"I have no idea how to narrow this list further," Castiel sighed. He sat on his bed, long legs folded before him, an array of college pamphlets spread on the blankets. As soon as spring semester of Castiel's junior year had started, he'd been learning about colleges. Naomi had taken him to visit campuses, Castiel had talked with classmates about what they were planning to do, he'd spent endless hours on the internet researching majors and schools and prices and financial aid and scholarships and a whole slew of factors that contributed to the decision. Dean was in awe. The last time he'd been witness to a college selection process was when his previous charge's children had searched in the 1960s. Things had been different then and the choice hadn't seemed particularly difficult except for the one who had absolutely no idea what they wanted to study. Castiel knew he was interested in religious studies – he was considering religious history, philosophy, or comparative religion – but that scarce narrowed his options down.

"NYU has a great program but it's so expensive," said Castiel, picking up a glossy sheet of paper and setting it to one side. "There are all the religious schools that offer programs, but none of them seem like they are truly interested in a student thinking critically about the issues involved." He gathered up several documents and made a single stack of them. "Brown is like NYU. Northwestern, too, but at least it's close to home. There's Yale…Florida State…" Castiel sorted through the pamphlets, making piles as he went. "I can only apply to five and I have no idea where to pick. We can't afford one of the private schools, but they offer the best education, and I don't want to stay closer to home even though it'll cost less." Groaning, Castiel fell back against the bed, causing the mattress to bob and his neatly-ordered stacks to mix together. "What do you think I should do?"

Dean started. For a moment, he could swear Castiel had looked directly at him, that their eyes met, that Dean had seen the earnest supplication and entreaty on the boy's usually stoic face. The feeling passed, Castiel's gaze moved on, and Dean shivered. Castiel was beautiful, smart, hard-working, dedicated to his family and friends, loyal and kind. He had secrets for which some might condemn him – Dean had heard Castiel lament how his parents would react if and when they found out that Castiel was gay – but generally, he was a happy youth, content at school, his grades good, his early explorations with fellow students endearing, his prospects for the future bright. Watching him grow up had proven as satisfying as Dean could hope. Of all the mortals Dean had ever stewarded through life, he thought Castiel his favorite.

It caused an ache in his chest that he couldn't answer Castiel's question. Dean tried to tell himself that Castiel wasn't actually talking to him, but he didn't believe it.

"Are you still there?" asked Castiel sadly. "I thought…but you never…maybe it really is all in my head." When he was younger, Castiel had treated Dean as an imaginary friend, had asked others if they could see his guardian angel. Other than those who'd been at the park the time Dean had manifested, no one ever took Castiel seriously. Eventually, Castiel had stopped asking. "But if you are…I could really use your help. I have no idea how to decide where to apply."

There was no useful information Dean could offer in regards to college anyway. Even were he to violate the rules governing his service on earth, Dean would not be able to contribute anything of value to Castiel's thinking. He held his peace and watched from his usual perch, weightless, invisible, ready to aid when needed.

"I guess…I guess I have to move on." Castiel sat up abruptly and began looking through the pamphlets again, expression intense. He didn't narrate what he was doing. Sadness clenched at Dean's chest for no reason he could define, but he reminded himself it was for the best. No other mortal Dean had protected had tried to have conversations with him. Many had invoked him in prayer, made offerings to God in thanks for Dean's help, and otherwise expressed their appreciation, but none had ever treated him as anything other than an untouchable guardian. Castiel acted like Dean was his friend. It was endearing, but impossible. Dean would never be able to answer Castiel.

"Mmm," Castiel moaned appreciatively and Dean flushed from nipple to hair line. Determined to resist the urge to turn around and watch what the college freshman was doing, he instead fixed his gaze on the ceiling and wall that he faced. Pink spread slowly down Dean's bare chest, the slight swell of his breasts and the firm muscles of his abdomen. The loose linen pants he wore did nothing to hide the modest tent caused by his arousal and Dean squeezed his eyes shut again and prayed that Castiel's first serious sexual exploration would not be long in duration. Dean's least favorite duty was having to remain in the room while his charges made love. The extent to which Dean found such scenes arousing mortified him. His existence thus far had been celibate. If the Lord wanted Dean to take a mate, he'd receive orders naming his partner, same as he was assigned the mortals whom he was to serve as guardian for. Of course, he masturbated from time to time, sometimes by stroking himself, sometimes with fingers buried within himself, but he'd never been touched by another in a way intended to give him gratification. If he were honest with himself, he longed for it, but coupling with a mortal violated every tenant of Dean's purpose as a guardian angel and his responsibilities kept him too busy to pursue anything with another angel even if rules did not prevent his doing so. A companion would be nice but he was fine without one; he repressed his desires and did his duty. It wasn't usually difficult for him.

"Oh God, Cassie, that feels…that feels really good, I had no…"

Times like this, it was extremely difficult for him.

It wasn't like he could leave to defray his embarrassment or give Castiel privacy for his first time. The other boy, a classmate of Castiel's named Alfie, seemed nice enough. Since they'd met at the beginning of the semester, the two had grown to be friends and more. Dean thought it sweet, though he suspected it wasn't long term. Castiel was smarter than Alfie, more caring, better looking, and had more to give than Alfie did. Castiel could do much better, find someone more deserving of his affection. Regardless, what they had was real for them right now and Dean had to stay in case anything happened. Once, a woman he was guarding had a liaison try to kill her; another time, a man had a heart attack. Over enough lifetimes of being a guardian angel, Dean knew that even during consensual sex, a human could get into trouble and need help. Dean would never leave Castiel alone.

