"Cas? Hey. Um, I know you're probably running from Banana Republic Angel Lady. And from me, too. I don't blame you. I'd run from me too, if I could. But, well, you've always been able to hear me before, even if you couldn't - or wouldn't - come, so..."

The quiet glowing red 7:00 of the motel alarm clock flickered to 7:01, then 7:02.

"I can't anymore, Cas. I just can't. I can't watch Sam destroying himself with these tasks. I was supposed to protect him - that was my one job in life and I failed so hard that it makes me sick. Actually sick, thinking about it. And I can't do anything to change it. I have to sit and twiddle my thumbs. And - watching Kevin just break down, man. I was supposed to protect him, too - but we still needed him to do the exact thing that was tearing him up - and now he's run off to who knows where and..."

The air conditioning unit sighed into life.

"Sam needs me to be here. So will Kevin, when he calms down. But - every damn time I let my breath out, I wonder how nice it'd be to not breathe in again. To just stop." Dean's lips twisted in wry self-mockery. "But it doesn't work like that. It keeps on keeping on, and it drags me along with it. So I just...keep going. But - it's -"

A streetlight flickered on outside in the parking lot, the yellow sodium light slanting through the drapes on the window.

"I just want to stop," Dean whispered, the heaviness in his chest making it almost impossible to admit the words. "I'm a coward,and I just want to stop. I don't want to end it, because that'd just be one other thing that's my fault, another way that I'm just letting everyone down - but I just don't want to keep going like this. I can't. I just can't, Cas. You should have just killed me."

He was surprised at how gruff his voice had become, how thick and aching his throat was, how suddenly difficult it was for him to catch at the edges of the tumult of concepts roiling in his mind and pin them down into simple words. "I can't," he repeated, almost just mouthing it, and he wasn't sure if he was referring to his inability to articulate or just his inability to cope with the fact that after this minute, there would be another one, and then another, stretching out ahead of him for something approximating forever and he had to somehow make it through all those moments -

The knock at the door split the silence he'd gathered around himself like shattering glass, instantly stoking his alertness to full throttle. Who would be knocking? Had Sam forgot the key again? But Sam wasn't due back for at least another hour -

The peephole in the door was cracked, making looking through it a useless gesture, and looking through the wavy glass windows to either side of the door would be just as telling as actually opening it. Dean cleared his throat and turned the knob, scratching the back of his head as he opened the door - and his eyes had not even fully focused before he let out his breath in an astonished whoosh, his arms dropping to his sides uselessly.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean blinked.

Castiel looked to either side before returning his gaze to Dean. "You know, warding the room against angels makes it difficult for me to come to you."

Dean managed to reconnect his brain and voice. "Yeah, well - the last time I let an angel get close to me, he kinda beat nine distinct shades of hell out of me."

Castiel's face fell. "I don't expect to be forgiven for that. Or for the way I left." He glanced at the door, at the precise point where, on the other side, Sam had scribbled a hasty angel ward in dry-erase pen. "But that's not what I came here for."

"Oh? And what did you come here for?" Dean asked, crossing his arms across his chest.

"To steer you from a decision that neither of us would survive," Castiel replied bluntly.

The threadbare toes of Dean's socks were suddenly fascinating, because he couldn't seem to take his eyes from them. "You weren't listening, then. I think I remember saying I didn't want -" His traitorous throat caught and he coughed.

"You don't want to die, but you're not too bothered about whether you keep living. That scares me."

Dean lifted his eyes, with considerable effort. Castiel did look scared. Anyone else would take it for mild concern, but Dean had been studying the angel's face for long enough to know the slightest wrinkle of the brow or flare of the nostrils. "Had a little visit from your buddy Naomi," Dean said with excruciating casualness. "I think she'd be surprised to see you here."

"Naomi is a font of poison," Castiel replied with surprising vehemence, "made worse because she says things that sound true." He made as though to take a step closer, but glanced at the door again. "I don't know what she told you, but chances are good it was exactly what you expected to hear. That doesn't make it true."

Dean watched the angel's face very carefully; for the first time, Castiel seemed unable to meet his gaze and dropped his eyes. "Look. You don't trust me. You have every reason not to. I shouldn't even be here. But I need to know before I walk away that leaving is the right thing to do."

"It must be. You do it enough," Dean said, shifting his weight to lean against the door frame.

