It was quiet.
When night fell and Sam and Dean retired to their rooms to sleep, it was quiet. They would always depart from the main room, having shared an evening beer and talking about things that had nothing to do with hunting, or demons, or monsters. It was nice. Dean would usually go to bed first; Sam would stay up a little longer, doing more research or looking into the news of the immediate area. He'd never look for a case; if there was something, he would simply bookmark it and look at it tomorrow. It had taken Castiel a long time to understand how someone put a bookmark on an internet page, but Sam had simply laughed. It seemed wrong, bookmarking something that's neither a book or can hold a mark of any kind. Sam had still laughed and Castiel figured in the end it was just a name.
But now, Sam had shut of his laptop, and had said good-night to Castiel. The angel remained in the main room, sitting at the table, looking after Sam. The brothers had offered him a room – more like had said it was there at his disposal – but Castiel rarely visited there. He did not require sleep, so he found a room of his own futile, but Dean had insisted. To humour him, Castiel had stayed in his room a night. It was plain; and empty, and cold. There was a bed, an empty shelf and a wardrobe. He confessed to Sam he wasn't quite sure what to think of his room or what to do with it; and Sam had advised he could fill it with trinkets he'd collect somewhere. It seemed odd, but Castiel went with it and started collecting anything he'd found worthwhile.
They had sold a new and edited Bible at the Corner Shop and Castiel had been confused – and curious – how exactly the Word could be new and edited, so he'd bought and read it. Apparently, new and edited simply meant fixing grammatical errors. Judging by Sam's laugh, the oddity of Castiel's first trinket being the Bible was humorous. The angel didn't mind. He kept collecting trinkets of any kind, be it stones or twigs, or dry-pressed flowers. Claire had given him a photograph, and Castiel kept it dear. He had out it next to the one of Bobby, Ellen, Dean, Sam, Jo and himself. When humanity discovered photography, Castiel had been both fascinated and irritated by it. The need to freeze things on a picture seemed so pointless to him, and yet he was fascinated what mankind could do. Now he understood, at least a little. Man's memory would falter, would erase things, and replace faces. So they kept loved faces close by, to not forget them; to remind themselves of times long past. He wanted to take photos of Sam and Dean, of Claire. One day, they would be gone, and so he could remember them. Yet he was unsure on how to ask. Sam would probably agree, and push Dean to be on there too. Castiel couldn't quite place Claire, but he had a feeling she might be annoyed but would do it anyway. Sam and Dean said Claire still had that doll he gave her, and that made him happy. Jimmy would be happy too.
A soft whimper woke Castiel out of his daydream. He did that quite often lately. Being human had changed him, and he would see how it affected him in the long run. Understand emotions couldn't be so bad, after all. And it wasn't like Heaven would take him back, so there was little point worrying about it. He swiftly rose from his seat and walked towards the hallway. He hadn't paid attention, so he wasn't absolutely sure who just whimpered – he'd just check on both of them.
The angel wandered the hallway quietly, checking on Sam first. The younger Winchester lay still in his bed, obviously not having a bad dream. Good. Sam had quite frequent nightmare, surprisingly often about clowns. All these demons and monsters, and nothing scared brave Sam Winchester more than one single clown, meant only to entertain children. Castiel smiled a little and closed the door silently behind him, heading over to Dean. Silently, he opened his door and slipped inside. He didn't want to risk waking Dean. Both of the hunters got way to less sleep as it was, he needn't take more from them.
Well, Dean certainly looked like he had been tossing around. Gently, he sat down on the edge of his bed, softly laying a hand over Dean's eyes. He did that sometimes. Sometimes, he would take away the bad dreams from their minds, so they'd get a restful night. Not every whimper, not every night, because then they would get suspicious. But sometimes, sometimes he allowed himself to remember that he was an angel, that he was supposed to protect mankind. He took their nightmares, the little colds and coughs they would eventually catch on a hunt. If they knew, they wouldn't let him do it. Don't use your Grace on us, Cas, they'd say, we're gonna be just fine. Castiel didn't understand. He wasn't running on borrowed Grace anymore, this was his, however much has been lost. He wanted to help, and they would turn his help away. Both Dean and Sam sometimes looked at him like he was made out of glass, as if they had to calculate first if he could help them fight. Every time he was irritated, because the next second they would remember he was an angel.
