“Honestly, Castiel, couldn’t you have found him some pants or a jacket?” Balthazar gripes as they stride across the quad.
“Balthazar, why don’t you try telling the ancient deity who can telekinetically throw you around like a ragdoll how to dress?” Castiel answers sarcastically. Balthazar groans and rolls his eyes.
“He’s a bit conspicuous, though, don’t you think?”
“It’s a college campus,” Castiel says, “Do you really believe anyone will look twice at a barefoot weirdo in a fur coat?” Balthazar bobs his head in reluctant agreement.
“Good point,” he mumbles.
“Why must I wear these?” Dean asks, fiddling with the sunglasses on his face. Castiel grimaces sympathetically.
“It’s just because your eye are a bit, um….”
“They’re horrifying,” Balthazar interjects. Castiel looks at him pointedly.
“I was trying to be gentle about it,” he hisses. Balthazar shrugs.
“Might as well be honest with him,” he says.
“Do you really find me frightening?” Dean asks with a worried frown. Castiel stops walking and turns to Dean, staring into his own reflection in the sunglasses.
“No, no I don’t, but… other people might,” Castiel clarifies.
“Why?” Dean raises an eyebrow.
“It’s because your eyes are... they’re very different-”
“All creatures’ eyes are different,” Dean counters, “Have you ever seen a cat’s eyes? Or a snake’s?”
“Yes, well, we mortals expect humans to have normal eyes,” Castiel draws a circle around his own face with a finger, “Like mine.”
“Your eyes are far from normal, Cas,” Dean says with warm affection. He grazes a finger over Castiel’s cheek, “They are the brightest blue of the deepest ocean.”
“Good Lord, he’s like a walking Nicholas Spark’s book,” Balthazar groans.
“Shut it, Balthazar,” Castiel says out of the corner of his mouth, not looking away from Dean. He can feel his face warming. He doesn’t know what it is about Dean that has him acting like a schoolgirl, but he needs to get it under control.
The trio continue on to the massive library. The quiet vacuum of the lobby seems to swallow any sound. Castiel leads them over to the reference desk. He taps the bell on the counter with a ‘ding’ to get the clerk’s attention. Dean eyes the bell, reaching out and tapping it himself.
“That’s… That’s good, Dean,” he whispers. A smartly-dressed woman with thick, auburn hair approaches the counter.
“Hello, Jane,” Castiel says politely.
“Hey, Castiel,” She smiles. When she sees Balthazar, her face drops, “Hi, Asshole,” She turns back to Castiel, politely smiling again, “I’m guessing you want the book?”
“Of course,” Castiel answer. Jane tells them to wait as she goes in the back. Castiel glares at Balthazar.
“What did you do to Jane?” He asks in a harsh whisper.
“Nothing” Balthazar says with mock innocence, “Nothing…she didn’t enjoy at the time.” Castiel slaps a hand over his face.
“For the love of God,” Castiel quietly exclaims, “We only have a couple of rules here: Do not abuse the TAs and do not fuck with the librarians!”
“She’s just a clerk, it’ll be alright.” Balthazar says dismissively. Castiel shakes his head.
“I cannot believe that you have tenure,” he sighs.
“I know, it’s like some wonderful, twisted joke,” Balthazar replies gleefully.
“What is ‘tenure’?” Dean asks.
“It means he can’t be fired,” Castiel notices Dean perplexed expression, “It means he can’t lose his job… Nothing he does here can hurt him,”
“Ahh,” Dean nods, understanding, “So you are like a demi god amongst these learned men.” Balthazar smiles widely.
“Please don’t encourage him,” Castiel mutters.
“Yes, I do like the sound of that,” Balthazar says before bursting out in laughter. Castiel shoots Dean a withering look. Jane suddenly enters, carrying a set of keys and handing Castiel a clipboard.
“Alright, here you go,” She says, “You know the rules: gloves, low lights, handle with care.” Castiel signs his name quickly and hands the clipboard back to her.
“Have fun,” she calls as Balthazar leads Dean out the door to the study room, Castiel following close behind
“Will do,” Castiel replies. “Thanks, Jane.”
“By the way, who’s your friend?” Castiel turns back. Jane is smiling coyly at him, “Not the asshole. The cute one.” Castiel looks to the door, realizing she’s talking about Dean. A spark of jealousy fires in his brain unexpectedly.
“Ah, yeah,” Castiel smirks and looks back at Jane, “He’s mine.” Jane makes an impressed little noise and nods.
“Way to go, Professor Shurley,” Castiel chuckles and hurries out the door after Balthazar and Dean.
***
Castiel opens the archive case and removes the book, laying it gently on the table. It is hand-bound and heavy with delicate vellum pages. Balthazar hands Dean a pair of cotton gloves.
“What are these?” He asks as he removes the sunglasses.
“They protect the books,” Balthazar answers, “put them on.” Dean does as he is told, slipping them over his tattoo-covered hands.
“Dean,” Castiel gets his attention. He approaches the books as Castiel steps back. Dean carefully turns the page, eyes scanning over the cryptic text. His brows furrow and relax as he takes in the information.
“What is it?” Balthazar asks.
“A history,” Dean says, “Of the tribes under our watch.” He turns to the next page, reading carefully.
