(no subject)

[fuck_of_nature]

How big of
a role in life does God actually play? There was the supposed creation of the
universe, creation of the world and creation of man. Religions dedicated to the
figure and story after story, tale after tale of the works of the Host. One
book to encompass many of these stories was called the bible, and it was not
one usually picked up by the eldest Winchester. Dean only had the habit of
picking up the book after hitting rock bottom. After believing that he could go
no further on his own. Praying wasn’t entirely a habit the man liked to keep up
with, and if asked a couple of years ago he would have said that the entire
idea of Heaven was utter bullshit. But, that was of course until an angel found
his way down to help him out. An angel who sacrificed everything to stay on the
Winchesters’ side, an angel who sacrificed everything to protect mankind in
general. No one could ask for a better savior.

background:white">Even when Lucifer was back in his cage and the
apocalypse seemed to be at a standstill until the next massive demon break out,
the angel remained on Earth to watch over the beings he worked so hard to save.
But somewhere along the line, something went wrong. There was some sort of
communication breech between the Dean and Castiel, which managed to destroy the
trust that had seemed to be growing. At least, it had been growing on the
human’s end. He wasn’t lying when he had told Cas that the angel was the
closest thing he had to family save for Sam and Bobby. Having all of it thrown
back into his face had made a bigger impact than he expected. It was then that
he realized that his feelings were a little less than platonic towards the
angel. It was something that he wouldn’t admit to while he was still standing
on Earth, but it had all become blatantly clear to him in a whirlwind.

It was why it hurt all the harder when the breech
between them turned into a crater. The angel, someone he thought would always
choose him over everyone else, chose a demon and a plan. A plan that turned Cas
into something far too similar to what Dean had been hunting on a daily basis.
Because of the formerly mentioned God and his disappearance from the world, the
angel decided to name himself a new God. However, as quickly as it started,
something had made the angel change his mind. Perhaps it was the way that the
souls seemed to eat away at Jimmy’s vessel, or perhaps it was because he saw
some error in his ways, but the angel let the souls go. So if he had become a
God, then why didn’t he have the power to keep himself after something like
that? Why couldn’t he just return to normal?

It was the reason why Dean Winchester sat on a bed
in a broken down motel room, hugging a black leather book with only two golden
words on the front: Holy Bible. It had been six months since the angel released
the souls and it had been six long months that Dean had been trying to get the
angel back. But how the hell was he supposed to do that? God wasn’t on his
side. He wasn’t from the start. And there was no way he was about to make
another deal with a demon. That was done. He had done his share of destruction.
He had broken damn near everything he had come into contact with for the first
four months after it happened. For the past two, he had locked himself in motel
rooms, clinging to the leather bound book he had brought at a half priced
books. There was no answering Sam and Bobby’s phone calls. He didn’t have to.
He didn’t want to. All he wanted was his angel back. The angel that he knew his
mother said was watching over him all those years ago.

So where was God in all of this? It was something
that he had been asking himself ever since Castiel appeared to him, and after
all of the shit that his family had had to endure. How big of a role in life
did God play? Did he really just want to sit on his ass and watch the show in
front of his eyes? It was so amusing to watch his little creations struggle for
everything they had built, wasn’t it?

As the thought slowly sank in more and more, the
man’s hands tightened so tightly around the leather book that his knuckles grew
white. The next moment, he was throwing the book as roughly as he could across
the room. He was tired, he was sore from nothing and he was restless. He didn’t
think his ass had seen sunlight for at least three days and there was a
darkness around his eyes that wasn’t normally there. So was this how he was
supposed to continue on? He had tried to go back to hunting. It just didn’t
work out as he planned. For something that seemed as natural to him as
breathing, for the months after Cas that he had attempted to hunt he only made
one mistake after another. It had only made the anger that was in him grow
until he had torn a vampire apart so viciously that it had actually made him
sick. Somewhere between latching onto a tree to keep from fainting and dry crying,
he walked away from it. The next day he had found the book, the day after that
he found his first motel.

Now, as the book lay sprawled on the dirty carpet,
the man finally picked up his phone and flipped it open. There were a couple of
messages from Sam, and one from Bobby. They had stopped trying to get in
contact with him as much, and Bobby was certain after the one time Sammy tried
to snap Dean out of this that the older man had made him stop trying. Better to
get it all out, he had said.

