He is here. He's alright. He is...well, alive, and that's more than Castiel had expected, so he doesn't feel justified in complaining.
Who would he complain to, anyway? No higher authority would care to hear his anguish concerning his "charge".
He thinks of the word "charge" in quotations because it doesn't seem right to label Dean like that anymore. In all actuality, Dean is much more than his "charge". He's his friend.
But can Castiel really call himself Dean's friend? Do friends convince friends to let archangels possess their body for personal vendetta?
Castiel had known the consequences, yet he had been the one to tell Dean that everything would be ok. Everything was not ok. Dean was here, Michael was gone, and Dean's body was as limp as a rag-doll's.
A flash of green. Castiel sees it. Castiel sees everything - nothing has gone or will go unseen. He's been waiting for almost two days straight. Angels don't technically need sleep. Humans, on the other hand, do. They also apparently need caffeine, which is why Sam is currently residing in the dimly-lit coffee shop nearby.
Castiel thinks of calling Sam for a moment, but he decides against it. He doesn't know if Dean is waking up or if it's a false alarm, so he won't bother Sam until he knows for sure.
Dean opens his eyes.
Castiel hesitates, then teeters forward, carefully stepping closer but also attempting to abide by the laws that govern humanity. Specifically what Dean refers to as "personal space".
"Dean?" Castiel speaks softly, eyes fixed on Dean.
Dean swallows and focuses his eyes on Castiel's face. After a moment, he speaks, voice cracking. "Who are you?"
Castiel frowns. "Dean..."
"Dean who?" Dean looks at Castiel, eyes glassy and slightly out of focus, head still spinning from the possession. Castiel stares at Dean, and tentatively puts a hand to his head, searching through his memories.
Sammy. Dad's orders. Impala. Hunting.
It was all there.
Except the apocalypse.
Castiel pulls his hand back. Dean watches him.
"I'm sorry," Castiel says after a moment, voice low and strained. He puts two fingers to Dean's head, and Dean's eyes roll back into unconsciousness.
Castiel doesn't move for one long minute.
Before he leaves, he gently lifts the sleeve of Dean's shirt and looks at the handprint scar. Placing his hand over it, he heals it. The skin on his shoulder is now just as smooth as before he'd entered Dean's life.
"It's better this way."
With a gust of wind, he's gone