I needed to pour my feels into some words after this heartbreaking episode (Jensen deserves a freakin' Oscar) so here is what I would have loved to see at the end of 12x03.

Please leave me a review ? Q.Q

When Castiel came back to the bunker, the moon was already high in the night sky. He walked down the metallic stairs with a sigh, exhausted by his long road trip and his demonic copilot who definitely liked to hear himself talk.

Knowing the Winchesters and their - at the least - unusual sleep patterns, he wasn't surprised to discover the library was still lit by a warm yellow light, nor to find Dean sitting at the solid wood table.

However, he was surprised to see him rest his forehead in his hand with a barely concealed disappointment as he glanced at him. The almost empty bottle of scotch in front of him also constituted a worrying symptom.

Frowning, Castiel laid his duffle bag on the table and looked around, listening to hear the sounds of the bunker.

But the silence was crushing.

- Dean ..., the angel gently initiated to not rush the hunter. Where is your mother?

He looked up, dragging his hand over his face, then took a new sip of whisky.

- Gone, he said in a croaky voice.

- … Why? Where? Castiel asked, puzzled.

- I don't know! Dean yelled abruptly as he hit the tabletop with the flat of his hand, startling his interlocutor.

He barely met his gaze before he jumped up, his intertwined fingers pulling the short hair at the base of his skull as if he wanted to tear them off, and a part of Castiel feared he would do it. No matter how hard Dean tried to hide his emotions by turning his back on him – as always – it was too late; the angel had catched a glimpse of his reddened and slightly swollen eyelids, as well of the tears that glistened in his pale green eyes.

- Dean…, Castiel began without knowing how to pursue.

Maybe he shouldn't. After all, there are some sufferings nothing can assuage. Helpless, he watched the man for whom he had given up everything so many times, over and over, for whom he had fallen in every way imaginable, and for whom he would endlessly start again. He looked at his broad shoulders hunched to the point of grazing the tip of his ears, his clenched fists shaking on each side of his tense body.

Tremors that worsened when he asked:

- What have I done wrong, Cas? Or- what should I've done?

It was Dean's voice that was broken, but it was in Castiel's heart that its shards stuck.

- I… I don't know.

Dean swallowed hard in the hope of stifling a sob, his words punctuated by hiccups:

- Why does- everyone ... leave me...?

Castiel bit his lip, his forehead troubled by wrinkles as deep as his sorrow. He knew he was included in the lot and God knows that abandoning Dean was part of his long list of remorses.

- I'm sorry, Dean ... So sorry.

He wished he could find the right words, wished he wasn't socially inapt, wished he could bring Dean back what he had lost for the second time, and so much more, because he deserved it.

He kept on crying with his back turned on the angel, completely still except for the jolts that shook him whole at regular intervals, as if his heartache had him pinned on the spot.

So it is Castiel who came to him after some hesitation.

He approached slowly, making more noise than necessary to not startle him, before he gently hugged him, his chin housed in the small hollow where his trapezius joined his neck. Enveloped in his smell, he felt his warmth radiating through the double layer of clothes he always wore, the spasms that contracted his chest under his palms with each sob.

Then Dean snapped.

Without any restraint, he spun in the angel's arms to hug him in turn and snuggled up against him as if he were trying to wrap himself in the same trenchcoat, grabbing it with all his might.

Without any restraint, he cried and cried and cried, dotting the beige fabric with dark and salty spots, he wept until his eyes burned and his throat was dry.

And Castiel did not let go. He didn't release his grip at any time, for he knew that Dean would not bear a second rejection.

The hunter's breath suddenly became wheezing and increasingly chopped, abused by the too long withheld tears; he might hyperventilate. The angel departed from him just enough to cradle his face:

- Dean, calm down. Breathe with me ... here, breathe, look at me.

He inhaled deeply, exaggerating the gesture, and Dean tried to imitate him before a coughing fit prevented it. The second trial was good, and he gradually managed to trace his breath on that of the angel.
When his dizziness ceased and glitter no longer danced in his vision, he realized that Castiel was still holding his face a few inches away from his. He immediately tried to pull away, without success. Overwhelmed by shame and fear, he used the last defense mechanism he had left; he tightly closed his wet eyelids.

- Dean.

He persisted in keeping his eyes shut.

- Dean, look at me please. I only want to tell you something I should have told you so many times before.

The tone of the angel was soft and pleading. Dean gave in; he had always trust him. He steeled himself and opened his eyes. Castiel was terribly close to him, so close that he felt like the ocean contained in his irises might pour onto him and drown him.

- Dean, I will never leave you again. I swear to you. I will always stay by your side.

He pursed his lips and stepped back slightly.

- ... If you do want me to, of course.

Dean stared at him with wide eyes for a long time, his mouth agape.

Mouth that ended up crashing violently on the angel's, as the hunter firmly grasped his square jaw between his fingers. He interrupted the kiss only enough time to answer in a trembling voice:

- I do… I do.