The slight up-tilt of his chin may be promising, but the set of his shoulders sure isn't. Because, straight and strong enough they may look they are slim, almost slight, in contrast to the shoulders of Dean’s former bodyguard. Comparatively slight, anyway.
In any case, they are gonna get Dean killed, quicker than anything else, that's for sure. His new bodyguard’s body will drop faster than the bodies of his predecessors, either because he won't he strong enough to hold himself in a fight or because he might just be good enough not to go down, but still not strong enough to also protect Dean, and then be killed by John afterwards. Whereas the others ones – the five guys who were ripped to shreds one way or another while trying to protect Dean this year alone – were all bulk and brute, this guy is understated, almost elegant. For all that Dean knows, his grace might be deadly – but it also might not.
Regardless, Dean doesn't want him as his bodyguard. Doesn't want him around him day and night, watching over him like a hawk and looking out for something he might be unable to do anything against. He doesn't want him to die because he caught a bullet for Dean or maybe took a knife to the guts, like the guys before him. Doesn't want him to allow Dean to be captured again or die because he runs his mouth too much.
Maybe John can set the guy up as a sniper or a counselor; something out of the line of fire might be more suited for someone like him. He could still be around the mansion, still be of help to Dean – just in a different way.
“Dean.” His father's deep, impatient rumble stirs him from his thoughts as he reaches the foot of the stairs of the main hall, and directs his gaze from the bodyguard-not-to-be towards John, who is standing right next to him and has been talking to him and instructing him for the past few minutes without so much as glancing Dean's way. Now, John is glaring at Dean, probably annoyed by his absentmindedness, and beckons him to come closer with a single slant of his eyes.
So, Dean goes. Without dragging his feet, although he feels like it, he straightens his back and marches up to John and the other guy, whose eyes are now fixed on him. Some dark, inexplicable part of Dean’s being revels at that, rebels against that, and compels Dean to drop his gaze – not in response to John's, but to that guy's – and that's... the opposite of everything he has ever learned. The opposite of what he is and what he should be.
Which is why he narrows his eyes instead and gives him a once-over that hopefully conveys every ounce of derision he has been able to muster up in the brief amount of time that they've shared the same air. When he comes to a halt, it’s close enough to his father to be considered obedient to his command, but still out of reach from that other guy.
“Yes, sir?” Dean asks as soon as both of his feet are firmly upon the ground, and he thinks he can see one of the bodyguard's eyebrows twitch at Dean's address just so. At that, Dean raises one of his own in a challenge. Maybe keeping him far from the mansion and the family might be a good idea, after all.
“This is Castiel, your new bodyguard,” John states curtly, as if Dean didn’t already know that. As if he hadn’t been told by some of his own confidants. “He has been screened and searched thoroughly already, so will start right away. As someone who has been trained in close combat and weapons for many years, I expect him to be more useful than your last bodyguards.” The corners of his mouth lift up the tiniest of bits. “If not, that is his own loss. If you are harmed in any way, he won't be paid – and if he dies because of his own incompetence, his relatives won't receive any compensation.”
“I have no relatives to compensate anyhow,” Castiel replies, in a monotone way that suggests this isn't the first time he has mentioned this. But Dean doesn't focus much on what he says, rather than on the how. Because for someone who, still comparatively, is rather slight for a bodyguard, his voice sure is deeper than any of those that came before him. Not just deeper, but more authoritative, richer, darker -- sexier, for sure.
It sends a small shiver up Dean’s spine.
“I don't want him,” Dean growls suddenly, so that he doesn't sputter. At once, all of him feels tense, on edge – and the amusement in the face opposite of him only aggravates that.
“Oh?” Castiel asks, that same amusement also tinging his voice.
“I don't want him as my bodyguard,” Dean asserts once more, well-aware of how stubborn he sounds.
“It doesn't matter if you want him,” John says, “because I already appointed him as your bodyguard, and that’s final.”
“But, Dad,” Dean objects, “just look at him! How the hell is he s'pposed to protect me any better than the other ones could? You know that all the other ones died 'cause they shielded me, and the last one 'cause he... was too weak. Why would you expect him to be any better? You know how Alas--”
“Son,” John cuts in, deep and dangerous, “I won't have any discussions on this. As I already said, he is well-trained and better than any of your former guards or you could ever hope to be. You surely don't want me to tell him to demonstrate how skilled he is first-hand? See how efficient he is when it comes to breaking an insolent jaw?”
