatever it was hitting had gone still like a prey animal.
Castiel smiled to himself. He closed his eyes and reached out with more purpose to find Dean, not unlike feeling out a light switch in the dark.
“H-hey, what is– That’s you, right? I’m not getting felt up by a handsy water spirit in here?”
“I suggest you hurry up,” Castiel rumbled.
Then, the response that covered all the bases, set plausible deniability on each one, asked for everything while asking for nothing; the response that was so unequivocally Dean in every letter:
“Make me.”
Ah. Choices.
Castiel could chill the water with a thought, not enough to sting but plenty to shock. Or, he could give an ultimatum of no makeouts at any more rest stops on the way home. He could get up and go rip Dean, nude and dripping, from the shower (though Dean was probably angling for that).
Or, he could “have fun.”
Keeping his eyes closed, Castiel folded his hands up behind his head, crossed his ankles atop the comforter, and set to work.
“What’re you– hey. Hey,” came the utterly predictable protest bouncing off the wet tiles. “Don’t you even–”
Even was one of Castiel’s favorite things to be, when it came to Dean. And if Dean was going to be nakedly teasing, Castiel could tease his nakedness in return. It made no difference to him, of course, whether Dean had clothes on, just as it made no difference how many walls or doors separated their physical presences. But Dean had the tendency to get a little prim when an unexpected angle was taken on his otherwise overt solicitations.
“This is super fuckin’ weird, you… weirdo. Mmmf. Ah… hhhuh. Heh. How are you doing that?”
Castiel twisted the dial a little further on Dean’s nerve impulse interpretation. He was still building the model in his mind, labeling the dial’s ranges as he went. Past the green all-systems-normal mundane went yellow teasing, and the next logical step put sensual in the red – but that certainly wouldn’t get Dean out of the shower any faster. If the rivulets of water running down his body felt like tongues, they’d never leave this motel.
He labeled the range ticklish instead.
The vocalizations coming from the ajar door began hitching with suppressed laughter.
“Okay, what the fuck. What’d you do – heh – to the w-water?”
“Nothing,” Castiel hummed truthfully.
He twisted a few degrees more. A stutter of giggles echoed out.
“C’mon, I – hee! – I’m gonna get shampoo-hoo in my eyes! And I still gotta wash my a–ah–armpits!”
Castiel smiled, felt the gentle press of his cheeks up on the corners of his closed eyes. “Perhaps you should try to be quick.”
The sound of the shower spray hollowed out for a moment, hitting only the empty space of the tub floor. There was a grumble, a preparatory intake of breath, then a loud spattering of suds and water again interrupting the stream. A sort of rolling snort worked its way into laughter among sounds of frantic rubbing and rinsing.
But it wasn’t long before the noises began settling into more hums than giggles, and the hectic splashing calmed. Castiel’s manipulated dial was slowly correcting itself toward its usual ranges the longer he left it untouched. All well for Dean’s sake; permanent alteration of the body’s signals would be unwise. And would catch Castiel a neverending earful.
Dean did sound inviting, though.
(Castiel had never really been able to resist him, anyhow; not in any way that mattered.)
He gave a little tug with his Grace, akin to pulling Dean backwards against him. A light thump sounded against the shower wall, accompanied by a surprised noise. If he were physically in the space, he’d be nosing in at the crook of Dean’s neck while his arm held tight across Dean’s chest. But as it was, he just enjoyed the sensation of holding his Grace taut between them, like a cello string awaiting the bow.
He reached out with another abstract tendril and caressed the line of Dean’s jaw.
“Mm, fuck,” floated breathily from behind the door.
Castiel slid his metaphysical touch down Dean’s chest, following the rivulets of water that gravity drew ever downward.
“Fuhhhck…”
He wriggled into Dean’s navel and cranked the dial.
“FUCK,” Dean blurted, the exclamation already crackling with laughter. A loud wet squeaking echoed out as his heels slipped in a vain bid to escape.
Castiel held him fast against the wall. “I told you to hurry up.”
“Cas, na-hah! Ahaha!”
Castiel push-pulled with the incorporeal connection, pressing Dean under the spray and engulfing his bare body with runlets that rushed and trickled down every plane and crevice. Dean’s knees buckled under helpless peals of laughter. It was only Grace – not mercy – that kept him from hitting the floor.
Castiel readjusted his head on the pillow and enjoyed the contrast of his own relaxation with the predicament that would surely leave Dean worn and pliable. All the better for getting him fed with minimal fuss over which local dive had “the right kind of shitty reviews,” the wisdom of which still escaped Castiel. Afterward, they could return here and spend the balance of the evening in much closer physical proximity. Much, much closer.
Picking up where he’d last heard it left off, Castiel quietly hummed the remainder of “Ramble On” while allowing the dial to gradually tick its way back toward proper calibration.
I do think that the bunker should have more windows. It is hidden and underground though, so it would be... difficult to get some in. I would be able to create some and control the weather they show, but I’m afraid Dean will not let me. He says that I still need to rest before using my “angel mojo.” I do not understand why. I have already rested enough. Help me convince him?
A/N: A Cas x Reader Christmas/Winter drabble about a snowball fight. Implied smut at the end.
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“Do NOT throw that snowball at me or else!” Cas yelled.
