A/N: Another drabble set to the song Power of Love. Spoilers for S5/S6.
Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the characters, the show, or the song.
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Castiel was not blind. He knew that humans had their faults: he knew about murder without motive; torture without reason; he knew about dictators and terrorists and rapists; he knew about racism and sexism and corruption. Dean had given him a full run down of everything that he hated about the world. Dean had told him - straight from the heart - that 'hell on Earth' was not hypothetical; it was the cold, hard truth.
Things only got worse. Since Sam went to hell, so much of Dean was doubt; the rest was a combination of anger and sadness. Together, Dean said those things made what was called hopelessness. Dean said that's how the whole world felt. Castiel could see it sometimes, the doubt seeping into Dean's blood stream, the anger coiled tightly around Dean's lungs, and the sadness, sitting very still at the bottom of Dean's heart. He could never see the hopelessness though, he refused. Instead, he saw love. Love for his father, his mother, Bobby, even Cas - but most of all he saw the love Dean had for his brother. It was destructive love, but love nonetheless.
After another day of hunting without Sam, Castiel crashed onto the dirty sofa of their newest motel room. He felt beat and broken and all of those other things that Dean had told him to expect. There was a heavy silence in the room and Castiel knew - without having to look - that Dean had locked himself in the bathroom again. This wasn't walking on egg shells; this was balancing on the edge of a cliff in strong winds. He didn't just doubt God, he doubted everything. About whether they would be able to save the world – about whether it was even worth saving. Dean's virus had spread, and most of all, Castiel doubted himself.
Dean could be anywhere in the world right now. His physical form was in the bathroom, but where his mind was, Castiel was still searching. It was like the hunt for God except this was personal, painful. The angel picked himself up of the sofa like a ragdoll and forced his legs to take him to the bathroom door. Dean was talking inside, his voice low and gravelly. Castiel pressed his ear to the door to listen and felt a cold shiver run up his spine; Dean was praying.
The door was locked, but Castiel was an angel and before he could even think about it, he was stood behind Dean. The vision almost knocked him off his feet; Dean was facing the window, on his knees, hands clasped together like magnets. Castiel watched the man in silence, and listened to his message to God. He felt a vibration in his chest, the way he used to when another angel was trying to contact him. Someone had told him that humans could have the same effect, but he'd never believed them.
