It's the end of another long and moderately disturbing day and Dean is feeling tired and irritable. The case, a haunting, had practically been a milk run. The bones had been salted and burned; no fuss no muss. The grave site had been tucked away in a quiet family cemetery on the haunted property, and the current owners were more than willing to cooperate if it meant no more unwanted creepy housekeeper.

No, it had been Sam's attitude towards the family that had been off. Since when did Sam 'Mr Warm and Squishy' Winchester tell a teary-eyed six year old – especially one with a cute little button nose and pink bows in her blonde pigtails that matched those tied to the ears of her beloved stuffed toy bunny rabbit Mr Jumpy – to wipe her snotty nose and 'suck it up'?

Maybe he needed more time to get his head straight before he was let loose on the public. Being tormented in Hell had a way of screwing with your sense of perspective, as Dean well knew. And it was true that the ghost of an old lady who didn't like her doilies messed with was pretty small potatoes in the grand scheme of things. Still, it wasn't as if the kid or her family had any reason to know that they'd missed out on the Apocalypse in between selling up their condo in Glendale, Arizona and moving to Hemmingford, Nebraska, because some people were oblivious, or maybe lucky, that way.

But Dean can only bring up his misgivings with Bobby so many times, and he's pretty sure that he's already hit the limit. Bobby gets it, and he's sympathetic, but there isn't a whole lot more he can do than he's already done; which is to tell Dean to stay sharp and report in if Sam does something more suspicious than getting snarky with a civilian.

But having limited options doesn't change the fact he needs to talk to someone and that sure as hell isn't going to be Sam, because they've already had that conversation and having it again isn't going to get them anywhere, at least not tonight. Not when he's half drunk, and his head is pounding, and the best bed he can look forward to is the backseat of the Impala.

He knocks back the last of his Jack and glances over at the pool table. Sam is hustling a new mark. He purposely breaks sloppily and more money is added to the pile on the edge of the table. They'll be at it a while, so Dean doesn't bother to let Sam know he's leaving. He tosses a couple of bills on the table to settle up and heads outside.

The roadhouse isn't quite in the middle of nowhere, but it's far enough from civilization that light pollution doesn't bleed all over the night sky. A million stars shine brightly overhead, and it's so beautiful and peaceful that Dean finds it hard to believe that somewhere out there a war is raging as factions of angels fight over who's in charge of Heaven because God has walked off the job.

"Bastard," Dean mutters as he crosses over to the Impala and hops up onto the hood. He stretches out with his back against the windshield and wishes he'd swiped a bottle off the bar before he'd left. A little more antifreeze wouldn't do him any harm and it might at least blunt the self-conscious feeling that threatens his pride as he glances up at the night sky again and seeks out his special star.

He hasn't seen Castiel in ages and he misses him more than he thought possible. The star had been chosen one boozy night because it shone brighter than all the other stars around it. It's a starry-er star, just as Cas is a more angelic angel than all of his douche-bag brethren. For Dean, the star is Cas's heavenly avatar, just as the meat-suit who used to be a guy named Jimmy is his form on Earth.

"Hey, Cas?" Dean speaks softly. He can hear the weariness in his voice that suggests maybe he'd be better off climbing into the backseat and catching some Z's rather than holding a one-sided conversation with an angel. "It's me, Dean. It's not an emergency, so don't bust a hump coming down here, I just wanted to talk."

He holds his breath for a couple of beats, listening hard for the flutter of wings and hoping against hope that Cas might materialize onto the hood beside him. Instead, there's nothing but the heavy rumble of an eighteen wheeler out on the highway, downshifting as it approaches the grade. Dean sighs and mentally kicks himself for getting his hopes up. He exhales, venting some of his disappointment, and begins to spill his guts anyway, because if he doesn't get some of this stuff off his chest he's going to end up doing something he knows he'll regret.

There are times being non-corporeal has its advantages. Invisibility is the obvious one, but the ability to be in more than one place at once certainly ranks high on the list. When Castiel hears Dean call his name he has his figurative hands full prosecuting campaigns on multiple battlefields while he is simultaneously taking part in four strategy meetings.

He feels Dean's frustration and it pains him. There are rules for dealing with mortals. They are simple and very clearly defined. Watch over them. Guide their actions without being obvious. Love them dispassionately, and never favor one over another. For millennia, Castiel had obeyed, guiding the humans in his charge as a shepherd might his flock. That was until he met Dean and Sam Winchester and then the rules no longer seemed important, especially when it came to Dean.

He has broken the rules. Not only is he involved with Dean's life, he's in love with him, passionately and completely, although he's careful to hide the ever-changing kaleidoscope of emotions; longing, lust, jealousy, despair and hope, which at times is the most cruel of all his newly discovered feelings. It's difficult. He knows his heart's desire isn't reciprocated, although Dean values his friendship.

Because he doesn't want to damage the relationship they do have, he stays away more than he'd like to, especially when his feelings are at their most tumultuous and his need to make some sort of declaration is nearly a compulsion. Even now, despite being up to his wings in destruction, his resistance is crumbling. To see Dean, if only for a few moments and offer him the comfort he so desperately craves …

Abruptly, he realizes that his longing for Dean is making his attention drift. A cohort of angels is on the verge of being outflanked. Castiel calls up reinforcements, shoring up the line just in time.

