Forgetting the Divine

Forgetting the DivineTitle: Forgetting the Divine
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Word Count: 3600
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Kripke. Not me.
Summary: In which cherry pie is eaten, and Dean cuts himself another slice of angel food cake.
Notes: Three stories makes it a series.

day 3 | day 4

Sam had seen a promising diner a few miles from their motel, so despite the rain he and Dean were in the Impala, looking for the neon lights that said either Mom’s or Ned’s.

“So is it Mom’s or is it Ned’s?” said Dean, squinting at the nearest blur of red which turned out to be a stop light. Dean pressed on the brake pedal with a sigh.

“I don’t remember,” Sam said. “I just glanced at it in passing earlier. I know it was short. Maybe it was Pat’s.”

“Pat’s,” Dean muttered and waited for the light to turn green. “They better have good pie.”

“They always have good pie,” Sam said.

“What is the difference between good pie and bad pie?” said Castiel from the back seat, and both Winchesters jumped a little.

“Cas!” Dean said, turning back to smile at him. “You got a new mystery for us tonight?”

“Castiel,” said Sam and a muscle in his jaw started jumping.

“Sam,” Castiel said in the same even tone he always used. “I have no new mystery, Dean.”

“So this is a personal visit?” said Sam and Dean looked at him.

“Hey. Sammy. Relax.”

“It is a personal visit,” said Castiel.

The light finally changed and Dean stepped on the gas. “Perfect timing. We’re about to find a place to eat.”

“There is a restaurant close by,” said Castiel and sure enough, they went only another two miles and saw the friendly orange neon sign flashing “Ned’s Diner.” Dean steered the Impala into the gravel parking lot and turned off the engine, and he and Sam hurried inside, heads ducked against the rain. Castiel followed at a more leisurely place, as if unaware it was raining, and Dean was amused to see not even Castiel’s raincoat was flecked with raindrops.

“What, you’ve got an invisible angelic umbrella?” he said, nudging Castiel with his elbow, and Castiel cracked a smile as they sat at a free table. It was a tough crowd in here, mullets and leather at almost every table, and Dean didn’t like the way some of the locals looked at Castiel and then nudged each other.

“I go around the raindrops,” Castiel was saying, looking around with interest.

“I can never tell if you’re joking.” Sam opened his menu.

“Neither can I.” Castiel looked at his menu. “What is good, Dean?”

“Meatloaf,” Dean said. “These places always have great meatloaf.”

Castiel winced and shook his head. “Look out, Dean,” said Sam in a vaguely ominous tone, “he’s starting to doubt you.”

“Hey,” Dean said again and Sam frowned at his menu. “No meat tonight? There’s always a chef’s salad. Pick whatever you like, I’ll treat you.”

“I have money,” Castiel said and took a few wrinkled bills from his raincoat pocket.

“We’ve got enough to cover you, Cas,” Dean assured him, and Castiel nodded and put the money away.

“Pancakes,” Castiel said. “I liked those. Would they have pancakes here?”

“Do they have pancakes,” said Dean and opened to the breakfast page, served all day, of course. He tapped the list of pancakes and Castiel smiled at him, just that little quirk of his lips that meant he was happy. So easy to satisfy, his angel.

“Always with the pancakes,” said Sam, so when their waitress came Dean ordered pancakes too, just to piss him off. Sam made a point of ordering the healthiest thing on the menu: chicken noodle soup and toast. He couldn’t have been too pissed, though: he shared the toast, because Castiel wanted to try strawberry jam.


After they had eaten and decreed the soup was delicious and the pancakes were perfect, Sam decided to get dessert. Castiel said, “What is good, Dean?” and Dean figured he might as well, too.

“Pie,” said Dean. “Pie is always good. You can never go wrong with pie.”

Castiel read the long list of available pies. “There are so many.”

“I’m getting blueberry,” said Sam.

“I’ll get chocolate and you get apple or cherry and we can try each other’s.”

Sam coughed. It sounded a lot like, “Gay!”

“I will try cherry,” Castiel decided. “Are you ill, Sam?”

