A/N: I started writing this less than ten minutes after finishing (or rather, devouring) Gayle Forman's book, If I Stay. It's quite an excellent book, and if you haven't already, I suggest you read it. The concept of the story wormed its way into my head and produced plot bunnies that simply would not go away; in fact, said plot bunnies reproduced in typical rapid plot bunny fashion, and within the space of a few minutes, this fic was born. Please bear in mind that this is my first time writing from many of these characters' perspectives, so it probably won't be anywhere near perfect, but I hope it will be enjoyable anyway.

Well, kids, I guess it's time for me to actually get to the story now. Remember: always bring the salt, and bowties are cool!

Castiel (sometime season 4/5)

If I stay…

I stare down at Dean, who is sleeping fitfully. I am not sure, actually, if his current state may accurately be referred to as "sleeping." But sleeping is something I have never done, so who am I to say?

There are so many things I have not done. Human things, angel things. I have not found God. I have not found love. So many things I am searching for that I have not found. Yet here, now, I am beginning to think that I may have found a reason to stay.

There are so many things for me to do in heaven. I have my duties just as all of my brothers do. My brothers themselves ought to be enough to draw me home. I belong with them. I belong with the host.

I belong here, too, though… don't I? I belong with the Winchesters. Dean and Sam feel more like family to me than my so-called brothers ever have. We have our disagreements, of course – over little things, such as whether it is an abuse of my power to make me "zap" their clothes clean after a hunt, thereby relieving one or the other from laundry duty; as well as over big things, like the apocalypse and other matters of heavenly import. My brothers and I have had our fights as well, but with them, it feels less like sibling rivalry and more like a power struggle. With the Winchesters, even our arguments are meant, I believe, in an attempt to better understand one another.

I would like to stay, I realize suddenly. I do not want to leave the Winchester brothers. This is belonging; this is family. But how can I stay, when I am being summoned back home—

No, I utter suddenly, forcefully, to myself; it is only when Sam grunts and rolls over, half-aware, and Dean automatically reaches for the knife under his pillow, that I realize I spoke aloud: this is home now.

I brush a finger across each brother's temple to placate him, starting with Dean because he is more likely to attack me. I smile almost involuntarily, watching them actually sleep this time; they look innocent, peaceful. That idyllic image will be shattered, of course, when they awake; but for now – for now, I revel in the moment, marveling at the sweetness of this new feeling of living not for tomorrow or next month or next year, but now.