Sure, he could smite demons with the touch of his hand, but deep down your angel was a big ball of mush. “Or else what?” You patted the snowball into a perfect sphere and readied it at your target. You both deserved to have a little fun.
“I will be forced to use my, what do you call it...angel mojo, on you.”
“What are you going to smite me?” Reeling back, you threw the snowball with perfect aim and watched as it hit him square in the face. Thankfully, he was an angel so he couldn’t feel cold, but his exasperated gaze froze you in place.
You started to run when he flew in front of you. “Like I said, angel mojo.”
“That’s not fair!”
Cas snickered before disappearing and reappearing with a mountain of snowballs in his has hands. Again, you turned and ran but it was no use. Your angel pelted you with snowball after snowball until you fell to the snow-covered ground in a fit of laughter. “Yield! I yield, Cas!”
As you heard the crunch of the snow under his feet, you grabbed a handful of snow and waited for your moment. He reached down to help you up and dodged your final attempt at an assault by pulling you into a kiss instead. “Cheater,” you mumbled against his lips.
“No cheating, just using my natural abilities to my advantage.”
“Care to use some other natural abilities? On me? Inside? Because you may be an angel, but I am a poor, little human and I’m cold.”
Cas wrapped his arms around you and transported you inside immediately. “I think I can help warm you up.”
Title: Angel’s Patience is Limited
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Sam, Cas
Summary: Ticklish!Sam, Ticklish!Dean, mentioned Ticklish!Cas; The boys are being annoying with their constant arguing. Cas decides to put an end to it. Oh, the repercussions :)
Original Prompt: How about Sam and Dean won't stop arguing about absolutely everything and Cas has had enough of it, so he "convinces them" to apologise to each other with a little help from his grace, much laughter involved? But of course Sam and Dean aren't the type of people to let things go without revenge :)
A/N: Thank you for sending a prompt ANON! YAY! Cas + Mojo + Irritating Winchesters = Tickles MUAHAHAHAHAHA!
Cas has been around for ages. He had years to perfect his level of patience and learned many meditation techniques to help calm himself. Nothing had ever been able to break it before. So why was it, that an afternoon with the Winchesters could make Castiel’s jaw clench, hands ball into fists and make him bite his tongue to stop from screaming Enochian curses at them to just shut UP!
I mean, c’mon? It wasn't that hard to try and compromise with each other. But, every time Sam had a suggestion, Dean snarked back. Every time Dean brought up where to stay next, Sam had a complaint. Every time anything came up, the boys exploded into another argument. At first, Castiel understood. They had been living in each others pockets for months on end with little to no free time and they were annoyed of each others constant presence. But now it was getting ridiculous.
Sam was on his laptop, looking up information on their current hunt, a frown on his face. He was clicking the keys to hard from frustration and it made Castiel wince every time. Dean was sitting on the couch, nursing a beer. There was a tick in his forehead, which showed how annoyed he was at his brothers constant clicking. Finally, he seemed to snap, whirling viscously on Sam with a snarl.
“Do you mind?!”
“No,” Sam answered calmly, glaring up at his big brother. “I don't mind seeing as I’m the one doing the research.”
“I did my part already, you’re the one slacking up!”
“I’m slacking?! Dean, all you did was check out the nearest bar!”
Castiel felt his wing twitch in irritation, annoyance crossing his face. He didn't know how much longer he could handle this....The Winchester’s voices grew in volume as they became more and more annoyed with each other till finally, Cas felt his breaking point snap in two.
“ENOUGH!” He yelled, flinging a hand out. Dean slammed into the other bed next to Sam’s. The computer disappeared from Sam’s lap and the youngest Winchester yelped when he realized he couldn't move. Dean came to the same conclusions seconds later.
“Cas, what the hell, man?” Dean shouted, head turning back in forth in desperation. Sam stayed silent, eyes narrowing at their angel friend.
“You too have annoyed me to my limit,” Castiel snarled at them. “I, an angel of the Lord, should have something akin to unlimited patience. How is it that two mortals broke it?!”
“I don't know. Sam just has that type of personality,” Dean hissed, glaring at his brother best he could. Sam gaped but kept silent for he could see Cas was honestly getting pissed at them even though he wanted to snap so bad.
Castiel narrowed his deep blue eyes at Dean, and raised his hand. Dean paused, staring at Cas with wide eyes. Before he could say a thing, tendrils of grave shot at Dean, starting at his feet an working his way up.
Dean yelped in surprise before clenching his jaw to keep the laughter from pouring out. Damn, he never should of introduced tickling to Cas in the first place. And of course, the angel knew all the Winchester’s worst spots.
“Cas,” Dean gritted out. “Knohock it off!”
Sam didn't dare laugh at his brother for he knew it would only draw attention to himself. Although, he allowed himself to feel a bit smug. Castiel didn't respond to Dean, only moving his grace along the muscled calves in a tingly way that made Dean crack a smile and a groan. He shot two more swirls of grace up to Dean’s ribs, moving them in a fluid motion that finally made Dean laugh loudly.
“Nohoho! Cahahas! Stohohop ihihit!” Dean hated how he couldn't move. He felt so vulnerable which made him feel so much more ticklish! It was insane. “PleheheAHAHAHA! CAHAHAS!”
Sam would of jumped if he could at the loud squeal and knew Cas hit the little spot under Dean’s ribs near his back that always had Dean cackling. A warm feeling settled in Sam’s stomach at Dean’s carefree laughter―despite the desperate tone―and wondered if maybe that was Castiel’s point of all this.