“No,” said Sam. “I’m fine. Just a tickle in my throat.”

“Have more water,” Castiel advised soberly and Dean had to laugh. He was still going to kick Sam’s ass later, of course.

The waitress cleared the table and came back a few minutes later with three plates of pie. Castiel’s eyes got a little bigger as she puts the plates on the table, and she took pity on him: “Would you like some whipped cream, sugar?”

“My name is Castiel,” he informed her, “and I would like some whipped cream, please.”

She patted his shoulder, took a can of whipped cream from the pocket of her apron and sprayed a swirl onto his pie. Sam turned his puppy-dog eyes on her and she gave him some whipped cream, as well. Dean gloated: his came with whipped cream already.

He pushed his plate to Castiel. “You first, Cas. You haven’t had chocolate yet, have you?”

“I don’t think so.” He filled his fork and ate the piece carefully. He chewed it quite thoroughly. Dean smiled and ate a bite, and Sam shook his head and sighed before digging into his own.

“I like chocolate,” said Castiel and pushed his plate to Dean. “Try this.”

“It’ll be good,” Dean said but ate a bite anyway. It was very good: flaky crust, tart cherries and a sweet filling. “It’s good,” he assured Castiel, and Castiel nodded.

“Let me try the chocolate, Dean,” said Sam so Dean pushed his plate to him and stole a bite of blueberry, and watched Castiel eat the cherry pie. He ate with neat, precise bites, but still got a drop of filling on the side of his mouth, which he wiped off with his finger. He ate the whipped cream separately, then with a bite of pie, and he smiled at the flavors. He drank a little water and ate another bite.

“Dean?” said Sam. “Ya full?”

“What? Er, no. Just, um.” Dean had another bite of his pie and smiled at Castiel, trying not to be obvious about it. Castiel tilted his head a little, probably not getting it, but that was okay: Dean figured he’d explain it later.

They’d only talked lore and research while they ate, and Castiel hadn’t offered any more information about why he was here. Dean thought maybe he was hungry—who knew, maybe he was lonely. Maybe he missed Dean.

That was just fine. Dean had missed Castiel, too. It had been weeks since that night at the beach, which seemed like a dream anyway, even though Dean was pretty sure he remembered every word they’d said to each other.

He was pretty sure he remembered all the important ones, anyway.

He’d have to say something to Castiel later, he decided. Maybe just that he looked really good eating pie.

When their plates were empty and they’d paid their bill, the three of them got up to leave. “Good pie,” said Dean, and put his hand on Castiel’s back—and then hastily removed it, tempting as it was to lead him to the nearest dark alley so he could lick the taste of cherries from Castiel’s mouth.

The rain had stopped, and a cluster of locals were gathered around their motorcycles. Not even Harleys, Dean noticed, and he was very proud of his baby as they walked toward it, with a couple of the locals trailing behind. He hoped they just wanted to talk cars. If they wanted to talk something else—fuck but this night was going to be complicated.

“Hey,” said one of the locals, “y’all new in town?”

“Just passing through, friend,” said Dean cheerfully, because they were just a couple of guys out for pie, right? But his smile faded when he noticed that Castiel was standing perfectly still, his eyes downcast.

“You should plan to stay a little longer, friend,” the local went on with a sneer, and one of his pals started swinging a tire iron against his leg. There were six or seven of them, and all of them were looking at Castiel as if they wanted to chew him up and spit him out.

“We don’t want any trouble,” said Sam, his voice tight with tension.

“And you won’t get any,” said the local, and the cluster was tightening around them and Dean didn’t like this one bit. “Just hand over your friend, there.”

His friends sniggered, and Dean growled, “We won’t be doing that,” bracing himself for a fight.

“Then I guess you’re gettin’ trouble, friend,” said the local. Before Dean could move or even shout one of the locals had him wrapped in a half-nelson and two had Sam by the arms. One of the others shoved Castiel, knocking him to the ground. He landed hard, gravel crunching under his hands, and the local with the tire iron raised it, grinning down at Castiel’s prostrate form.

