So, life's been hectically busy recently but I managed to get back to Destiel fanfics. I was listening to the song "Unwell" by Matchbox 20 and wrote this little Destiel story. It's two different times-for Dean, it's near the beginning of Season 8 when Cas was back in Purgatory and for Cas, it's Season 9 in the brief period where Dean left him and Sam.

All day staring at the ceiling

Making friends with shadows on my wall-Matchbox 20

Dean Winchester has never been one to count the days. In his book, it's the way to freaking madness. And he's definitely never been one to count the days since they lost someone.

Losing someone is just the hunter's way of life. It happens, you move on and you do what you've got to do to deal with it. You go to a bar, get a drink, find some girl to waste the night with. And you go on, because if you don't, one day you won't get up in the morning.

Losing someone happens and you don't let it mean any more than it should.

So Dean Winchester has never been one to count the days.

But now? He doesn't have to. He can feel it in every beat of his pulse, the way the blood seems to drag in his veins a little more slowly when he'll wince at a sudden stab of bright blue eyes, I'm sorry, Dean, too-sharp memories that make him bite his lip and turn up the volume of whatever Zeppelin song he's blasting, that makes Sam look at him with that concerned look that makes Dean feel like pressing down on the accelerator and driving until the world vanishes beneath the wheels.

At night, sometimes when Sam's' breathing has finally levelled out into sleep and Dean's staring up at the ceiling, playing hide and seek with the shadows on the wall and the thoughts in his head, he'll think he sees something-a movement in the corner, a brush of feathers against the duvet, and he'll shoot up in bed, his heart pounding, his hands tight in the bedcovers because this is it, he's come back, he's here, he's back, he's here-

But it's never anything, it's never a trench coat and that head tilted to the side and that gravel-deep voice Hello, Dean.

Dean rolls over and stares at the cracks in the wall. He doesn't sleep until dawn cracks the sky because it's only sheer exhaustion that lets his eyes fall closed without hearing that voice right there in his ear.

Thank you. For everything.

Dean Winchester does not scream in his sleep.

But before he never saw bright blue eyes, just inches away but they might as well be miles. Before, he never felt a sleeve slipping out of his grip. Before, he never heard his own voice screaming Cas, hold on, even as he's pulled back, back, away, that hand somewhere still reaching for his.

And it's his own voice still yelling Cas as he sits bolt upright in bed and it's Sam who's waiting there with his arm around Dean's shoulders, which they don't talk about, and who sits there, saying "Dean, you were dreaming. It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare, Dean."

And Dean nods and clutches the bedcovers to his chest and pretends he doesn't feel exactly like a terrified kid, who just wants the morning to come and the dream to dissolve into nothingness, even though when he opens his eyes, the first thing he'll know is the dull thumping knowledge of He's not here.

And, followed right on the heels of that drag of realisation, another one. I let him go.

Castiel has heard Dean Winchester tell him to stay so many times, and he's had to leave, and somehow he has never thought it would be the other way round.

Perhaps because Castiel has always been an angel but now he knows what it is to be human. He has always been able to return if he wished, if he needed to be near Dean and Sam. And sometimes he has, just when they can't see him, has stood between their beds and watched them sleep, the men he was sent to guard. Sometimes, he has just stood and watched Dean Winchester, the man he remade from scratch, his eyes lingering on his face the way he never could if Dean was awake, was watching him.

Dean decries this behaviour as "creepy" but Castiel has no such reservations, being an angel.

But now, he is standing on a bridge with Sam Winchester and he is watching Dean walk away from them. He is watching Dean walk away and there is nothing he can do and something is curling tighter and tighter in his chest as he watches Dean Winchester leave him further and further behind.

Castiel does not dare to move his lips because he thinks then whatever is in his chest might shatter so he simply stands and watches, the way he now realises Dean must have done so many times for him.

In the bunker, Castiel misses sleep.

He has always thought of sleep as a waste of time, even as a human. As a human, it was especially tiresome because he had no choice in the matter. But now, as an angel again, he is not enjoying his regained power to go without sleep.

Sometimes, he tries to lie down and close his eyes the same way that Sam does, but even then, all he sees is Dean Winchester walking away.

He can still remember Dean's hand on his shoulder, so long ago now, as they stood in a room with every thought in Castiel's mind battling against another, Dean's voice cutting into it all. There is a right and a wrong here, and you know it.

Castiel lets his eyes track the shadows on his bedroom wall now, and tries not to see Dean Winchester in every one. He couldn't find Dean Winchester now unless he called for him. And he has to wait, and wonder, and hope.

Castiel might have lost his humanity but right now, lying here, staring at the ceiling filled with the feeling of reaching for something that is never there, he thinks this might be the most human he has ever felt.

When Cas was gone before, Dean never told Sam why he was keeping the coat.