“What does it say, Dean?” Castiel asks, leaning in. Dean’s warmth radiates through him. This close, Castiel can take in Dean’s scent. He doesn’t smell like other men, scents so layered with soaps and chemicals that they all seem to smell the same; He smells real. Dean’s scent is earthy but clean, like fresh soil or river water. Castiel hears Balthazar cough, and glances up to see him giving Castiel a curious look. Dean shakes his head absently.
“It is of no import. Just family titles, unions, births.” He turns the page and stops. A crude drawing of a face stares back at him. It’s just a rough sketch, something fitting of the era. It’s difficult for Castiel to determine, but it appears to be the face of a woman. Dean brushes a finger over the light hair of the drawing, the affection evident. Castiel wonders if this is perhaps a lost lover of Dean’s.
“Who is that?” Balthazar ask, peering over the opposite side of the table. Dean blinks a few times, opening his mouth as if about to speak and then saying nothing. Castiel glances at him.
“Dean?” Castiel says quietly, concern lacing his voice.
“It is my mother,” Dean finally says. Both Castiel and Balthazar straighten. Dean points to the text on the opposite page, “This is my history. My Family’s history.” Dean lowers himself into a chair and continues reading. Castiel pulls a chair next to him a sits down, watching him read.
“I think I am going to find a coffee and try to make nice with Jane,” Balthazar says awkwardly. Neither Dean nor Castiel look up, Castiel only offering a wave of his hand in response.
He glances at Dean out of his peripheral vision. Dean’s face is somber, the brightness of his eyes dulled. He inhales sharply, something he reads disturbing him.
“What does it say, Dean?” Castiel asks hesitantly. Dean turns his head to Castiel and smiles sadly.
“My father… He was a god, as I am. Old as time.” Dean starts, focusing back on the text.
“Was he… Is he a protector like you?” Dean gives a small shake of the head.
“No.” He answers flatly. Castiel wants him to ask him more, but Dean continues his story, “My father fell in love with a mortal woman. My mother, Myrae. She was a huntress…and a druis. My father loved her dearly and she in turn bore him two sons.”
“You and your brother,” Castiel supplies. Dean nods.
“For a short while, they were happy.” Dean smiles at the drawing, “But the villagers grew fearful of my mother and of her influence on my father. So they set about a plan.”
“What did they do?” Castiel unconsciously moves closer. Dean swallows hard.
“They set our home on fire while we were asleep inside” Dean murmurs, “My mother screamed for help, but the villagers had warded the house so that all my mother’s cries fell on deaf ears, even to my father.” Dean seemed to curl in on himself, his large frame hunched over the book. Castiel reaches out and takes Dean’s gloved hand, entwining the fingers together.
“It was only when Sam and I awoke and began to cry that my father heard and came to us. Our mother was gone, burnt through by the fire. Sam and I, we were burning, screaming for help. He got us out of our home, but we were dying, our mortality was burning within us,”
“You were mortal once?” Castiel’s eyes go wide is suprise.
“Yes, but in order to save us, father had to pull our mortality away.” Dean turns the page with his free hand
“And you became a god.” Castiel says. Dean smiles for the first time.
“Eventually, yes.” His face falls again as he reads, “My father carried us to his realm and then returned to the village. He slaughtered them all.” Dean’s jaw clenches tightly, “And then he saw that, no matter his actions, pain follows him. Myrae would have stayed safe if not for his love. He would always bring destruction because that is his lot, his curse.”
“He is Destruction,” Castiel recognizes the common theme in mythology and folklore: Kali, Set, Eris. A deity responsible to chaos, ruin, change. They bring about wars with the smallest actions and have a butterfly-effect that can raze empires. Even the biblical devil himself fits this bill. They are necessary, for without them there would be no creation, only stasis. Dean goes still, not moving the pages. He lets go of Castiel’s hand.
“I haven’t seen my father since,” He says, closing the book with far less carefully than he should.
“He’s dead?” Castiel asks, sitting up straight.
“No, he’s very much alive, somewhere between realms,” Dean says, an unmistakable air of relief surrounding him, “As long as there is pain and strife, he lives.” Dean stares at the book. Guilt seeps through Castiel. It was wrong to bring Dean here, dredge up memories that he didn’t need to face.
“Dean?” Castiel leans in close. Dean raises his head and looks at him. The green center of his eyes widening. Castiel tentatively moves in, resting his forehead against Dean’s temple.
“I’m sorry,” Castiel whispers. “Your family clearly means a lot to you.” Dean twists toward him, his lips hover close to Castiel’s. His loamy scent envelops him and a warm puff of Dean’s breath drifts over his cheek.
“Guys! Castiel! You need to come here quick!” Leave it to Balthazar to ruin the moment. Castiel and Dean break apart quickly as he runs into the study room.
“Balthazar, keep your voice down,” Castiel chastise, “It’s a damn library!”
“Really, Castiel, that should be the last of your worries right now,” Balthazar says frantically, “You need to see this.”
“What’s going on?” Castiel and Dean stand at the same time. Balthazar shakes his head.
“You just… You need to follow me.” He disappears from the doorway. Dean and Castiel follow close behind, entering into the main hall of the library and weaving through the stacks. Balthazar stops suddenly and points down an aisle. Castiel stares dumbstruck.
At the end of the row stands a large man draped in furs. His long dark hair lays across his shoulder in a loose braid. His eyes are, though, are the most alarming: onyx black with golden brown centers. Before Castiel can say anything, Dean steps forward.