The battle rages on.

He can't break away from the war, not just yet. And even if he could, he can't give Dean the reassurance that he needs. Because even though angels are many things, omniscient isn't one of them, and he doesn't want to mouth platitudes. If he was to appear he could not offer the solace he craves to give. He would only add to Dean's frustration and increase his pain.

If things were different …

There are so many things he would do. Castiel feels a bitter sense of regret. It's an emotion he's come to associate with his feelings for Dean. He regrets his desire, even as he embraces it. He regrets his weakness, even though he knows if he hadn't been weak and succumbed to love, he couldn't have protected Dean half as well as he has. He regrets his fear. Because if he wasn't so timid, he could at least make a clean breast of what he wants and then he could work with Dean to find some sort of middle ground that they could both inhabit.

If he could, he would assuage Dean's fears. If he could, he would interrogate every demon in Hell to find the answers that Dean seeks. If he could, he would do everything in his power to make Dean's life Heaven on earth. He would line the highways, along which Dean drives endless miles, with diners that never ran out of pie and fresh coffee. All the motels would have clean, comfortable beds that vibrated on command and cable television with endless channels, all of which had something Dean thought worthy of watching.

If only he could be the person Dean turned to when his hunt had concluded and he wanted to wind down, Castiel wishes as he orders those under his command to attack. The one he laughed with over a beer and a burger, or took to his bed. If Dean would only let him, Castiel would cherish him as only an angel could, revealing enough of his true self so that Dean could experience genuine bliss, and not just the shadow of it that human mating mimicked.

Never again would Dean be lonely. Or lost and adrift. He wouldn't need to sit on the hood of his car talking to the stars, reassuring himself that their separation was temporary, because once Dean's soul and Castiel's grace had bonded they would be permanently united. No matter how extreme the distance, they would never truly be separated.

Besieged as he is, with his brethren waging battle around him and Heaven in chaos, Castiel has never felt more lonely. He needs solace as badly as he senses Dean does. Impulsively he reaches out, embracing Dean tenderly with invisible arms, and wishes for the day when they can truly be together.

Dean smiles as the warm feeling settles over him. It's like he's being gathered in and held close by someone who really gives a damn.

God, it's nice. Really, really nice.

His worries fade out and then disappear entirely as a sense of profound bliss pervades his body. Sex has never been this good. Not even that one time with that pair of twins in Omaha.

He savors the sensation uncritically until his doubts kick in and his brain starts listing off all the monsters who attract their prey with honey before going for the kill. But his gut stays quiet and his instincts tell him that there's no threat behind whatever it is he's experiencing, so he lets go of his paranoia and goes with the flow.

It's incredibly reassuring to know that somewhere out there somebody loves him, completely and unconditionally. And whoever that someone is, they've opened themselves to his pain, taking on the burden of his fears and doubts, his anger and his bone-deep fatigue, giving him the space he needs to take a breath and truly relax in a way he hasn't managed since he figured out that something wasn't quite right with Sam.

Dean rouses out of his state of total contentment enough to open one eye and peek up at the star, wondering if maybe Castiel had been listening after all. "Nah," he says and then reconsiders. A full body bliss wrap definitely fit in the 'mysterious ways' category on the list of weird experiences. And Cas had given him a decidedly iffy look that one time. Still, anybody who did something this nice for him deserved his gratitude. "Cas, buddy? Thanks," Dean whispers to the star and then shuts his eye again, determined to enjoy whatever the hell was happening for as long as he could.

"Hey, Dean."

Well, there was a surprise. As soon as something good appeared in his life it sashayed right back out again. Reluctantly, Dean opens both eyes and clocks Sam striding towards the car. He's in a hurry, but trying to look like he's not. There's a cut on his forehead that's dripping blood down his cheek.

His sense of awareness comes flooding back. Dean takes in everything around him and sees that while he's been tripping something heavy has gone down. The long plate glass window at the front of the roadhouse has been shattered. A woman is screaming her head off as a man picks himself up off the ground outside. His face is a blood-spattered mess and there are shards of glass sticking from his skin. The sense of peace and tranquility evaporates like drops of water on a hot griddle as the woman's screams are joined by the sound of angry shouting.

"Let's blow this joint."

A big guy, one of the ones Sam had hustled earlier, bolts out the front door with a pistol in his hand. His expression says he wants to kill somebody and that person is Sam.

"Yeah, okay." Dean slides off the hood, keys out, and has the engine running by the time Sam yanks the passenger door open. He doesn't bother to look back as he peels out of the parking lot and onto the frontage road that parallels the highway as gunfire rings out from behind them.

They put down a hundred miles before pulling into a motel for the day. The set up is surprisingly comfortable, given the out of the way location, and the diner boasts it has the best homemade pie and freshest coffee for five counties. Dean glances up and sees Cas's star twinkle down at him in the waning night sky.

Despite their latest narrow escape, he can't quite stop himself from smiling as he retrieves his bag from the trunk of the car. Even though the motel is painfully respectable looking and probably lacking in basic necessities, like decent porn channels, the diner's claims are probably too good to be true, and in all likelihood he'd just fallen asleep waiting for Sam and dreamed the whole bliss wrap thing, he can't quite shake the feeling that Castiel, though missing in action, is probably out there, somewhere, watching over him.

End