A World of Happiness, I will Never Know

I think of him and I'm happy

With the company I'm keeping

The city goes to bed
And I can live inside my head

Paris.

It has changed in the years since Castiel last visited it. June 1832, a city in the grips of political turmoil had greeted the visiting angel, and try as he and his brothers tried, they could not stop the massacre of the students.

Castiel, a mere fledgling at the time, had, had to have been held back, to stop him drawing his angel blade and running into the midst of the battle as the fighting started. His superior had grounded him at his garrison when he threw himself in front of bullet was destined for the charismatic young leader, piercing his grace and leaving him licking the metaphorical wounds in his shadowed wings for the remaining duration of the rebellion.

His superior, a cruel and soon to be fallen angel, however was not satisfied and the bullet that had missed Enjorlas was replaced with another and in a final act of punishment the fledgling was placed amongst the fighting, tears springing to his eyes and his knees crumpling to the floor as he saw the young man's shock and horror as the metal entered his body.

Castiel had rushed to him, entwining invisible fingers with the young man as his life's blood pulsed from beneath his quickly chilling appendages. A final soft passing of his hand of the boys face and he passed- his soul absorbing immediately into the world around him.

150 years since Castiel had first learnt the consequences of acting against his superiors and he can still feel the young man's presence as the city bustles around the man who sits solitary on a park bench, invisible to the world around him.

His brilliant blue eyes flicker upwards at the sound of a child's laughter, the children that owed their lives to the people who had perished the last time he had been in this city, and the hundreds that had died in the years since.

I have questions, I have doubts. I don't know what is right and what is wrong anymore..

In the back of his mind, his own voice flickers in memoriam and the perfect replication of Dean Winchester's look appears in his mind's eye, those deep green eyes turning towards Castiel, the pained look in them all too apparent as he emits a small sigh.

Dean Winchester. It seems apt that in this place where Enjorlas sacrificed himself that Castiel finally allows his mind to drift back to the man that had completely changed Castiel's reason for existence. So much like that young martyr who had died in Castiel's arms, in so many ways, Dean Winchester was the one thing that had stopped him returning to his subordinated ways, relighting the revolutionary flame that had once pounded in his heart.

With his kind but strong heart, despite himself, Castiel found himself drawn to the man whose soul had gripped to his chest as Castiel had fought tooth and nail to free the frail being from the depths of hell itself. He had found himself visiting the man when he heard the pained cries in the night, appearing invisible by his bedside and smoothing back sweat mottled hair and removing his nightmares of hell.

'Did you see that musket aimed at you? The hand that stopped it, that was mine'

Another soft, husked and pained voice enters his mind, female tinged with the Parisian accent of long ago. His eyes flash upwards from his hands wringing together, and suddenly amidst the bright lights of modern Paris, a bleak memory leaks into his eye line. Blinking to clear his vision, suddenly Castiel is returned to the Paris that he first visited.

A small crowd is gathered around the foot of the barricade, and invisible to all others he can see the members of his garrison lined along the top, his own form vessel leaning, almost floating to watch the scene unfold around him. He walks through the crying and shocked masses, coming to a stop when he reaches the centre.

A woman lies bleeding from her chest, the cavity almost blow open from the force of the musket hitting her malnourished body. A man kneels beside her, his knee beneath her back, her face nestled in the crook of her shoulder, tears dripping from his face into the hair that shaking hands smooth back from her bloodless face, his mouth silently mouthing the woman's name.

'Take it." "Now, for my pains, promise me-Promise me! Promise to kiss me on the forehead when I am dead, for I shall feel it' The woman holds a letter in her quivering hand, pressing it into the man's chest, before allowing her head to fall backwards. A rush of warm air through Castiel's alerts him to the angels departure and tearing his eyes away from where his garrison left, he watches the couple locked in an embrace, as people around begin to remove hats and hold it to their chest.

