Human Behavior

Humans. Strange and irrational. Passionate and cold. Near and distant. Castiel could never understand them, but he knew he was better for being among them. He was filled with warmth like he hadn’t experienced in an eon. He knew this was because of his interaction with these humans. The heart of his vessel trilled when he saw the mighty world of his Father’s creatures. They are desperate to cling to their short existence and make something of it—make it memorable.

Castiel felt the wind in his Vessel’s hair, how each strand moved of its own accord and he could almost feel the tickling against Jimmy’s scalp. The air bore a sharp tang of the exhaust emitted by the surrounding factories—shut down for the night but the scent hung heavy in the air like a tick that clings to an unwilling host. The smell burned Jimmy’s throat but Castiel did not complain. Before him was his charge, his human—a hunter soaked in blood. Dean Winchester was grinning like a kid in a candy store. He leaned over and clapped Castiel upon the shoulder, leaving a bloody handprint where it had come into contact with the trench coat.

“C’mon Cas, lighten up! We just ganked ourselves a whole nest a’ Vamps! We should be celebrating!” Castiel allowed the body to jerk in time with the shoulder slap, and he shifted his gaze from the mass of bodies upon the ground to Dean, who looked like he’d never been happier.

“Celebrating…” Castiel’s expression shifted from blank to pensive. Slowly at first, his straight line of a mouth curving into a small pout while his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to understand. His eyes shifted from Dean to the ground. He marveled at how much blood could be spilled from such a small nest, though dragging all the bodies into one spot before they fully bled out certainly didn’t help. His gaze focused on the bodies for only a minute before the understanding shone on his face. “Oh, you mean consuming alcohol.”

Dean chuckled and wiped his hands on his pants before he clapped Castiel on the shoulder again, “c’mon Chuckles, we’ll find you a liquor store.” Dean steered Castiel through the maze of buildings and back to the car. It was parked innocently in a church lot two blocks away, though now leaving it so far seemed a bit excessive. Dean had adamantly refused to let Castiel use his ‘Angel Mojo”—as he so eloquently put it, to return to the car faster. It had something to with Dean’s bowel movements being interrupted, though Castiel did not really understand it. Dean slung his machete over his shoulder. The blade bit into his jacket slightly, but the fabric did not tear. They began to walk while Dean humming merrily, Castiel was silent. He followed the Human’s orders diligently, though the purpose of this celebration was still somewhat lost on him.

Castiel allowed Dean to guide him by the shoulder, but his eyes strayed away from the path and to the man next to him. He was chilled by what he saw—the false confidence, the pain and strength, forced joy and the crinkle of his eyes as he smiled, though he was uncertain whether it was as forced as his cheer. It took Castiel a moment to realize that Dean was speaking, and forced himself to focus on the words. “—I know you don’t eat, but dude, bacon cheeseburgers are still the best thing after a hunt.” Castiel smiled, a short breath expelled through the vessel’s nostrils like a short laugh, and he forced himself to nod.

“I remember. I ate many of those when we battled Famine.” Dean went off again, talking in an endless stream of subjects, while Castiel’s comment seemed to have fallen on deaf ears. He was unsure whether this was because of the way he had phrased it, or perhaps Dean was doing his best to avoid apocalyptic subjects—they tend to bring back bad memories. Most of Dean’s words went over Castiel’s head and he struggled to keep up with the endless string of human slang, and how many terms Dean seemed to have in his vocabulary for killing something. He noted that in all that time Dean never removed his hand from Castiel’s shoulder, and the flesh of Dean’s palm seemed to warm that area of Castiel’s vessel.

Angels were not bothered by drops in temperature and could withstand extreme heat and cold—they could sense it, but they did not experience it the same way a human does. However, this was different. Castiel felt a strange twist in the stomach area and a tingle that seemed to fill him and threatened to burst from his every orifice. He looked away from Dean and the feeling slipped away. He felt fear, though he was unaccustomed to the body’s reaction to it—the increased heartbeat, sweaty palms, shortness of breath. His footfalls slowed to a stop and with wide eyes he looked up at Dean. His fear doubled as the strange reactions of the flesh he inhabited returned.

Dean’s hand slipped from Castiel’s shoulder while the Angel shifted its gaze to focus directly upon the pavement, his eyebrows scrunched together in an expression of genuine panic. He looked up from the ground, noticing only now that they had been tracking bloody footprints along with them. They fascinated him for a moment, brought back to the Human Reality when Dean called his name. “Cas?” His shoulder shook minimally, “Hey, Cas, are you okay buddy?”

“I—I am not sure.” He looked up from his bloodstained shoes to Dean, whose expression was knitted with genuine concern—the first true emotion he had seen Dean express all night.

“Whataya mean you don’t know? Bull, Cas.” Castiel’s eyes shifted to Dean’s full form; no longer focusing just on his facial reactions and he noted that Dean was no longer gripping his shoulder. He suddenly felt cold in that one spot, as though his vessel could not regulate the body temperature of that location on the body.

“I feel strange,” Castiel managed after a few moments of awkward silence while Dean glared down at him. “This body—I am concerned that something is wrong with it.”

“Dude—you’re an Angel! Angels can’t get sick. You guys are dicks, but you’re damn durable.”

