Dean lay uncomfortably on the old cot, his feet stretching out a couple inches past the end of the mattress and his back twisted at an odd angle so he wasn't laying in the peculiar yellow spot by his left shoulder. He shifted a little, a quiet grunt escaping his mouth as he tried to no avail to straighten his back out. The brunette sighed harshly, the sound covering up the noise of feathers brushing wood. Dean rotated his head one last time to try to find a more relaxed position when the boards at the end of the cot creaked. He stiffened reflexively.
"…Sammy?" He croaked huskily, the word falling hollow on the surrounding walls.
A silence ensued, and Dean almost thought he'd imagined it when the awkward shuffling started up again at the end of his cot.
"…It's actually Castiel." The ex-angel ground out, his voice also hushed in the stillness of Bobby's house. Dean sat up, searching with his hands as well as his eyes for the small lamp on the rickety side table next to him. His fingers fumbled with the bronze chain, and he flicked it down, sending the world into all too bright clarity. The books and various mementos littering Bobby's desk came into focus, then the couch and the peeling wallpaper, and finally the trench coat clad man was dragged into his peripheral view. Dean squinted and rubbed his eyes, thinking maybe he actually was asleep, and this was one of those stress dreams his mind liked to cook up.
"Cas?"
The shorter man nodded, his actions looking more fluid than they had when Dean had last seen him, back at Crowley's hide out, if he could remember right.
"Dean. You called for me earlier. I am…sorry I did not show up then. If you would prefer, I can leave-"
"No," Dean said quickly, the syllable sounding strained with fatigue (and perhaps alcohol). "No, Cas, hold up. We, uh, we need to talk."
The dark haired man quirked a brow, the most emotion Dean ever hoped to achieve from Cas.
"Oh? What about?"
Dean tried to wipe away more sleep with his hand, but it did nothing to smooth the wrinkle in his brow.
"Come on, man, don't go getting skippy with me. The souls, man. We've been over this."
Cas' brow furrowed, like he wasn't sure exactly how to approach the topic at hand. Dean thought maybe he saw a hint of confusion as well.
"I thought this issue was closed."
That just muddled Dean as he rubbed his temple, a headache-or was his hangover finally setting in?- creeping up like a wildfire behind his eyes. The self-proclaimed god across from him gave an irritated huff, a sound Dean wasn't all that familiar with. He watched as the angel paced the floor effortlessly, his long strides carrying him to the edge of Bobby's desk where he fingered the cover of one of the books.
"It was?" Dean asked, trying to go through the last week and only coming up with blurred and semi- blurred fractures of drunken memory. "…Have we talked about this already?...I was a little drunk when we last talked, wasn't I?"
"Good to know such a delicate matter has already blissfully left your mind, Dean. It means a lot,"
Dean had a sudden feeling of scorn towards himself as he watched the man's fingers go white knuckled on the book.
"…But yes," Cas continued, his voice growing in control as he continued, "You expressed your displeasure with my view concerning the souls. There was a great deal of yelling. I'm…sorry about your side."
Dean quirked a brow, his hands going instantly to the patch on his side where a fist shaped bruise had recently taken residence over the past week or so.
"Oh…That was you."
Dean gave a little whistling chuckle, the awkward kind that hangs too long in the air and doesn't seem to evaporate quick enough. 'Sounds like one of Sam's farts…' Dean thought absently, almost snickering before catching himself. The brunette on the cot shuffled his feet a little in the silence after, starting to feel embarrassed he couldn't remember the supposedly important conversation that they'd shared recently. He looked up to study the form before him, taking in the too-stiff set of the shoulders and the still white knuckles.
"Cas," Dean said after a moment, his mouth moving without much of his own consent, "It's not that I don't care. I do. And I'm sorry I didn't take it as…"seriously" as I could have, just...you have got to realize you kinda left us in a bad place. So, you know…" He fingered the thin sheets spread under him, "Forgive me for giving into the liquor and forgetting our "civil discussion"."
Cas seemed to stiffen even more, and Dean had the feeling maybe he was treading on thinner ice than he'd initially thought. But the ex-angel's shoulders slouched, and he bowed his head in what almost looked like…humiliation.
"I...I'm sorry about the souls, Dean," Cas said quietly, a small tremor nearly obvious in his voice, "But…I needed to do what had to be done. And the souls…they became a key part in my plan. A plan…to make sure that everyone you and I care for stay safe during this war. A war that's gone on far too long."
