Tin Angel

by hardwired

Dean watches out for Castiel 'cause the dude's friggin' incapable. Goes into Season 6, so don't read if you're not up to date! If you're not up to date, wth, get on that! This is Dean/Castiel, just fyi. Don't read if you're gonna hate.

Title: Tin Angel

Author: hardwired

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairings: Dean/Castiel (het? what's that?)

Rating: R

Word Count: 15, 089

Disclaimer: You know. Let's not cry about it.

Warnings: No real warnings, just hope you like hugs, angsty!Dean, grounded!Cas/whump, RoboSam, drunk!Dean, badly written Jimmy, and more. It's all in there.

A/N: It's cheesy jeezy. Title is from the Joni Mitchell song. Recommend having Send Me an Angel by the Scorpions on hand for this as well. And In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida toward the end. And Any Way You Want It by Journey. Fuck it just make a playlist. Anjistenjoy nmkay?

It all started with a hug. This was a little surprising to Dean. Not that he didn't love hugs-the feel of a woman's arms around him, her breasts pressed against his chest, the warmth and closeness, that wasn't something he could really knock. It was just that hugs weren't really key in most of the relationships he'd had. A hug was usually a parting gift, a way for a woman to say, "This is all you're getting. No offense." If a girl was really interested, they held their body back, like they didn't trust it, or they put it front and center, reaching out like a nice, curvy antenna trying to pick up the right signal. As far as other dudes went, he wasn't the kind of guy that was too insecure to manage a man hug when appropriate, but he didn't even hug Sam or Bobby that often. Huggin' those dudes was done to say, "Glad you're alright," or, "I got your back." The love was implied because it was obvious.

Dean didn't think, before dragging Cas toward him with a vice grip on one shoulder, "This guy doesn't understand pop culture, let alone unspoken bro-to-bro rules." He wasn't sure what he was thinking, but it was somewhere around, "Glad you're alright," but closer to the intensity of, "Your existence matters to me." He wrapped his arms around the angel's broad shoulders, and held him tight. He'd thought Cas was dead for sure this time, and it was all on Dean. Just making sure he was right here and solid felt pretty damn good. He didn't even have anything to say, because he was saying it with this hug. He didn't realize that more than a moment had passed until he felt the soft press of palms against his back, and the slow drop of Cas' shoulders as he relaxed. Then Dean knew, all at once, based on a great deal of experience, that something really fucking unexpected was happening. He wasn't just hugging Cas anymore, he was holding him. Cas' arms tightened slightly and Dean upgraded that assessment to they were /holding each other/.

Dean felt like this was just about right. He'd always wanted to know what was so gay about caring for another guy. He had a good grip on what a real man was supposed to do or be like, probably because he had a couple of good macho role models. Dean didn't like "chick-flick" moments, but the reason they were uncomfortable as hell was that they just didn't fit in with everyday stuff. You couldn't just be spillin' your guts every second or you'd end up spilling your actual guts. He had to focus, he had to keep a lot of self-loathing and anxiety shit wrapped up and wait for maybe the right moment or maybe sometime close to acceptable or necessary. And, yeah, that's what was eatin' him up most of the time. Call it touchy-feely or self pity or whatever. You try carrying this load of crap every day and night of your life.

So he held on to Castiel, because he knew this wasn't awkward, like it would be with anyone else. Cas had seen his soul already, right? So a hug wasn't much in comparison to that kind of nudity.

"Thank you, Dean," Cas said, subdued like it might've been a whisper if Cas was capable of modulating his voice at all.

Dean put his hand on the back of Cas' head like he used to do with Sam when the sasquatch was still young enough to appreciate this kind of thing. It didn't fit quite the same way, but accomplished about the same thing.

"I'm glad you're okay, man," he answered. He gave the angel a pat on the back and pulled away. Cas' arms dropped back to his sides and he stared at Dean the same way he always did, except maybe with less frustration. Dean noted to himself, if he ever needed a hug for some dumb reason, he could get it from Cas. He was a winged pain in the ass, but he still made a pretty damn good guardian angel.

"We have important matters to attend to," Cas said. Right, because it was the apocalypse. How could Dean forget?

More than once, Dean caught himself wondering, "Is this Jimmy I'm jawing at?"

He wouldn't bring it up, and neither would Sam or Bobby, because it wouldn't really help a damn thing. They were all pretty far past arguing about morality. They each had lines they wouldn't cross, and shit they'd done that they weren't keen to dig up any time soon. After that blowup with Jimmy's family, and Cas finally coming back around to bust Dean out of the beautiful room, the issue had come to settle, and they just had to trust Cas with it.

But Dean still wondered, because he wanted to see Cas as this great guy who he could trust to do the right thing and understand what lines Dean didn't want anybody to cross. The problem was that possession was possession; it was all demonic in Dean's eyes. So, angels had consent. Yeah, right, they had it based on lies and whole steaming heap of duress.

But, he didn't ask, because Cas was important, and he knew better than to open that can.

Then, during the time when it was just Dean and his occasional angel sidekick, right after the hug to end all hugs, while him and Cas had been arguing the finer points of strategy, something really damn weird happened.

"How many times do I have to say this, Cas? We can't just swagger in the joint and ask if any poor sap has a demon riding their ass. We'll get smoked," Dean barked.

"Perhaps, but there is very little time to waste, and integrating ourselves would be near impossible. Our best chance for success-"

"Cas, are you... are you crying?" A fat tear had been sliding down Cas' gaunt face, and now an inordinate amount of water was streaming out of his eyes, gathering at his chin and dripping off as he blinked. Castiel wiped roughly at his cheeks, seeming frustrated by the inconvenience.

"It is not of import," he sniffed, "We need to act swiftly. This is our-"

"Cas, what the hell?" Dean grabbed the angel flunky by the shoulder to force him to look Dean in the eye. He was still crying, and trying to wipe away the tears with the back of one hand.

"I am fine," Castiel said sternly.

"The hell you are! Is this a typical angel thing, spontaneous weeping?" Dean leaned over to the small table they were standing next to, picking up the box of tissues there and offering it to Castiel.

"I am not /weeping/," Cas growled, though he took the box and wiped his face with several tissues.

"Then what the hell are you doing?" Dean asked. Castiel sighed in frustration, probably wishing he could avoid these types of situations somehow because they were a waste of his time.

"I am mourning," he snapped, as if to add a bitchy "If you MUST know."

"What? Mourning? Mourning who?" Dean pressed on, becoming more confused. "Is this because you were, you know... excommunicated?" Castiel either gave him an unimpressed stare or a glare, it was hard to tell.

"I cannot control it," Cas murmured in a way that reminded Dean a little too much of pubescent frustration.

"When did this start?" Dean asked, leaning against the table and crossing his arms. The message was clear: you're gonna tell me what's up, right here, right now.

Cas looked at him for a long moment before answering, still blinking away tears. "Several weeks ago."

"Seriously?"

"Yes," Castiel answered, but Dean got the feeling he was leaving something out. He decided to take a shot in the dark.

"Does this have something to do with Jimmy?" Cas froze.

"Yes," he answered again. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Come on, Cas. How about an explanation? What the hell is going on?"

Cas hesitated before responding. He had stopped crying, but his eyes were still red and puffy. He set the tissue box back on the table.

"I can't control it," he started, "I am not sad, but this vessel seems to out of flux since Jimmy's soul was expelled. It is forcing me to mourn."

"Wait, what? Jimmy's soul was expelled? Since when? Cas, why didn't you say something? Is he alright?" Dean couldn't seem to stop the questions. It was so rare for him to be getting any kind of information out of Cas this way.

Castiel seemed to think all of a sudden that sitting down would be easier, so he did. Dean immediately sat opposite him at the table, habitually lifting the blue velvet curtain away from the window to check outside the room. The sun would be going down soon.

"Since my resurrection, I believe. I did not notice at first. Then, I began to realize that something else had changed."

"Aside from the whole Sweet Angel High suspension?" Dean asked.

"Yes, aside from that," Castiel grunted, seeming alright with the trivialization of his fall from grace, "When the tears began, I realized what had happened. I had hoped a situation like this would not arise." Dean ignored the last part and pressed on.

"So, what exactly happened to Jimmy?" he asked the million dollar question.

"I believe he has simply passed on," Cas answered.

"Passed on?" Dean asked.

"By the grace of God, as I was resurrected, I believe Jimmy's soul is in heaven," Cas clarified. He swiped a hand across his eyes and was looking almost normal again.

"So, since Lucy busted out, you've been riding solo in there? In Jimmy's body?" Dean sat back in his chair to chew on this information.

"Yes."

"Okay," Dean nodded.

"Do you begrudge me for taking this form?" Castiel asked flatly.

"No, no," Dean waved him off, "Actually, it's nice to know there isn't a guy getting his face comet blasted off in there."

"I'm glad you approve," Castiel replied. If Dean didn't know any better, he would've thought that was a joke.

