A/N: MAJOR SPOILERS for the season 9 finale. Be forewarned. Wow, this finale has been quite an inspiration to my muse! This is Cas' reaction following Dean's death (before learning of his subsequent transformation to a demon). Not intended to be Destiel, but no worries if interpreted as such. DISCLAIMER: I don't own Supernatural. Sigh.

Run as the Rains Come

And now I cling to what I knew

I saw exactly what was true

But oh, no more.

That's why I hold,

That's why I hold with all I have.

-Mumford and Sons, "After the Storm"

I am an Angel of the Lord.

My grace is borrowed, fading fast. I have been human before, and could very well be so again. And I clearly remember the whirlwind of emotions I had experienced during those months after the fall. The taste of peanut butter on my tongue, blending perfectly with the sweetness of grape jelly; the horrible pangs of hunger, the heaviness beneath my eyes as my strange, new body tried to warn me of impending exhaustion. I felt the warm touch of a woman, and the ecstasy of intimacy. And I had felt love.

And now, even though I am once again an angel, while I have lost some of those human qualities I had grown to accept, and perhaps enjoy, there is one which remains. One I had not even experienced during my brief adventures in mortality. Grief is an emotion I had been blissfully spared. Perhaps it may seem callous, heartless. I have witnessed the destruction of humanity, death, despair. A family grieving the loss of a stillborn child, or a family caught in the midst of poverty, struggling to remain afloat. Even the most beautiful of days, cloudless and with a the brilliant rays of the sun shining down, are often followed by the torrential downpours.

I don't understand grief. It is all new to me, all encompassing, and I feel I can't breathe. When Metatron stood before me, gleefully informing me of Dean Winchester's death, I felt the world stand still for the briefest of moments. An ache in my chest I can't explain, and could never begin to understand. Numbness, and then pain. But I cannot cry. For before me Heaven's former scribe stands, eyes filled with hate and a malicious smirk. And before I know it, I find myself handcuffed to a chair, helpless. But I have no fear. The plan I have concocted to (at least hopefully) put an end to this madness. Should all go as smoothly as I hope, Metatron will soon broadcast his schemes over the frequencies of what Dean had once called "angel radio", his coup ironically caused by his impregnating my mind with knowledge. I could not allow myself the luxury to grieve in the chaos which stands before me.

But now, it is quiet. I sit on an ancient looking wooden bench, in what looks to be Central Park in New York. In the distance, a rumble of thunder echoes in the north, heavy clouds soon blanketing what was once a clear sky, blue as a robin's egg. In moments, there will be a downpour. I want to run, to hide from this despair which overwhelms me, like the torrential rains which are about to fall. And yet, I cannot. Sam grieves for his brother, just as I do. He needs me, someone to keep him steady, grounded as he prepares to concoct some sort of plot to bring Dean back. I don't want him to. Sam is my friend, too, and his death would be grieved heavily as well.

I close my eyes, still dry, and I feel another stab of agony as I realize that I cannot shed a tear for my friend. I have gained certain human emotions, but even the faintest hint of grace within me keeps me from the luxury of weeping. I want to cry; I have heard that doing so helps the ache hurt less. Am I doomed to remain like this? Caught between the agony of grief, and yet unable to indulge in the comfort of tears? My god...

The first drops fall, and yet I remain frozen in place. Within minutes I am drenched; but I don't care. I cannot face Sam yet, even though I know how much he needs me. I need to be alone, with my thoughts, prayers... I need to grieve. For when I return to Sam Winchester, I will need to be the warrior the angels so desperately wish me to be. I do wish to only be an angel, and to let the responsibility fall on someone else's shoulders. But Metatron was right about one thing. All I do is for Dean Winchester and his family. He may be gone, but his brother lives on. And he needs someone with the strength to continue the fight.

With a sigh, I rise from the bench, close my eyes.

I can hear, in the distance, a faint prayer.

Please, Cas. I need you.

It's time to be the strong one. Closing my eyes, I draw a deep breath.

Whether I wish to or not, it's time for me to run in the rain.