The woman with the last of her strength manages to heave herself to a sitting position, her now empty hand coming to cup the man's face, a soft smile appearing on her lips.

'And then, do you know, Monsieur Marius, I believe I was a little in love with you' she whispers, gently brushing her lips across the mans, before her final breath shuddered through her body and she falls back into his arms one last time. As fresh tears spring to his eyes, and Marius clutches her lifeless body to his, her soul's form took a breath, lifting forward from her earthly form. Her ghost brushes translucent fingers across the man's sobbing face before she turns to face Castiel, a sad smile spreading across her lips.

A tilt head is the only other recognition she manages to convey before with an unearthly sigh she disappears into the world around her.

Castiel's stomach dropped downward and once more he felt himself being pulled through time itself, landing in a crumpled heap in a wooded area. Rushing to his feet, he is immediately confronted with another embrace of lovers.

John and Mary Winchester lie on the floor before, the Impala whispering one another's name. The light from the headlamps illuminates Mary's hair to a golden sheen and in that lighting as she smiles at John her beauty could rival angels themselves. Castiel eyes turn as he feels his own presence appear at the scene, standing directly behind the one Dean Winchester.

He watches his own borrowed blue eyes fall for a moment, and his hand pauses whilst reaching out to Dean. Eventually, his own hand touches Dean's shoulder, his own hand and Dean's other marked shoulder tingling as the two parts of the same soul call out to one another. He watches, remembering how Dean's eyes softened upon seeing Castiel, those green eyes boring through his blue ones, almost seeing into his very soul.

Castiel remembers immediately how his borrowed heart began to pound, how he was glad of the barrier of clothes between he and Dean as borrowed palms became sweaty and how he immediately popped them out of existence before Dean could realize the effect he was having on the angel.

Castiel's stomach churned again, and he was back on that same park bench in Paris. The world continued to turn around him, oblivious to the angel who had just popped back into their proximity. Castiel reaches upwards, touching his face which is wet with tears that he had just shed.

He watches as the salty liquid drips from his fingertips, falling dryly to floor, leaving no evidence of the angel ever being there as he disappeared from existence.

..

I'm dreaming, aren't I? You're not really here.' Dean is back on that pier, fishing rod in hand, eyes blinding in the sun and the pure light that radiates from Castiel's body. He is supposed to hand Dean a piece of paper, demand that Dean meet him in a specific place and then disappear from view. However, this Cas sighs a soft sigh, and sits feet dangling from the pier, inches away from the water.

'I never left Dean' he whispers , his voice filled with promise as he touches Dean on the forehead.

Dean's eyes flew open, his heart thumping in his chest as he awoke with a start from the dream that he'd had a thousand times since Cas's death, although never quite like that. He senses another presence in the room and turns, his mouth dropping into a perfect 'oh' as he saw the man sitting on the edge of his bed, the crumpled tax accountant without his tanned trench.

'Hello Dean. What were you dreaming about?' Castiel whispers, turning those brilliant blue eyes on Dean, the smile in his voice and eyes apparent as if he almost gets the joke that he's uttered at Dean.

A chocked sob appears in Dean's throat as he reaches over, entwining his fingers with the angel and pulling his hand over to nestle his face against the angels palm, testing him to see if he really was there.

'Cas?' he murmurs against his palm, far more a statement than a question. His eyes open as Castiel released his fingers and places his hand on Deans shoulder. He can feel Castiel's grace through the bond, tingling as his own hammering heartbeat is felt by Castiel.

'I'm here.' The angel whispers.

Dean Winchester and Castiel and some of their words are owned by the CW Network. The characters Eponine, Enjorlas and Marius and their words are from Victor Hugo's Les Miserables, I have merely borrowed them for this story. However, I have made the relationship between Eponine and Marius far closer to that of the musical version. The title and lyrics at the beginning are from On My Own from Cameron Mackintosh's musical Les Miserables. I own nothing except my own writing.