He knew Sam noticed, the way Dean kept it folded just right, the way that he would always stare away as he opened the trunk, the way he always kept his fingers from brushing the material. He didn't know what Sam thought and he didn't care.

Well, maybe he did know. That you didn't always keep the coats of someone who'd betrayed you. Of someone who was just a friend once upon a time.

But Dean always pushed that out of his head, because there was no way he was going down that road, because that was the last thing he needed right then.

But sometimes, when he'd been alone and he'd headed out to the Impala for something, he'd let his hand brush over the sleeve just for a moment, and he'd remembered that night at the brothel, after he and Cas had made a run for it out the door, when he'd found himself laughing so hard his stomach hurt with his arm slung around an angel's shoulders. And Cas, glancing at him with that confused smile that peeked out like a sudden whisper in the corner of a room, the way he'd suddenly wanted to pull him in closer, press their foreheads together.

Dean doesn't like his thoughts going down those routes these days but sometimes that's the only road they'll go down after another night of too little sleep with the sunlight just beginning to crawl across the motel walls.

He couldn't have thrown that coat out but he'd never have told Sam that it would have felt like cutting off his own arm, carving out his own heart, cracking each one of his ribs in two until he was choking and gasping, and how much of a relief some of that would have been.

There'd always been something more between him and Cas, if he was honest. He didn't let his mind go near what or how it was but it was there, this thing, ever since Castiel had looked straight at him as if Dean hadn't just tried to shoot him about fifty times and said I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.

But Dean didn't let himself think about it because it was something that was best left alone. It was something they couldn't have and would never have and he didn't even like to probe too deeply at it with his thoughts because that was one road there might be no going back from.

But he knew it was there and now that Cas wasn't, it was always at the back of his mind, nudging his dreams, demanding that it be heard, a constant shadow beneath each thought, reaching out behind his eyes.

But these days, he'd be on a case or lying in bed, or just driving, and suddenly Cas's voice would slam into his head. I'm doing this for you, Dean. I'm doing this because of you.

I don't understand that reference.

You are not the burnt and broken shell of a man I thought you were.

Dean Winchester knows he's nothing close to what any sane person would want. (Though whether Cas counts as a person...) And he's especially nothing close to what any sane angel could want to be around. But Cas had stuck with him and Sam, and somehow, he fitted right there, though it was no jigsaw anyone else would have constructed.

And if anyone had said it to his face while Cas was still here-Dean doesn't know. He'd have denied it. He knows that. But if he'd been forced to think about it-if he'd had to know-

Sammy keeps watching him these days, and Dean keeps looking away. Cas's name hangs in the air between them but the words are never formed because every night Dean feels that moment when he saw Cas by that river and the way that his knees wanted to collapse from under him, the way he'd had his arms around Castiel's shoulders before he could think of any other words but Cas and that relief, that wave of utter, utter relief and that jolt at the sight of him that had left all his words gone, all of them gone but a smile he couldn't get rid of.

His hand had brushed against Cas's cheek, just the slightest touch as he'd stepped back. Just a touch, without thinking. And Cas had stared back, and that touch had tingled at the end of Dean's fingers, Castiel's eyes big and blue and something he knew so well that he ached at the sight of them.

Cas had always stared that way, like he was seeing underneath Dean's skin. Like whatever Dean had done, he was still something else to Cas, some weird other thing that only Cas seemed to see. Dean had thought at first that it was the whole good-soldier thing-that Cas had to see Dean as vital, as necessary, because the whole of Heaven did and they were the guys giving orders.

But then Cas had broken away from Heaven to join their side and he'd still done the weird staring thing and the no-personal-space thing and everything else Dean had tried not to think about because it was nothing to think about. There was nothing to it.

Sam had once pointed out Cas didn't stand that close to anyone else and Dean had told Sam to shove it.

But somehow Cas had just fitted there. And somehow, he'd seemed to want to be there. And something about it had just been-right, even though if Sam had ever come out with something so utterly chick-flick moment, Dean would never have let him forget it.

But now every time Dean closed his eyes, he saw Cas's hand slipping out of his, saw Cas left behind, Cas gone, after everything, after nights in the Impala and teaching Cas about human references and Cas staring at Dean and saying in that torn, desperate voice I'll find a way to redeem myself to you.

We've been through much together, you and I.

Dean turns Zeppelin up louder and pretends he can drive faster than his thoughts.

Castiel had always been more intrigued by Dean Winchester than he should have been.

He had tried to be discreet but he knew that his superiors could sense it. Even when he kept any reports on the Winchesters as clipped and short as he possibly could, he examined his words carefully, ears sharp for even a lingering on Dean's name, as if even the word could open Castiel's soul to them.

