Dean really didn't think about where he was going until he was there.

One minute, he was talking to his little brother, recalling the moments of their childhood when Sam's innocence hadn't been brutally snatched from him, all the while trying and failing to reign in his broken sobs and tears, shoulders shaking with each one that escaped, as he stood over Sam's lax form. The next, he was standing in the middle of the crossroads. The one person in his life that he swore to protect, who mattered more than anyone else, who he would gladly give up everyone he ever saved just to have one more moment with, who he couldn't go on without, was behind the locked doors of death, and the small wooden box Dean held in his hands was the key.

Well, that combined with his eternal soul.

What else can I do?

Green eyes filled with tears that spilled down ashen cheeks once more, and Dean felt his gut twist and a wave of nausea pass over him at the thought of living his life without the one person who had been his reason to get up in the morning since he was four years old. There would be no too big little brother riding shotgun while pretending to be annoyed by his music, no lectures about how burgers and pie were going to kill him one day, no one there to shoot him bitchfaces whenever he cracked a stupid joke or puppy dog eyes that could make Dean do just about anything, no prank wars, no having someone who could understand how he was feeling with just one look and know how to make it better even if they didn't know they were, no little brother, best friend, hunting partner, everything all wrapped up into one overgrown puppy, no one to bring him to that light at the end of the tunnel, no reason for living

No. Ten more years with Sam in exchange for his tainted soul was a steal.

"Dean."

Adrenaline spiked through him at the sudden greeting and Dean sprang upwards, his hunter's instincts making him grab his gun before he even knew what he was doing. The box was dropped on the ground in his panic before he could notice the presence of the newcomer.

"What the hell, man?" He spat, lowering his gun and glaring with red rimmed eyes, which he quickly wiped salty tears from. "Aren't you supposed to wait until I actually put the damn thing in the ground?" The gun was tucked back into his waistband and he stooped to pick up the small box.

The man before him cocked his head slightly, much like a bird's. It pissed Dean off.

"You believe that I am a crossroads demon." He finally stated after his brief inspection, his voice low and gravelly. He looked a bit put off. Maybe somewhat offended. Dean continued to glare, even when the man's crystal blue eyes didn't flick to red.

"Well, yeah. Come on, I don't got all day." I don't know how much longer I can go feeling this weight on my chest.

The dark haired man seemed to settle a little, his piercing blue eyes becoming just a slight softer. "I assure you, I am not a demon." He stated. "My name is Castiel. I am an Angel of the Lord. I would reassure that there is no need to fear me, but I'm certain that you do not, Dean Winchester."

A brief silence settled over them. The newcomer's trench coat billowed slightly in the breeze while Dean eyed him skeptically. Castiel could see his green eyes harden their stare and his jaw clench, fists squeezed tight until Dean was white knuckled.

"There's no such thing as angels." Dean stated with absolution, a dark undertone and a bite in his voice. "And if there were, I would kick their asses for not doing their damn jobs."

Castiel fought the urge to roll his eyes, continuing to stare intently at his friend (well, future friend). He was so not in the mood for this. He'd already had this conversation with Dean years ago, and received a knife in his vessel's torso for it (which Jimmy had most certainly not appreciated). Once was enough.

Another moment of intense staring and Castiel finally asked the question he'd been wondering for a very, very long time.

"And what exactly is our job, Dean?" Because that was the thing: every time he tried to do his job, Dean got it into his head that the angel was out to do him–or, Father help him, Sam–some form of harm. Yes, he'd made mistakes, but the only thing that he had ever tried to do is help them, like what he was trying to do now. So please, tell him what, exactly, Dean thought he should be doing.

This earned him a hardened look from Dean, one that spoke annoyance and disgust and I am so not ready to deal with your fucking shit right now because I've got a baby brother who's dead and needs saving and nothing is going to keep me from doing just that.

He'd gone a bit too far. Point taken. Castiel had somewhat forgotten what it had been like to have such sensitive human emotions.

"Alright, Castiel." The growl was so low it was almost a whisper. His face morphed from extremely pissed off to extremely pissed off big brother with something to prove. "Picture this: a baby, just six months old, lying in his crib completely defenceless, completely innocent, all cute and pudgy and giggly and all other applicable baby adjectives." He paused a moment, collecting his emotions and, Castiel mused, his temper. "A demon walks into his room, you with me? The demon proceeds to feed him its blood." Dean punctuated the words harshly and took a step closer to Castiel. "You'd, y'know, help him. Right?" The question was accompanied by Dean crossing his arms and shrugging seemingly casually. "And how about his mom dying and burning on the ceiling above him? How about her? Cause, I mean, that's what I'd think angels would probably do. I could be wrong though."

Sarcasm, Castiel interpreted, a typical Winchester strategy for temporary concealment of violent outbursts. Of course he would help the baby, Sam, his friend, his family, knowing then what he learned from the Winchesters later. But at the time, he had his orders; it was imperative that the future Boy King be fed Azazel's blood. "Dean, I–"

"Then, the baby grows up, all hopeful and puppy dog eyed in this broken family," Dean continued, the corner of his lip quirking up the tiniest bit, "praying to angels every damn day for at least a little bit of hope in his messed up, crappy life…"

The elder Winchester grew silent a moment, and Castiel knew this was going to get bad fast.

"Every day… every day for 23 fucking years, he prayed for a better life for his family, for himself, for… for…" he trailed off, clearing his throat because he did not trust himself to talk right now without his voice cracking. Mask firmly back in place, he continued, voice gravelly. "They were supposed to help him. They were supposed to keep him safe from demons and monsters and a life that he hated and now?" Dean paused with unshed tears glistening in his eyes, looking intently at Castiel and cataloguing the angel's somewhat ashamed expression. "He's dead because of it. My kid brother is dead because of something that was out of his control since he was six months old." I was supposed to keep him safe from all those things too. "So yeah, if I ever come across an angel, I will pluck its feathers out and make it eat them."

Now this was familiar, Castiel thought. He knew how to deal with an angry, protective, threatening Dean.

"Dean." The angel treaded cautiously at first, gauging Dean's reaction. When Dean just continued to breathe sharply and heavily, he continued. "Sam Winchester's prayers have been answered. I am here to save you both, but you must do as I say." Dean scoffed, unshed tears glistening in his green eyes, but he pressed on. "I know that you are more than willing to sell your soul for your brother, that you care about him more than anything in the world, including yourself. And, as unhealthy a quality as it is, I have always admired that in you. Both of you." He mentally winced at his choice of tenses. Seeing as this was a past Dean, he wouldn't know about all their experiences together. "You're both unique, and so is the bond that holds strong between you. It's rare and special." And, to the untrained eye, old, very old. Many of the Heavenly Host had thought it possible that their Father had created this bond especially to beat the Devil, bestowing it only upon the two brothers who were worthy of such a gift and burden. But after spending years with the Winchesters, Castiel realized that it was made of nothing more than unconditional love, friendship, and brotherhood, grown strong from being forged and reforged in the hottest flames that Hell had to throw at it. The more it endured, the stronger it became.

Dean stayed silent, his gaze bore a hole into Castiel's head, and the angel took the lack of a rebuttal as a sign to continue.

"But this demon isn't going to give you ten years. It's going to give you just one."