There was a bolt of lightening and rain poured down on them in a sudden torrent. When lightning flashed again the locals were all flat on their backs, and Castiel was sitting up, his arms on his knees.

Dean dropped to his knees beside him. “Cas?” He put his hand on Castiel’s back. “Are you okay? Did they—”

Castiel looked at him and Dean drew back. For the first time since Castiel had shown him the shadow of his wings, Dean could see just how un-human Castiel was: there was fire in his eyes, determination in his mouth, and he suddenly seemed to be the only source of light in the dark lot.

And then it was gone. He was just a man, getting soaked by rain.

“I could not let them hurt you,” Castiel said and got to his feet, brushing gravel from this trousers and hands.

“What happened?” Sam said, shielding his eyes against the rain. “What was that? Castiel, did you do that?”

“Yes,” Castiel said and walked to the car. He pulled closed his raincoat as he waited for Dean to unlock the passenger door. “I would like to go now.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “yeah, let’s go.” He herded them both into the car. He couldn’t get that damn place behind them fast enough.


They drove back to the motel, Castiel quiet in the back seat. Dean parked the car in front of their room and Sam said, “So,” for the fourth or fifth time.

“Go to bed, Sam,” Dean said. “Me ‘n’ Cas have something to talk about.”

“If it’s about the job—”

“It’s not about the job,” said Castiel.

Sam looked at them both, like he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing, and got out of the car. The Impala rocked with the force of his slammed door.

Dean waited until Sam was inside the room, and turned to look at Castiel. “Does that happen a lot?”

“Yes.” Castiel sounded weary. “‘Send out the strangers, that we might know them.'”



“Oh,” Dean said and winced in understanding. “Was that . . . I mean, were you there?”

“No,” Castiel said and got out of the back seat and into the front. He was much gentler with the door than Sam had been. “No one was harmed tonight.”

“You’re not wandering around by yourself, are you?” Dean said, wondering if he should insist Castiel stay with him when he wasn’t with Uriel. Uriel looked badass. Castiel looked . . . bookish. “‘Cause if that’s happening a lot you shouldn’t take stupid chances. Okay?”

“Okay, Dean.”

Fucking angel sounded amused. “So,” Dean said, “what did you come here for tonight?”

“Cherry pie.”

Dean looked at him, not sure if he should laugh or take a swing at him. “Cherry pie.”

Castiel smiled his understated smile and took Dean’s hand. “I don’t want to fight.”

“Neither do I,” Dean muttered. “And . . . you look good, eating. Eating cherry pie. I mean.” He heard Castiel’s soft chuckle and smiled too. “Shit, what a night.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Dean said.

“I’m not sure why they wish to hurt me.”

“It’s because—because you’re—” What was he, exactly? Castiel waited, his eyebrows slightly raised, and Dean said, “Otherwordly. They sense you’re something innocent, something special, and they want to hurt you because of it, you know? Because people are like that, they see something beautiful and they want to destroy it. People are dicks.”

“Not all of them,” Castiel said softly. He traced the back of Dean’s hand with his fingertip.

“Well, enough of them are to make me worry. You may have super-angel strength and can command lightning or whatever that was, but you’re still innocent. And stuff,” he finished weakly, distracted by the way Castiel was tracing the veins in his wrist.

“Very well, Dean.” He lifted Dean’s hand to his mouth and kissed his palm.

Dean leaned back in the seat, watching him, and said softly, “Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” He lowered Dean’s hand, the mild expression back.

“Did you come here just to have sex?”

Castiel smiled and looked out the window. “I think so.” Dean laughed, and Castiel added, “But I am happy with the pie.”

“Not in the mood anymore, huh?”

“I am not certain Sam would appreciate being left alone.”

“Sam’s a big boy,” Dean murmured, though he wondered if it was more like Sam shouldn’t be left alone. “We could go somewhere. There’s a lot of side roads. A lot of woods.”

“You do not wish to destroy something beautiful,” Castiel said softly. “You cherish beautiful things.” He looked down at Dean’s hand. “You think I’m beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Dean said softly. “I do.”

