A Kind of Magic

Castiel doesn't understand the humanity. He doesn't understand their decisions, their reasoning, their way of thinking. He is generalising, probably, but he only judges from what he can see around himself.

Dean and Sam make a perfect example of bad decisions piled one on the other, and what puzzles Castiel is that mostly, they know it. The whole demon blood thing with Sam? He knew it was wrong and all those excuses he used to make it alright, that is beyond Castiel. Just to pick one.

And then there are all those emotions. Castiel knows that Famine was wrong about Dean, he knows that Dean isn't dead on the inside. No, Dean is a pile of insecurities, fear and blame. Castiel doesn't know why Dean blames himself for Ellen's death, for Jo's death, for his father's death, for Sam's demon-blood addiction, for whole damn apocalypse, but Dean does and it's killing him.

Castiel knows. He sees all that Dean hides from the whole world. He sees and it worries him. Partially, because he knows Dean will break and become the cold-blooded soldier of the future if he keeps going like this, and Castiel doesn't believe the whole can't-change-your-destiny business, and partially because somehow, despite the lack of emotions, he likes Dean.

He likes the Dean he occasionally, so rarely nowadays gets to see; the Dean that laughs and teases Sam, the Dean who winks at the waitress and flirts with the receptionist, the Dean who calls Impala his baby and sings along with AC/DC. The Dean he used to be before the Hell and Lucifer and Michael. The Dean Castiel never got to know.

Castiel worries and he decides to change it. To change a human requires knowledge beyond Castiel's angelic know-it-all and so he researches. He goes to the library, where the young lady behind the counter tells him to stop being annoying when he asks her about books that would help him fix a broken human soul. He tells her that it's not her fault she didn't do well in school, which he isn't sure why is relevant, and she threatens to call a security, so he leaves.

He borrows Sam's laptop then, with Sam standing behind his back and trying to patiently explain Castiel what to do, but he gives up soon because he doesn't want to explain Sam anything, and he only finds tips on how to fix physical things. And while Dean is physical, it's not his body that needs fixing. Not as much as his soul, at least.

He tries asking some people, on bus, but in one case he gets ignored and in the other he gets hit across his face with a purse. H he doesn't understand why because he isn't trying to touch the older lady inappropriately, which she clams he is doing.

He isn't sure what to do, and Dean drinks too much of Jack Daniels already. Castiel spends as much time around Dean as he can, to let him know it will be okay, but Dean snaps at him and tells him to leave.

He is losing hope when the solution suddenly comes to him as easy as a snap of fingers. He is in Sam's and Dean's motel room, and Dean is showering; the TV is playing. Dr. Sexy MD is on, a programme Dean swears he doesn't watch, and Castiel isn't sure why, because it seems to be teaching a lot of interesting things.

It teaches Castiel about fixing broken human souls. He watches intently, memorising every word and movement and touch because he is sure it's important.

He turns the TV off when Dean walks out of the shower, toweling his hair. Castiel walks to him, stopping as his trench coat touches Dean's naked chest.

Dean pulls the towel away from his face, every muscle stone-still. “Cas,” he groans, stepping back. Castiel closes the distance again, slightly confused. “Cas,” Dean repeats, doing another step back. “Personal space, we talked about it.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, remembering. “I'm sorry.” He waits until Dean tosses the towel away on the bed, and then he steps to Dean until his chest is pressed against Dean's, and whispers: “Let me fix you.” Then he leans forward and presses his lips against Dean's just as Dr. Sexy did to that petite blonde on TV.

Dean is still for a second, surprise and shock obvious in his eyes, as Castiel watches the green orbs that are all too close, and then Dean pushes him away.

“What the hell Cas?” he groans, rubbing his lips with the back of his hand as if he is eight and thinks Castiel will give him cooties.

Castiel frowns, not understanding why Dean is not crying against his chest and feeling better, fixed. Maybe he did something wrong. He steps closer, intending to kiss Dean again, but before he can do it, Dean is backing away.

“What are you doing?” Dean spits, and Castiel frowns.

“Fixing you, of course,” he replies, as if it wasn't obvious enough. This time it's Dean's time to frown. “Comfort,” Castiel adds as if that would explain everything, and somehow, it does.

Dean stops rubbing at his lips and there is something in his eyes Castiel can't quite identify.

“I was comforting you,” Castiel says as Dean's shoulders sink down and his face looks tired. But Castiel can also see the small smile reserved for well-it's-Cas situations appearing on Dean's lips, and he smiles as well.

He will comfort Dean more often now, he decides.