With a bit of a sigh, the man glanced at Bobby’s
message simply saying that he hoped the Winchester would see him soon. In all
reality, Dean wasn’t all that far from Bobby’s home, and in the back of his
mind he knew he had been heading there anyway. So, doing his best to suck
everything in and standing up, the hunter finally made his way toward the door.
He only leaned down to grab the Bible off the floor before he was gone and
strapped into the Impala. Shortly after that, he was on the road, heading down
familiar streets, to a familiar house with a familiar man. It was finally time
to start accepting the fact that God wasn’t going to play more of a part in his
life. To accept that God had abandoned his creations to fight for themselves.
That God would allow one of his servants, his warriors, to destroy themselves
after losing everything. What the hell was Cas thinking?

Slowly, the Winchester pulled up the driveway
leading towards Bobby’s home and he parked in his normal spot. He managed to do
whatever he could to make himself look a bit more presentable, which really
just turned into putting on a new change of clothes from the back of the car
and he hesitantly stepped out of the car. Though going up to the house actually
proved to be much easier than he had imagined it to be. His strides were strong
as purposeful, his normal Dean walk and he even opened the door to the house
with quite a bit of oomph. But once inside, he immediately regretted the
decision to arrive at the house. Everything there reminded him of every reason
why he had locked himself away for the passed two months. Everything there was
hunting, the Apocalypse and Cas.

Quietly, the hunter made his way further into the
house and he glanced around. “Bobby?” He called out, his voice a lot more raw
than he expected it to be. There was a gently crash from the older man’s study,
followed by the Winchester’s name and Dean quickly made he way there. He found
Bobby standing there, having just gotten up from his desk and Dean stared at
him for a very long moment. Bobby’s eyes travelled him up and down for a moment
before the man simply said, “Boy, you looked better when you had just come out
of hell.” Dean simply took in a breath and stared at the ground as if it had
become the most interesting thing in the world.

Seven months ago, Castiel had been a new and powerful God,
intent on creating a better world, a better Host. It hadn’t been what he wanted
but he quickly figured out that the souls filled a void in him. It was one he
had been well aware of but he hadn’t known that anything else but Dean could
fill it. He was filled with love of the souls curling around inside of him. It
had been a feeling of intense joy at finally finding something that loved him
unconditionally. Rachel and Balthazar had only loved him when he was doing as
they thought he should. Raphael had only loved him if he was upon his knees or
when Castiel was about to kill him. Sam, Dean, and Bobby…well, they had
rejected him when he needed them the most. Six months ago, Castiel had woken up
in the tangled limbs of a tree, cradling him and curving too close to his body
in some areas. He had attempted to fly out of the caress of the tree, but found
he was unable to. A binding magic had been his first thought, as he struggled
to escape the tree. It took several hours and the maneuvering of his body in
ways he was certain his vessel was not created to do. He did not recognize where
he was and had begun to walk, trying to discern some landmark.

He had died. He had decided to give up the souls and he had
died. He could remember still thinking about the last time he would see Dean
Winchester’s face, could remember being certain that he would not recover from
this death as he had so many others. Dean was the reason he had taken in the
souls, so he could protect him. Honestly, Castiel hadn’t anticipated the effect
the souls would have on him, but being God would have made his task to protect
Dean, and Sam, easier. He had let go of the souls too, because Dean was
disappointed, he was scared and he was worried about Castiel. All this time on
Earth, Castiel had learned so much from Dean and one of those things was he
never wanted to disappoint Dean. He had done it on several occasions but in the
end, he always did what Dean wanted him to. Ripping out those souls and pushing
them back into Purgatory had been excruciatingly painful, and he had felt so
empty for a moment before the light consumed him and he knew he was dead. Whatever
his intentions, he had insulted his Father by claiming he was a god, and better
than the one before him. He didn’t think it likely he would be returning to
life, and especially Earth.