“Don’t think I have forgotten about you, Sam,” Castiel raised an amused eyebrow at the younger Winchester. Sam realized the warm feeling wasn't just from his fondness for his big brother. The warmth easily turned into ticklish pokes and prods and vibrations on his worst spot ever.
“NOHOHO FAHAHAIR!” Sam shrieked, giggles immediately bubbling out of him. He didn't get a warm up tickle or anything, Cas went straight for the kill. The grace zeroed in on Sam’s bellybutton, brushing against the rim before swirling in deep. Sam arched best he could, squeaks and snorts escaping him. “CAHAHAS!”
Dean could hear Sam’s childish laughter and felt his own grow as Dean teased the skin right before his hips. It kept coming so close before jerking back, always making him feel anticipation.
“STAHAHAP IHIHIT!” Dean whined. “DOHOHON’T TEHEHEASE MEHEHE!”
“Alright,” Castiel shrugged, shooting all the grace he had on Dean to both of his slim hips.
“WAHAHAHAIT!” Dean shrieked before falling into hysterical laughter.
“NAHAHA!” Sam screeched when he felt the softer vibrations turn into what had to have been millions of raspberries all at once on ever inch of his tummy.
“Dean, are you sorry for snarking at Sam 24/7 and being a jerk?”
“YEHEHEHES! IHIHI’M SOHOHOHORRY!”
“And Sam, are you sorry for complaining about every thing and being a, uh, bitch?”
“YAHAHAHAH! SOHOHO SOHOHORRY!”
“Apologize to each other,” Castiel demanded. The Winchester’s continued to screech with laughter as they fought the ticklish sensations. When they didn't answer fast enough, Cas upped the tickles making them scream.
“DEHEHE I’M SOHOHORRY! AHAHA STAHAHA!” Sam fell silent, mouth opened wide, nose scrunched and face an adorable pink. His hair was like a small halo above his head and in his face.
“MEHEHE TOHOHO SAHAHAMMY! CAHAHAHAS SOHOHORRY!” Dean cried, tears coming out of the corners of his eyes. His face was bright red, freckles dancing with every single laugh, his green eyes glittering with tears and amusement and pure happiness.
“Good,” Cas nodded, letting the Winchester’s go. He sent last minute tickles on Dean’s tummy and Sam’s toes before leaving the boys alone.
Sam coughed, gulping in huge breaths while Dean curled in a ball, residue giggles escaping. They shared a look and glared at their angel. Cas paused, nervousness suddenly entering his system.
Of all the humans, the Winchester’s definitely made him feel the most.
“Sammy, we cant let that go unpunished can we?”
“No way. Let’s show Cas how grateful we are.”
“D-Dean, Sam, please. I was only trying tOHO HEHEHEHELP NOHOHOHO!”
Continuation of Carry on, carry on, payback melody (featuring #AU!Cas). Words: 1,350.
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“Sensitivity,” Castiel says carefully, “is born of vulnerability. Weakness. The body, it has instincts to protect its... design flaws. So many chinks in the armor. Slip through just one of them, and–” He tips his head. “Death comes so easily.”
Dean scowls. He’s still annoyed, still pinned to the floor, and still listening to Castiel’s stupid dramatic monologue. “Are you done?”
Keeping him levered solidly down with one immovable hand, Castiel ignores the comment and drags a finger down Dean’s chest, catching and skipping over his shirt.
“Even the smallest threat to those weaknesses can induce... panic.” He smiles suddenly, which is mildly horrifying. “Panic can be useful. Makes you do so many things you would not otherwise do. But, when you are prevented from responding to the threat, from stopping it – that is when you become… hm. Interesting.”
“You’re like one of those Bond villains who loves to hear himself talk, aren’t you?”
Unfazed, Castiel’s finger comes to rest on the line of Dean’s lowest rib. His voice brightens slightly – as much as that ominous tone can be considered to do so.
“Here, for example. Beneath this single bone lies the gallbladder, part of the liver, and the start of the digestive tract. So if an outside force were to attempt access…”
There’s a… a squiggle, on Dean’s skin, where Castiel’s fingertip rests over his rib. It’s not the hard and fast Grace-blasting with no regard for life and limb that Dean has come to expect from this Castiel, but instead, a tiny tendril of sensation. Like the stringy tentacle of a jellyfish, or a single glowing arc of energy in one of those electronic plasma globes. It’s slender and jumpy and makes Dean want to bat it away. He clenches his fists where they’re pinned down by his sides.
“...Your body will react. Even if your mind understands there is no threat, your body does not.”
Dean isn’t sure that his mind categorizes this Castiel as “no threat;” not when the angel has him immobile on the floor. It also kind of pisses him off that Castiel can just repackage the concept of tickling in deliberate, studied words and make it sound so sinister. Even more unfair is that the hype works, because he’s never been conscious of his internal organs before but now he swears he can feel his liver cowering.
The squiggle dances along the edge of his ribcage toward the center (Dean’s body tries to sort of contract around it), then hops over to the other side to follow Castiel’s finger.
“And here, under these ribs, is the stomach. Often, you mistakenly assume it is further down, in this soft unprotected center…”
Castiel slides his fingertip toward Dean’s belly button and circles it. The squiggle follows, and Dean clenches everything because it tickles like hell, oh God, it’s so small and delicate and it should be nothing but his belly is rioting. He grits his teeth and fights tooth-and-nail against the urge to giggle.