Dean finally stood up from his perch on the cot, padding soundlessly to stand at the other end of Bobby's desk. His fingers went out almost impulsively to pick up Colt's diary, the worn volume precariously balanced at the edge of the mahogany monstrosity.
"I know, Cas, man, it has, but..." Dean rubbed a faint circle over the raised sign on the cover. "We could have found another way. You know us Winchester's; we're stubborn sons-of-bitches."
Cas gave a small shrug, almost dismissive in nature. "Perhaps we could have. But I couldn't bide more time, Dean. Raphael acts quickly and ruthlessly. I needed to, unfortunately, do the same." His face crumpled momentarily in what looked like pain, and then smoothed out again before Dean could make sure.
The taller man gave his own sigh, setting down the journal and walking into the kitchen. Castiel looked after him, confused, before Dean walked back in with some Tylenol and a cup of reheated coffee from the morning before.
"Do you, ah…want anything?" Dean asked, leaning against the doorway. Cas gave him a perplexed look.
"Ya know…to drink." The brunette clarified, a small smile creeping onto his face. If he hadn't already known Cas had a million plus souls sloshing around inside him and was as intuitive as a baby moose, he would have thought the confusion endearing on the angel.
But he ain't an angel anymore, is he? Dean thought, the smile slipping away as he went back to the desk, setting the gray mug down on a clean patch of wood.
"No thank you."
Cas shuffled his feet a little as his cobalt blue eyes scanned the desk. They traveled then to the walls, and up from them to the ceiling, were he studied ever crack and bump so he wouldn't be forced to look at the green irises focused on him; so he wouldn't have to see the accusations and blame mixed with dying hope, and get that feeling in the pit of his vessel's stomach that signified shame among humans.
"…You deserve better, Cas."
Castiel felt his eyes rolling on their own accord to land on Dean. The taller man was standing a few feet from him, his right hand tracing the pattern on Colt's diary. He was shirtless, though, for whatever reason, he had opted to wear a pair of jeans to bed, and his relatively short brown hair was messy and flattened on the left side. Dean seemed to be having the same eye contact problem as the ex-angel, because he refused to meet Cas' gaze.
"You don't deserve to be manhandled by a bunch of souls, or forced to be Heaven's warrior. Dammit, Cas, come down from your high horse a little, man, and just take a breather. Just a few minutes. That's all I'm asking."
Dean wasn't sure where the words had sprouted from, but he decided they were exactly what he'd been trying to say since Cas had shown up, albeit sounding slightly jumbled and half thought-out, not to even mention chick-flicky.
"I was an angel, Dean." Cas said, sounding for all the world like he was chastising a small child and not a thirty-plus year old man, "To be a warrior of Heaven was my entire purpose. I couldn't and still can't afford the carefree luxuries of a human; one of those luxuries is time, and I have very little of it to spare."
Dean thought about asking him 'Then what the fuck are you doing wasting time talking to me?', but the eldest Winchester had never been one to mess with a good thing.
All Dean had to do was figure out if this was a good thing or not. And there was his mouth, running off with him again.
"But even the toughest warrior can crack, Cas. And that's the heart of it all, isn't it?" Dean shuffled back a few steps, trying to collect the fragments of his chain of thought as he felt his bare back bump into the far wall of the living room.
"…I was a dick to you, when all you needed was a little faith. Blind faith I couldn't give you. After everything you've sacrificed and fought and given, and I was a complete, untrusting little bitch. I..."
Dean could feel his throat, that certain ache he felt that chocked him and let him know he was about to start crying. It's too early for this chick-flick shit…
"Cas…I'm sorry, man. You deserved better." Dean managed to croak, the words tumbling over his chapped lips to fall in a neat little pile on the creaky floorboards between them. He took a breath, and he felt a little guilty weight fall with the words to the ground.
They stood like that for what seemed like an angel's lifespan, blue blurring with green to paint a picture of sad reality contrasting sprouting hope.
"I have to serve the higher purpose before myself."
The words were like the last snow of winter; soft and sorrowful, a mix that made Dean's heart give a painful thump. The breath he'd been holding in anticipation came out a quiet hiss, sounding almost inhumane in its uniquely pained tone.
"I'm sorry, Dean," Cas continued, his eyes dodging away from Dean's searching gaze to stare out the sigil encrusted windows. "I truly wish I could have gone about it another way, but considering the situation, I did what I had to. My…my brothers and sisters….they drop away from me at all times. I suppose I needed to learn to act without relying on family, or what little I had of it to start with."