And yet there he stood, surrounded by a canopy of trees,
lost in so many ways. Whoever had brought him back hadn’t returned him to full
angelic powers, which made Castiel doubt that it was his Father. He still had
some lingering angelic powers, such as the ability to heal himself and others,
but he could no longer fly. That had been a rather heart wrenching discovery.
Castiel enjoyed flying very much and to not be able to fly, he had feared his
wings had been taken away or broken, but he luckily found that they were only
clipped, not completely destroyed. Less disturbing was that he could no longer
keep his clothes clean without washing them, so he had found some new clothes
to wear, paying for the few Goodwill items with money given to him by a kind
hearted driver he had traveled from Arizona to Texas with. They provided more
comfort, and seemed to things one might find in Dean’s closet. Jeans, a faded
Led Zepplin t-shirt and several others with saying that Castiel didn’t quite
understand. Castiel hadn’t known what was good to get, so he had copied his
small wardrobe after the only person’s clothes he could remember.

It took several months for Castiel to hitchhike to Sioux
Falls, South Dakota. He would get through two states and then be stuck there
for several weeks at a time, or a driver would expect more from Castiel than he
was willing to give and Castiel would end up walking for days until the next
town. There was the one time he was sick and thought he would die. It might
have happened if it wasn’t for the good Samaritans who had found him in Tulsa,
Oklahoma. He needed to get to South Dakota though, that he knew, and he would
do just about whatever it took to get there. It was the only place he knew
where to turn and whether Dean would be there was uncertain. Perhaps he was
still on the hunt, moving from place to place. At least Bobby might know where
he was, if he didn’t kill him first. Castiel didn’t think that his arrival
there would be a completely welcome one, considering Castiel had threatened his
life the last time he had seen the aging hunter. He didn’t have any other
option, though, because Dean was all Castiel had, all he wanted, and if he was
going to be stuck on Earth, he wanted to be near Dean. His family, if that was
true anymore.

The life he had lived the past six months had changed
Castiel. There was a little more humanity in him, a little more roughness
around the edges. Now he had to sleep. That had been difficult at first because
he hadn’t realized what was happening to his body. He had kept himself awake
for days, walking, pinching himself until bruises littered his thighs. Finally
he had dropped off in an alley and had woken up to a dirty old woman laying a
blanket over him  and whispering about the
nice looking man sleeping. He had to clean himself, walk places, ask people for
directions. Not all of them he was used to, but they had been necessary things
for him to learn in order to find Dean.

Maybe now Dean could forgive him, now that he had given up
the souls. Wasn’t that all Dean had wanted? Dean had been right anyway- the souls
were not the answer to getting what he wanted. In fact, it had only pushed that
person away. Still, Castiel had thought he could substitute that yearning he
felt for Dean with the love of the millions of souls within him. It hadn’t been
the case and that’s why Castiel had finally given them up, hoping to redeem
himself in the items of his family. Hesitating for only a moment more, Castiel
knocked briskly on the door and then waited for an answer, back stiff and
straight, preparing for an escape should he need one. His facial hair had grown
into a beard, his eyes were both red rimmed and with black circles around them.
His lips were cracked and his body was dirty head to toe. He had noticed a
strange odor omitting from his body as it had been over a week since he had
been able to cleanse himself. He had been more focused on finding Dean, and now
that he was here, he was unsure if he should be.

It hadn’t
taken long after Bobby’s first comment for the older hunter to make his way
from his desk, across the floor, and to the Winchester. Within a moment, Dean
was pulled into a rough hug that he couldn’t help but collapse into. Briefly,
he wondered if he had just become to weak to fight it off, but then he came to
the conclusion that Bobby seemed a lot stronger in general. They would probably
reach that topic, but for now, he was just enjoying the comfort of having some
kind of human touch. Even if he didn’t want sympathy, he didn’t want anyone
pointing out everything wrong in his life, he couldn’t deny that being hugged
by his closest father figure was pleasant. His arms even managed to rise from
their sides and embrace the man as well. Had this been another time, and Dean a
little younger he might have even cried. But he couldn’t while standing there.
He had cried enough when he realized that Cas wasn’t coming back and he was
done with that. It always made him feel like such a jackass anyway.

background:white">However, as he was just getting absorbed in the
hug, Bobby pulled away from him to sharply smack him on the side of his head.
Hissing slightly, the Winchester’s hand flew to his head before he looked at
down at the older hunter, his eyebrows curved perfectly in frustration. “What
the hell was that for?” He asked, his voice filled with only anger at the
smack. He knew entirely what the smack was for and Bobby knew he knew. The
older man slowly shook his head, “I know you were all upset about everything
that happened but that was no damn reason to skip out on Sam, on me,” he
responded, his voice up to the full gruffness that was Bobby.

