It was strange to him, at first, to feel so protected.
He had never expected to even survive one day in this hell without cracking, tearing apart at the seams as the flames licked at his soul, molding and charring it into a blackened remnant.
And yet, he had been sheltered, cared for, the many demons who clawed out and vied for his very being were being shielded from him by the frayed wings of his protector. He did not understand his intentions, but did little to question them. He only understood that here he was safe; safer than he had ever felt with his brother.
And how disappointed would his brother be in him now, if he could see him like this. Broken in his eyes, helpless, defeated. No, Dean would never forgive him. But just as these thoughts crept into his head, stinging him with their memories, he would feel the brush of his protector's wing, a hand on his shoulder, a voice in his ear that whispered, "Do not be afraid. They will never be able to harm you, not while I am here."
And he would break down, collapsing into the angel's arms as tears ran down his face, knowing that only here was he cared for, only here was he safe from the pain and guilt of his cursed family.
He had never felt so free.
"Please," he whispered to the angel, "don't leave me."
And as his fingers buried into the ragged golden feathers, he knew that he would never be alone again.