After that, Dean did feel a lot better about hanging out with Castiel. When he got back together with Sam, his brother seemed grateful for the change too. They didn't bring it up again, though, because it just didn't seem like a good idea, and it was a weird thing to talk about.

The other thing they didn't talk about was whether or not Dean's own Clarence Odbody felt any remorse for jumping the bones of some poor deluded salesman and riding him through town for over a year.

Time passed, events transpired. From the outside, it might've been hard to call Dean and Castiel friends, but they were nonetheless. Dean's standards for friendship weren't really standards, more like, "Care enough to save one another's ass and you're good as gold." Cas might've felt a sense of duty toward Dean, but it was far from a leash. He sacrificed a hell of a lot because he believed following Dean would lead to the best possible outcome, and the most righteous. When Dean strayed, he ended up with a good number of scars from the beating Cas dished out. That's probably how you knew it was a friendship.

After months of worrying about Cas' weak human ass, Sam jumped in the pit and the angel was back, right as rain. Then instead of a drunk, busted up angel, there was a poor bastard without a dime to his name, no family, a huge hole somewhere in his heart or his soul, and the greatest weight of obligation he'd ever had to carry. And Cas had the nerve to be honest with him and then leave.

Dean didn't realize just how abandoned he'd been until the year was up and he saw Castiel again for the first time. And, damn if he didn't feel pretty damn resentful. It was even worse when he realized how glad he was to see the offending angel. It occurred to him that he'd been thinking of Castiel as his guardian angel for so long he'd forgotten that Cas existed for other reasons before Dean came along. He wasn't Dean's guardian angel, even if they both acted like it a lot of the time. They were friends, because that kind of thing didn't just go away in Dean's world, and obviously Cas still considered him somewhat worth while. But, Cas was some kind of archangel general all of a sudden and there wasn't much Dean could do to help him out, except distract him and keep him sane by needing his help all the time. It was looking bad for Cas' side, which sucked because he was obviously the coolest angel Dean had met so far, especially since the whole "Mikezilla vs Mothranna" episode.

He'd forgotten a long while ago that anyone else had even filled out those hunched shoulders, so seeing Jimmy again was a little jarring for more than one reason.

Dean woke up dead. Again. He was laying on the hood of the impala, looking up at the sky. The stars were twisting in a really fantastic way, and for a second Dean felt a little bit relieved. Life was hell. Sam didn't have a soul, he'd lost Ben and Lisa, and he had no control, no respect, nothing. The idea that he'd admitted out loud that he was a killer, a skilled murderer, and yet he still ended up here was pretty awesome.

Then he realized, you know, he was dead, and nobody needed him for a vessel anymore so he might not get out of this one alive. All of a sudden, he really didn't want to be dead right now. He didn't know why, there wasn't a really good reason for him to want to be alive, but he just had this fear, filling up his gut and flooding into his mouth, that this was it. And that felt like total shit.

He sat up and looked around. Nothing new-it was Heaven. He slid off the hood and jumped into the car, starting it up and cranking the radio to full volume. He twisted the tuner, but got nothing.

"Cas?" he asked experimentally. Nothing. "Castiel?" he yelled. Not a sound. He pulled the door shut and looked through the windshield, down the road spilled out in front of him. He could only see so far ahead before it was obscured by fog. He had a bad feeling that he was shit out of luck. Then, he thought of something.

He hesitated, feeling a little dumb for even trying, before he leaned back toward the radio and calling, "Ash? You there? It's me, Dean."

He jumped as a door was pulled open to the backseat and Ash clambered in.

"Welcome back, brother," Ash said, flicking his head to get the bottom of his mullet off his shoulder and shoving a beer against Dean's back. Dean hurried to grab it and turned back to watch Ash down one of his own.

"I guess I really am dead then, huh?" Dean said, opening his beer. This was a heaven Impala. Couldn't exactly get beer on the upholstery.

"Yep. Terminated. Gone with God. Once again. Told ya I'd see you soon," Ash answered, burping and wiping his mouth off with his arm.

"Sam's not with me this time," Dean said.

"Yeah, I know. You ain't got a quest from God to call up a retrieval mission neither. Roadhouse?" Ash brushed through the issues weighing Dean down as if he was weeping over a hangnail. Dean rolled his eyes.

"I don't want to be here for long, Ash," he said flatly.

"Yeah, well, I dunno what to tell you, Dean. I want another beer and I don't like your version of heaven here," he gestured around the inside of the Impala, "So let's get the hell back to my place and we can tackle your solutionless problem while gettin' our drinks on."

Dean stared at him, unimpressed.

"Geez, you are one hell of a wet blanket, man," Ash said, exiting the car. Dean followed. Ash was swaggering off toward the side of the road, so Dean followed. Ash suddenly disappeared into the trees and Dean sprinted to catch up, finding the wiry man waiting for him at a door that was sticking up from the the hillside all by itself. There was some kind of enochian sigil drawn on it in blue chalk, so Dean wasn't really surprised when Ash went through and didn't come out on the other side. He followed, and found himself in the Roadhouse's store room, standing amongst a number of crates and kegs, as well as a couple of boxes of busted computer parts and tools. Ash was next to him, marking something out on the door they'd just come through. Once done, he slung an arm around Dean's shoulders and guided him out of the room.

"Dean, Dean, Dean. I like you, man," Ash said.

Dean gave him a half-simpering smile, "Thanks, Ash."

They were almost at the bar when Dean heard familiar voices in the next room. The sunlight blinded him for a moment before the talk stopped and he saw who was in the roadhouse waiting for them. Ash released him with a slap on the back to get behind the bar, and Dean couldn't help smiling as he walked forward and Pamela greeted him with a flirtatious hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"If it isn't my boy Dean," she smiled. "I see you're still not keeping out of trouble."

"How's that show at the Meadowlands?" he grinned.

"A riot," she answered. He finally looked over to the other person at the bar. He didn't know quite what to say because it was the last person he'd expected to see.

"Hey, Dean," Jimmy gave him a little wave before leaning his head back in his palm with his elbow against the bar. He was wearing a Los Angeles Angels tshirt, giving Dean the impression that he had a much better sense of humor than he remembered.

Pamela hooked her arm around Dean's and led him back to the bar next to Jimmy.

"We like to share angel war stories," she joked.

"You look surprised to see me," Jimmy said. For all intents and purposes, he looked pretty content, which was what really surprised Dean. He had one hand loosely settled on the base of a beer bottle.

"A little bit," Dean admitted.

"Castiel not missing me?" he asked. Dean chuckled.

"It was touch and go for a while there," he answered.

"Sounds like our relationship alright," Jimmy joked.

"What are you doing here, at the Roadhouse? Seems like your heaven wouldn't have anything to do with this crap," Dean couldn't keep himself from asking.

"Ah, yes," Jimmy answered, taking a sip from his beer, "But you're forgetting, I asked for a life of excitement. I prayed for God to give me a sign that there was more to life than what was readily available to me, wanted him to use me as his instrument in a holy mission."

"Yeah, and we saw how well that went for you," Dean answered. Pamela laughed.

"Once you go supernatural, you never go back," she joked. That hit a little too close to home, so Dean decided to ignore it.

"Okay, I have my own heaven. Of course I do, but so does Pamela. She was blinded and killed by this crap yet here she is coming for a visit," Jimmy said.

"Don't hold back on the painful memories, Jimmy," Pamela snorted.

"I'm just saying, it's good to be around other people who know the truth, who I can talk to about this crap, have a laugh with about how insane it all is," Jimmy said, raising his eyebrows and taking another drink as if to say, "Get it?"

Dean nodded and glanced over at Ash as he was suddenly provided with a brew. He saw the mullet fly as Ash shotgunned a can of PBR, but his attention was still on Jimmy. He took a swig off his beer.

"You know, you really seem like you're doing alright, man. I'm glad. I mean, Cas said he thought you were up here, but it's good to know for sure. You deserve it after that shit storm that came down on you," he said.

"Yeah, well I might as well have done a rain dance," Jimmy laughed.

"Man, don't say that. It's a load of crap what happened to you. Devotion like that shouldn't be rewarded by a shit ton of angel-light rape followed quickly by an early end." Dean was a little surprised to find out how strongly he felt about this.

Jimmy shrugged, "I'm over it. I mean, I miss Amelia and Claire but I wasn't going to be able to see them again anyway. At least this way I'm not riding the 5000 degree wild wind while I wait. And, since Castiel still has my body, Claire's safe."

"Yeah, well Cas was still a dick for taking advantage of you like that," Dean replied, swigging the last of his beer and seeing Ash's hand take the bottle away from in front of him and quickly replace it with another. Sitting behind him, he could feel Pamela pat his shoulder comfortingly. Jimmy set his beer back down on the bar and stared at Dean for a moment before speaking again.

It was a little eerie to be getting stared at that way. Jimmy was nothing like Castiel aside from the flesh-tortilla, and that piercing blue-eyed stare had just become too much of a Cas trademark.

