Disclaimer: I own nothing.

This is just an episode ending I'd like to see sometime this season. You know… furthering Cas's humanization and… eh, who am I kidding? I just like to see pretty boys cry.

Haven't posted anything at this site in forever. Been doing mostly livejournal. Not entirely sure why I'm posting this one here. Nostalgia, I suppose.

Jesus Wept

The demon gone from it, the body fell to the ground at Dean's feet, thoroughly human but stone cold dead. Dean afforded it no contemplation but instead was on the move again, whipping his head around, weapons still in hand, looking for his next opponent. When he saw that no one was left standing near him, he quickly scanned the rest of the field, looking for where he was needed. His eyes met only two other figures on their feet; one wore a trenchcoat, one a trucker's cap. Castiel and Bobby. His heart pounding, Dean glanced around for Sam. Not finding him immediately, he began to call his name, as loudly as he could with his throat so dry and sore. "Sammy!"

"Over here, Dean." The weak reply came after just one call. Dean hurried to Sam's side, relief beginning to course through him when he saw his brother able to hoist himself into a sitting position, however delicately. "I think that last one broke some ribs," he explained as Dean knelt beside him and scanned him for injury. "I'm fine."

And with that, Dean finally allowed himself to breathe, holstering his knife and gun and sitting back on the cold, damp earth next to Sam. Funny how a set of broken ribs actually was, in their minds, completely synonymous with fine. "Got 'em all," he said, shaking his head.

"Got 'em all," Sam confirmed, his expression at once bewildered and pained.

That particular battle was over at last.

Dean scanned the field, now allowing himself a moment to count up the bodies littering the field. There had to be at least twenty human corpses that had been sacrificed to kill their demon possessors, along with a few that seemed unbroken, who had likely been ended by shock or past injuries at the moment of exorcism. He sighed.

"Bobby! Cas! You all in one piece?"

"Somehow," Bobby called back, and Dean watched as he slowly turned and limped to their side. "Sam?"

"It's nothing, Bobby," Sam replied, still braced painfully on both arms. "Just a ribshot."

"Well, let's get you taped up then. Where's Feathers?"

Dean looked up to where Castiel stood at the edge of the field, only now realizing that he had never heard the angel reply. He glanced back at Sam, who inclined his head, motioning Dean to go to him. Dean nodded, though he wasn't quite sure if he should. If Castiel was standing apart to listen to angel chatter about the battle, it was best to leave him alone. Still, he should at least check Jimmy's body for injuries, which Castiel was getting gradually worse at preventing and healing. So, muscles aching, his head pounding, Dean got himself back on both feet and stumbled to where the angel stood.

At his feet were two bodies, and more formed a circle around him. Unlike Dean, Sam and Bobby, Castiel had felled opponents without running about, so that he stood in the center of a grisly pile.

"Cas!" The angel did not turn at the sound of his name. "Castiel!" Dean called, a bit more harshly this time. "You okay?"

"I am uninjured," Castiel replied, his voice quiet and unexcited as always. Still, something sounded strange about it. It was… tight, like Dean had never heard it before. A strange ache awoke in his stomach as he listened.

"Cas," Dean said again, somehow out of words after just a moment, falling back on saying the angel's name to bring him back from wherever he was that wasn't here. He picked respectfully through the bodies to get to the angel's side and waited for more. When nothing came, he slapped Castiel gently on the back. "Time to salt-n-burn and get some rest," he chided. "'m beat. Let's move."

"Dean."

Again, the unexpected strain in the angel's voice stopped Dean in his tracks, as his gut continued to warn him that something was astray. His body once again stiffly alert and battle-ready, Dean waited for more. "What is it?" he prompted gently.

"I believe that I… regret… the deaths of these vessels."

Dean nodded, although Castiel still faced away from him. "'sa bitch, innit? Hang with the mud monkeys and all of a sudden you--"

He broke off them, because Castiel had finally turned and Dean could barely understand what he was seeing: tears, slow but constant, were running the length of Castiel's borrowed face.

Castiel cocked his head, not understanding why Dean had stopped mid-sentence. "Dean?" But Dean just stared, somehow unable to avert his gaze. Unlike a human would have, Castiel kept looking straight at Dean, not understanding why he might have lowered his head, hidden his eyes.

"Nothing," Dean said at last, shaking it off as best he could. Then he frowned. "You gonna be okay, Cas?" And, without really thinking, he reached out and gripped the angel's shoulder, squeezing through the fabric, though he wasn't sure how much comfort could really be given in this situation.

At last some degree of self-consciousness computed, and Castiel reached up a hand to touch his face, frowning slightly as he saw the wetness on his fingers. "You ask because I am weeping."

"Yeah."

Castiel put his free arm up, not to touch Dean's hand as a human might have done, but to grip Dean's free shoulder, forming a perfect mirror image that nearly brought tears to Dean's own eyes with its childish naiveté. Castiel had no idea what to do, he realized, and was miming him, trying to understand how to feel what he was feeling.

"Dean," Castiel said slowly, thoughtfully, and it was odd to see his face remain perfectly smooth and tranquil as another wave of tears swelled in his eyes and crashed down his cheeks. "I do not know if I'm 'gonna be okay'."

"Yeah." Dean nodded, patting Castiel's shoulder one last time before dropping his arm. "I hear ya."