Castiel had been thinking about it for awhile. How most of the problems thrown on the Winchesters were because of him. "I don't care what you did. We're going to figure this out together," was what Dean had said when Castiel tried to reason to him. The even mention of him leaving them caused Dean to hear none of it and like a stubborn child; he'd shake his head once, throw back a beer and leave the room.
"He's right, Cas." Sam sat in a chair, bent over at the spine with his hands clasped together. His brow was furrowed as he looked to Castiel. "You've helped us out of some tight spots before. This is the least we can do."
No, the Winchesters didn't understand. Castiel couldn't bear the thought of either one of them dying because of him. It was always like them to volunteer and risk their heads but not this time. Not again. This was his problem and his problem alone.
"Sam," Castiel said, and with the younger brother still looking at him, he stepped forward and pressed the palm of his hand to Sam's face.
—
Outside the motel, Dean stood in front of the Impala with its hood up and his head ducked over its interior. He was muttering to himself, searching for something that didn't need to be fixed while he downed what looked like his third beer. Two minutes ago when a breeze had seemed to stir the hair on Dean's head was when Castiel had appeared. He stood a few feet from Dean, his arms at his sides. He knew Dean didn't like it when he watched him, especially without his knowing, but there was something peculiar about a human and how that human acted when one didn't know someone was watching them.
"Dean."
Dean's head shot up and with a thud, he hit his head off the Impala's hood. "Jesus Christ, Cas! You have to stop doing that!"
"I'm sorry, Dean."
It must have been his voice because the moment Castiel spoke, Dean straightened. "What are you –?"
That's when the motel door opened and Sam appeared, looking dazed and perplexed. "Dean, who's this?" he asked, gesturing toward the man in the trench coat.
"Cas, you didn't..."
The expression on Dean's face was one that would forever be burned into Castiel's mind. It was one of accusation, anger and the worst of all – hurt. All he could do now was to make him forget, to make him forget all the pain he had ever caused him. He strode forward until he was face-to-face with Dean, until he could smell the alcohol on his breath. "I'm sorry," he said again, and when Dean seemed to struggle to find his voice, Castiel stretched his hand out and placed it over Dean's face, feeling the light touch of his eyelashes as he covered his eyes.
"Cas, no," Dean choked, but the moment the words escaped his lips, light exploded from underneath Castiel's palm.