"Dean, you really shouldn't speak ill of Castiel. He's really devoted to you," Jimmy said, flat and serious. Dean heard Ash snort somewhere behind him. Pamela was playing with the hair at the back of his neck, which was altogether kind of calming and not too distracting.

"Devoted?" Dean repeated.

Jimmy nodded, "About as much as I was when I was praying to God, but he knows you better, so I feel like you got the better deal. I've been closer to him than anyone, so I kind of know what I'm talking about."

Behind Dean, Ash coughed loudly, sounding a lot like, "Ahuh-gayha-huh."

"Are you asking me to appreciate him or something?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, Dean, and I have more right to say this than anyone, and I totally think he deserves your appreciation. Maybe not mine, but whatever he did to me is between me and him, not you. So just, suck on that and... deal," Jimmy said, taking another drink. Dean snorted.

"Dude, you are such a friggin' boy scout. Pamela, haven't you educated this guy on shit talking yet?" he asked, choosing to gloss over what Jimmy had said and deal with it later. She started stroking the back of his ear and he had to grin.

"Well, if you're going to be around for a while, you feel free to take up that unholy mission," she answered, sounding amused. He sighed, looking around the Roadhouse and taking another drink. His stomach began to sink again. So this was really it, huh?

"Sorry, Dean," Ash said, sliding into view and leaning heavily against the bar, toward Jimmy, "I'm a genius, but I ain't a magician. Plus that whole civil war is happenin', so if there was somebody who wanted to keep you around, they'd probably be too busy to come trolling for you down here. Sorry, bro." As a consolation, he slapped a bowl of peanuts on the bar and pushed them over to Dean.

Dean smiled bitterly. He couldn't even be happy in Heaven, with good company, nothing trying to kill his ass, and an endless supply of beer and peanuts. Sam's body was on Earth, his soul stuck even deeper down, and here was Dean, above it all and even more goddamn ineffectual than ever. So much for angelic devotion.

All of a sudden, the jukebox started to rattle to life, slinging a track into the play position. The four of them were silent, looking over at the multicolored machine and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Slowly, melancholy guitar began to drift through the room. It took Dean a second to recognize the song, and then he started to laugh. The other three turned to look at him.

"Dean, you crazy ass, what the hell are you laughing at?" Pamela asked.

He had to wipe away a tear, shaking his head. Wow, this was some powerfully cheesy relief.

"That's just a bit too much. This isn't part of your heavenly doing, is it Ash?" he had to ask the bartender. Ash put up his hands in innocence.

"Nah, man. I don't know this one," he answered.

"What song is this?" Jimmy asked, still looking at the jukebox. It was getting into the first dramatic verse.

"It's 'Send Me an Angel' by the Scorpions," Dean gave a huff of laughter.

"What the hell?" Pamela asked for everyone in the room. But, it was hard for Dean to be surprised when the song suddenly started to fritz out, playing a snatch of 'Knockin on Heaven's Door' before the static reached its crescendo and a familiar voice finally escaped through the speaker.

"Dean?" Dean got up from the bar, slowly setting his beer down before walking over to the jukebox. He leaned against it, glancing back at the three people at the bar. Jimmy was grinning a told-you-so grin.

"Hey Cas. What's up?" he asked casually.

"You weren't on the axis mundi. Where are you?" Cas asked, sounding impatient.

"I'm at the Roadhouse," Dean answered.

"Tell whoever's there to lower the ward. I'm coming to get you," Cas answered flatly.

Dean looked back to the bar, where there was one angel-subverting mastermind, one angel peeping tom, and one angel martyr. Ash had crossed his arms over his chest, adopting a stubborn posture.

"Hang on, I'll go back to the road," Dean replied to the jukebox.

"Fine," Cas answered. There was a loud crack of static and the jukebox went dead. Dean made his way back to the bar.

"Figured you guys didn't want an angel up in here," he said. Pamela stood to wrap her arms around him.

"You lucky bastard," she growled, giving him a tight hug. He smiled. She let go of him and he stepped over to Jimmy, clapping him on the shoulder. He had to hesitate before speaking, but he figured he wouldn't get another chance to speak his mind for a while.

"Man, I just wanted to say, I'm really sorry I couldn't do more for you," Dean said.

"Your ego is astonishing," Pamela said behind him.

"It's alright, Dean. It wasn't your fault," Jimmy answered over her. He smiled reassuringly, patting Dean faintly on the arm. He really was nothing like Cas. It was like looking at a brother, or a cousin. He nodded, turning away.

Ash's arms flung themselves around Dean, giving him a forceful slap on the back before he pulled away to clear his throat and toss his hair over his shoulder.

"Now, don't be a stranger, Dean my man, and watch out for that big fella of yours too. We'll be rooting for you," he gave Dean a thumbs up and Dean had to grin at the nerdiness in it.

"Thanks, Ash. Mind walking me to my car?" he asked, as they walked toward the front door.

"You ain't gonna try and... kiss me or nothin', right?" Ash joked. Dean snorted.

"You're way out of my league, dude," he answered, watching Ash draw a sigil on the door in orange chalk. He opened the door and stepped back to let Dean pass. Dean stopped in the doorway, looking back one last time at Jimmy and Pamela. Jimmy raised his beer and Pamela blew him a kiss. He smirked, lifting a hand in farewell as he left the Roadhouse.

Suddenly, it was dark again and he was standing in front of the Impala. He looked up. The stars were still swirling. He looked around but he was alone and there was no doorway in sight. He sat down on the hood of the car.

"Hey Cas, I'm here," he muttered under his breath. His life was absurd. And his death.

He gasped in excruciating pain, blinded momentarily before he found himself standing in a cheap hotel room. The pain was suddenly gone, except for the bruising grip Castiel had on his shoulder, over the brand he'd left when he'd resurrected Dean from Hell. His grip let up slightly as Dean got control of his breathing. He looked around at the room. Even though he could kick himself for thinking it, the place looked familiar. He saw the ad card above the tv and immediately knew where he was.

"Hondo Hotel," he muttered, "What the hell, I didn't die in New Mexico," he breathed.

"I apologize for taking so long, Dean," Cas said. He still seemed to be supporting Dean by the shoulder, and when Dean looked down the angel's beige sleeve and at his scowling face, Dean couldn't remember feeling so relieved. It made it hard for him to choke out a reply. Jimmy was right, there was a lot to appreciate here.

"Dude, you've saved my ass so many friggin' times. You never have to-Cas!" Castiel's legs suddenly seemed to fold under him, and Dean was catching the angel before he knew what was happening. He lifted him back to a standing position, pulling his arm around Dean's shoulders. Cas groaned, and Dean was alarmed to see blood slowly trickling from one side of his nose.

"I seem to have over exerted myself," Castiel said, sounding mildly surprised. Sam chose this moment to burst into the room, gun blazing. He immediately lowered his pistol when he saw what was happening.

"Dude, you're back," he said, sounding a little surprised and appreciative of the idea.

"Yeah, yeah, Twiki, I'm fine. Help me get this deadbeat on the bed," Dean replied. Sam hurried over to help his brother lift the angel, who struggled to push himself up on Dean's shoulder, only to fall onto him more. Dean grunted in effort as they finally managed to lift Cas onto the bed.

"Damn, Cas, lay off the carbs," he said.

"I am neither fat nor dead," Cas snapped weakly, looking down to where Sam was taking off his shoes for him. He began to protest, but Dean pressed him down onto the mattress with a hand on his chest.

"Chill, Cas. I don't know how, but you obviously overheated something." As a second thought, he put a palm on Cas' forehead. It was strange because Cas had told him that angels ran cold. "You're burning up."

"I am fine, Dean," Cas answered, sounding mildly frustrated.

"The hell you are. How do you feel?"

"i feel... unwell," Cas finally admitted, frowning deeply. Dean turned back to Sam, who was calmly watching the scene from the end of the bed.

"Gimme those tissues, wouldya?" he said, motioning to the box next to the tv. Sam quickly handed them over. Dean pulled a couple out, leaning over Castiel to wipe the blood off his face. The angel stared at him, not moving but not seeming altogether thrilled about the attention. It was a lot like when Sam was little and had to resign himself to Dean caring for him when he was really sick. That was how Dean always knew when he really felt bad-he shut up.

"I'll grab the first aid kit from the trunk," Sam offered, immediately jogging back out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

"Sam, that would be-" Castiel began to protest, but Sam was already gone, "-unnecessary."

"Cas, will you shut the hell up? We're gonna make sure you're okay," Dean barked. Cas stared at him for a long time before finally turning away.

"Fine."

Dean found it astonishing that a creature thousands of years old could still act like a 12-year-old brat.

"You know, we already knew you sucked nuts at taking care of yourself. We didn't need the reminder," he joked, but he really was worried. He never thought he'd see Cas in such a human state again. When Castiel didn't respond, he sighed in frustration. "You gotta just... take better care of yourself, man. Tell us if you think this shit is gonna happen, okay?"

"I believe you should be thinking more positively about my resurrecting you than about my current state of discomfort," he answered stubbornly, his words strained though he was doing his best to hide it. He still wasn't any good at hiding his emotions, and his discomfort showed all over his face.