"But family is what got you into this mess, Cas. You can't forget the family. Especially us, man. Look, I-I didn't give you your due when you needed it most, and I'm sure it's too little too late, but-do what you have to. With the souls, I mean."
The whole reply came out rushed, tumbling headfirst and sprawling into the air were it sat momentarily before Dean rushed on.
"Then get rid of them. All of them. It'll become too much too soon, Cas. And we...I can't lose another part of my family again. Just...get rid of Crowley. Kill the little bastard and do a jig on his corpse, I don't care. But when you've finished with everything you need to, let them go. Listen to me this one last time. Please. Just this one last time, Cas. I'm putting all of my faith into you now."
"Dean, 'family' is all I had," Cas said bitterly, emotion washing over his face, making the crow's feet around his eyes crinkle even as his voice stayed its usual unchanging monotone. "And this chaos has killed those most important to me. I intend to use the souls to bring an end to this war once and for all. But don't think that I can end it all with a snap of my fingers. It may take time still. And Crowley...he is another topic."
Dean gave a snort like this amused him when it really didn't, because if Cas was about to tell him that Crowley was off the hook because they were butt buddies up until Crowley's betrayal, Dean might just smash his mug on the desk and stab Cas to death with the shards. Cas felt the uncomfortable still and cleared his throat, picking his words carefully and slowly.
"He did help me, Dean. I am not sure quite yet where he and I stand. He will have to be dealt with in another way."
Dean's hands were white knuckled as he tried to restrain them against the hard ceramic of the coffee cup.
"But Cas…it's Crowley," Dean said through tight lips, his eyes feeling strained as he stared down the ex-angel, trying to find some sort of crack in that unrivaled poker face, "You can't...you can't seriously be thinking about just letting him get off easy…are you?"
Cas felt like he was being backed into a corner. 'On the one hand', as that one charming human metaphor went, he saw how protecting Crowley could look like treason and deceit again on his part in Dean's eyes. On the other hand, he felt this odd sort of obligation to Crowley to give him a sort of…grace period. As thanks for his help, no matter how small and inconsistent it turned out to be in the end.
"Well, Dean…he did support me when even you wouldn't. He crossed lines that were shocking even for him, though, and I promise you he won't "get off easy"." Cas air-quoted, "But there is a great chance of fallout conflicts from these primary ones. The souls will be key until all is well again; you must understand this. The war comes first, and until Crowley starts interfering in heavenly affairs, my focus must be on such."
Dean thought he should have been a lot angrier, but he wasn't. He felt more relaxed, actually. Castiel giving him straight facts and none of his recent bull was…reassuring.
"…Okay."
Cas tilted his head in that funny way he does; like a dog trying extra hard to understand hidden meanings in your words. Dean just held his hands up languidly, brows raised.
"You have my faith in you, Cas, I already said that. But…the souls. How long are we talkin' here? Weeks, months...years?" Dean shook his head as his hands came back to his sides, the idea alone almost being too much. He thought about spending years away from Cas, and, well…the imagined hurt was a lot more real feeling and painful than he thought it really ought to be. "That's...an awful long time, man."
Dean's words came out sounding strained with emotion, even though his face was a neutral mask for the most part. Cas felt a small tug in his chest and thought it was odd Dean's words had such an effect on his heart. Certainly the jumps and starts the blood-pumping muscle was giving could not be healthy for a human body.
"Ideally, I am aiming at a few months. But I cannot guarantee anything while the enemy is volatile and unpredictable."
Dean nodded his head absently, his eyes going distant as he fingered the lip of his mug. Castiel stood and watched him, feeling he should say more.
"…Thank you Dean."
The oldest Winchester looked up with surprise, like Cas' thanks was a shocking event. The shorter man fidgeted a little under the sudden, intense gaze.
"Dean, I feel I must warn you; please do not be disappointed if I act differently than you assume I would. I have had some "growing up" to do. My Father's shoes have been hard to fill in such a short time. I might do things I'll later regret all for the bigger picture and I might do other things you will come to loathe me for. You have to realize, Dean, that I am flawed in my perfection much like humans, even as a god, but I must do my part."