“...but here is nothing more than the coiled mass of the intestines. Over twenty feet of them, if they were to be pulled – carefully, of course – from your abdomen and strung about the room like ribbons.” (There’s… a decent chance Castiel is speaking from experience, which causes a hell of a conflicting lurch in his belly.) “In fact, yours are… hm… just a few inches over twenty-three feet,” Castiel finishes while squinting thoughtfully at the area under his finger.
He’s not gonna eviscerate me, he’s not gonna eviscerate me, Dean chants to himself, still fighting to keep the levee from breaking. Not a real threat, don’t worry, intestines, we’re going to be okay, he’s not going to eviscerate– holy FUCK!
The Grace-squiggle wriggles into his navel and, yeah, Dean’s body hits the panic button.
“Stop! Shit, stop it, stop it, get outta there!” The fight is abruptly lost and he’s giggling like a madman, muscles torquing every which way to regain control but finding none. The tendril whirls crazily inside his belly button, drilling the deepest points as though this is the best entryway to ripping his guts out, and Dean can’t take it. He kicks the floor and strains, strains to free his arms, to buck Castiel off, to do anything, but Castiel’s hand is still planted firmly on his chest and he can’t, he can’t protect himself, can’t lessen it, can’t respond to the threat.
Over his spiraling laughter, Castiel is still talking, like the complete assbag he is.
“See, the ribs are not here to help. These soft organs are in the wilderness alone, unprotected, vulnerable. So the body creates even more weakness here on the surface, to teach you to protect it yourself. But now… right now, you cannot. And see how interesting you’ve become as a result.”
Interesting, sure. If that’s what he calls writhing on the floor, screech-laughing and tearing up and losing his shit over a single tiny thread of sensation that’s tickling his stomach (but no, that’s actually up under his ribs, apparently) to insanity. Then yeah, Dean is real fuckin’ interesting right now.
Then, finally, salvation: Sam’s voice out of the chaos. “Geez, okay, let him go already.”
The tendril vanishes. Oh, thank God for Sammy. Thank God for air and cool tile floors and not being eviscerated. Dean croak-gasps for breath and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to force the wetness from his lashes.
It’s a little weird that this Castiel would just… listen and stop, though. Dean begins to wonder if Sam has managed to somehow train him, like a circus lion. His first urge is to warn Sam not to get too close or attached, since it’s a wild animal that’ll sooner rip his face off than snuggle up for a good purr, but that line of thinking flits away when Castiel finally gets up, affording his body precious freedom.
Sure, he could get up now, but he could also lay here and breathe while he comes down from the fight-or-flight-or-get-wrecked rush. Mentally, he’s never been so thankful that all his organs are where they’re supposed to be. Physically, he’s freaking exhausted, but there’s this weird residual energy coursing through his system, like the ticking of a cooling car engine. Maybe it’s those... orphans. Dolphins. Endorphins. Whatever.
Dean groans and rubs his strained biceps. He’s going to be feeling this tomorrow.
—
Hours later, he finds himself standing outside the door of Cas’ room in the bunker. (His Cas, not Ass-Cas.) There’s something about what went down earlier that’s clinging at him. He’s not quite sure what it is. He just knows… scratch that, he doesn’t know. He thinks he hated it, just like he thinks he’s hated all the other times. But he’d felt so... different, afterward. Lighter, maybe? But he sure as hell isn’t going to approach that Castiel about it. So here he is, instead.
That whole thing about threat/non-threat is still circling around in his brain. His own Cas pings the “non-threat” radar by default, and Dean feels like that aura of safety is key. So, after a very awkward and stumbling reflection, he asks Cas to ever-so-gently tickle him with whatever that squiggly Grace thing is.
Turns out, he’s just as ego-shrivelingly ticklish even when he isn’t freaking out about being gutted. And this safer version gives him a more potent hit of that fresh-off-the-roller-coaster energy high, which is both sort of awesome (because those dolphins kick ass) and sort of worrying (because requesting soft little tickles is beyond embarrassing, but he knows that he’s going to keep doing it anyway). This isn’t something he’d have ever guessed he’d be into, but weirder shit has happened. C'est la vie, or whatever.
—
Later that week, Dean has a bizarre dream that ends up with scary-Castiel holding him down in a contorted position while safe-Cas tickles him into oblivion. C’est not la fuckin’ vie – he absolutely did not greenlight some new fantasy formation out of all this. That’s horseshit and he’s gotta draw the line somewhere.
(...But if he dreams about it again, he’s not gonna complain.)
Dean’s gone out on a hunting trip. It is so soon after the last one. I am worried for him. He should not get hurt over and over and over again. He comes back looking awful, and then stubbornly refuses to let me heal him. What is going on?
Written and submitted by @ask-flip-frost; a sequel to Of Maintenance. (Publisher’s notes can be found at the end of the work.) Words: 4,300
Things were changing. Whether they were more spooky or less spooky with the developing knowledge was difficult to say, though. Several everyday phenomena which Sam and Dean had taken to be the result of Castiel’s telekinetic abilities had been debunked as something far more simple. In the week since his medicinal bath, the grace-touch Cas had granted to the Winchester’s eyes had not faded out. His wings were still visible to them. As such, they began to notice all manner of peculiar things.