"Yeah, well thanks, but I ain't the only one who's gonna need some resurrecting if you keep this shit up," Dean replied.

"Is that a threat?" Castiel growled, turning back to him. Dean snorted, gently pulling the inert angel into a sitting position. He was able to remove the trench coat without much of a struggle, and threw it across the room to the other bed.

"Please take care. I like that coat," Cas said. Dean froze with a hand on Cas' tie, the angel's head lolling while Dean's other hand supported him by the neck.

"It's Jimmy's coat," Dean said, really realizing it for the first time. Castiel narrowed his eyes, and Dean hurried to pull the tie off and throw it across the room too. Cas didn't say anything, but continued to let Dean manipulate his body, rolling him up in the comforter. He was sweating, a small amount of blood still crusted on his face. This situation was a little too easy to react too, a little too close to the old "bitch slapped my own grace out" human Cas from over a year ago.

Sam finally jogged back into the room.

"Dude, why the hell did you shove this thing in the least convenient place ever?" he asked dryly, handing the well-worn plastic box over to Dean, who flicked it open and rummaged through its contents.

"I dunno, Sammy. Maybe 'cause I thought the weapons needed to be more conveniently located than the frickin' bandaids?" He shook his head. "Where the hell's the damn thermometer?"

"Dean, this is quite-"

"Shut up, Cas." Dean suddenly found what he was looking for and leaned back over Castiel. "Now, my little winged peanut, say 'ah' for Daddy," he smirked. Castiel glared at him.

"Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"Just do it," Dean barked. Castiel opened his mouth and Dean stuck the thermometer under his tongue with a none-too-gentle motion before reclosing the angel's mouth for him with a clatter of teeth.

"Ow," Cas managed. Then, "Why am I doing this?"

"Just shut up, don't move, and don't take the damn thermometer out. I'm gonna go talk to Sammy and we'll be right back," Dean replied, patting Cas on the chest once before standing from the bed. He grabbed Sam by the elbow and led him out of the room. Sam tried to look back at Castiel, but Dean just dragged him forward. Once they were outside, he shut the door and looked around the parking lot to make sure they were alone. It was night, and Dean guessed late (or early) because of how quiet it was. There were only a couple of other rooms with lights on down the row.

"Lookin' pretty good for a dead guy," Sam joked, once again reminding Dean how friggin' irritating Sam was without a soul.

"What the hell are we doing in New Mexico?" Dean asked, "Weren't we hunting some friggin' ghoul in North Carolina?"

"Uh, yeah, we were hunting a /ghost/," Sam snorted, "His name was Dromgoole, but that's about as lucky as you just got."

"What the hell happened?" Dean asked, already running out of patience. Sam shrugged.

"You got witch smoked, Dude. Some nasty thousand-year-old prof was using Dromgoole's gravestone for blood magic. Guess he didn't like you lighting up the kid's bones, cause he kebabed you before I could get there. Don't worry, though, I totally got him back," Sam explained, seeming pleased with himself. Dean rolled his eyes. No wonder his back hurt.

"Okay, but why are we here?" Dean asked, gesturing to everywhere in general.

"Oh, I figured, like you said, I've gotta watch out for my bro, so I called Cas. He actually came fluttering on down, which kinda surprised me. He got really pissy with me when I told him what happened, then he just said he'd take care of it and disappeared with your body," Sam explained.

"Yeah, and?"

"And nothing. Bobby called and said there was a job out in New Mexico, and I told him we'd take it. Didn't think it was worth stressing him out over you, since Cas was on the case. I just got back from the hunt, saw the lights were on and there you were. So what's wrong with your boyfriend?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "He's not my-okay. I dunno. He just collapsed like two seconds ago."

Sam shrugged. "Maybe you're just a pain in the ass to bring back, or he's really overworked upstairs. He'll probably be fine in like a half an hour."

The next day, Dean could've punched Sam in the face for that comment. Because of course, Cas wasn't fine. Dean had to put him to bed while he was still running a fever, and when he woke up in the morning he and Sam had to use up half the ice in the hotel and throw him in the tub with it because his temperature was 110.

But then, even after Cas recovered from that little hiccup, he still couldn't seem to climb back up the ladder to Heaven.

He couldn't just heal himself, seemed to be rule number one. And, he couldn't go anywhere. At least, not without putting one foot in front of the other or hopping in the back of the Impala. He had to sleep, which was one of the weirdest things to Dean, especially in comparison to Sam's sudden lack of slumbering. He started to smell, which was awkward enough when Dean's tactless brother pointed it out, and even more awkward when Dean realized Cas had never taken a shower before. So far he wasn't getting hungry, but Dean was watching for it. He didn't seem to want to refuse a drink when offered, but that wasn't so hard to understand. He could still sense things, hear things. He was connected to the host, it seemed. He was still an angel, he was just a little run down.

Dean tried to keep Cas' spirits up, but the angel was having none of it. He was intensely frustrated and generally terrible to be around. But when Dean suggested he call one of his troops down, he outright refused. Instead they went to Bobby's and Castiel had long and intense brainstorming sessions with the old man, which Dean participated in as a supporting observer, lest one or the other turn around and bite his head off for saying something stupid. Sam was immediately bored with the entire situation, which he made abundantly clear, citing Dean's lectures on the importance of honesty.

One night at Bobby's, after they'd been there for about a week or so, Dean woke up around four in the morning and wandered downstairs for a drink of water. Even though it was September and freezing, he woke up sweating, but couldn't remember if he'd been having a nightmare. Surprisingly, the den was empty. It looked like Bobby had actually made it to bed for once. Dean slid one of the kitchen doors open, only to stop short in the doorway when he caught sight of Cas standing in front of the sink and staring out the window at God knows what because it was pitch black outside.

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but Cas beat him to it. "I couldn't sleep," he explained before Dean could ask.

Dean forgot about the water and gave the angel a pep talk, which went over way too easy. After he'd gotten Cas back to sleep, he decided it was time to deal with this problem with a little more action. The next morning, when he told Bobby that they were gonna have to start kickin' some asses to figure this out, he was surprised to find that the old curmudgeon had already put together a list of places and people they should go look up.

Somehow Sam managed to talk his way out of the trip (after a prolonged fight with his brother that left Dean hoarse, anyway). So, while Sam went off to hunt monsters and do some spying on Grandaddy Samuel, Dean packed up his angel figurine and set off to find some hunter at a Shriner's convention in Oregon.

Dean knew the whole thing about what you're looking for being in the last place you look, but he was about sick of this crap. Every lead they picked up was a bust, or some other kind of bad news. The only thing they really managed to find out was that Cas was actually pretty sharp with a shotgun and he snored like a freight train when he was drunk.

The good news was that Cas didn't seem to be getting any worse. Dean was keeping a close eye, but the not-so-winged menace seemed to have settled down around the half-clipped mark. And, Dean finally managed to get him to say why he didn't want to call a buddy down for assistance, that angels generally disliked Dean and he was afraid of getting him smote, as well as letting definitive word get around that he wasn't in the fight anymore. Dean only asked once or twice how the fight was going, when he saw Cas staring off into space and figured he was tuning in to Heaven FM. But, Cas just got slightly more anxious and said not much had changed, that his side was fighting very hard.

Dean knew it was messed up, but he found himself really liking hunting with Cas, just like in the old days. Unlike with plug-n-play Sam, he wasn't worried about watching his back when he slept, and Cas actually seemed to care what the hell happened to him. He was intensely dedicated to finding out what was eating Gilbert Cas, but in the meantime he couldn't help but feel just a little more alright than usual.

They were somewhere in southern Colorado, headed on to Louisiana when Dean stopped at a gas station in the middle of nowhere off highway 287. It was around nine at night and already dark, and he had to go into the shop to pay cash for the gas. Cas was asleep against the passenger door, and didn't wake up when Dean stopped and got out of the car. Dean just about sprinted indoors, thinking it was good they were getting out of Colorado because his baby didn't much care for snow, and it was cold enough for it. The dude in the shop was a kinda creepy white guy with a big shaggy 'stache and bigger glasses, so Dean just did his best imitation of polite and bought a Mr. Goodbar to keep his blood sugar up for the drive.

He swaggered back out of the shop, marveling at how expensive a fucking Mr. Goodbar could be, and was a little surprised to look up and find Cas standing in front of the Impala, squinting up at the sky. Dean reflexively looked up, at first seeing nothing and looking back at Cas. But, the angel kept looking up, and it wasn't a ground-control-to-major-tom look, so he looked up again, only to get a cold ass snowflake in the eye.

"Ah, damn," he cursed before looking back over at Cas.

But, Cas was smiling. Still looking up, his face had broken into the biggest, goofiest grin Dean had never come to expect. His hand was raised fingers up, and Dean watched as he gently reached out and caught a speck of a snowflake. Then, he turned to Dean, still smiling.

"It's snowing," he said, as if expecting Dean to be just as delighted by the weather.