The muscle in Dean’s jaw tensed just slightly as
the man looked towards the window, his hands slowly finding their way to his
back pockets. There really was no response to that. He hadn’t wanted to be
babied, or had people step around him like they were walking on eggshells. They
had done that for those first few months and it had been horrible. Even if they
hadn’t spoken Castiel’s name out loud, he knew they were all thinking it. It
was written across their faces and in their eyes. Any time it was said out
loud, the person saying it was lucky if they simply got a glare in return. Why
did they all think that the angel was the reason for his outbursts? Couldn’t it
just be that he had had enough with everything? With being fate’s chew toy? In
reality, it was all of it. But Cas was the leading cause of every break down he
had had for the past six months. Sammy and Bobby just knew him too damn well to
suspect otherwise, even if they didn’t know to what extent Dean felt for the
angel.

“You should be glad that I didn’t let that brother
of yours hunt you down instead of the crap jobs I have been sending him on.
Mainly to take his mind off of the fact that his brother gave up on
everything,” Bobby continued, knowing that if Dean came back, he was more than
ready to hear what he had to say. The younger man only continued to stare at
the window while Bobby said all of this. He didn’t have much to say in return.
“Two months and not even one damn phone call? You have a lot to make up for,
boy,” the man growled before he walked passed the hunter and into the kitchen.

Turning slowly, Dean followed the man into the
kitchen as well and was only too relieved when he was greeted by a cold beer.
Bobby threw it to him gently and opened one for himself before looking back up
into Dean’s eyes. “You gonna stand there like a fool, or are you gonna say
something? At least go take a damn shower and shave off that thing that’s
growing on your face.” The man slowly pointed to the facial hair that Dean had
accumulated over the two months. He also shrugged his shoulders and turned to
grab a notebook from the table while mumbling, “There are just some who can’t
pull it off.” The comment was enough to at least make the edges of Dean’s lips
twitch upward into a smile. It was good to see that Bobby hadn’t changed.

“I, um. I’m sorry, Bobby,” he said, opening his
beer with the edge of his shirt. The apology wasn’t sufficient, of course, but
he did know that now was not the time to hold in apologies for pride’s sake. He
had learned that the hard way. But Bobby, being Bobby, turned sharply and said,
“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to Sam. He’s been worried sick about you and
more hurt than anything that you just decided to give up.” It was at least good
to see that Bobby seemed passed the stage where he wanted to baby the younger
man about Cas. Putting the bottle to his lips and tipping it back, Dean managed
to drain about half the bottle before he placed it down on the counter. “I’ll
give him a call, just let me have a few minutes,” the Winchester said quietly.
Bobby nodded and pointed towards the bathroom, “I suggest you spend those few
minutes cleaning up or I might just throw you out of the house.”

With that, Bobby turned and walked into the other
room, which Dean was grateful for. It meant that Bobby had at least accepted
the apology and had no more to say until Sam got there. The man turned as well
and walked into the bathroom. He turned on the shower to allow the water to
heat up and while it did, he made short work of his patchy beard with one of
Bobby’s spare razors. Shortly after, he showered off and upon getting out he
was filled with a bit of regret. The water had been so warm, so relaxing and
for some reason he felt as if he had forgotten how a shower felt. Steam coated
everything in the bathroom, making it impossible for Dean to see himself in the
mirror, but he at least felt a little better. His hair was certainly a lot
longer than it had been and after brushing his teeth and letting the steam file
out of the bathroom, he made quick work of that too.

When he was finally finished, he walked out of the
room and slipped the cell phone from his pocket. Briefly, he paused in his
contacts to stare at the name ‘Cas’ which he had refused to take out in the off
chance that the angel would call him out of the blue. With a hard swallow, he
moved passed the name and found his way to “Sammy.” Unfortunately, he only got
his younger brother’s voicemail, to which he simply said, “Hey, Sammy. I’m at
Bobby’s, head over when you get this,” and slipped the phone back into his
pocket. Just as he was doing this, there was a knock on the door and he
wondered if Sam hadn’t answered because he had seen in Impala in the drive. But
it quickly occurred to Dean that there would be no way in hell that Sam would
actually knock on the door so it couldn’t be the younger Winchester.