For starters, Castiel was not nearly as statuesque as they’d always perceived him to be. Even if the rest of his body seemed to be standing perfectly still, his wings gave away that he was, in fact, constantly fidgeting. Often it was only a gentle twitch or sway, but other times it would be the sort of swift flap one might see from a bird debating its position on a branch as the angel settled onto the living area’s couch. The first time that happened had scared the hell out of Dean and he’d fallen onto the floor with a loud curse. Out of courtesy, the brothers would give a wider berth now to accommodate the limbs, though the wings would always shift themselves to or fro as needed regardless as they always had ‘behind the scenes’.
“I am beginning to understand why Humans are uncomfortable with long stares.” Castiel commented as he picked a lore book from a high shelf in a pincer motion with the alula of either wing.
Dean started in place. He hadn’t realized that he’d been staring again. He grunted quietly and went back to fake-reading for a case. Well, ‘case’ in the sense that it wasn’t really their sort of thing, but they were bored out of their minds. Idle hands being tools of the devil, he could definitely understand how so many bad decisions came in moments where a person was left with nothing to drown out melancholy thoughts. Might as well research old serial killers and have debates on whether or not they were supernaturally inclined.
“I always thought you did that with your brain, I dunno. Some floaty angel shit.” Dean shrugged, dropping both the pretense and his book “Still getting used to it.”
“I use my brain to move my wings.” Castiel rolled his eyes, thumbing through his volume. “I could lift something by altering the molecular structure of the air around it, but it seems like wasted effort.”
With Cas’ attention divided by reading, the elder Winchester felt as if he could chance another appraising look at the wings. This time, he was moreso checking on their healing progress. Any time he’d gotten close enough to attempt to give them a once-over, they’d folded up protectively against the angel’s back. The skin certainly seemed healthier. Feathers were coming in nicely. A marked rise in Castiel’s mood might have been linked to their recovery.
“Dean.” Cas admonished.
“What?”
Cas turned to face him straight on, irritated as fully as a woman who didn’t want someone ogling her legs. He closed the distance and waited until Dean met his eyes. It took more than a few seconds.
“Alright, I get it, I get it. I wouldn’t have to be so damn sneaky about it if you’d let us actually check them. We said we wanted to help, and you promised you’d let us.” Dean fussed. “It’s been a week, and all you’re doing is just… misting them like house plants with that oil stuff. I wanted to make sure they’re getting better. Sue me.”
“…Oh,”
“Whaddaya mean oh?”
All this time, Castiel had felt that he was being viewed as somewhat of a side-show. The extra space given, the hidden peeks, and the badgering about keeping up on moisturizing the damaged skin had been giving him mixed signals on whether or not he was being treated as… well, he wasn’t sure. But he didn’t like it. He dropped his eyes, embarrassed.
“I misunderstood the reason for your leering.” Cas admitted quietly.
“Leering? Who’s leering?” Dean demanded, slapping the table to get full attention when Cas glanced away. “No, you look at me. If you think for a minute that we’re just gawking for the sake of seeing something weird, then you really need to get your head out of your ass, Cas. We stare because we care.”
That didn’t sound creepy. Ah, shit, he’d rhymed as well.
Castiel gave a begrudged nod. While he didn’t particularly care for being scolded like a child, he would be remiss to ignore the small flutter of importance that had bloomed in his chest from it. Something he’d perceived to be bordering on hateful was actually just the Winchesters’ way of looking after him without being obvious about it.
Feeling that his point had been made, Dean pushed up from the table and pointed an accusing finger as he backed out of the library.
“Alright. I’m going to pick Sammy up and grab some grub. When I get back, you’re getting a full check-up. No buts.”
If Castiel had been properly miffed, it would have been as easy as leaving before Dean returned to avoid further possibility of ridicule. But he stayed. Heaven help him, he stayed.
–
When the door to the bunker swung open by way of an aggressive hip, Castiel looked up briefly from his book and gave both Winchesters an expression of acknowledgement. Sam had been out all day, but where he had no idea. Both Sam and Dean had their arms full of takeout and grocery bags, though it seemed unlikely that the younger brother had been shopping for the last seven hours.
Behind Cas, there was some sort of structured movement going on. It reminded Sam of some upper body calisthenics demonstrated in a documentary about Victorian housewives he’d watched in college; the kind of exercise that only worked a set group of muscles, as was appropriate for ladies at the time. Not that he’d say that out loud. It looked a bit silly, though.
“The hell are you doing?” Dean asked bluntly.
“Stretching.” Cas didn’t look up a second time.
“Are you sore?” Sam prompted.
“No more than usual.” the angel replied with a sigh.
“How usual is usual?” Sam pressed on.
Castiel closed his book and deposited it on a table.
“Your legs are long.” Cas stated, waiting for Sam to agree to this observation before continuing. “If you are in a car for a long period of time, they become cramped, correct? Imagine if you were over one thousand feet tall, and compressed to a vessel that does not even clear six feet. Sometimes it helps to stretch, if only a little.”
It was easy to forget how big Castiel was supposed to be in a natural state when he was forever looking up at them. They understood how dangerous it would be for the angel to leave the vessel empty for any amount of time, so taking a break somewhere to fully unleash himself was unlikely to work out well.