Dean didn't know what to say. He just knew that once they finally got half way into the next state, after they checked into a clean motel room, he couldn't sleep. He stared at his phone, stared at Lisa's name in his contacts list, and then stared at Cas as he slept, feeling like the biggest creeper of all time.

The next day in Baton Rouge they got tagged by a gaggle of demons who had apparently not been informed that you do not fuck with Dean Winchester. He would've liked for some of Samuel's lackeys to see him then, when he sliced and diced four black eyed bastards and exorcised a couple more on the side. Fuck anyone who wanted to call him rusty.

Then he couldn't find Cas.

"Cas!" he shouted, knee deep in demon carnage. He couldn't see him anywhere in the basement. He scanned all around him, jogged to all corners of the room, sprinted upstairs, and shouted again. Nothing. He was too scared to shout again. Then he thought about the times he'd lost Sam when they were a lot younger, and how he'd found him. He stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled, the kind of whistle that made dogs howl and woke up the neighbors. He was rooted to the spot, everything around him silent, and deeply aware of his heart beating and the lack of air in his lungs. Then Cas stepped into the room, coat swaying behind him.

"Dean, are you alright? I had to chase one down," he asked, brow furrowed. Dean gripped him by the coat and dragged him into a tight embrace, Cas' arms and the butt of his sawed off shotgun pressed painfully between their chests.

"God, you scared the hell out of me, man," Dean said hoarsely. Castiel didn't respond, and Dean could feel his whole body tensed in surprise or discomfort. As soon as Dean really realized what he was doing, he pulled away, holding Cas at arms' length. He looked Cas over while the guy just did nothing but stand stock still and stare at Dean like nothing weird had happened or was happening, and they hadn't just killed a bunch of demons, and he hadn't fallen from grace a second time. Dean just wanted to make sure he was okay, because God knows Castiel did a piss poor job of watching out for himself.

"I am fine, Dean," Cas interrupted his examination. Dean stared back at Cas then, and realized that, underneath that blank expression he was telling Dean to back off and chill out. He dropped his hands from Cas' shoulders but didn't move away. They paused there for a moment, both staring, trying to say without words "you're an asshole" or "quit fuckin' around." Finally, Dean nodded and turned back to the basement door.

"Help me get the gear and get the fuck out of here. This place gives me the friggin' creeps."

They were about to pass the month mark on Castiel's major malfunction, and Dean was getting anxious. Cas hadn't improved or deteriorated, but he was snappier and less patient than ever, and the fact that he was becoming one damn good hunter didn't seem to placate him at all, even if it made Dean feel kind of tingly and proud. They braked at Bobby's for a couple of days, and met up with Sam a few times, all of which just helped to remind Dean that he was damn near incapable as a friend or a brother, no matter how determined he felt to take hold of all the shit in his life and shake it into line.

They'd talked about it before, but not really gone into depth because Cas immediately let it be known that he thought it would go nowhere, and just get them hurt or killed. So Dean was prepared for the angel's wrath when he managed to make the suggestion again.

They were in a hotel in Indiana, one with slate blue wallpaper that was darker near the floor and in the corners, with contrasting plush tan carpet that Dean had some idea might've been closer to white in the past. Castiel was sitting at the head of the more crooked of the two beds, legs crossed with an array of weaponry spread across the comforter in front of him. He was cleaning Dean's favorite double barrel sawed-off (which had also become one of Cas' favorites) with intense focus. Dean was across the room at the shitty excuse for a table, writing in his journal, or at least trying to. Finally, he gave up and closed the tattered day planner, setting his pen next to it. He turned and watched Cas, trying to decide how to start this conversation. He opened his mouth.

"Something wrong, Dean?" Cas asked suddenly, looking up in concern before Dean could even get a syllable out. Dean couldn't help giving a small laugh and shaking his head. He knew Cas wasn't reading minds these days, but he was still perceptive as hell.

"I..." he started, then faltered, "You're not going to like this," he decided to start with. Cas just stared at him. His hands stopped in the middle of what they were doing as he turned all of his focus on Dean. Dean cleared his throat before continuing.

"I think we should go after Balthazar."

Cas blinked, then turned away. He set the shotgun and rag aside.

"We've discussed this, Dean-"

"I don't give a fuck that we've discussed it, Cas. We're getting nowhere here. If you've got a better suggestion, I'm all ears," Dean surprised himself with the strength of his words. Sometimes he just couldn't manage to keep his mouth shut.

Cas turned back and glared at him. He looked worn out, Dean realized. His eyes were dark and tired, only increasing the intensity of his expression. But that didn't stop Dean from glaring back, because at this point he might even be able to kick Cas' ass, and he knew he was the one in the right here.

"Fine," Cas growled, "I don't have any better suggestions." Those words dropped the mood in the room considerably, and hearing Cas admit to that kind of angry hopelessness added to Dean's notion that he was a shitty friend and, as Sam had once said, kind of a dick. Even though he knew this was the moment of victory, and he should be pressing through a plan to find Balthazar, it took Dean a moment to recover, and to get up the guts to keep acting like such a dick. He wanted to say he understood all of Cas' objections, that some things were worth putting yourself in a shit-ton of stone-dumb danger, but that would've just opened the floor for a serious argument. Dean probably would've lost that too, because his greater tendency was to actually consider Cas' opinions.

He got up from the table, grabbing his coat off the chair and slinging it on.

"We'll leave in the morning," he said coldly, not bothering to look over to Cas as he walked toward the door.

"Fine," he heard Cas answer flatly, then the sharp clap of the shotgun barrels swinging upright into place.

"You know, Dean, every so often you might consider listening to your friends when they tell you to run /away/ from dangerous men like me."

Dean tried to give a witty retort, but it was a little chopped up by the hand gripping his throat. On the other side of the room, he could see Castiel glaring at him-at Dean!-while frozen to the floor by some enochian symbol beneath his feet.

"You would not say that so casually if you were his friend," Cas said flatly, and Balthazar's grip on Dean's throat actually lessened a little as he laughed.

"Oh, Castiel, how did you ever fall so far?" Balthazar joked.

"Rather than attacking us, you might have asked that to begin with," Cas retorted, and Dean was just a little bit afraid he was going to try to bitch Balthazar into submission. Then, he found his feet on the ground again, but his back suddenly slammed to the wall by the hand around his neck. He coughed in pain.

"Oh, so you wanted to talk to me, was that it? An unusual method for you, isn't it?" Balthazar asked, ever amused.

Dean was stunned to see Cas grinning a little at that, like the two were sharing some sort of inside joke. But, otherwise Cas didn't respond, and Balthazar continued after a moment.

"Castiel," he said, his tone flirtatious to a degree that almost made Dean uncomfortable, "Are you here to make peace with me?" Castiel's grin fell closer to a very slight smirk.

"Although I wish we could, Balthazar..." Cas paused, and Dean really started to feel left out, still in the back struggling while the two of them made eyes at each other, "We were simply out of options."

"You're asking me for help?" Balthazar asked, incredulous. He gave a bark of laughter. "After the lecture you subjected me to last time?"

"I seem to have been... clipped," Castiel explained, awkwardly trying out Dean's phrasing of the situation.

"How long?"

"Near one month," Cas answered.

"You're serious?" Balthazar asked, actually beginning to sound less amused. Cas nodded.

"Bloody hell, Castiel, Raphael is ripping the Heavens asunder and you've fallen from grace /again/?" Balthazar suddenly threw Dean to the ground, and he found himself sliding across the floor for a moment. He rubbed his throat and struggled to stand. He was up in time to see Balthazar destroying the trap Castiel was standing on.

"You'd make a wonderful fool," he was still joking. Dean was a little bewildered by the situation. "It's not fair to fight you with such a handicap," he explained, turning to Dean. Damn, right, mind reading.

"Are you gonna help Cas, then?" Dean tried to bark, but it came out more like a deep whisper, and Dean rubbed at his sore throat.

Balthazar smiled, his eyes sparkling dangerously.

"Yes, Dean, in exchange for your everlasting gratitude, I think I'll do just that."

Dean and Cas looked at one another, both similarly confused.

"Dammit Cas, will you just listen to me for once?" Dean said hoarsely.

"Listening to you does not always end well," Cas replied.

Dean completed the salt circle he was pouring around Cas and gave him a smack on the back of the head.

"Ouch," Cas said flatly.

"Now stop trying to help and just sit there. Bally Total Fitness said I was supposed to do this," Dean said.

"I believe he was... pulling your leg," Cas answered. Dean almost paused, but thought better of it and kept arranging candles on the wood of the church floor.

"Well, just in case, shut the hell up." Cas finally obeyed and watched Dean move around for the next five minutes, arranging and rearranging everything. Finally, he stood back and looked satisfied. Castiel was positioned in the middle of a small gory enochian blood sigil, sans coat. Dean had arranged some differently colored candles and religious ephemera in front of him, as Balthazar had specified. To top it all off, they were tucked behind the altar of a Greek orthodox church at 2am.

