He smirked to himself as he thought that. Man. What a funny term to use when describing himself.
He looked up as he eyed the run down shack of a bar before him. More and more, the was becoming accustomed to this routine.
Castiel moved 'his' head, cracking the human bones he could never quite get used to.
His burden was becoming heavier. No matter how often he done this, the ache in 'his' chest never dulled, only become brighter.
After who knows how many millenia, his wings hurt. They weighed him down. Everytime he found himself in front of yet another run down bar, he could feel those wings, those invisible wings, heavier than ever.
He had no idea why he was still here, why he hadn't been dragged to the highest heavens and dropped, so forcefully, so brutally into the pit. He briefly cast his eyes upwards. It had been a while since he'd had any word, any revelation whatsoever. He didn't think he was even being watched anymore.
If he was, this would have been stopped, wouldn't it?
Castiel slowly walked toward the entrance of the bar, his candy coat fluttering behind him. He liked tha coat. He found it ironic, that despite hiding his wings, the coat was noisy enough to mark his entrance to a silent room.
He pushed the doors open and scanned the room. It was empty, bar for a young blonde waitress who was eyeing a man sat at a corner table.
Cas glared at the women, who seemed to know what he meant. She exited into the back of the bar, leaving them alone.
His gaze moved to man in the corner.
"Dean." He muttered.
When he saw no movement, he sighed and walked over. He sat down opposite his charge.
"Dean." He repeated.
"I...I can't do this anymore...I can't, Cas," Dean said, running a tanned hand over his face.
"Can't do what Dean?" He asked in a steady voice.
"This...this...with Sam...and the monsters...and you...I just can't..."
Cas nodded. He'd been so used to it lately, it had taken him a few minutes to register the whisky on Deans breath. Of course he'd be drunk. It was a bar after all. That's what humans do in bars, isn't it?
"You fought. With Sam."
Dean nodded, slouching back in the creaky wooden chair. "Gave him a nice shiner. Again."
Cas nodded. Of course. Again. "I just...I can't do this anymore. He won't stop talking, and I don't want to talk."
"About Hell."
Dean rubbed his eyes and nodded. "Among other things," he almost laughed.
Cas turned his eyes to the table.
"I just...I just wish he would listen to me for once when I say I don't want to talk to him, I don't want him to know how I feel."
Dean picked up a half empty tumbler and finished the Jack Daniels off. He tried to stand but stumbled slightly, grabbing the leather jacket from the back of the chair.
Cas sprung to his feet, wrapping an arm around Deans waist to steady him.
They slowly, unsteadily made their way out the bar, Cas gripping Dean as he stumbled.
"I think we should walk tonight Dean," Cas spoke, as he saw Dean fumble his car keys from his pocket.
"Good call," Dean saluted.
The made their way down the wet street, ever so slightly diagonaly, Cas doing his best to keep a straight line, the only sound was their feet hitting the ground.
Why was 'his' chest hurting like this? Was that what it was doing, hurting? He felt like he was being burned out of this body. He felt like the heart was going to explode inside the chest.
That wouldn't be very pretty. No, not at all.
He couldn't quite recall this feeling before, despite the number of bodies he had occupated over his years. No, never quite like this. He didn't think he'd ever actually felt human emotion before.
Why was this time so different? He'd saved lives before, helped humans before. Why was it so difficult this time?
He knew why, but he couldn't help but question it. Here he was, dealing with what was possibly the biggest problem the Heavens had encountered since the dark ages. Dean Winchester, and his brother Sam. Sons of the Apocalypse. The end was coming, and of course, he was charged with the only two men on the face of the Earth that could stop it.
It didn't help that he had become so attached to Dean. He didn't know why. He hadn't felt like this with Joan D'Arc, and he'd quite liked her too.
Dean was just...he couldn't quite place it. In all his centuries, he couldn't quite make anything of it.
He looked at Deans face as the trudged along, trying to decipher exactly what was going on. "Cas, you're making me edgy," Dean said suddenly, turning his head to smirk at the Angel.
