Do you remember the first human you killed? When you were a young angel, a reckless one. When all the world meant were petty creatures, unnecessary things. Did they deserve it? You can wonder now, you can ask yourself.
What a strange feeling this is. What do they call it–is it admiration? Love? Respect? You can't describe it. Humans are such fickle beings. Stupid, almost. They have too many thoughts. But who are you to talk? You've always been different than the other angels. Raphael knew it. Michael knew it. Even Anna, poor sightless Anna knew it. You should have listened.
And yet now, you can't think of life without them. The humans. Everything around you is out of order, out of place. Heaven is upside down, Hell even worse. You should be fixing things. Not gallivanting around in an old car with a couple of confusingly emotional and overly talkative humans. But you don't want to fix. You want to be with them. Even when they make fun of you, but you won't whine about that, because Dean said babies whine, and you don't like being called immature.
And it's terrifying. It is. You'd thought you'd seen it all. Even if you are immortal, even if only your vessel decays, you can still see why humans are so afraid. Bullets hurt. And exploding isn't much fun either. But with Dean and Sam and even Bobby, the cranky one, it's all worth it. It's all going to be okay. The car is even starting to feel less infuriatingly slow. And though you don't understand the point of Dean's stupid jokes, you still find yourself almost smiling after them. Almost.
Ah. So that's what this feeling is. This incredibly annoying human emotion that strikes at the strangest times, and refuses to leave.
It's happiness.