"Well," Dean said after a long, cumbersome pause, "we'll get 'er done. Kick some ass, take some names, put some poor bastards six feet under, whatever. We'll get this done and finished, then pack it up and send it all tied up with a big, fat, bloodstained bow right into Crowley's smug ass face. If you don't deal with him first."
Castiel's lips twitched ever so slightly at Dean's funny show of support, and Dean felt the thrill of the small showing of emotion roll over him like a small wave. Cas cleared his throat, and his voice came out a tad softer when he spoke next.
"No one wants this over more than I. These souls are a heavy weight, Dean. They are…draining."
'Well, great job not crushin' on the angel, Deano…' the taller man thought as his heart toke a painful beat. It was funny, he thought, that Cas could make him feel so much when Cas himself showed about as much emotion as a stump. An awkward, celestial, good looking stump, but a darn stump none the less.
"I won't even imagine, Cas. I don't know what you have planned, but you have me behind you. I hope that means something."
Castiel looked away from the hunter so that Dean couldn't see his eyes, but if he had, he would have caught the look of unrestrained happiness that washed over the ex-angel's eyes. Cas shuffled back just a little, his right arm going out to prop himself on the desk.
"I thank you, Dean. It does. Just do not put too much faith in me to be disappointed if things go unplanned. I have recently learned how to operate whilst having nothing to lose. Sometimes having no support is liberating, but admittedly dangerous."
Dean felt a small smile straining to curl his lips as he looked at the man in front of him; tie as messy as his hair and trench caked with a fine layer of mud at the hem, looking for all the world like the most adorable snake in disguise. Because that was Cas; human in his most inhumane moments, driven by forces he might not even understand, all in the name of a faith he'd slowly fallen from and Dean had failed to catch until it was too late.
But if there was one thing that could ever be said about Dean Winchester, it was that he'd go down with a ship if he thought it had a fighting chance.
"Cas, what you seem to be blatantly ignoring right now is the "I-don't-care-if-this-all-goes-to-hell-you-still-have-me-even-if-this-all-blows-up-in-our-faces" factor. I'm not going anywhere ever again. Because, you know, "united we conquer, divided we fall". Or something like that."
Dean chuckled lamely. "You know what I mean."
After that, it just seemed to seep in for Cas. Dean could see the recognition wash over his features, and it made his own heart hurt to see the raw relief shown in the self-proclaimed God's eyes.
"…I'll still have you? Do...you truly mean that?"
Dean nodded once. Cas seemed…surprised, to say the least. More like flabbergasted.
"I do not understand. I…have gotten so used to everyone just leaving."
And that was it, that was all Cas had to say to push him over the edge; Dean was done. He moved forward fluidly and pulled the dark haired man flush against him in a tight hug, his head slotting perfectly in the junction where neck met shoulder. If he thought Cas was surprised before, he definitely was now.
"Cas, I get it. I know what it's like to look all around you and see backs being turned on you one by one. But you have to have a little faith in me know, too. Because I'll be damned if I let you go off again without knowing you can always fall back on me, man."
He felt Castiel give a soft sigh. "That means more to me than you may realize."
The two men stood like that for a long while, simply embracing each other like it was no one's business.
It certainly wasn't Sam's, who was sitting on the stairwell watching them like it was his business. Which, really, if you looked at it from his point of view, it kind of was.
Because despite all of Sam's reservations about Cas or his confidence in his brother, they were both complete idiots. There was so much freaking gay in the air around them all the time, it was a wonder to Sam how he hadn't gone completely dark (or was it rainbow?) side with them. They were literally made for each other, and yet here they were, again, beating the poor dead hetero horse like it might make a difference. Sam just wanted them to kiss and get it over with; Bobby was even with him on that one.
"...Cas?"
"Yes Dean?"
Sam lent forward even more, the softness in his brother's tone making him question if what he'd been hoping for months was really about to go down. Sam watched as Dean finally released Cas, stepping away from him slowly.
"'Profound bond' or not, you're the best thing to happen to me since Sammy, you know that, right? You're...you're more than family. You're like...how do I put this? It's like..."
Dean scratched the back of his neck as he looked into the ex-angel's eyes, losing himself in the ocean there as he rambled on.
"If I lost you, it'd be like losing both arms, vital parts of myself. But it'd be deeper, Cas. Like someone cutting open my soul. You know things about me and sacrifice more for me than anyone I've ever known, maybe even Sam and Bobby combined. You're a brother and a friend, someone I can always rely on. I hope, maybe someday in the future, we can stand on mutual grounds like that again. Or maybe not like that…maybe-maybe more."