"I've spent most of my time blinded by what I think is right." Castiel finally brought his eyes back up to lock with Dean's. "I covered my tracks. Naomi won't know I'm here - for a little while. I don't have a great deal of time, but I have some. Should I leave?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and expectant. Dean studied Castiel again, and this time Castiel didn't let his gaze fall. With a sigh, Dean reached behind the door and dragged his hand through the ward. Castiel relaxed visibly as it broke and Dean stepped aside to let the angel into the room, closing the door and leaning against it.

"What about the -" Dean cut himself off abruptly, but the lines around Castiel's eyes said plainly that Castiel knew what Dean had been about to ask.

"Hidden. Even if she or Crowley knew exactly where to look for it, it would take them hours." The pressure of Castiel's hand on Dean's shoulder pooled warmth that radiated down Dean's body in ways that nearly made him tremble; Dean wasn't altogether sure whether it was some celestial feel-good vibe or his own craving for a comforting touch. "I still probably shouldn't stay for too long."

The sickening knot began to twist in Dean's stomach again. He clenched his teeth and took a steadying breath. "I'm - thanks, Cas. But I'm -"

"Dean." The grip on Dean's shoulder tightened just slightly, and Castiel suddenly looked very - strained. Exhausted. On Dean's behalf, or because he'd come all this way for practically nothing? "I'm not going to pretend I didn't hear you on the verge of despair. You are not all right. There's no need to be ashamed of that."

"I'm not -" He had been about to say "ashamed." But Dean couldn't finish the lie. Not to Castiel. Not when so many lies already bloodied the waters. He took another deep breath. "I'm not all right."

"I know."

"I haven't been all right since I was about five." Castiel was steering him somewhere - to the beds, it looked like, but Dean felt numb and wasn't sure how he was actually moving. "And even if Sam can close the Gates of Hell and I somehow get my little brother back, I'll still never be all right." He was sitting now, elbows resting on his thighs, fingers loosely interlocked. He glanced up, and meeting Castiel's eyes set in such an expression of concern made the wry smirk return. "It's easier when I can't see you watching me."

Without a word, Castiel reached out - Dean flinched as the angel gently brushed against his eyelashes before sliding his eyelids down. Dean's exhalation could almost be a laugh. "Smartass."

"Talk like you do when you know I can hear you, but aren't sure I'm listening. Like you were before."

It was difficult to tell what Castiel was thinking at the best of times, but with only his voice to go on, it bordered on impossible. Dean felt his brow furrowing as he tried to convince himself that he was once again alone in the room, and that the feather-fine touch on his face didn't still linger as a memory of soft warmth. "You heard me before. There's not much else to say that isn't just repeating myself."

Castiel did not answer, did not make any noise at all. The quiet nearly demanded to be filled with something. Dean took a slow breath. "I'm used to not making long-term plans. Hell, these last few years I haven't been thinking much further out than weeks. But if - when - Sam pulls this off, shoves those demons back where they belong, and we've cleaned up the mess we made way back when Yellow-Eyes was the biggest thing we had to worry about...it's an ending, kind of. We won't have the frigging King of Hell and all of his lackeys out to get us. I could actually have years, now." The thick ache was creeping back up Dean's throat and he swallowed hard. "Years to think about how not all right I am. How not all right Sammy's going to be." He tried to open his eyes but was dismayed to find that if he did, he'd be allowing a tear to escape. "How not all right you're going to be. And how all of it - everything - is my fault." He paused, and then let the words come: "Don't know if I want to have years like that."

The air conditioner hummed for several more seconds before it quietly clicked off, leaving them in a shroud of profound silence broken only by their breathing. Dean's breathing, anyway - that was all he could hear, coming in something raspy that wanted to be a sob but he wouldn't allow it.

"Dean." Castiel's voice lost some of its characteristic gruffness when it was this low. "I need you to understand something. Everything that is weighing on you, everything that haunts you - you are burdened with inhuman pain. That is not an exaggeration or metaphor. A normal mortal spirit would not be able to contain it without - damage." The light touch on his knee should have been enough to make Dean's eyes fly open, but he studiously kept them shut. "But you are - and always have been - the potential vessel for an Archangel. That fact remains relevant, because it means that by necessity, you have the capacity to withstand so much more - and I'm sorry that it's pain that is demanding that capacity. And I'm sorry that I'm the cause of most of it."

"Is that supposed to be comforting?" Dean demanded.