“Okay, well-“ Sam yanked Dean’s shirt to prevent him waltzing away from putting groceries up. “We’ve been thinking about that a little, actually. Dean’s been calling physical therapy clinics in the area to get advice on what we can do to make things better for you.”
“Sneaking.” Dean interjected.
“-And I went to the vet clinic to volunteer with a bird rehabilitation group today. So I think we’ll have a better idea on how to handle helping you along.” Sam continued. “Got a few things we can try, but we’ll see how it goes and kind of play it by ear.”
At a loss for words, Castiel blinked and looked from one brother to the other. His don’t bother worrying about me, I am not worth it train of thought was solidly arguing with his I am deeply humbled and thankful to be cared about train of thought.
“The therapists all told us to check range of motion and try to balance resistance exercises and stretches with massages to release tension in the muscles.” Dean explained, slapping Cas on the shoulder. “Who’s a lucky duck?”
Cas pulled a grumpled expression as Dean turned back to stack cans of sloppy joe sauce in the cabinet.
“I am not a duck.” he huffed.
“Ya might as well be. That’s all Sammy’s been practicing on all day.” Dean laughed. “You’ll be the first on his client list not to peck at him. Or maybe you will, I dunno. You were pretty twitchy last time we had hands on you, so~”
Eyes to the ceiling, Castiel asked his Father for whatever strength he needed not to stuff Dean into a garbage can. He was thankful that the teasing was not further pursued while the remaining groceries were sorted. The time was spent going over what each brother had learned in their separate endeavors. He learned that Sam had been followed by an entire flock of some forty-odd ducks when it was time for him to leave, and that Dean had been given love letters by three old women and one old man after a day of working in senior physical therapy earlier in the week. As a point of pride, he’d kept all of them like trophies.
“Here, these are for you.” Sam tugged a pack of jersey knit pajama pants out of the last bag and passed them over to Cas. “So you don’t have to borrow any. Go ahead and change. There’s a shirt, too, but we need it off for now so we can see what we’re doing.”
Castiel ran his hand over the plastic with a quiet thank you. It crinkled softly in his fingers. Technically speaking, he didn’t own a single article of clothing besides what was already on his person. Any that he’d worn during his period as a human had been discarded as a means to bury the memory of his many struggles. Those clothes had all been second-hand anyway, though. These were new, expressly for him. A touching gesture to say the least.
This time, he didn’t feel nearly as self-conscious changing out of his normal attire. For a long moment, he fiddled with the drawstrings of his trousers to ensure that they were perfectly fit before tying a messy knot. Something which looked only sort of like a bow, but it was good enough. Learning to tie his shoes during his humanity stint had been quite a journey, but a small child who’d wandered off from her mother in the mall had been kind enough to show him as best she could manage. The things you needed to know as an ‘adult’ were hardly ever clear until you were in the moment, he’d come to find.
When Cas returned, he saw that a table in the library had been fixed up with lots of folded blankets to create a padded surface. Not strictly necessary, but it was nice to see all the same. A groaning sigh dramatic enough to rival a Kansas twister whooshed from his lungs in pure disapproval as Dean sauntered in wearing a lab coat, carrying a clip board.
“What?” Dean scoffed. “Too much?”
“YEAH.” came the unison reply.
“Fine. Buncha killjoys.” Dean muttered, shrugging out of the coat and tossing it in a rumpled pile on a chair. “Up on the table, big guy. Stretch out the wings as far as they’ll go side to side. Don’t let them droop if you can help it. We need to see if any of your muscles have atrophied.”
One foot pressed to a chair, Castiel pushed up on the table and settled into a comfortable sitting position, legs dangled somewhat stiffly over the side. A few small pops worked in the joints as he slowly reached his wings out in a wide t-shape. He wasn’t all together sure if that was a problem in the vessel’s shoulders or in his actual wings. Later he would run a checklist of all of the organic components which didn’t strictly belong to him. Well. They did now, he supposed.
“Try making circles, then go up and down.” Sam frowned at the noise, flipping through a little field guide he’d been given that day. “Does it hurt?”
“No,” Cas shook his head, complying with the request easily. “It’s a relief. Everything has felt a little-“
“Flabby?” Dean supplied brightly. “Since you haven’t been able to go out for a sky spin in forever?”
If looks could kill.
“…tight. I have been exercising them, but the stiffness remains.” Cas grumbled. “My wing muscles are not flabby.”
“Touched a nerve on that one.” Dean huffed under his breath, eyebrows jumped up.
Quick to diffuse, Sam cleared his throat.
“You need recovery days to let muscles rest. Even if you’ve never needed them before, you’ve also never really been in a vessel for this long, right? Celestial energy verses physically shrunk down has got to have differences in how your wings react to things, especially after trauma. You said it feels cramped and tight, so let’s work from there. I’ll apply pressure. Try to keep from lowering your wings.” Sam advised, taking up a position behind the brooding angel.
Slowly he pushed down, little by little adding more force. The wings didn’t move an inch. They were warm and solid. A far cry less ashy-looking than the last time he’d touched them as well. Resistance didn’t seem to be a problem. There was no tremble of fatigue, but the muscles were heavily bunched.
“Not flabby.” Sam confirmed, noting with amusement how Cas’ feathers puffed a little in pride.
“See?” Cas sniffed in a superior tone.
“Got it.” Dean rolled his eyes.