“Could you get that?” Bobby called out from the
study. With a bit of a sigh, unsure if he wanted to actually talk to anyone,
Dean made his way towards the door. A strange feeling formed in his stomach the
closer he got, but he couldn’t quite place it. It seemed familiar and warm, and
as much as he wanted to say it felt how he felt when an angel was around, he
knew that couldn’t be true. So he placed his hand on the door and opened it
half expecting to see some kind of Jehovah’s witness there when his eyes
managed to settle on Jimmy, Cas’ vessel, looking worse for the wear.

There was not one reaction that Dean could follow
through with in the few seconds seeing Castiel in Bobby’s doorway. His stomach
clenched, his throat shut, his eyes welled and Bobby’s door flew sharply into
the wall. The hunter at first wondered if he was being played with, or that his
eyes were playing with him, which only incited a rage to bubble in the pit of
his stomach. But he quickly realized that this was no joke and the man standing
in front of him was really there. Again, unable to figure out what to do, he
simply shouted, “What the hell, Cas?” before punching the door. It seemed like
the more logical answer than punching the angel in front of him who seemed more
than broken enough. Quickly after that, he gripped the angel around the
shoulders and pulled the vessel towards him. Dean’s arms slipped around his
body tightly and where he hadn’t felt like crying before, he certainly felt
like it now.

After hearing the commotion, including Dean shout
the name “Cas,” Bobby immediately walked into the room. He was hoping that Dean
hadn’t snapped and managed to punch whoever was at the door, but the older
hunter stopped in his tracks the moment he saw the angel. His mouth dropped
slightly and he wondered what he exactly he should do about the situation. Was
he really back to Castiel?

Castiel
had been unsure that Dean would even be at Bobby’s and then suddenly there he
was standing face to face with the eldest Winchester. Dean was…perfect. He
looked a little tired but that did nothing to take away from everything that
made him Dean. Castiel wondered if his supposed death had changed Dean or if he
had been happy to get rid of the distraction. Castiel couldn’t help but just
stare for a long moment, even as Dean moved away and slammed his fist through
the door. He wondered…had Dean thought about him? Had he prayed for him? Or had
he wished he would never come back? Castiel’s mind was racing with all these
questions that had been plaguing him the past six months. It was not how
Castiel normally operated, but six months ago he had been so sure that he was
doing the right thing in harboring the souls, and that had turned out to be
completely wrong. Now he had lost all confidence in himself and his decision.

He didn’t
flinch when Dean turned and punched the wall, simply watched, trying to
understand where Dean was at. Castiel wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.
He wasn’t even sure what Dean was feeling. His actions and tone would suggest
he was angry with Castiel, and Castiel certainly wouldn’t  “Dean,” he said, his voice cracking
painfully. He licked his lips and swallowed before trying again. “Dean.” What
else could he say? He wanted to hear what Dean had to say to him before he
spoke. Was Dean finished with him? Did Dean never want to see him again? It was
difficult to think about that, as Castiel had no idea what he would do if Dean
turned away from him again. He had given up the souls for Dean, done what Dean
asked him to even if it wasn’t on Dean’s terms. How much more of himself could
he give? Castiel had given so much of the many things he was to Dean and he was
running out of things to give. He’d give every single last one of them, but
when he ran out, he was truly unsure about what he would be do.

“Dean-“ He
stopped, still feeling at a loss. “Are you going to kill me?” he asked, his
voice steady, though his face clouded over even more. He wouldn’t blame Dean if
he decided killing him would be the best option and he wouldn’t try to stop
Dean from doing it. Somewhere along the way, in the past six or seven months, Castiel
had lost his fight.

Quickly
realizing that Cas didn’t seem like the Cas seven months ago, Bobby turned and
exited the room once more. Knowing that Cas may be back to normal made him feel
like he was intruding on something he shouldn’t. From the way that Dean had
carried on after the angel had disappeared, Bobby figured it would be best if
the two of them talked without the older hunter invading their space. If he
really wanted to eavesdrop then there were plenty of rooms all over the house
to do so. He managed to walk to one of these rooms before setting himself into
a fake busy routine. He had done this plenty of times when Sam received a call
over the months where Dean had been gone. Each time he had been hoping it was
the hunter asking if someone could pick him up on the highway or worst case
scenario, pick him up from jail. So he gathered some papers here and there and
set to work listening in on the conversation a little ways away.