Castiel did not understand his longing to watch Dean from the moment he was raised. Indeed, the first moment that Dean had broken into a shop and stolen, Castiel had waited for his own soul to revolt from this clear sin, from this man who rather than giving thanks, simply leapt at the first chance to delve deeper into human pleasures.

But that revolt had not come. Instead, Castiel had found his senses growing sharper, and something had flowed through his being, some current of interest, something bright, strong. Something very much like yearning.

He had watched Dean Winchester from that moment on.

Dean's words the first time they spoke had been taut, electric to Castiel, and he had clung to them, even as he tried to fit in this strangely human body, even as Dean Winchester pushed away any advice Castiel tried to give to this painfully defiant, painfully broken destined vessel.

What vessel are you in now, then? Holy tax accountant?

Castiel had had a message to impart but something had tugged at his being then, an impulse he didn't understand, but it tugged at his mouth too and it was only when he had been inside this vessel a little longer that he understood that it was the urge to let laughter crumble out of his mouth.

But it had been when Dean Winchester had said And why would an angel rescue me from hell? that Castiel had stared at this man, this man that he had put back together with his own hands and known something, known it in a way he could only explain from seeing it in Dean Winchester's eyes and hearing it in his words and feeling it, feeling it beating in his chest, a knowledge that pounded in Dean Winchester's heart and throughout Castiel's own soul.

You don't think you deserve to be saved.

He had stepped closer to Dean Winchester as he said the words, barely aware of what he was doing, just wanting to understand, to know, to be closer-he had been curious. Dean Winchester had made him curious.

And Dean Winchester hadn't denied it. Instead, he had just stared back and something had trembled in the air between them. Castiel had felt it, something taut and tight and shaking. And something had trembled in his own being, even though he had kept his vessel's face blank, his voice level.

Castiel had never felt this before, but he did not dislike it. And he had known then that he could not stay away from Dean Winchester.

No matter what he was asked to do, even if he hadn't let himself know this yet.

Whenever Castiel had had to walk among humans, he had always been glad for the Winchesters. It had been galling to discover that being an angel had not entirely prepared him for human interaction.

Sam was always happy to explain something, always pointing out gently any of Castiel's mistakes-Dean remarked that Sammy would have made a great professor back at Stanford, though Castiel wasn't sure if the remark was meant to be funny or not. And Castiel grew to feel an affection for Sam, an affection that he grew to understand was friendship and made him a little more amenable to understanding why Dean might give up so much for his brother, for Sammy, as Dean always referred to him.

But it was Dean who, whenever Castiel got something wrong, would laugh, toss it off with another remark, one that Castiel rarely understood but often loved hearing. It was Dean who, after Castiel had informed Chastity of the truth behind her father's absence at the brothel (and he still wasn't entirely sure what his error had been) had laughed so hard he had doubled over and then slung an arm around Castiel's shoulders in a way that had made Castiel want to lean closer to Dean, want to lean his head on his shoulder for a moment, imagine the brush of their skin-

These thoughts had flashed into Castiel's mind before he could stop them and then it was too late to forget them.

He wasn't sure that he wanted to forget.

But sometimes when he found himself watching Dean a moment too long, Dean had looked back. At first, Castiel hadn't been aware that this was unusual-not until Sam had pointed out, in an off-hand manner, that most humans didn't stare at others this way. Dean had told Sam to shut up, even though Sam had been smiling.

But Dean always looked back when Castiel stared which sometimes made his vessel's heart speed up and that thing would be back, taut and trembling between them.

It took Castiel a while to understand and by the time he'd started to, it was too late to take a step back, to break their gaze.

Castiel is fond of Sam, greatly. But he is not Dean.

When they are in the bunker together, Dean is between them even without being physically present. He is there in every sentence they don't say, every breath that catches in Castiel's throat when he thinks his name. He is there in the nights that Castiel spends sitting on the edge of his bed, wishing he could cast his mind out into the world and see Dean somewhere, wishing his angelic powers extended that far.

He would give anything to see Dean even for a moment right now.

Castiel has felt heartbreak before. He has felt it in Purgatory when he saw Dean's eyes as Castiel had pushed his arm away. He has felt it even deeper when he had realised the damage he had done, as Dean had pushed him in front of the sigil, and the way his own voice had cracked as he'd said with all his strength I'm sorry, Dean.

But he has let Dean walk away just when he can be with him and Sam again.

It is an emptiness in Castiel's chest that has him walking the bunker at night, that leaves him staring at walls, pretending that Dean is standing just behind him, a hand hovering just above Castiel's shoulder. Sometimes, he closes his eyes, as if Dean's fingers could close in just a moment, brush his skin, the way Castiel sometimes used to let himself dream of in quieter moments, just imagining Dean's lips against his skin, against his jaw, and even in moments of quiet madness, Dean's mouth against his own.