“It was easy.” Cas added.
“I got it.” Dean repeated.
“Like they were baby hands.”
“Got it, Cas. Not flabby.”
Sam looked down at his giant paws and mouthed baby hands before reaching into a small box on the table. He began carefully laying out a collection of wires and pads. When he caught Castiel looking curiously over his shoulder, he held up the box to show a picture. The edges of the cardboard were slightly dog-eared from age, but the contents had been kept in pristine condition.
“TENS unit,” Sam explained. “I do long distance runs, and sometimes when my muscles get overworked, this helps kill off the pain and kind of forces them to relax after you use it. It stimulates your nerves with electricity pulses.”
When he was met with a wary expression, Sam rolled up his own sleeve and stuck two of the leads to his forearm. He fiddled with the settings and clicked the machine to life. Small twitches in his muscles were apparent.
“See? It’s fine. Doesn’t hurt. It’s weird, but DeanDeanDeanDON’T- AH!”
Unable to help himself, Dean plucked up the unit and cranked the dial WAY up, chuckling deeply as Sam’s arm convulsed into weird positons.
“This thing is WILD, Cas. We used to play a drinking game with these where you try to balance a ping pong ball on a spoon while it’s buzzing you, and if you dropped it, you had to take a shot.” Dean smirked, shutting the machine off, to Sam’s relief. “So just so you’re prepared, if it jerks you around a little, it’s fine. Doesn’t hurt, there are just places it isn’t safe to go, like around your heart. If Sammy can take it, you can take it. If it gets too sore, let us know and we’ll shut it down. Sound good?”
Cas nodded, actually a little relieved at the show of absurdity. It made him feel less like a specimen. There were no further protests as Sam began attaching leads to the meatiest sections of his wings and one on each shoulder blade at the joint. Anywhere where the knots were especially tight. The stickiness of the pads felt strange, but not particularly uncomfortable.
“You good?” Dean asked.
“Yes,” the angel replied, bracing his hands on the edge of the table.
“I figure we’ll let this run for a little while, then we’ll massage out the rest of those tense spots manually. You can go for a soak after. It’ll be a good day.” Dean promised.
“I’ll go get some of the leftover oil.” Sam offered. “Unless you already got some lotion or something for today?”
Dean thought to the small bottle of Jergens in his room… in a box… with his questionable reading material. The only lotion he owned.
“Nope,” the older Winchester lied.
“Right. Uh. Hang on, I’ll be right back.”
The last thing Dean wanted was to endure something overly floral for this very manly process, so he turned to follow at his brother’s heels to micromanage the scent choices.
“Dean-“ Castiel interrupted his departure. “I’m sorry.”
“…For what?” Dean squinted.
“Earlier today. I thought… I thought you were being condescending. I’m sorry for being upset.”
Dean’s face went a little slack with guilt. Cas shouldn’t have to apologize for feeling upset. He spent so much of his time self-loathing already. All members of Team Free Will had a certain lack of communication skills when it came to sensitive topics, and Dean wasn’t exactly the most emotionally mature person when his pride was stinging.
“Yeah, well. Forget it, okay? I wasn’t exactly being up front about stuff.” Dean shrugged, looking for immediate escape from a dissection of character. “Be right back. Stay put.”
Now, the wisest course of action would have been for Castiel to wait patiently for the brothers to return, but frankly, he wanted to know what he was in for so that he would be able to adjust his reactions accordingly. If he could anticipate the jolts, then perhaps he could work against them to avoid looking quite as ridiculous as Sam had. Blue eyes kept sliding from the TENS unit to the door and back again. The oils were kept in the recovery room with all of the tubs, so he’d have at least two or three minutes to himself. Sam and Dean were strollers if there wasn’t a need for hurry. Ever so slowly, he reached out and closed a hand over the little machine.
–
“What’s wrong with lavender?” Sam groaned.
“It stinks, Sam. Use the sandalwood.”
“THAT stinks!”
“Bitch.”
“Jerk.”
After much grumbling, they finally decided on eucalyptus, if only because Cas had mentioned that he’d liked the scent previously. This was about him after all. Before starting back to the library, they begrudgingly claimed a truce to avoid making the angel any more uncomfortable with sibling bickering. That was when both brothers were startled by flickering lights.
“Cas.” Dean stated, breaking into a run.
The door banged open.
Down on the floor, curled into a twitching ball against the table, was Castiel… doing something they’d only witnessed once before. The poor fellow was laughing, deep and rich and panicked. There was something else mixed with the sound; something almost musical and very, very strange. It made the humans go slightly cross-eyed for a second. They rubbed their faces hard to correct this. At least their ears weren’t screaming in pain.
“OFF!” Cas choked out.
Electricity was buzzing straight through his muscles down into his very grace. It wasn’t only that the unit gave off a tingling pulse over various sensitive points in his wings and shoulders. That would have been bad enough, especially the patches jolting into his wing pits. No, this was something altogether unbearable. Castiel hadn’t even been aware that his very essence of being was capable of falling subject to these sorts of sensations, but save him it tickled and tickled and tickled relentlessly. The entire world was blurred at the edges and all he knew was a crazed swirling of mirth and chaos exploding through his core. It was everywhere, inside and out.
“Hold on, hold on…” Dean tried, though it was doubtful that Cas could even hear him through the forced giggling and weird melodic notes.