background:white">The younger hunter was not as calm as Bobby was,
and he still didn’t know how to accurately react to the situation. The angel
standing in front of him looked so entirely different and at the same time it
seemed like nothing had changed. Except the beard of course. But the moment Cas
started speaking, Dean felt something catch in his throat. It was the voice he
had been aching to hear for so long and now that it was here, he felt like it
could break him. In all honesty, the voice very well may have because his eyes
shut tightly just to keep from expressing too much emotion. As much as he felt
like crying, it wasn’t something that the hunter wanted to do just yet. He
wanted to make sure this Cas was his Cas.

However, that conclusion quickly came to him when
the angel asked if the hunter was going to kill him. Dean immediately looked up
at the angel, his breath catching in his chest. With a stiffened jaw, the
hunter gripped onto the lapel of the angel and pulled him inside the house.
After slamming the door shut, he shoved the angel against the wall and moved in
close to him. “Kill you?” He repeated, not quite sure how to form his own
sentences. “Cas,” he said, his voice a bit softer. What could he say in return?
There was no way the hunter was going to admit to having searched for him for
so long. To having prayed, wished and hoped he’d come back. Eyes narrowed
slightly, the hunter only tightened his grip on the angel, “The only way I’m
going to kill you is if you’re messing with me. This had better be my Cas.” He
felt like this was his Cas returned, but what if he was wrong? Even though it
didn’t entirely matter to him, the hunter didn’t imagine he could stand it if
he were tricked. He just wanted his Castiel back.

Castiel
did nothing to stop Dean from manhandling him into the house, even if he wasn’t
sure what Dean’s intentions were. It wouldn’t have mattered if he had tried to
struggle, though, because he was no match for Dean in his weakened, exhausted
state. His breath hitched in his throat as Dean pressed in close, invading his
personal space like Castiel used to do. Dean had always chided him for it, but
Castiel wasn’t about to protest, even when they were practically nose to nose.
He continued to keep eye contact with Dean, doing his best to figure out what
Dean planned to do with him. He didn’t let himself hope, though, even his weary
mind would have given him the chance for such emotion. The tilted question in
Dean’s voice seemed to indicate Dean hadn’t thought about that question, didn’t
think it was on the table. Still, Castiel kept these thoughts and feelings
curled inside of him, protecting himself from possibilities.

His
eyebrows shot up at Dean’s insistence that he would only murder Castiel if the
man in front of him wasn’t actually Castiel. His hand pressed into Dean’s upper
arm, against the clothe covering the handprint, his handprint, that marred Dean’s
skin. “Dean. I am Castiel, closer to the one you enjoyed than the one you last
saw me as,” he said, his voice more gravelly than it had ever been before. “I
gave up the souls,” he said, deciding to leave out the part where he had died
and then brought back once more. “I am powerless.”
It wasn’t quite true, since he had retained a few of his angelic powers, and he
still felt his grace filling him from the inside, not as warm as it once was
but still there certainly. Castiel retreated his hand quickly, dropping them
both in front of him. He wanted to touch Dean, to press into him and make sure
that this was real. It had taken so long to finally reach this place and
Castiel knew his head wasn’t on straight anymore; he wouldn’t be surprised if
he was…imagining Dean. “I hope that makes you happy.”

Castiel
really meant that he was no longer so powerful as he had been when he was a
self proclaimed God, filled with the warmth and energy of millions of souls. He
was no longer bloated with his ego or smug with his decisions. In fact, he was
certainly ashamed of them, and this is something he needed Dean to know. Of all
people Dean needed to be told how sorry he was. Castiel baulked slightly at the
words, since he remembered the last time he had said them to Dean, and dean had
only replied that it didn’t change anything. How could Castiel think that Dean
would forgive him after he threatened to kill him and his brother? “I have done
many regrettable things to you, to Sam. I know I cannot make up for them in
your eyes, but I am glad to see you are well. I needed to be sure of that.” Now
that he was here, Castiel realized he couldn’t stay because Dean wouldn’t
forgive him.