The dark glimmer in John’s eyes is familiar. It shows that it’s a promise, not just an empty threat, that he won’t hesitate to have Dean thrashed right here and there, should be not shut the fuck up and do as he’s told. It’s just as scary as it was when Dean was just a kid -- when John still dealt out those kinds of punishments by himself, instead of having his underlings do the dirty work for him.
Humbled now, Dean dutifully drops his gaze as he feels the fight ebb out of him and heat sting his cheeks. “No, sir,” he says, quietly.
He usually doesn't step out of line like this, especially not in front of strangers. But, something about this Castiel just riles him up. For a reason he can’t put into words, he doesn't want him as his bodyguard, feels like he should fight back against it. Weirdly enough, he also doesn’t not want him around -- he just doesn’t want him in the line of fire. Which makes little sense, seeing as that would be his job and Dean doesn’t even know him, but it is what it is.
Though, like John said, that’s not his call, anyway.
Despite expecting Castiel to maybe chuckle or show any other signs of pleasure in the way Dean was reprimanded for his sake, he reverts back to his earlier stoicism. He watches Dean, albeit only briefly, and then looks at John as he speaks again.
“That's what I thought. So, get him acquainted with your rooms now. He has only been given a rough overview of the mansion, as he doesn't need to know the blueprints, so he doesn't know the structure of your part of the building yet. Show him everything he needs to know, and then come down for dinner. Zachariah will be our guest tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean says, still not quite looking up at him.
John once more sniffs at that, nods towards Castiel, who nods back almost imperceptibly, and then steps away. Without another word and accompanied by the heavy sound of his boots, he leaves the room and Castiel and Dean to themselves.
Dean feels the flush persisting on his cheeks, and finds his fingers to be curled into fists. He doesn't even remember consciously forcing them into their rigid form, and he wouldn't dare to lift a finger against his father, anyway.
So, he loosens his grip, shakes his head, shakes off this conversation and his own defiance along with it, and blinks up at Castiel, who is watching him intently. Staring at him, in fact, silently and inscrutably, as if searching for something in Dean’s shamed face.
Dean can’t stand that heavy gaze on him.
“C'mon, then,” Dean says with a shrug devoid of ease, resolutely looking towards the door that leads from the main hall to the part of the building that belongs to him. He will be safe there, for the time being. Both of them will be. From John, from bullets, from each other perhaps, once Dean can tell him to just stay in one corner and leave him alone. “I'll show you my rooms.”
Castiel moves as Dean does, already in tune with the few steps that Dean makes away from him. For a moment there, he lifts his hand as if wanting to reach out, maybe to touch Dean or pull him back from his hasty pace, but he does no such thing.
Instead, he falls into step beside him, a warm presence by Dean’s side, a shield against the brute force that just left them behind.
“I am looking forward to it,” Castiel replies with a weird, almost warm inflection to his voice, and, strangely enough, it doesn't sound mocking at all.
Okay so I love the mafia destiel headcanons but what do you think of them being heads off different gangs and end up dealing together and both of them being such scary bastards but dorky with each other and everyone warns against them thinking its manipulation but dean and Cas just click so well and dean doesn't have to be all tough with cas and can submit for once cause he doesn't need to put up a front and Cas can be a sweetheart because he doesn't need to live up to his brothers cruel ways?
Absolutely glorious, and I love it with my whole tiny heartAnd together they build a crime empire, ruling as two kings in tailored suits and custom made guns. And their own cozy bedroom, filled with books and plants and photographs.
ok but get this: mafia boss!dean meets detective!cas through charlie who is dean's right-hand woman because she gets caught as a look-out during a job & cas decides to make her an informant instead of arresting her (since he's so frustrated he's never been able to get any evidence on the scariest & slipperiest mob boss in the city aka dean winchester) but since charlie is loyal af she feeds him info on all their rivals instead & finally he (cas) gets fed up & threatens her so dean arranges (1/2)
(2/2) a meeting between him & cas in order to 'thank him' for all his help with his competition (via a long walk on a short pier) but then decides cas is way too interesting (& attractive) to kill [ok but picture one of dean's goons going to pull a bag off cas' head when he gets to their secret hideout and dean is just struck by how gorgeous cas is *cue line about cas' pretty blue eyes*]
Imagine how pissed Cas would be tho you would think he would be terrified but all Dean sees are those cold blue eyes and he hears a gruff “oh fuck off” let’s just say Cas has a history of getting into trouble
