Dean spent 26 years of his life trying to please his father. He wanted nothing more than the love and acceptance only a father could give. He never got it. And, yeah, Dean knew that his dad had loved him. John had died saving Dean, and then saved him again afterwards. But he still managed to make Dean feel like shit after he'd died, too. He remembered the twisting feeling in his stomach when Alistair had told him that he'd broke when his father never had, that his father had expected more of him, that everything was his fault.

So he imagines he understands what Castiel is going through. He definitely understands what it's like to have an absent father, if not always physically, emotionally. Eternally trying to please someone who didn't give any sign that he cared about you.

He doesn't make it very obvious, though. He doesn't feel guilty, either. After all the shit the angels put him through, it's almost impossible for him to.

Or so he thought. But when he sees Castiel, kneeling, praying, looking so lost and so close to tears after Uriel is gone, he thinks he might have been completely mistaken. He's painfully reminded of the other side of all of this. All of the things the angels - no, just Cas, all of the things that Cas had done for him.

And this is his reasoning for wrapping his arms around the crumpled angel. He doesn't expect it to help much, but it is all he can do.

He also doesn't expect the choked sob that the angel responds with, or the hands that grip at the cloth on his back, nails scraping his shoulder blades. This new, vulnerable side of Castiel shakes Dean momentarily. The steady spin of the earth on its axis seems suddenly uncontrollable, dangerous. Dean can feel his own helplessness seeping into his bones.

But it passes.

Castiel stills, clear blue eyes gaze at Dean's face and they are both grounded in faith and confidence.

And he was right. It isn't much. But it's enough.