The second
the hand touched the side of his shoulder, masked the mark that Castiel had
left so long ago, there was no longer a doubt in the hunter’s mind. 
Almost immediately he wanted to grab the little leather book he had pick up to
kiss it over and over again.  Maybe, just maybe, there was someone
listening to him after all.  But he would think about that later.  He
would thank whoever he needed to thank later.  Right now, he was
completely consumed by the angel in front of him, who still looked more ragged
than Dean had ever seen him.  Not that the hunter cared.  His eyes closed
while he listened to the angel speak to him, absorbing the sound of his voice
even if it seemed rougher than before.  What had he gone through? 
What had happened?  There were so many questions and yet the hunter didn’t
care to ask a single one.

His breath sat sharply in his chest for the fast
moment that the hand was on his shoulder and it disappeared painfully when
Castiel removed it.  So did that mean that Cas had officially
fallen?  Was he completely cast out of Heaven, never to be an angel
again?  Yeah, they had gone back and forth on the subject over the past
few years but for some reason anything that had happened didn’t seem
permanent.  This seemed more than permanent.  Then again, it also
didn’t matter to Dean.  Even if the angel had a little less mojo than
before, as long as it was his Cas, Dean really didn’t care. 
“Happy?”  Dean repeated as well, wondering how much of a fool he sounded
like repeating words that Castiel had just said.

Of course this made him happy.  For the first
time in seven months he didn’t feel as if he needed to tear down the
walls.  But it wasn’t until Castiel said he needed to be sure that Dean
was well before the hunter figured out exactly what he wanted to do, what he
had to do.  His hands tightened on Castiel’s lapel to the point that his
knuckles were white.  Either way Cas seemed like he was about to
leave.  Better get rid of everything that had been pent up inside the
hunter for so long.

With a swift movement, Dean managed to pin his
body closer to the angel’s, trying to trap Cas even further.  If he didn’t
have any angel mojo than that meant he couldn’t fly away or zap out of the
room.  It allowed Dean a bit more confidence as he slip a hand up to grasp
onto Castiel’s chin, ignoring the facial hair that had taken place there. 
Mumbling a thick “God damnit Cas,” there was the image of Castiel’s lips just
before the hunter closed his eyes and allowed his own lips to capture
them.  It was rough, and Dean didn’t loosen his grip on the angel. 
He needed to do this.  Blasphemy be damned.

Castiel
could feel the connection in his hand, in his body, in his grace. He could feel
Dean reacting to it, and he couldn’t help the quirk of a smile that passed over
his lips. His grace knew Dean’s soul more than it knew any other soul or grace.
It would be devastating to never feel his grace nudge against a familiar
comfort again, as there was no one like Dean, no other that Castiel’s grace
would react to in such a manner.

The last
three years had been about Dean and what Dean wanted and how to make Dean
happy. Certainly, he had wavered in that several times, but he always ended up
doing what Dean wanted him to. That was how Castiel had lived. Thousands of
years he had spent in loyal service to his Father, and one trip to Hell had
drastically changed those loyalties to one man. The Righteous Man, he might be,
but he was still one man. Not to Castiel, though. Even now, even after Dean had
abandoned him because of what he had done, doubted him for what he wanted to
do, he was still here to make Dean happy. He nodded his head, but Dean didn’t
seem happy as he repeated the word. Maybe he had not wanted to see Castiel at
all. The thought was not a pleasant one and it radiated pain throughout his
whole body.

Then Dean
kissed him. Castiel froze in confusion for only a moment, but a lot seemed to
race through his mind during that short time. Was Dean kissing him? Yes, Dean
was kissing him. Why? Why? Why? This must mean that he was glad Castiel was
here, that he wanted him here. That was all Castiel needed to think before he
opened his mouth to Dean’s and pressed forward into him, their bodies lining up
flushed against each other. He hadn’t realized exactly how much he wanted it
until this moment. He knew he loved Dean, had known that for a long time. But
this was so much better. Castiel sighed against Dean’s mouth, dragging his
fingers through Dean’s hair and pressing his mouth in closer to Dean’s. His
mouth was hot and sinful in all the best ways, his lips plush against Castiel’s.
Castiel wanted to let his mouth rest there for eternity, but his vessel- he
needed to breath and he pulled back just each to catch a breath, panting
heavily, his mouth to pressed to Dean’s skin. “Dean,” he muttered, question and
uncertainty in his voice. His hand dragged down the back of Dean’s neck,
pulling him forward to fit better against him.