Falling from Heaven hurt. It didn't matter if you came down on the command of the rulers in Heaven or if you did it on your own. It didn't matter if you'd been cast out, were running away, or simply had a job to do. Coming down from Heaven hurt, and forcing angelic Grace into a human vessel wasn't pleasant for anyone either.

But it was the job, and Castiel had never questioned the job.

Retrieving the Righteous Man from Hell had hurt too. His wings had been forever seared black because of the ash of that place, because of the fire that had lept up around him. His blade had been stained with the blood of his enemies, but that had been a different kind of hurt. Killing, being a soldier, that was his duty, his purpose. He was an Angel, and Angel's fought for God. Coming to Earth was something else.

Still, it was the job, and he didn't question it.

Not even when he was forced to shove all of his essence into a body that could barely contain it. Not even when he went from being this magnificent being of power, to only being able to see through these two tiny pinpricks that human's called eyes. Not even when he lost sight of Heaven, when his only connection became the mind numbing chatter of Angels everywhere echoing through his mind.

Castiel didn't question it, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

He wasn't human- no, but even living in one had its limitations, and when Castiel crashed into the human known as Jimmy Novak, he felt like the entire world went dark.

Castiel hated the dark. To be entirely honest, he wasn't certain he had hated anything before, but this he hated, these feelings, being trapped, so his one and only goal became doing everything that he could to finish his job and get back. He wanted out of the dark. He wanted to go home.

But nothing was ever quite that simple, was it?

Castiel gently ran a hand through the Righteous Man's hair- Dean Winchester's hair- as he laid next to the sleeping human on a bed in the bunker. It had been so long now, and so much had changed. He had changed, and it was all thanks to this human beside him. The one for whom he had burnt his wings.

Dean didn't know about that of course. Castiel didn't want to risk showing him the wings for numerous reasons, and, besides, he'd just feel guilty, but the point remained.

Coming down to earth had been like crashing into the dark, and, for a long time, it had stayed that way. Castiel had thought that the only true light was the one in Heaven, but that light was cold, artificial, and blinding. He knew that now.

But that didn't mean that he was trapped in the dark.

Dean was his light, his home, and it wasn't an artificial light either. Dean was a candle that lit his way in the darkness. Dean was the one who guided him home, into the arms of his hunter.

And Castiel was long done being an obedient little soldier.

Letting his grace gently brush over Dean's sleeping form, Castiel opened his wings on another dimension and left the bunker with a rush of feathers.

"You told me he was in danger," Castiel pronounced as he landed in some form of abandoned factory, looking up at the Archangel in front of him- the dead Archangel in front of him, no matter how convincing he may have appeared.

The echo of Gabriel turned around slowly. "I didn't think you'd come. Thought you were done being a foot soldier."

"I am not here to be your soldier," Castiel growled. "You told me Dean was in danger."

"Dean's always in danger," Gabriel snorted, but he held up a hand in concession as Castiel took a step forward. "There's something coming," he said with a haunted look in his eyes. "And it's not like anything you've ever faced. There's a reason there were four Archangels, Castiel, and now… now there are none. There will be consequences for that."

"How does this affect Dean?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Because when has there ever been an Apocalypse without that boy in the middle of it?"

A few hours after dawn, Dean woke up in the bunker.

He woke up alone.