"Yes," Castiel replied simply. "You feel like you can't handle this burden because everything about the human condition says you shouldn't be able to. I'm telling you that you can. I know what a vessel is capable of. But more than that, I know what you are capable of, Dean." Dean could feel Castiel shifting; the touch on his knee moved, and Castiel was holding both of Dean's slightly shaking interlaced hands in his own, in such a way that suggested the angel was crouching in the space between the beds. "For all of that, I would take some of that pain from you, if I could."

"I wish," Dean mumbled, and finally opened his eyes. He should not have been surprised at how close Castiel was; the gap between the beds was not large, and Castiel would have to be close in order to be holding Dean's hands like he was. But it was Castiel's eyes that so surprised him - from this short distance Dean could see all the minute adjustments the pupils made as Castiel alternated between focusing on one of Dean's eyes and then the other. "Can't you? Take some?"

Castiel's eyes softened. "No." He hesitated. "But -"

He let go of Dean's hands and brought his own hands up to cup Dean's face, both his touch and expression oddly gentle. It was nothing like the determination and inward gathering Dean had seen the other times Castiel had prepared to heal him, but it all seemed so familiar -

And then Castiel had drawn Dean's face down to meet his, and as their lips met a thrill of heat and something like recognition shot straight through Dean's body like fingers of flame. He was dimly aware of his hands reaching forward to grip the collar of Castiel's coat, whether to anchor himself or prevent the angel from pulling away, he wasn't sure. He was fairly sure that he was the first to part his lips, though Castiel followed only a split second after, tongues meeting like silk on silk in a way that made Dean want to melt against Castiel and never have to leave this - this - whatever this was.

Because on the surface it was a kiss, but it thrummed within Dean like nothing ever had in his life - as though he had spent his life in the cold and dark and had been led to a fire for the first time. He wanted to reach out and fill himself with this, fill himself with the taste that he couldn't quite place but still recognized as unmistakably Castiel. He brought a hand up to trace a thumb along Castiel's unshaven jawline - the incongruity of the roughness did not bother him nearly as much as he thought it would; in fact it did not bother him at all. This was Castiel and, Dean decided, regular rules did not apply.

Castiel pulled away first - just enough to break the kiss, their noses still brushing, foreheads pressed against one other, breathing in time for a few moments before Castiel let his hands drop and Dean opened his eyes. Dean didn't let his hand fall as Castiel sat back; it lingered over the angel's chin before he was out of reach and then it remained in the air between them until Dean lowered it, belatedly.

Words failed to present themselves. Dean realized his mouth was still slightly open and he closed it, only to open it again in case he found something to say. Castiel appeared to be suffering from the same temporary muteness, leaning back against the side of the bed, one bent knee jutting into the air between them - but his eyes looked every bit as astonished as Dean felt, wider than Dean was used to seeing them, and studying Dean's face as though seeing it for the first time.

It was Castiel who found his voice first, though it wasn't what Dean had expected to hear. "I'm sorry."

Dean blinked. "Wait. Sorry? What?"

"I shouldn't have done that." Castiel pushed himself to his feet, and now he was looking everywhere in the room but at Dean, who launched himself off the bed to his feet as well, confusion mingling with the vague satisfaction that had been suffusing him just moments before.

"Don't you dare," Dean said in a low voice. "Don't you dare just leave, Cas. Sorry for what?"

"I've done more harm than good. Again." Brows drawn together in what could only be anguish, Castiel turned and began walking toward the door. "But this time I can actually do something about it before it gets worse."

"Cas!" Dean said warningly - a little louder than he'd intended. "The stuff about being blinded? Applies. Right now. Whatever you're about to do is the exact wrong thing."

Castiel's shoulders stiffened, but he didn't turn. "Dean. You know the nature of the tablet I'm guarding."

The words took a few seconds to connect to the relevance of the situation, but when they did, something cold gripped at the bottom of Dean's stomach. "And?" He asked finally.

Castiel turned. "And once the demons have been exiled from Earth, are you really going to leave it to the angels?" His eyes were hard as agates. "Because I've seen what we're likely to do. I've done what we're likely to do. I won't let it happen." He swallowed and his gaze fell to the floor for a moment before he looked up again. "And when the Gates of Heaven close, I won't have any choice but to leave."

"Then don't leave now." Dean set his jaw and took a step forward. "You stay. And we figure this out. And if you have to go in the end - at least you stayed for once."

"Dean - I-"

Jabbing his finger behind him at the bed, Dean took another step further. "Whatever that was - that sure as hell meant something. I don't even know what. But you can't just do something like that and then walk away and expect me to deal with it on my own. I don't care what kind of capacity you think I have."

Castiel lowered his gaze again. "I didn't intend to give you more problems."