But now Castiel would settle for a look at Dean's face.

Nights should not seem long to Castiel, given how long he has been alive, but now they do, his chest filled with something deep and hurting and hollow, something that makes it difficult to breathe, something that makes him whisper Dean's name under his breath, as if somewhere it could reach the hunter, his hand stretched out, grasping for a shadow's touch, as if somehow his hand could stretch across time and space and brush Dean's fingers.

Castiel had never known emptiness could ache so much.

Hold on,

Feeling like I'm headed for a breakdown

Dean is fed up of Sammy asking if he's OK. He knows he's sleepwalking around the way he did when he thought Cas was dead, knows that there's something broken behind his eyes every time he closes them, knows when he stares ahead of him at the empty road that inside his chest is aching for something, everything, but that he'd take anything right now.

When Cas was dead, he thought Cas felt nothing. With Cas in Purgatory, he knows Cas feels something.

Dean thinks of something ripping into Cas's chest, and that night he has to bite down on his hand to stifle the sounds of his nightmares.

During the day, Dean tries not to think. If he could go through life without thinking, it would be easier. But when thoughts break through, that's when Dean stares straight ahead, memories lapping at every word he speaks and crowding every whisper in his mind, and wonders if this is what it's like to go crazy.

Castiel has been consumed with thoughts before. He has clung to one word over and over. He has lost himself inside memories when the pain has washed over him, making him feel as though he is crumbling to pieces, as though he is dying under the weight of it, even though he knows he can't die.

But for some reason, this time is worse than anything else. His every thought is Dean Winchester and the fact that he's gone and Castiel doesn't know where he is and that he let Dean go, Castiel let him. Castiel let Dean Winchester walk away and it is one of the hardest things he has had to do in his whole existence.

And it is the thing that is growing bigger and blacker inside him, until he is choking on pain that he can't feel. His memories burn him alive but each time, he gladly shoves his hands into the flames.

Castiel has been what people call crazy before, but this is the only time he himself has felt as if he is genuinely losing his mind.

I can hear them whisper

And it makes me think there must be something wrong with me

Out of all the hours thinking

Somehow, I've lost my mind

But I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell

When he sees Cas again, all he wants to do is hug him. And that's what he does. Right there in the bathroom, with Cas, the real Cas there, not some vision out of a car window or from a motel bed. Cas, Castiel, who put him back together and tore up Heaven and gave up everything. Castiel, who can make him more furious and desperate and downright pissed-off than anyone else (apart from maybe Sammy and it's totally different, Dean knows that much.) Cas, who's been in every thought Dean's had since the last time he saw him, even if he chose to pretend he didn't know it.

It's Cas and Dean's arms are around him so tightly that it hurts but he holds him and breathes him in and he knows he's going to yell at him and curse him and ask where the hell he's been and what happened and every other freaking question that's been screaming at him for months-but right now he just holds him. Cas is home.

Cas is here and for a moment, that's all there is.

When his arms wrap around Dean Winchester's shoulders, Castiel understands what it means to go limp with relief.

His arms are tight around Dean Winchester and he keeps his face blank, his voice level but he holds Dean a second longer than usual, holds him as if he can keep him there, pressed against his chest, just for a while, just to know he is back, this is real.

Castiel doesn't let his voice break, doesn't let them see. Doesn't let them see that inside he is crumbling with happiness and relief and the feeling of yes, he is here, he is here, and Castiel has not let him vanish after all.

Later, there will be questions and probably answers nobody wants to hear and more questions and words that will burn in his throat and Dean's voice sharp in his ears, but right now, Castiel just holds on.

Dean is here, and for a moment that's all there is.

It's later on, after they've shouted and argued and talked, and they're driving away, that Dean can look over at Castiel and know he's there. He's there and right now, they've got him near. Dean's got him near. And right now, he's not going anywhere.

And for the first time in a while, there are no nightmares, no screaming, no nights searching the walls for any signs. There's just Dean for the moment and Cas and that head tilting to the side as Dean says the two words that have been waiting in his mouth.

It's later when they're near each other again that Castiel looks at Dean and knows that right now, they're both here. He knows that it's not over, not all of it, not by so much, but right now, Dean is back. Dean is back and Castiel watches him, takes all of him in, all of the man that he has been starved of for what feels more like forever than the many years Castiel has lived.

And for the first time in a while, the aching emptiness in Castiel's chest feels full. And Dean Winchester is staring at him with that arched eyebrow and that grin that Castiel has carried behind his eyes for longer than even he himself has realised. And he looks at Dean and says the two words that he has held close to himself since the last time they spoke, held tight and near to himself until now, this moment.

"Hey, Cas."

"Hello, Dean."

But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see

A different side of me

Hope you guys enjoyed that-and remember, leave a review if you did! :) xoxo