"Cas, as much as I respect your doubts, we're gonna do this whether you like it or not." Cas finally nodded.

Dean went around lighting each candle and muttering some badly pronounced spell words. When he'd done that, he stood straight and took a few steps back. Cas stared up at him, not looking very pleased, despite being the one who had convinced Balthazar not only to let them live but to help them.

"Man, this does seem a little too easy, doesn't it?" Dean said.

"You don't even know what you just said," Cas replied, sounding irritated.

"Yeah, but-" Cas cut him off by beginning to chant very loudly and clearly in enochian. Dean shut up and watched while the whole time Cas continued to stare at him. It kinda creeped Dean out.

Suddenly Cas stopped. "Throw the teeth on the fire," he commanded.

"Quarter cup lamb's teeth comin' right up," Dean joked as he pulled a handful of teeth out of his coat pocket and threw them one by one into the candles. He immediately sprinted back, waiting for something scary to happen.

Nothing did.

"Do you think Big Bird-"

"No," Cas interrupted. They stared at each other, Dean getting more confused and irritated as the seconds ticked by. He was about to say something when Cas stood up.

"Dean-"

"Should I avert my eyes?"

"Too late," Cas said, and Dean didn't even have time to look away before hot white light was bursting out of his body, limbs stretched taught, tie flying up and over his shoulder. Then, there was a deafening crack, like a firework had been set off right in front of him, and all the lamps and other electrical devices in the church exploded into sparks. Then, every source of light blinked once and was gone. It was silent as Dean struggled to stand, cursing at the ringing in his ears and the burning in his eyes. He was lucky enough to be alive but he wasn't thinking about that.

He blinked toward Cas, who was leaned over on his knees.

"Cas," he coughed. Cas looked up, the strangest wide-eyed expression on his face, before his back exploded into light, two enormous white wings shooting up toward the ceiling and spreading out with a crack that was more like a tarp being pulled taught than a firework.

"Holy fuck," Dean blurted.

"Don't blaspheme," Castiel groaned, and Dean noticed he was panting, a grimace of pain on his face. Dean was at his side in an instant, fear or awe for the crazy sight before him pushed aside.

"Cas, what is it? Do you know what the problem is?" Dean asked.

"The problem is that I am in a great deal of pain," Cas answered. Dean put a hand on his shoulder.

"Cas, I know, but do you know why? That douchebag said we would find out if we did this," Dean asked again, almost pleading. Castiel looked up at him, his expression very close to pitiful.

"I don't know, Dean," he groaned, "What do you see?" His words were losing volume. Dean looked up at the wings, enormous and so white Dean could hardly stand to look at them. It was nothing like the first time he'd met Cas, when his wings had been like black shadows creeping up the walls.

"Your wings, man, I see your wings. You crazy son of a bitch, I bet you are the size of the Chrysler building in there," he muttered the last part.

"You see wings because that's what you expect to see," Cas explained, his voice strained, "Some people see halos or a mandorla, maybe an aura or some such. I don't have feathers, Dean." He wasn't really trying to smile, but Dean thought the joke was inappropriate anyway.

"That's great, but what the hell's the problem?" Dean asked, beginning to lose his patience.

"I don't know," Cas snapped, "Look /again/ Dean."

Dean looked up again, narrowing his eyes so he could look closer at the wings. If the circumstances were any different, he might be having some kind of intense spiritual moment, but just now he was feeling closer to desperate. Cas had reached up to grab his elbow with a great deal of painful force. The wings were beautiful, smooth, clean, perfect. Then, he realized, they weren't. It was like he could see the feathers (not feathers, whatever) spreading and reaching down along the bottom of Cas' wings, curving elegantly up, but they were too even, the ends were too round.

"Mother fucker, you actually fucking were /clipped/," Dean said with a mixture of awe and fury.

Cas responded with a pitiful moan, his other hand reaching up to claw at Dean's other arm.

"Dean, I feel very unwell," he said, his words hardly a whisper, his head hanging down between them. Dean held onto his shoulder and rested a hand on the back of his neck.

"Cas, what should I do?" Dean pleaded. He was scared as hell. He had done this. Cas' head met Dean's chest and rested there.

"Wait," he heard Cas struggle to answer. Dean opened his mouth, completely unsatisfied by that response, but not knowing what to do about it. He gripped the back of Cas' neck tighter.

It happened so quickly that Dean only registered the way Cas seemed to be thrown onto him after his back and head hit the floor with an extremely painful "thud." He blinked against the stars filling his vision, realizing first the way his hands were painfully gripped to Cas, then that Cas was heavy as hell, spread out on top of him. The wings were gone, but the candles were all lit again. He grunted in discomfort.

"Son of a bitch," he cursed, trying to regain his bearings. "Cas?" No answer. "Cas?" When Cas didn't answer again, Dean felt his stomach drop down so far it seemed like it left his body. He struggled to push the angel off of him and rolled him over. He grabbed his face, rolling his head so Dean could see it. Cas' eyes were closed, and Dean was maintaining his composure out of necessity. He slapped the angel with a great deal of force.

"Cas!" he shouted. No response. "Fuck. Dammit, Cas, you better not fucking die on me." Dean rooted around in his coat, finally pulling out the small mag light he kept there. He pulled one of Cas' eyes open, flashing the light over it and quickly away. He did it again, then with the other eye. Finally, he sighed in relief. He wasn't dead, just really damn unconscious.

Dean flopped back onto his heels, trying to rub the sparks out of his eyes. He felt something scratch his face, and pulled his hand away to look at it. There were two small feathers stuck to his knuckles.

"What the..." He looked down to find that there were more feathers on his pants, and on the floor. Actually, they were coating the floor, at least an inch deep, as far as Dean could see down the church's aisles and over the altar. Upon closer inspection, he found feathers deep in Cas' hair, and protruding from the collar of his shirt. Dean rolled Cas over to look at his back, and was a little alarmed by to find blood seeping through his shirt. He rushed to lift him into a sitting position and reach under his collar. His hand pulled back more blood and feathers.

Cas groaned, beginning to move.

"Cas," Dean said, pulling away as Castiel looked up at him, his face horribly gaunt and exhausted. Dean brushed some feathers off his face and hair.

"How are you doin', man? Talk to me."

"Not too good," he answered flatly. Dean stared at him for a second, thinking that was pretty funny but he didn't feel like laughing.

Finally, he stood, leaning down to pull Cas up. Unsurprisingly, he had to support Cas around the altar, picking up anything they didn't want to leave behind before walking Cas back down the aisle and out of that mess as quick as he could manage.

Castiel looked just near awake through the entire ride back to the hotel. He was leaned bonelessly against the passenger side door of the impala, Dean not too worried about the feathers and blood making a mess on the upholstery. Dean was a little concerned with the silent way he just allowed himself to be lifted out of the car and mostly carried into the room. Dean sat him down in a chair and stood back.

Cas looked like hell. He was covered head to toe in feathers, and blood had found its way to a lot of random places in smudges and in the shape of Dean's handprint. He looked tired, but more than that he looked... depressed. He managed to lift his head and look at Dean, but still said nothing. Dean had to bite back the words that first came to mind, which were, "Where does it hurt?" The way that he was looking at Dean at least made it clear that he wasn't about to die, but he wasn't about to go out for a jog either. He remembered how Lisa had taken care of him when he was drunk or delirious or so depressed he could hardly move.

"Okay," he thought to himself, "Man the hell up."

"Come on, buddy," he said, moving to help Cas back out of the chair. Cas helped by wrapping an arm around Dean's shoulders, his fingers pressing painfully into his back. He tried to push himself up but couldn't manage it. Dean took all of his weight, trying not to think just how damn heavy he was.

"Don't worry about it. I got you," he said to get Cas to stop struggling.

Cas just had to hold on as Dean dragged him into the bathroom and carefully parked him on the can. The fact that he wasn't protesting for once was a little disconcerting, but Dean was glad. He started running hot water in the tub and turned back to kneel in front of Cas.

"Sorry," he started, reaching out to pull off his tie and start unbuttoning his collar, "This is a little weird." Cas just stared at him, and Dean couldn't figure out what kind of stare it was.

The way that Cas just let Dean pull out the hem of his shirt, and held his arms up as much as he could to help Dean get it off reminded Dean of undressing Sammy when he was still small enough that he pronounced Dean's name funny. He dropped the shirt on the floor. Feathers were stuck all over Cas, but most coated his back. Dean moved around to take a closer look. The blood was mostly dried, crusting the plumes to Cas' skin, and Dean was gentle when picking some of them off, trying to find a wound. But, it didn't look like there was any, or else it had somehow managed to heal already.

Dean moved back to pull off Cas' shoes and socks. When Dean began to stand, Cas tried to push himself up on the counter, but was still too weak. Dean caught him and pulled him up.