“I did not say sick, Dean. I feel that something has gone amiss with it—the Vessel. Perhaps a blood spell of sorts, though I do not sense any cuts anywhere.” Castiel’s brow furrowed as he delved deep in thought and gazed off into the black empty space surrounding them, his eyes dating back and fourth as though he was inspecting something only he could see. Dean watched the Angel with an expression of mingled amusement and concern, the smallest of grins causing the corner of his mouth to twitch slightly, as though somehow the Angel’s minor panic attack was amusing to him.

“Well what makes you think there’s something wrong with Jimmy’s meatsuit?” Dean seemed to assume that they would be here a while and moved back to one of the factory walls. He leaned against it, one leg at and angle and pressing firmly against the ground, while the other bent at the knee and he rested the sole of his boot against the aluminum siding of the building, leaving a very noticeable bloody footprint in its wake. Dean crossed his arms and focused on Castiel, who felt the strange feelings return as he refocused his glaze upon Dean’s expression, nowhere near as concerned-looking as the angel would have expected. He felt a flare of anger at his core, though with it was a gentle warmth, as though staying angry with Dean for more than two seconds was somehow impossible, especially when he looked so amused with him.

“I have strange reactions when I look at—certain things.” Castiel looked away into the black, his eyes darting back and fourth as he struggled to come up with the right words to explain himself. “I feel a strange tingling in Jimmy’s lower abdomen, the heartbeat feels almost irregular.” Castiel looked down at the hands. He absently wiped them against the sides of his trench coat.

“Sweaty palms?” Dean asked, as both eyebrows seem to shoot up dangerously close to his hairline, though the amusement that glimmered in the hunters calm gaze seemed to have disappeared. Castiel nodded his head once, more of a quick inclination forward as opposed to an actual nod. However, instead of the concern he had hoped Dean would show for him and his vessel, his mouth cracked into a huge crooked smile. The hunter chuckled in a good-natured fashion, though Castiel seemed to miss the lack of threat in the tone as he glared silently at him while Dean asked, “and who or what were you looking at when these…feelings happened?” Dean’s left eyebrow twitched up to add to his inquiry, as though he seemed to already know the answer.

Though he could not comprehend why, Castiel felt anxious about revealing the cause of these feelings—emotions or symptoms, or whatever they were. He could not identify precisely what causing them per se, though he felt that at its core Dean had something to do with it. Whether this was a good or bad thing still remained unclear to the Angel, though he felt his vessel calm every time he looked away from Dean.

“Cas, the reason I ask is because what you are describing is the same reaction teenagers have when they first get all hot n’ bothered for that someone special.” Castiel glowered at Dean, “I do not understand what you mean, am I experiencing human puberty?” Dean’s grin faded to a self-satisfied smirk. He extended his hand and clapped Castiel firmly upon the upper arm. The warmth he had felt earlier returned, with a tingly, thrilling emotion he could not identify, though it felt similar to the experience of Vertigo. “I think I know what you need.” Dean smiled—a genuine Dean Winchester smile as he spoke those words. So often these days he had seen the hunter smile, though the emotion never seemed to reach his eyes—as though he were dead inside and unable to feel true joy. He could not exactly blame him, after everything that has happened, but what was causing him this joy now—he hoped it wasn’t temporary.

Castiel watched, almost as though it was not happening to him but viewing it from a third-person perspective as this human, this ballsy, self-righteous and stubborn-as-Hell human leaned towards him.

Dean closed the space between them at a steady pace, but to Castiel it felt like a lifeage. He hardly noticed that it was only a span of a few seconds.

Time stopped. Castiel felt Dean’s lips tenderly press against his own, the Human’s teeth nipping gently at the Angel’s lower lip. Castiel felt as though he had lost all control over his vessel and gave into its pure human instinct. Where it had come from Castiel did not know. He had a hard time focusing on much, as though this small, simple action of human desire had managed to short-circuit his entire brain.

Castiel felt warm and complete, his hands—unsure where was proper or polite to place them at first—his hands hovered over Dean’s shoulders, then moved to his hips, before he settled on hooking his thumbs into the back pockets of Dean’s denim jeans. Dean made no sound to indicate whether he liked this or not, but instead cocked his head to the side to deepen the kiss. Dean shifted again to wrap his arms gently around Castiel’s waist and pull the Angel in closer. For once, Castiel did not need to recheck his supernatural Angelic strength, and allowed himself to be pulled into Dean’s embrace purely on instinct. It was exhilarating.

It could have gone on forever, and Castiel would not have noticed the world reshape itself around him, as it had done so many times before. All too soon it was over. Dean pulled back, their lips sticking together for the briefest of milliseconds; the sensation tickled Castiel’s upper lip gently, while he fought every desire to lean back into the Hunter’s embrace, which was slowly slackening.

Castiel was brought back to reality so sharply as Dean disentangled himself from the warm embrace the Angel felt like he was experiencing whiplash. His heart seemed to stutter in his chest, his lips were pouted slightly and a hopeful look glimmered in his dark blue eyes.

Dean grinned as though nothing had changed. He clapped the Angel on the shoulder, allowed his arm to fall to his side and he headed down the alley of Factory walls. Castiel hastened to follow.