Sam and Cas both leant in with confusion from their respectable places as Dean finally looked away.
"I don't know, I think the scotch has finally gotten to me."
Sam nearly smacked himself in the face over how thick his brother could be. He was like the fucking Hoover Dam of emotions; he was just as bad as expressing them as Castiel was.
"More than family?"
Cas shook his head like the thought was silly. Sam leant in again to hear better.
"I may not deserve that recognition anymore to be honest with you, Dean. Especially after the way I have acted recently. As your friend, I hope that you never experience pain on your soul, Dean; I doubt I'd bare it well. Your soul is one of the most beautiful if not scarred I've ever experienced."
Dean felt like he'd been punched in the gut from the pure honesty and care in Cas' voice. It was so different from the high-on-souls Cas they'd seen a few weeks ago. And it hit Dean like a punch again when he realized why; this was really Cas, not all those souls in his head or his vessel or wherever, just Castiel, talking to him like they use to, when they had everything and nothing to talk about and they could push the world away for just a little while.
"The way you've acted? Please, Cas, we both know the only one who should be getting the guilt trip is me. Both parties are kind of at fault here, man. And, Cas."
The ex-angel looked at him, and a moment passed between them.
"The only way I could ever really be damaged that way is if you ever left again."
'Well. That's…different.' Sam thought, his brow quirked as he saw his brother duck his head to hide his face.
"…Then I will make a mental note to not leave again." Cas replied, what looked to be a satisfied smile playing the shorter man's lips. "I couldn't knowing that you would experience that which you've described. If it happens, I assure you it is on a last resort basis."
Dean gave an almost weak chuckle. "I trust you, Cas. I know you don't do things without a purpose."
Castiel shifted forward just a little, and there was another lull in conversation which Sam sat through patiently, not wanting to miss a moment of the history being made. It really wasn't every day you saw a hunter and an angel profess their undying love for one another.
"You mentioned earlier that my actions drove you to liquor. If that is the case, I can leave you peacefully for the night if you desire. You seem tired."
Sam snapped back to the living room, eyes widening as he saw that they were…closer than they had been. As in, there was a good foot less between his brother and their angel, and he was sure they hadn't been that close the last time he looked.
"Naw, Cas, don't worry about me. I'm fine. What about you? We haven't seen hide or hair of you since...well, Raphael's magnificent exploding act."
Castiel almost smirked at Dean's choice of words.
"I am...adjusting. This power is difficult to manage without control. And Raphael…there are still stirrings in his camp, whether it be him or his supporters preparing for an assault. I would like to assume he is gone for good, but he is tricky and devious, and I would not put it past him to have found a way around this."
Dean was nodding his head, and Sam watched in shock as one of his foot shimmed closer to the angel still. "Is there any way we can help?"
Cas was staring intently at Dean as he usually did, seeming to not even notice Dean's slow advance. "Yes. Don't make yourselves easy targets for Raphael or his supporters. Please. If they get to you or Sam or Bobby, then they have something to dangle over my head as they push me into a corner."
Dean frowned. "Yeah of course. Of course, Cas. Anything else you need from us?"
Sam almost wanted to gag from the obviousness Dean was pouring on his sentence, but if Castiel realized, he deliberately ignored it.
"I cannot think of anything." Cas sighed, and to Dean, he suddenly looked ten years older.
"Managing this many souls is difficult, especially with no mentor who has experienced it before."
"Jesus, Cas, your breakin' my heart here." Dean was practically whining. "I'm sorry, man, I really am. I wish I could take some of that burden. But your anything but weak, Castiel, I know you'll do the right thing, or at least try to. Trying's enough in my book."
Dean clapped a hand on Cas' shoulder. Castiel felt the warmth of the hunter's large palm even through the multiple layers of clothing his vessel was wearing, and he found it oddly pleasurable. He'd always found Dean's presence enjoyable; though Dean chalked up Cas' awkward personal space intrusions as him not knowing any better, it was more the fact the ex-angel just liked being as close to the hunter as possible. Cas felt oddly possessive of Dean; 'Dean' and 'mine' were synonyms in Castiel's mind. Cas shook his head.
"I would never wish this burden upon anyone - especially you, Dean. It is like having a dozen atomic bombs in your chest. Trying may be enough in your books, but if I do not try hard enough, it would most likely result in my permanent death."