"That's alright, I got you," he said rather than snapping for him to quit trying to help. Cas managed to unbutton his slacks and push them down, leaning heavily on Dean so he could kick them off. Dean made sure the water was right before turning the shower on and pulling the curtain half-way shut. Cas leaned against the wall while Dean wrestled his way out of his own coat and rolled up his sleeves. Then they both struggled to get Cas into the tub, where the angel pressed a hand against the shower wall for support and stood under the water for a moment before Dean had to catch him again. If it hadn't been such an unpleasant situation, Dean would've thought it was ridiculous enough to warrant laughter. As it was, he rushed to kick off his boots and clambered into the tub, not really thinking about it before his clothes were soaked through. But he didn't care, his focus was on helping Cas, because Cas couldn't do a thing without him. Cas just clung to him and waited for the next move, his feathered hair flattened on his face by the shower. Dean lifted Cas' head up, letting the water hit his forehead and help Dean to wash the feathers out of his hair. After a second, he guided Cas' body around so the water could fall on his back. The blood and feathers were so thick and crusted that Dean had to reach outside the tub and get a washcloth to help scrub them off as gently as he could manage. Underneath, there was no sign of a wound, just some scratches from the quills of the feathers. He ran his hand over Cas' back, looking for any sign of a scar or imperfection, but there was nothing. All he could think about were the damn wings, that somewhere in there Cas had huge fucking pure white, terrifyingly beautiful wings. Dean managed to work the rest of the feathers out of Cas' hair with one hand, the other pulled around Cas' waist while Cas leaned heavily against him, a white knuckle grip on the ceramic soap tray protruding from the shower wall.

The feathers were gone, and Dean's hand rested on the back of Cas' neck, the angel's head bowed while the fingers of his other hand pressed into the arm Dean had around his waist, as though scared Dean would let go and he would lose his balance.

"If you don't have wings, what's with the feathers?" Dean finally asked, quiet but close enough that he knew Cas could hear him. It was a moment before he got a reply, Cas not bothering to move or look up.

"A joke from Balthazar, I think," he answered, his voice unenthusiastic and even more raw and gravely than usual. Dean just nodded. He was already sure that the rest of the ritual had been legit. If it wasn't, Cas would've said so. He was also pretty sure he didn't get the joke Balthazar was making with this, if there was one, but that Cas seemed to see it like that was enough.

"Where did the blood come from?" The idea that they were having this conversation in a shower passed through Dean's mind, but he didn't feel like moving was the right thing to do yet. He was already sopping wet. Getting out would just make him cold.

"That was real," Cas answered simply.

"What does it mean? What I saw?" Dean asked. Cas hesitated to answer, and moved his head, almost to look at Dean, but didn't.

"I think..." he started slowly, and Dean felt the grip on his arm tighten even more, "I think somehow, while I was distracted, someone managed to impair me, to limit me."

"To clip your wings?" Dean asked.

"Yes."

Dean didn't answer, and it was silent except for the sound of the shower running and water hitting the pool at their feet, where feathers had clogged the drain. He knew what Cas wasn't saying, because the truth was obvious, and he knew Cas would never say outright that something Dean hadn't meant to do was his fault, even if it happened because of him. It was clear that Cas had been distracted when Dean died, and someone had managed to get to him when he was bringing Dean back from Heaven. Dean wanted to say that Cas hadn't needed to do that, that he was an idiot and he should think about himself a little more and Dean a little less, but he knew that would just piss Cas off. Plus, Dean was the one always pressuring Cas into helping him and Sam, so he couldn't really say something like that without it being kind of hypocritical.

"How can we fix it?" Dean asked instead, his words coming out a little choked without his permission.

"I don't know, Dean," Cas answered, finally lifting his head to look at Dean. It almost broke his heart to see the pity on his face, that Cas was feeling more sorry that Dean felt guilty and powerless than that he didn't know how long he would be stranded on Earth at half power. Dean couldn't help it, he turned Cas toward him, wrapping his arms around him, and feeling Cas's arms reaching around his back, holding him in a weak embrace, which was all he could manage. Dean's nose was buried against Cas' neck. He couldn't help but think of the last time he held someone this way-Lisa, and he knew that what was happening here was more complex than it should be. He lifted his head to look at Cas, the water still hitting the back of his head while he stared at Dean with a pained, concerned expression. Dean took hold of his jaw and kissed him, because he wanted to simplify things.

Reflexively, Cas half kissed back, but it wasn't enough of a response for him to follow when Dean pulled away. They didn't say anything, and Dean bent over to turn off the shower, Cas still leaning on him.

They didn't speak as Dean helped Cas back out of the shower, sat him down and dried him off. They didn't speak as Dean redressed him and helped him into bed, and they didn't speak before Cas fell asleep and Dean laid awake in the dark, thinking of every unexpected turn his life had taken and how good he was at fucking things up for other people.

A couple of days later they met up with Sam, who called and said he was awesome and Dean was going to puke rainbows when he found out what Sam had figured out.

On the third day, Dean saw Cas' wings again, but this time he saw them whole, how they were supposed to be. Dean wondered how he didn't see that they were all wrong before, because they were miles more impressive after Castella got his groove back. Sam said he didn't see anything except Cas having some kind of seizure.

The wings snapped out, fizzed up like flames and burned away in the blink of an eye. Finally standing straight and steady in front of them, Castiel turned to Dean and smiled sadly.

"I'll see you soon," he said. Then, he leaned over, picking up a long piece of rope that looked like it was old enough to have fallen apart a long time ago, and was gone.

Sam elbowed Dean in the ribs.

"Told you it was Ansiel's lasso. Dude, you never listen to me," he said. But Dean wasn't listening.

Dean was prepared to not see Castiel again for a very long time, so he should've known that Cas was right when he said they'd see each other soon. It was Sam who managed to coerce him down again, when they needed some help with another big bad scary bitch. Once again, he didn't seem all that pleased with the summons, and Dean was kind of pissed that Sam went and called Cas without telling him, because Dean knew that some heavy shit was going on upstairs that really deserved Cas' attention, especially after his involuntary hiatus.

So they were back to their routine, back to the hunt. But it wasn't the same. Or maybe it was close to how it had been before Cas smote the crap out of Crowley. Still, Dean kind of wondered why Cas even bothered to help them when he obviously had better things to do. But, of course, they already knew he almost kind of appreciated the distraction.

Cas went ahead and blasted the shit out of the alpha they were after like a holy hand grenade. Gramps 0 Team Free Will, well they weren't really keeping track. Afterwards, Dean began to initiate their usual dramatic goodbye argument, but Sam cut him off by doing the unthinkable and insisting that Castiel go out for a celebratory drink with them. Dean looked at Gargantua like he was crazy, then switched that look to Cas when the angel finally agreed.

It was weird, it was awkward, and it was worse because Dean thought it shouldn't be weird or awkward. He knew he just needed to chill and stop being a big girl, so he started drinking quick and kept up a steady pace. He was watching Sam feed the angel shot after shot, then Sam was across the bar chatting up a couple of girls. Dean didn't know how much time had passed, but that it felt really late, and Cas was sitting across from him, awkwardly drinking a beer like it was water.

"Cas, are you drunk?" Dean asked, feeling a little sloppy himself.

"No. I'm afraid that despite your brother's wishes, my tolerance is too great to become inebriated without consuming a far greater amount of this establishment's alcoholic contents," he answered dryly, finishing his beer. Dean waved a lazy hand to flag over a waitress.

"He'll have another one. Thanks," he said.

"I should not be here," Cas said, somewhat suddenly.

"Pfff," Dean batted the air, waving him off. "You shoulda gonna long time ago if you're worried about that."

"Dean, are you intoxicated?"

Dean looked at him, pausing to think about the question.

"Ship. Yet," he sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes, "Lookslike I am, Cas." Awesome, he was going to get back on that wagon. Or fall off of it. Whatever. He reached out for a glass of water on the table and drained half of it in one go. He would rather be sober. Lately when he was drunk it wasn't a good kind of drunk. He looked back over at Sam. He could see where that was going, and he didn't have the patience or sobriety to try and stop Sam from getting laid tonight. Fucking Silence of the Lambs soulless prick Sam. He stood up because he felt like storming off, and almost swayed off his feet.

Cas was suddenly there, pulling Dean's arm over his shoulders. The last time they'd been in this position, Cas had just beaten the ever living crap out of Dean, but he didn't really think about that. Instead he went ahead and leaned heavily into Cas and let himself be led out of the bar. Castiel guided them over to the Impala, leaning over to spread a palm on the hood. Something about that gesture looked really intimate or obscene to Dean, but he didn't have time to think about it, because they were suddenly outside of the motel, and Cas was leading him back to their room.

Dean didn't really need his help to stay upright, just to be able to move in one general direction. He must've had a lot to drink. He couldn't remember losing this much motor function in a long time. He was just too paranoid these days.

Somehow Cas opened the door before they got to it by stretching his hand out toward it. It swung easily open, and then shut again when they were inside the dark room. Dean moved for one of the beds and Cas followed his lead by depositing him there. Dean immediately fell back. Damn, maybe he was tired. He felt a tug on his foot and looked down to find Cas taking off his boots for him.