Trying to get close enough to Castiel to snatch the machine up was like running a gauntlet. His wings were suffering from a combination of tickle shimmies and electric pulse muscle spasms. Any time Sam or Dean ducked in to make a grab, they were pummeled by a wall of feathers. Dean could taste blood after a clock to his nose, but adrenaline and amusement kept him from noticing more than a vague sting.
“Cas… Cas we can’t… you’ve gotta…” Dean weaved and batted.
“Work with us, Cas!” Sam grunted, hanging onto one wing for dear life as it thrashed him up and down as if he weighed nothing.
“T-t-t!!!” Cas tried to form words through his laughter, arms clutched tight around his middle.
Desperation incarnate, he reached out lightning quick with the miniscule amount of grace able to bend to his will and yanked the boys in close with it. This had the unfortunate side effect of spreading the sensation as the essence touched down on them, leaving both Winchesters doubled up in helpless wheezing cackles against their angelic friend. What the hell was this non-physical tickly feeling???
“CAS D-!!! CAN’T HE-HELP IF?!” Dean snorted.
They were screwed. Caught in the loop of laughter. What a way to go out.
Until…
It seemed that the reapers would not be coming for them on that particular day. Whether from divine intervention or dumb luck, the device shut off. A collective gasp for air sounded through the room.
“Shit… that tickled.” Dean heaved. “What happened?”
“It would seem that my grace is… vulnerable to electric stimulation.” Castiel rolled onto his back and put a hand over his face in a mixture of relief and embarrassment.
Nobody moved. There was a strange afterglow of sheer contentment from the shared-grace-giggling experience, though nobody was quick to admit how good they felt at the moment.
“Timer.” Sam stated finally. “I have a default timer of five minutes on it. That’s why it shut off.”
“Yeah, well, we’re gonna have to turn the settings WAY down on that thing because I don’t think I can handle that again right now if Wiggles over here gets grabby with his grace.” Dean rolled up into a sit and started aligning the intensity controls.
Cas made an instinctive reach for the device, which Dean deftly avoided.
“Not our fault you turned it on when it was set high. We’re still doing this, but we’re doing it right. Lower pulse ought to be fine. Back up on the table.”
Wide eyed and nervous, Castiel resumed his original position. He was still just a little too drunk on the endorphin spike to pull an annoyed expression, but still swiftly gripped a wrist on each brother.
“Don’t leave this time.” he insisted.
Sam and Dean shared a look, then jumped up to sit on either side of him. When he gave a small nod to signal his mental steel-up, the TENS unit once again buzzed to life, this time at a far more tolerable frequency. Only just, but tolerable all the same. His grace gave out pulsing shivers, almost as if nails were running over sensitized skin.
Hands balled in the padding blankets and legs lightly squirming for purchase over the side of the table, Castiel tried his best to bear through the time. He dug his chin down into his collar bone as breathy giggles clawed their way to the surface. Nope. A grown man-angel shouldn’t be allowed to be this adorable.
“This is supposed to be relaxing. Are you relaxed?” Dean grinned, giving a little poke to one of the wiggling wings.
“I AM NO-HOT!”
Sam held back a snort to avoid embarrassing the angel, but threw Dean a can you believe this expression when Cas tipped to his side and pressed muffled laughter into his jacket sleeve. Both brothers held a supportive hand to the angel’s back.
“Cas, we’d better not catch you alone like this again in your free time. If we need you for a case and you’re just holed up under the table having a tickle party for one-”
“Be quiet, De-hean!” Cas interrupted him with a giggly shove from the closest wing. “I’ll make you… I’ll make you feel…”
It was hardly an intimidating threat at the moment. The teasing verbal jabs seemed to up the intensity of whatever was happening with the celestial energy, and Castiel’s eyes were shining bright with tears by the time the machine beeped to signal the end of its cycle.
“Finished.” Sam announced in a sympathetic tone.
“Already?” Cas asked, wiping away the evidence of his mirth crying.
“Already?” Dean repeated, amused.
“It seemed to go by much faster. Perhaps, time being relative and also being that the potency of the treatment was at a marked decrease, my tolerance was raised for the challenge. It was pleasant. The effect on my grace was thoroughly enjoyable.” Castiel acknowledged, squinting at the Winchesters’ surprised expressions. “Did I not elucidate this well enough?”
Carefully, he stretched out his wings, noting with satisfaction that they felt remarkably limber as compared to the prickly tightness from the beginning of the day. He gave a soft yelp when fingers began picking at the TENS pads to unstick them from his skin. A bit over-sensitive from prolonged tingles, it was a struggle to wrench his wings up to allow the leads to be peeled away from the joints at his shoulder blades. They snapped down repeatedly and he shook his head with a scrunched nose of valiant failed effort. It wasn’t until Dean reached out a tickly grab to Cas’ knee to redirect sensation that he buckled in and became uncoordinated enough for Sam to strip everything free.
When everything had been boxed back up, it was difficult to ignore that Castiel’s expression remained bright and pleased. He looked happy. With any luck, maybe in the future that would not feel like such a foreign thing to see.
———
Publisher’s Notes: I absolutely LOVED getting to toss around ideas with you, some of which ended up straight here! This is so precious, and the line “...if Wiggles over here gets grabby with his grace” is a particular treasure. Thank you so much for blessing us with this continuation! <3