"Hey." Tentatively, Dean reached out and tipped Castiel's chin up. "I didn't say they were problems - but they will be if you flap away."

The barest hint of an indignant smile played in Castiel's eyes. "I don't flap."

"Not today." Dean glanced over at the clock. "How much longer are you sure the tablet will be safe?"

Castiel considered that. "Forty minutes. At the most."

Dean nodded. "Will you stay until then?"

Something twinged inside Dean at Castiel's expression - somehow helpless but, at the same time, yearning. "Yes."

Suddenly exhausted, Dean lowered himself down onto the end of the bed. "Well, that's something."

There was no way Dean should have been able to feel the warmth radiating off Castiel as the angel sat down next to him, shifting the mattress with his weight. It had to be his imagination, his hyper-awareness making him imagine things. He stared at his folded hands, listening to the indiscernible bickering between some couple in the parking lot. "We - ah - don't tend to talk about...things...much."

"Words aren't terribly useful."

"Yeah, well - you crossed a line. And then I followed you, and don't for one second think I didn't want to - but there's no undoing it now, so let's put some damn words to it just so we're both clear what line we crossed." Dean turned his head to meet Castiel's eyes - unfocused, staring not so much at Dean as at the space that Dean occupied.

"I think I may have crossed several lines." Castiel's gaze snapped back to the present, and they seemed to be infused with a vague kind of pain. "I'm perfectly aware of your sexual preferences."

"That makes one of us, then." Dean shook his head. "But honestly, that's the least of my worries right now." It was not exactly true; in the past several minutes a tiny panic had flickered to life in the back of Dean's mind, chanting a wordless litany that likely boiled down to something inane like "dude, he's a dude." More than thirty years of self-identity were wavering under the realization that something enormous unfolded itself in Dean's chest whenever he looked at Castiel, and it was not a new sensation. Dean shook his head and filed that away as something he could deal with later. "What did that mean? Because I've never felt anything like that before, and I think this may be the first time I've said that and meant it." He narrowed his eyes. "You weren't using some kind of - of angel mojo on me, were you?"

"No. No mojo," Castiel replied seriously. "At least not intentionally." He sighed heavily, his eyes unfocusing again. "You were lost. I needed something to ground you - to make sure you knew you were loved."

Dean had had the breath knocked out of him more times than he could count, but this was an altogether new way to experience it. "I - what? Loved?" He struggled with the last word, both saying it and trying to fix it to something in his mind. "Like, 'I love you, man' loved or - the other kind -"

"You see? Words are useless. Especially that word." Castiel dropped his gaze to his own folded hands. "It's more complicated than that. And simpler. So simple that I tried to make it complicated, to fit some imaginary ideal of what it should be. And so when it didn't fit, I determined that of course it couldn't be."

"Cas, talk sense," Dean began, but Castiel shook his head.

"Don't you see? It defies sense. I have always had a - a certain affinity toward you, since the first time I touched you." Castiel's eyes flicked up to Dean's shoulder. "I accepted it as Divine imprinting - you were my charge, and I was to see you safe. Even when I was rebelling, in my mind I was still working toward Heaven's purpose, and keeping you safe fit within that purpose. And so that affinity was still perfectly normal." He closed his eyes. "I convinced myself that if I cared for you more than was...considered proper...I could attribute it to the shambles that Heaven was in, and my own desperation to be carrying out my duty - any duty."

He let out a small sigh. "And - the tablet. I was ordered by Heaven to obtain it by any means necessary. I believe you are familiar with the means to which Naomi was prepared to make me go. The most important thing on Heaven and Earth, and you were standing between me and it." The angel's face smoothed briefly. "And in that instant, I realized that the most important thing wasn't the tablet at all." He opened his eyes and looked straight into Dean's with an intensity that made Dean swallow. "It wasn't an affinity. You weren't some abstract personification of my duty to Heaven. I'm not sure when, and I don't even know how, but I'd fallen in love with a force so consuming that I was able to mistake it for Divine Purpose - and I didn't even know it until that moment." Castiel coughed, as though suddenly aware he'd been speaking for some time more than he tended to. "I've spent the time since then trying to figure out what to do with this information."

Dean licked his lips in an attempt to work some moisture into his mouth. "I don't even know what to say to that," he said lamely, suppressing a wince as he heard exactly how hollow the words sounded.

"As I mentioned before, words are not the most useful vehicle for anything truly important."