But this, these little things in the mantle of night, he could do. When he wasn't tending to the brothers themselves, he usually sat in the library, translating old books he found in a crater under two boxes behind a shelf. While Sam wasn't ignorant in languages, he didn't think the boy would be able to translate ancient Greek, or Egypt. Some case someday might require these texts though, so Castiel took it upon himself to do them the courtesy.
Under his hand, Dean had stilled, so Castiel withdrew himself. He didn't know what Dean had dreamt about – personal space, Cas! – so he hoped it was something better now. In one fluid motion, he got up and walked towards the door, leaving Dean behind. It should be three in the morning by now, Sam would wake in roughly three more hours to go on his run. When he met Castiel, he would always ask if he rested well – not sleep, Castiel noticed. He'd always say he had and Sam would go out to run.
He was back in the main room now, and he felt lost for a moment. He didn't really feel like picking up a book to translate, but he also didn't want to linger in the hallway – sometimes the brothers noticed him and he knew in the first few seconds his silent presence would set them into fighting mode until they realised it was just Castiel. Having nothing to do, but also not wanting to stare at a blank wall, Castiel headed for the bunker entrance. He was as silent as possible with the heavy doors, yet he wasn't able to move them without a dull sound; however it did not seem to stir much out of Sam and Dean. How human hearing functioned in sleep, he would never understand.
Once outside the bunker, he walked a few steps until he could sit down on grass. He personally didn't mind sitting on stone or asphalt, but from his observations mankind preferred to sit on grass if available so he adapted. The sky was dark when he looked up. As a human, he had been terrified when he wasn't able to see all the stars he was so used to. It just turned out they were so tiny they were hard to see. He had missed them in this time – when he hadn't been preoccupied with worrying over food or shelter or general safety. In quiet moments, he had missed the stars. In quiet moments, he still missed Heaven.
It was bizarre. Heaven was so close, and yet it could not be farther away. He wondered if one day he could return. One day, Sam and Dean would not be here anymore. Heaven was the only other place he could go, and he hoped he could. He tried to redeem himself, he did, and he was not a bad person. Perhaps one day they would understand and it would be fine again. Everything he did, it had been in order to help, because he thought it was right. There was no script to follow anymore; their own choices were all they had. One day, it would be alright. Castiel smiled. One day Heaven would not be far away anymore, and it would be alright.
He did not stir when Dean came up next to him, but he looked sideways when the older Winchester put a blanket over him. Oh, yes. It was cold, Castiel mused. Keeping someone warm was a very human instinct. Castiel didn't mind, as he appreciated the gesture. Dean sat right beside him, shivering a little as the wind picked up, but he did not say a word. The other man was clearly cold, but Castiel was aware of Dean's pride. He wondered what woke Dean up and what made him come here. Had he heard the bunker door shut and couldn't find Castiel inside afterwards? In the end, it didn't matter.
Just a few minutes later, Sam approached them too. Castiel heard a huffed out noise and concluded Sam brought a blanket for Castiel as well, not knowing Dean would be here. Sam went over and gave one end of the blanket to Dean, who gripped it tight, and proceeded to sit on Castiel's other side, stretching the blanket across all three of them. The poor blanket. Hopefully it would hold. If it ripped, he would stitch it coming night. Right now, however, was nice. Sam didn't say a word either and looked up to the stars as well. Castiel could feel the smile on his face and it was alright. Right now, there was no pending threat looming over their heads, waiting to bring them to their doom, right now there was just a poor blanket wrapped around three guys looking at the stars.
In these quiet moments, Castiel didn't miss Heaven so much.
In these quiet moments, Castiel was happy.