casthewise:

Dean is a witch, Cas is his familiar. They get bullied a lot. (Based off of this.)

Dean is used to idiots making fun of them: ever since he and Cas found each other, he’s been called everything from impotent to fairy princess. This is probably because Dean wears a leather jacket and jokes about his perky nipples… and his familiar is a delicate-looking, pretty blue swallow. 

Cas, in his bird form, is fluffy and adorable. When he’s disgruntled, he puffs up to like twice his regular size, when he’s happy, he chitters and sings and flaps around like a goddamn rocket. He pecks people when he’s pissed. 

He’s also ridiculously powerful.

Which, honestly, goes a long way to showing up and flipping off any and all assholes, but Dean’s favourite part of those whole process is this, right here: the moment when Dean raises a brow and goes “I’d quit if I were you, man. Cas ain’t a fan of bullies.”

The other dude sneers in his face, pushing at Dean’s shoulders. “What’s the little birdie gonna do, huh? Bitch slap me?”

It takes all Dean’s self-control to stay put, but he does. Because this has happened a million times before and will continue to happen. Because people are dicks, and the look on their faces after being dealt with are ten times better than any fist fight Dean starts.

Sure enough, as the asshole moves in to shove Dean a second time, Cas flits off his leather-clad shoulder, lands smoothly on the concrete with human feet. Or, well, boots. Heavy leather work boots, topped with ripped blue jeans and wearing an AC/DC t-shirt. He’s got on of Dean’s flannel’s on top of that, and finishing the ensemble is an over-sized denim jacket covered in anarchist patches and buttons. A handful of leather bracelets adorn his left wrist, and there’s a bandana wrapped around the ankle of his right boot because the lace is broken. Castiel Novak is a grumpy, sweet, six-foot tall dude with a perpetual bedhead and day-old stubble, and his feathers match the blue of his human eyes.

The asshole’s own eyes widen at this new development, taking a step back as Cas steps forward, hands curling in the other’s loose shirt. “The little birdie,” Castiel says in his deep, gravel-rough voice. “Will indeed bitchslap you. Before cracking your skull and divesting you of all your pathetic, small-minded ideas about masculinity.” Cas smirks when the guy basically gulps. “Unless,” he says good-naturedly. “You have something to tell us? Us being, of course, myself and my boyfriend.”

“Wait a sec, you two are—”

“Cracked skull, wastoid.” Cas shakes him a little to scare him, and Dean can tell the mouth breather almost pisses himself. His heart swells with pride.

“I’m sorry!” the other guy blurts out. “I’m really sorry! You guys aren’t fairies, o-or anything! You’re–You’re—”

“More powerful than you,” Cas helpfully supplies.

“Yeah, that! A-And—”

“Ruggedly handsome.”

“Uh huh!”

“And better than you in literally every possible way.”

“Yes, okay?! Yes: you’re better than me in every way. I’m sorry! Just leave me the fuck alone!”

“Gladly.” Castiel then pushes the asshole so that he ends up flat on his ass, palms scraped up on the pavement as he turns to Dean with a quirk of his mouth. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Dean grins back. He moves up to press a quick kiss to his mouth, and Cas, adorably, blushes. “Careful on the turns, though.”

“M’always careful,” Castiel grumps. Still, he laces their fingers together as they walk towards his ‘66 Triumph Bonneville, tossing Dean a helmet as he slides his own over his head. Cas straddles the bike and grins when Dean presses himself behind him and holds on tight. Castiel revs the engine and they take off.

The guy, sitting dumbly on the ground, stares after them.