Castiel didn't see Dean until he fell. He'd seen the molecules of life jittering in and out of existence. He saw the fire of the soul that burned within like a great golden flame. He saw the beauty of design and the providence of millions of years evolution in his make up.
But as Castiel's grace diminished and heavens sight was stripped from him he saw Dean's hands. And how they would shake with fear, with liquor poisoning and with pain. He heard the rough candour of Dean's voice as it brushed over his eardrums. As it called his name not over the silver tones of prayer but quantified in the night air, over meals and car seats. He felt Deans skin soft, mottled with scars and viciously alive along his palm.
After his grace was revived, along with his life, Castiel pressed his fingers to Dean's broken body and healed him without a seconds thought heaven's light flowing through every inch of him once more. In spite of this when Dean's freshly healed face looked up at him Castiel saw him, saw the man he was, and never lost sight of him again.
A/N: This is a lil Destiel Ficlet i wrote as i was falling asleep the other night. I have this idea about angels and the way they interact with the world around them which i haven't managed to fit into a fic yet. But this explores a tiny bit of that idea. Hopefully i'll be able to extend it into something one day.
Also i know there are a million grammatical errors in this badboy but its more of a whimsical arty thought then a well structured bard-like adage.