It was probably the best opening that Dean was ever going to get, but his body felt thick and clumsy with the residue of so many shocks in such a short period of time that even untwining his fingers was an action that took an astonishing amount of concentration, and when he'd pried them apart it was to only find they were shaking. Best to do it quickly, then, before he lost his nerve.

In one smooth motion that took more courage than facing down Death itself - and Dean had the point of reference - Dean reached and slid one hand behind Castiel's head, curling his fingers in the hair at the base of the angel's neck as he snatched his lips against Castiel's with a fervor that surprised even him. Castiel responded in kind, apparently as desperate as Dean to make himself understood where words were so inadequate. The underlying glow of astonishment and disbelief still wove its way between them, but this time it was threaded with an aura of such satisfied ardor that it made goosebumps rise the entire length of Dean's spine as, little by little, he accepted what he'd been harboring for Castiel for longer than he knew - and this was the first step.

Given their preoccupation, it was not surprising that neither of them heard the key in the lock of the door. It was not until Dean sensed movement and his eyes popped open that either of them were aware that Sam had returned, and was standing in the doorway, frozen with an expression of utmost bewilderment and embarrassment.

"Oh," was all Sam said when he noticed his presence had been discovered.

"Sam." Dean didn't remember standing up, perhaps because he had done it so quickly. "I - Cas is here."

"Noticed that." Sam couldn't seem to be able to figure out where he should be looking, his eyes darting between Castiel and Dean in bafflement.

"I should go," Castiel said, standing slowly. On the exterior he seemed completely unruffled, but something Dean could see in his eyes let him know that the angel was more flustered than Dean had ever seen him.

"Right. The tablet," Dean said, nodding enthusiastically. Then, attempting to sound casual, "Are you coming back?" The four words hung in the air, almost tangible, and as they echoed in his mind Dean could hear how desperate they sounded. It was not just a request for Castiel to return; it was a plea.

"No." Castiel reached out and laid a hand on Dean's shoulder; Dean didn't know if it was intentional or not, but it lined up exactly with the livid handprint he'd left so many years ago. "There's too great a risk that Naomi could discover I've been here, and follow me back."

Dean forgot that Sam was even in the room as his hand came up to grip at Castiel's wrist. "Cas -"

Castiel took a deep breath, as though struggling with himself. "But if you tell me when you've gotten where you're going, I'll meet you there."

Something like panic fluttered in Dean's chest. "Cas. Can I trust you?"

Castiel hesitated. "Probably." He turned his head and nodded in Sam's direction. "Sam," he said with a note of farewell - and then he was gone.

A new silence recoiled through the motel room, of Dean's mind rapidly spinning, Castiel's sudden absence, and Sam trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. After several moments that stretched for too long, Dean shook his head and let out a heavy sigh.

Sam cleared his throat. "So - what was that?" he asked politely.

Dean did not take his eyes from the space that Castiel had occupied. "Something new. And terrifying as all get-out." He dimly realized that he was holding his shoulder where Castiel's hand had been and let his arm feebly drop before finally looking to his brother. "I'm not even going to try and explain on an empty stomach. Please tell me you brought the pie this time."

"I don't think he's coming, Dean."

"Shut up, Sam."

"It's been a week."

"He's covering his tracks. He'll come."

"He's not exactly the most reliable person we know."

"Shut up, Sam."

Dean made his circuit around the rooms again, ignoring Sam's pitying look as he did so. He hadn't been able to sit still for days. There had been no sign of Kevin, no answer to any of his tentative - and slightly desperate - prayers. Sam's dismissive negativity was at best grating.

Dean found himself in his room, as he always ended up after one of his restless prowls. There wasn't anything to do in here, just as there hadn't been anything to do the several dozen other times he had stepped in, and he stood and glanced around in a defeated sort of way before sighing and lowering himself to the end of his bed.

There was a tentative knock at the door. "Sam, not now."

"It isn't Sam."

It should have been physically impossible for a human being to stand up so fast; Dean was fairly certain he'd strained something as he simultaneously stood up and launched himself at the door. He nearly knocked it against his head in his haste to get it open, but when he did -

Castiel almost looked bashful, but not only did he let Dean wrap his arms around him, he returned the embrace with an enthusiasm Dean had rarely seen. For the space of several breaths Dean did not think - just held tightly and tried not to embarrass himself further by crying. "Cas," he managed to say into the angel's shoulder.

"I'm staying this time, Dean," Castiel responded from somewhere in the vicinity of Dean's collarbone. "No more flapping away."

"You don't flap."

"No. Not today."