"You don't have to do that, Cas. It's okay," he protested. Castiel didn't stop or look up.

"It's what you do in this situation," he replied dryly. Dean couldn't argue with that, so he let his head flop back on the pillow. After a minute, Cas was closer, rolling him out of his coat and tossing it carefully on the other bed. He stood and turned to leave.

"Wait, hang on," Dean found himself saying. He groaned, heaving himself into a sitting position as Castiel turned back around.

"What is it?" he asked, sounding the barest bit impatient.

"I just gotta know, Cas, why do you keep helping me? I'm about worthless these days." Oh hell, he was sad self-pity drunk.

Cas stared at him from the end of the bed, frowning.

"I helped you here because Sam is incapable."

"That's not what I'm talking about, you know it," Dean barked.

"You are not worthless, Dean. My devotion to you did not end with the apocalypse. Especially this past month, I feel that I... owe you a certain amount of assistance," he replied, and even drunk Dean could detect a certain amount of awkward in his words. And there was that whole "devoted" thing again. Jimmy Novak you ass. Dean rubbed his face.

"This whole divine devotion thing, Cas, it's not fair to you." No, it was too difficult. It was the reason Dean was drunk, and it had already caused him an agonizing identity crisis and a few migraines and sleepless nights.

"Maybe not," Cas answered, turning away again. Dean flopped back down because he didn't have the heart to watch Cas disappear. It would just be too pathetic to ask him to stay.

"I would not find it pathetic," Cas said, and Dean turned enough to see him, still facing away at the end of the bed. He almost shouted for Cas to quit reading his mind, but there wasn't much point. Even though his brain was begging, he was still too proud to form any kind of verbal request.

"My patience is finite," Castiel added.

"Fine, Dammit, will you stay? This is friggin' pathetic," Dean murmured the last part and had to turn away to hide his embarrassment. God, this was all wrong. Cas should be in Heaven waging his damn holy war.

"It will still be there come dawn," Cas said, and Dean could hear him taking off his coat.

"Man, stop reading my damn mind," Dean snapped.

"I don't have to. You're very predictable in your thinking," Cas answered. Dean wondered how much of it was really just perception when he felt Cas sliding onto the bed beside him. Cas' arm wrapped around his chest and pulled him back. Damn, spooned by an angel.

And Dean felt really god damn pathetic. He wanted this so damn bad, was so damn thrilled, and it was all selfish and wrong as hell. Maybe when Cas was human, maybe if Dean wasn't thinking about Ben and Lisa every day...

There were Cas' knees behind his knees, Cas' arm sliding under his chest, holding him. Dean gripped the seam of the pillowcase and shut his eyes. Cas was back to running cold again, his breath chilling Dean's neck.

This was so damn cheesy.

"Stop thinking useless things," Cas growled, "Go to sleep." Dean didn't remind him that he could knock Dean out any time he wanted. Dean knew that was another useless thought. Ugh. He felt drunk and awkward and good. So, this was actually happening, huh? Cas' hands pressed his shoulders, rolling him back, and Dean looked up. Of course, Cas was staring down at him. Dean suddenly felt very self conscious about having beer breath. Cas' hand curled up, sliding his palm against Dean's jaw. His fingers were cold but traced heat up his cheek.

Cas kissed him, and it was almost like Dean had before, but more. He lingered, and Dean couldn't think of anything to do but press his mouth back, and to deepen the kiss. Before he knew it, he was turned in, pressed against Cas, his hand wrapped around his tie to keep him from pulling away. But, eventually he did. They separated, and Cas leaned his head back on the pillow. His palm was pressed against Dean's shoulder blade, holding him just close enough. Dean could tell what the look Cas was giving him meant, maybe because they'd spent a lot of time locked in staring matches, or maybe because of something else. He finally relaxed, actually feeling his buzz hum along his chest and through his limbs. Comfortable, for once, because, despite the huge pile of crap that was his life, Cas was watching out for him. Enormous pain in the ass he was, and despite the fact that there were a lot more pressing matters, Cas was gonna rock Dean to sleep.

Dude, his guardian angel was the bomb.

Life was generally a kicking and screaming temper-tantrum-looking uphill battle for Dean. Victories were, honestly, usually not 100% satisfying, but getting the best of low expectations really felt like reaching the top of the mountain after you spent so much time wading through the mud and quicksand.

So Dean got Sam's soul back. He didn't need to mull over the "leap first, patch up later" policy he had when it came to his brother. He had to fight with Cas. Because Dean was an idiot, but that's not something he was just gonna roll over and admit to, and he wouldn't expect Cas to just let shit go by when he could see something dangerous was happening. If they wanted to scream at each other and Cas wanted to beat the shit out of him, that was gonna happen, because frankly, Cas was a hell of a lot stronger now that he'd ever been, and Dean was still just as obnoxious.

Whatever, Dean didn't know what was going to happen next, and he'd never wanted to know. He had soulful Sam back, and that was always going to be miles better than a pocket of air somehow mobilizing his brother's skin and making it act like a sociopathic douchebag.

Back to the hunt, pressing business as usual. He was distracted, and so was Cas. They'd talked about this (they'd stared it out, fooled-around it out, anyway) and even if he was thinking about it, like a big gay pining asshole, Dean sure as hell wasn't gonna talk about it.

And he totally forgot to tell Sam.

He was just about to pass out in the back of the Impala, letting Sam take the wheel, headed out to Nebraska on a hunt. Iron Butterfly was pumping through the stereo, because even Sam couldn't really say anything bad about In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida. Well, not without a kick to the back of the head.

Dean was smoked after driving for ten hours already. His arm draped over his eyes to block out the street lamps and headlights as they flashed by, he was about to go into a really good dream.

Oh shit, no that was definitely a real pair of lips on his jaw, a very present cold hand stroking upwards under his shirt, and a genuine metric ton of angel pressing him down into the seats.

"Oh, hey," Dean murmured, a thrill of surprise and pleasure running through him.

The car swerved.

"Oh. My. God!" Sam shouted, "Castiel?"

"Hello, Sam," Castiel answered, face still close to Dean's, sounding just the slightest bit irritated. Iron Butterfly was making some crazy dinosaur guitar sounds, and Dean just grinned up at Cas because he realized this situation was ridiculous and awkward as hell. Cas' fingers were in his hair, kisses pressing Dean's head roughly into the seat.

"What the hell is going on back there?" Sam asked, sounding very alarmed.

Cas came up for air, sort of. His hands were still wandering.

"I like this song," he intoned. That might've turned Dean on even more than the way Cas was pushing his shirt up.

"Just keep driving, Sammy. And don't look back here 'cause I don't want to deal with your bitching later," Dean said, helping Cas out of his coat.

"Oh. My. God. Are you friggin serious. Oh my god. I'm stopping at the next gas station. This is not happening. You are not doing this. You are not doing this while I'm /in/ the car!" Sam shouted.

Dean laughed into Cas' mouth, and felt him smile just a little bit in response, as if he also enjoyed pissing off Sam.

"With Castiel!" Sam was still shouting.

"Oh hell yes," were Dean's only thoughts, pulling off Cas' tie with a harsh motion and fumbling to unbutton his shirt while Cas was much quicker to go for the button on Dean's fly. His breath caught somewhere in his ribs, and his fingers dug into Cas' knees. He had to groan, he couldn't breathe without panting. Cas was fucking insane, right here, right now, he was doing this.

Holy fuck, Cas was jacking Dean off /in his car/ with the most ridiculous intensely determined expression plastered on his face.

"I'm IN THE CAR," Sam shouted.

"Oh my fuckin', God, Cas," Dean choked out, hardly breathing, "Jesus, Christ."

"Don't blaspheme," Cas answered calmly.

Sam must've been at a loss for words because he just started screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Oh aall night, aall night, ooh every night," Dean was singing very loudly off key, drumming on the steering wheel.

"Journey? Seriously?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow at Dean from the passenger seat.

"Cakehole, Sammy," Dean said, "I never knew, what good love could do. Then we touched!"

"Dude, you're totally thinking about Cas right now. Oh God, can we stop, I need some comet for my brain," Sam whined.

"Suck it up jumbo!" Dean laughed at his own bad joke.

"I was in the car. I was in the ROOM," he seethed.

"Whatever, you were in the shower," Dean actually scoffed.

"Yeah, at first," Sam said, clearly indignant and possibly traumatized. Dean grinned at the memory and Sam went on. "When we first met the guy you couldn't stand the sight of him. Now, well, I'm never ever going to be able to get that image out of my brain without major surgery."

"You know, Sam, a wise man once said, 'Find your place in the eye of the storm. Seek the roses along the way, just beware of the thorns.'"

Sam paused, actually seeming somewhat impressed.

"Dude, that's actually kinda friggin' deep," he said. Dean snorted..

"It's from a Scorpions song, you big girl."

Yeah, and lately it was one of Dean's favorites.

THAT END THERE

Please review if you liked it or if you couldn't stand it or if you actually read far enough that you're reading this now. Thanks gais! C: