You are not human. You have never been.

But you have watched them long enough. They are not unfamiliar, although many of their particulars get lost in your memories. There are too many particulars to keep track of.

This tiny thing, this... human... references them whenever he can. You find yourself curious.

You took this tiny gem from the depths, polished back some of its shine and returned it to its confines in flesh and matter, and... valiantly, sought you out and faced you. Faintly, distantly, through your Grace, you feel threads of amusement.

Although you would rather this tiny little thing respected you a bit more. Really.

Your orders are somewhat complicated when it comes to this tiny thing. There is something faintly alarming about them. It takes you a while to pinpoint, and truly... you would rather not be at the tender mercies of Zachariah and his followers again. Never again.

They grow on you. The tiny human and his... brother. You know that is not a good thing. Not for the others.

(Truthfully, you... you cannot see the Father making his masterpiece and forbidding you to love them. But that is for another time.)

The others make you Fall, but. But you don't seem to actually mind. How peculiar. These tiny things, these, tiny humans... you feel they are worth a Fall.

It's not easy, no.

Falling is painful.

The speed, the burning... your control over your vessel fluctuates, but it does not fight you. Your vessel, pained though it is, accepts your Fall into it.

You did not wish to crush it. It doesn't care.

Dean Winchester calls on you embarrassingly often. You are not used to so many calls in such little span of time. You are not human. They live tiny, short lives.

Although, you admit to yourself, you are embarrassingly tuned to his existencial vibrations. You can always hear when he talks of you. Increasingly fondly, he talks of you.

Dean Winchester thinks of you equally fondly as he thinks of his brother. A different kind of fond, you realise, but quite strong.

(Dean Winchester feels rather responsible for your Fall. You say nothing, because it is Truth, and he must deal with the consequences of his choices. You also know that explaining to him you have your own consequences will not help.)

Dean Winchester will not ever acknowledge intimacy the way you know he needs.

Sex, for him, is not intimacy.

You feel a thread of compassion that he cannot use sex as a form of connection to a person he cares.

You don't mind when in relation to yourself, however. Sex is an animal necessity, and while it is pleasant, you can make do without it.

Sex, for him, is a form of stress-release. Like a massage.

You wonder if the same would work on you, being of Light as you are.

You dismiss it as a fancy.

"Dean."

"Hey, Cas! What's up now?"

Nothing, you think. You do not need his help, and both he and his brother are having a slow day.

You take advantage that Sam is out.

"How are you?" Stilted. It is a question you do not normally ask because you normally know the answer.

You wish to see how he will respond.

He is not happy his brother is a vessel to Lucifer.

"Uh," he eyes you slowly, his thoughts almost loud, "Okay..?"

You feel his torment and determination. You feel his sorrow, his loathing for destiny. You feel all of it, washes over you.

They are gems, these tiny humans, gems with a pinprick of Light in their center. There are days where you think you figure out the Father's plan for them. There are days you scoff at yourself, your optimism of faith in His plans. But you Hope. You try your best to polish these little gems in your care, to soften the edges left by others and coax the Light farther out. You sprinkle more substance over these little gems, try to make them grow. Their adversities force them to take their own substance and press upon themselves, turning bits of graphite into diamond. You cannot wait to see when they are all diamond and prism-Light.

"Cas?" he is looking at you strangely. You tilt your head, walk closer. He is much more tolerant of you in his... "personal space". But you do not act like this lightly around him, not anymore. He is frowning, wondering if there is something serious happening.

There is, but not what he expects.

"Do not move," you whisper to him. He freezes. You almost smile at his trust. Gently, you approach him further, less than a breath away. He is wondering what threat is close, "There is no threat. But you will listen to me," he relaxes, still silent, but now fidgeting in unease at your proximity.

You can see sweat on his temple.

"You are responsible for me," it is a rather condensed tale of their relationship, "and I am responsible for you. I am not human. But I will not leave you. You will not leave me."

His breath hitches, and it almost becomes a sob. You touch your nose to his, slide it gently in a caress, hands by your sides. His mind has blanked of everything. Your rest your forehead on his, and close your eyes, humming. You can feel when he relaxes almost completely, head curving in your direction and resting more firmly.

You hum a soothing lullaby until he recovers. He steps away, and opens his mouth but his mind has no words.

You tilt your head in a nod, and step back.

"Tell Sam I said hi," you do not smile, but your eyes are soft, and Dean has a lump in his throat as he nods.

You leave with a gentle beat of your wings.

This is a love story, you think.

Not like how most humans would tell their own, but you're not human.

There is a bit of tragicomedy, when Dean thinks you will be jealous or angry when Sam tells you of another conquest. Your only concern is if his method still decreases his stress. (He is also peculiarly adorable when dumbfounded.)

There is sorrow when loved ones die, and he turns to you for comfort. He does not know how to ask, but you know what you can do. You press your foreheads together and caress his nose with your own, humming that lullaby again. He does not touch you, and you do not touch him.

There is joy when both of them begin a prank war and you watch from your perch, until they are tired and Sam drifts off to sleep. He smiles wide at you, and you feel your lips quirk. Gently, you repeat your kiss-but-not-kiss. After a moment of surprise, Dean accepts it, smiling still and bumps your nose with his.

This is a love story, you think, amused, while he once again drags you to a brothel.

Not like how humans would call their own, but you do not have another name for what you share.

And it makes you content to share your time with his.