Castiel was quiet, fingers brushing lightly over Dean’s palm. “I desire comfort,” he said softly. “I wish to be selfish. I wish to go away with you. Lose myself in you.”

“Cas,” Dean said softly, “oh, man, let’s do that.”

Castiel nodded and released Dean’s hand. “Let’s be selfish, Dean.”

Dean all but gunned the motor, and the tires screeched on the asphalt as he pulled out of the parking space.


He drove them the opposite direction of the diner, finally pulling off the main road when he saw a promising side road, and followed it until the lights from the main road were mere smudges in the distance. He killed the engine and looked at Castiel, and fuck yes, he was beautiful, that poignant mouth and mesmerizing eyes and hands like good dreams.

“Goddamn, Cas,” Dean said and lunged across the seat to kiss him. Castiel met him just as enthusiastically, arms and legs wrapping around him as Castiel’s lips opened and his tongue darted into Dean’s mouth.

He tasted like cherries.

They struggled with each other’s clothes, jacket, tie, raincoat, boots, and Dean remembered his promise last time they’d been together and the shopping trip that resulted. “Wait, wait,” he whispered and grinned at Castiel’s resulting impatient snort. He let go of Castiel and opened the glove compartment, hoping Sam hadn’t found and confiscated it—no, there was the little plastic shopping bag. He pulled it out and dumped its contents on Castiel’s chest.

“What are these?” Castiel picked up the little bottle.

“Lube,” Dean said. “And condoms.”

“Oh,” Castiel said and picked up the box as well.

“If you’re not ready that’s cool. I’m perfectly okay with just fooling around,” Dean said, feeling anxious at Castiel’s reaction.

“I think I’m ready,” Castiel said and opened the box. “It leaves a question, though.” He held up one of the little foil packets. “Who wears it?”

Dean swallowed. “That’s up to you.”

Castiel smiled. Not one of his little barely-there smiles that disappeared in a second—no, this was big and happy and pleased. He put his hand on Dean’s shoulder and ran it down his arm. “You may.”

Dean groaned and bent to kiss him, feeling his blood rush to his belly and his heartbeat kick up from jog to sprint. Castiel held his face as they kissed, his tongue flicking deep and his body arching up so that their hips bumped.

They fumbled each other out of their clothes and climbed, stepping on each other and laughing a lot, from the front seat into the back. Dean stroked Castiel’s body and licked his pale skin, and Castiel raked his hands through Dean’s hair and didn’t stop smiling.

He gasped with quiet surprise as Dean opened him, fingers slick with lubricant, and Dean paused. “Too much?”

Castiel shook his head. “It’s just strange,” he whispered. He touched Dean’s hip with his slender foot. “Don’t stop.”

Dean bent and kissed Castiel again, moving his fingers slowly until Castiel gasped again, louder, and his fingers clenched into Dean’s hair. “Please,” Castiel whispered and pulled Dean’s mouth to his. Dean kissed him, pushing their hips together, and Castiel whispered, “More, Dean,” and Dean nodded and swallowed hard.

He’d told Castiel the truth when he said he’d not had sex with a lot of other guys. He’d fucked out of boredom, out of curiosity, out of loneliness, but never because he actually liked the guy. He’d never kissed another man as much as he’d kissed Castiel, or been so patient—he’d never looked down at his lover as he rocked carefully into him and thought, There’s nobody I want as much as you.

He had to pause, to lay his forehead on Castiel’s chest, to regain his breath and his equilibrium. Castiel stroked his back. “Dean,” he whispered and kissed his hair. “Dean.”

Dean shook his head and kissed him lightly, and stroked Castiel’s cheek with his palm. “I’m happy,” he said, breathing hard, “I’m so fucking happy.”

Castiel smiled and nodded, and pulled on Dean’s hip. “Don’t stop.”

Dean kissed him harder and did as he was told. Castiel had wanted to be lost and Dean understood the need, and how good it could feel to be lost and to find himself again. He tried to show this to Castiel, that pleasure could be cleansing, that desire could be sweet.

Castiel was quiet. His hands were gentle, his skin hot, the muscles in his thighs tight when Dean gripped them to push him open wider. The windows of the Impala were fogged with steam and dotted with raindrops, and the tap of rain on the roof was comforting. The breathing of the two men was harsh and swift, and when Castiel came with a startled cry Dean closed his eyes and let himself be lost.


Dean had noticed before that Castiel liked to touch. He figured it was the novelty of skin, all those nerves and muscles working together to produce something so basic you didn’t even notice it until it was gone.

He dozed against Castiel’s shoulder, smiling to himself as Castiel absently rubbed the back of his neck or the inside of his elbow. “Y’okay?” he mumbled finally.

“Yes. I am better now.”

Dean blinked slowly. “I don’t want you taking chances anymore. Not with people like that out there.”

“I’m a soldier, Dean. I must take chances.”

Dean pushed himself up onto his elbow to look at him seriously. “But you’ve got your brothers with you, right? When you’re fighting?”

“Yes.” Castiel’s skin was glistening with sweat, his hair was tousled in every direction, his lips were swollen and red, and Dean thought he looked like a sweet temptation, like something worth walking into Hell to rescue.

He said, “Good. Good. You’re okay with them. You stick with them.” He lay his head on Castiel’s chest again and Castiel resumed stroking him.

After a few minutes Castiel said, “I did not come to you for pie.”

Dean smiled and said, “I know. You came for sex. I’m okay with that.”

Castiel rubbed his fingertips along Dean’s hairline. “We lost another seal today.”

Dean felt his breath leave his chest. “Shit, Cas.”

“Three more of my brothers are dead. Our numbers grow ever smaller. And I . . .” He stopped, tilted back his head, swallowed. “I needed you.”

Dean kissed him. “You should have said.”

“I did not want pity.”

“I’d never pity you, Cas.” Dean kissed him again and Castiel held his jaw and let his lashes brush Dean’s cheek. “You . . . you’ve got me, you know,” Dean said and wondered what the right thing to say was. He fumbled on anyway. “When you need comfort. When you need anything I can give you. I don’t have much, but—well, whatever I got. It’s yours.”

Castiel did not smile or laugh, but the happiness in his face was all the answer Dean needed. “We should get back,” Castiel said, his voice lighter. “We cannot be lost forever.” Dean kissed him one more time and began gathering his clothes. “Dean.” He paused, and Dean waited, used to the way he made certain of exactly what he wanted to say before he said it. “I am glad to have you.”

“I’m glad to be had,” Dean said, kissing him one more time, and when they were dressed he drove home alone.

Sam was asleep on the couch in the room, and Dean admitted to himself that he was glad. He didn’t want to answer questions or explain anything. He undressed, showered, got into bed, and lay with his head on his arm as he looked at the mirrored ceiling.

It occurred to him, as he lay there waiting for sleep, that he’d come as close to a declaration as he’d ever been—and to a guy, to an angel.

His angel.

Mine, he thought, and rolled onto his side and was asleep.


8 thoughts on “Forgetting the Divine”

  1. amazing I’m in love with this story and hope you keep writing more!!! PLZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!!! Its so hard to find good Castiel/Dean fictions…

  2. I read your story “all souls and angels” a while ago but didn’t realize there were two more in this verse until now!! I really love these three stories, the love between Dean and Castiel is so sweet, please write more!

    1. Thank you! I’m not sure when there will be more in this ‘verse–the rest of the season kind of hasn’t lent itself to that very much. But I do have another big story that will be posted in July (it was written for a big bang challenge, so there’s a set posting date.)

  3. Once again, that’s a good job. Love the relationship between them and the tenderness. And, thank god, they’re still acting like guys, not effeminate versions of males.

    You rock ^O^/ .

    1. Thank you! And seriously, guys recognizable as guys is one of the highest compliments you can give a slash writer, so thank you again :).

  4. This is really nice. I read it because it was recced and what was said about your writing style is true. I love how subtle it is and how gentle and sincere but without being at all mushy. Also, the way you describe the sex is not gross (I’m a sensitive soul).

Leave a Reply