Sam could see the sudden stiffness of his brother's shoulders even from where he was sitting.
"Oh, Cas...I...I can't-"
"You can Dean. I need you to. Don't think that I am restricting you or your brother from any investigating or hunting. Just watch your back for Raphael's agents. Their intelligence grows daily."
Dean shook his head, emotion chocking him like he was some. 'Sensitive pansy, Jesus, Dean...'
The stupid angel didn't even get it, either. Dean didn't care about staying low or the potential hunts; all he did care about was Cas' death.
"…Dean? What's wrong? Did I say something?" Cas asked as he looked at the hunter, confusion and worry creasing his face.
"No, I...ha, just..." Dean didn't even know what to say. He'd never felt such a racking grief at the mere thought of someone's death, maybe not even Sammy's. He wasn't supposed to care this darn much, dammit!
"Just…try not to get killed out there." There was a pause as the two men stood there, the silence too loud in Dean's ears; he tried to fill it. "…God, I sound like a solider's girlfriend or somethin'."
Sam nearly snorted at just how accurate that statement actually was, but he restrained himself. Cas, on the other hand, tilted his head ever so slightly, and the smallest, most care filled smile the ex-angel could manage rumpled his face.
Cas inched forward a little before he replied, "Dean...I...I will stay safe. As best as I can."
I want you to take this image in, if you will. A hunter and angel are conversing in the living room of an old drunk's house at an ungodly hour of night. The hunter's younger brother watches on with baited breath from the stairwell in the back, where he will remain as a daily miracle unfolds before his eyes; love is a miracle, after all. The angel, as previously identified, is special in more ways than one; he has given all and gained more, but in a way that is both undesirable and unfulfilling, because all he's ever sought is the acceptance of the previously identified hunter. The hunter, as previously identified, is special in more ways than one; he has lost and conquered things unspeakable, but in a way that is both brutal and heartbreaking, because all he can imagine ever wanting is the love of the previously identified angel. A crow sits outside of one of the windows and watches the night's dusky hues, and I'm certain somewhere a baby is being born and a war is raging, but for the two individuals standing in the previously mentioned living room, the world could possible fall to Armageddon (again) and they might not have spared a glance. Because things were transpiring unspoken at that hour, on that day, at that moment, between the hunter and the angel and the younger brother and the old drunk standing over the brother's shoulder, who are playing witness to such things. Things that really have no words, but could be described as being as subtle as an elephant, as beautiful as the first sunset, and as nostalgic in its humanity as an old photo. And all this is happening in the living room of an old drunk's house at an ungodly hour of night as a baby is born and a crow watches on, which is all very good, but are minor details when it comes to the real things happening in that moment.
And these things are love and it's bearer's; a kiss, a look, a touch. And they have all just become apparent in this moment between a hunter and a supposed god.
Their lips meet somewhat unceremoniously with a clicking of teeth and a flash of gums. Their kiss was bitter sweet with a tang of whiskey and the unmistakable taste of mint, and maybe Cas tasted a little like honey, but Dean would never admit it. It was nothing as sweet as their first kiss really should have been, but Dean could have really cared less, because he had his hands fisted tight in that damned trench coat and Cas was basically fucking his mouth with his mouth, and sweet baby Jesus in a fedora, where did he learn to do that?
All the while, Sam sat slack jawed on the stairs as this scene unfolded before him, because, fuck, he wasn't prepared for full on make out mode. Bobby snickered quietly from behind him, tapping Sam's shoulder lightly to tell him to 'Get up and leave 'em be, you idjit', and he did, because he did not need any eye-rape tonight, thank you very much.
When they finally pulled apart, slightly out of breath, Dean didn't let go. No, he grabbed his ex-angel and pulled him closer into another embrace, his nose going in to nuzzle the side of Cas' neck. The shorter man felt his vessel's lips curling up in a decidedly self-satisfied smile, and he traced a hand down Dean's back, but even this didn't last long as Castiel pushed Dean back gently.
"Dean, I…I must leave. You understand I will return, but I must go and assist with what I can in heaven."
Dean simply nodded. "Okay, Cas. You know the shpeel, I won't give it to you again. You better stay damn safe, Cas, okay?"
The angel nodded in reply. He touched Dean's face one last time, and then disappeared like a cup of good bourbon. Dean toke a breath, and stared up at the ceiling.
"Stay safe, my brave little warrior."