Cas dragged his eyes away, forcing himself to watch the road through the alley ahead.
"Why do you do that?" Dean asked, stopping and straightening himself up.
"Do what?" Cas asked, stepping back.
"Watch me."
He looked at Dean quizzically.
"It's my job."
Dean cocked an eyebrow, "Finding me drunk in bars after fighting with my kid brother is in your job description too, huh?"
"Dean, I-"
He was cut off by the force of Dean slamming his lips against his own. He tried to push him off, but felt himself being pushed against the alley wall.
It felt like an eternity before Dean pulled away. Cas looked down at the other mans hands, holding onto the candy coat he wore with such strength.
"Dean, we've been over this..." Cas whispered, stroking the fingers clasping his coat.
"I don't care," Dean whined, pushing his face into Castiels shoulder, "I don't care that this isn't your body, I don't care that you'll leave, I don't care that this is wrong-"
This time, it was Dean that was cut off from his words. He felt soft hands lift his face up, and for a second he could have sworn it was Castiels face he was looking into, not this, this Jimmy Novak. "Cas..." he faltered.
"Dean, I can't, not again..." "You wanna know what it is your feeling?" Dean said, the words almost venomous.
Cas looked at him, his eyes confused.
"It's love, Cas, that's what it is. It's want. It's lust. It's hate for feeling like this. It's every dirty little human emotion possible." He pushed his lips against Castiels once more, before pulling way, his grip on the Angels coat hardening.
"I can see it everytime you look at me. Every time you think I don't see, I do. Every time you stand in the corner of a dingy motel room, thinking I'm asleep. That isn't you just watching over me Cas, that isn't you just protecting me for your God."
As a tear ran down Deans face, Cas felt something in his stomach move. He felt like something was punching him, from the inside out. It hurt. Just like Dean said. Cas wiped the tear away, pressing his thumb into Deans cheek.
"I don't...I don't know what to do anymore..." He said, confused as to why his voice was breaking.
"I do," Dean said, pressing himself closer, "Please, Cas, just...just..."
Cas clasped his hands on the sides of Deans face, pulling him in. He kissed him, softly. He wanted nothing more than to take the pain away. Every little bad thought inside Dean Winchesters head. Every bad feeling, every scar that graced his body.
He wanted to take it all. He wanted to suffer, not Dean. He wanted to smite every single God forsaken thing that hurt him. And not because it was his job. Not because he was being told to. Because he...he...he what? What was this? "Ok," He whispered, pulling Deans face away, "Ok."
He looked into Deans hopeful, relieved eyes.
"Just tonight. Just once more. Ok."
Castiel stared down at Deans sleeping face, barely visible from the darkness surrounding him. What little moonlight shone through the thin motel curtains highlighted every feature of Deans face.
He stood up, pulling on his pants and shirt, walking into the bathroom.
He stared at 'his' reflection. This vessel. He had a wife, a child. And now here was this, this Angel of the Lord, occupying his body. Fornicating with another man.
What was he doing?
This just proved he was alone. No one was watching. If they were, they would have stopped him, wouldn't they? This was wrong. All so wrong.
He turned, leaning against the bathroom sink, watching the sleeping man through the doorway.
Just once more, he'd told him. He knew that was a lie. Oh great, now he was a liar, as well as a blasphemer.
He knew it would happen again, and again, just like it had before. He knew that in a few days time, he would be finding Dean in yet another run down old bar in the middle of nowhere, and be watching him sleep off the alcohol and sex, yet again.
Again, and again, and again. Until the time came. He'd leave. He'd be punished for this. Or maybe they'd spare him, if they thought Dean had done a good enough job in, you know, saving the world and all.
But he'd still leave. He'd be gone. The vessel would go back to his own life and family. Or maybe he'd be destroyed.
Dean would still be here, on Earth. He'd be among the humans, and the mundane life of killing demons he'd had before. Dean would be here, alone, without him.
Dean would be here, and he would be in Heaven. Apart. He probably wouldn't even remember this feeling. He wouldn't remember what it was like to feel like this.
And that...that scared him more than anything.