"Alfie," Castiel drew the name out as a long groan. "Faster – faster, please—"

Though his eyes were firmly fixed on the wall, Dean couldn't keep the sounds from reaching his ears, couldn't keep his body from reacting. Castiel had grown up to be a beautiful young man, tall and lithe, eyes brightest blue, hair near black and permanently a scruffy mess. Every movement he made was graceful. Had he wings, Dean could have mistaken him for a young angel: he had the same perfection of body and spirit and mind. Every word from Castiel's mouth confirmed that he was among the pinnacle of God's greatest creation.

"Oh," moaned Castiel, low voice gone ragged and breathy, "I'm going to…I think I'm going to come…"

Even those words, so dirty, so filthy, sounded like the Lord's music to Dean. Dean loved every charge he'd watched over. Some were easier to love than others, but Dean couldn't but feel for them. In the still of the long nights when Castiel was asleep, Dean watched over him in serene calm and resisted the urge to adjust the blankets to be sure he was warm enough, to brush the hair from his forehead, to comfort him when he had a bad dream. At those times Dean had to acknowledge that what he felt for Castiel was more profound. There was a bond between them, forged from the first time the infant had looked to the apparently empty space that was in truth occupied by Dean and acted like maybe he saw something, from the first time Dean had used his grace to protect the child when he shouldn't. Dean had never violated the rules for any mortal, yet he had subtly aided and protected Castiel numerous times when he shouldn't have, when no heavenly imperative prompted him to. He couldn't help it. Castiel was different.

"It's okay, I am too…oh, Cassie…oh…"

Dean bit his lip against a groan and pressed a palm to his aching cock, resisted the urge to slip a hand beneath the waist band of his pants to tease at his clit. After Alfie left, after Castiel went to sleep, Dean could see to himself. His mind screamed for him to be filled, begged for the feeling of a cock thrusting within him. Masturbating was not the same as sharing intimacy with another. Dean had jealously watched how women and men reacted when someone they cared about made love to them, had longed to have that experience himself. It was obvious that the intensity of blissful release was amplified greatly when a partner was involved, amplified even more when the men and women involved were in love.

How would it feel to have Castiel inside of me, thrusting into me as he is thrusting into Alfie? How would it feel to have Castiel touch my wings, groom them, massage along my spine, press a thumb into my glands? How would it feel if Castiel loved me?

Twin groans marked the lovers climax, followed by Dean's quieter echo. Pleasure seared him to the bone. Waiting was torture but he couldn't bring himself to masturbate while they were in the room awake. They couldn't see him, couldn't hear him, but it didn't matter. He'd know. Repressing his desires as best he could, Dean forced himself to turn around and watch the aftermath. The two teens were cleaning themselves up and making awkward small talk. Alfie blushed red and avoided eye contact with Castiel, but Dean thought Castiel was acting distant. His voice had returned to its usual calm air, his movements were unconcerned and unashamed. Alfie timidly asked if he could stay the night, Castiel agreed, and surprisingly little time saw them curled together beneath Castiel's thick comforter, bodies pressed close to fit on the narrow twin bed in Castiel's dorm. Alfie fell silent quickly, head lolling to the side as Castiel combed gently through his hair. It was a long time before Castiel's eyes slipped shut and longer still before his breathing grew even with sleep.

Holding back a relieved moan, Dean undid the tie on his pants and let them slip down. Letting grace and his wings hold him in position in the corner of the room, he hitched his legs up, spread them, wrapped one hand around his half-hard cock, used the other hand to tease a finger over his wet slit. Pleasure burst like fireworks through his abdomen, his thighs, spread heat that hardened him fully. Stroking himself gently, keeping a thumb on his sensitive nub of his clit, he awkwardly thrust two fingers inside himself. He was so wet they slid in easily to the knuckle, and though his coordination wasn't good enough for him to stimulate all three places simultaneously, it felt so good to be filled he hardly cared that he scarce moved the fingers. Teasing at the head of his cock, he coaxed liquid to bead from his short length, circled his clit with his thumb, felt his body winding tighter and tighter as he quickly approached his climax.

Blue eyes staring into mine intently, gentle hands carding through my feathers, lips moving against my mouth, a deep voice begging me to go faster, telling me how good it feels, warning me he's close…

Dean's back arched against as he strained at the air supporting him, a cry bursting from him. Bliss, hot and liquid, enveloped every sense; white burst free to land on his belly. Laying limp on a cushion of magical grace, Dean panted, sightless though his eyes were open, waiting to come down off the incredible high. Had it ever felt that good when he'd touched himself? He couldn't think of a time when it had. He couldn't think of a time when he'd imagined someone with him, either. Maybe he'd try that again.

But thinking about Castiel like that is wrong. He's my charge, not my lover. He'll never be my lover.

Sighing forlornly, Dean righted himself, used his grace to clean the come from his belly, tied his pants, and turned to look down at the slumbering couple. A smile quirked the corners of Castiel's mouth, pink tinged his cheeks, his eyes were lidded, open barely enough to show a hint of navy and black. His hand yet worked through Alfie's short, sandy hair.

"You liked that, didn't you," Castiel whispered. "I thought you might."

I'm sure Alfie loved it, Castiel. You've nothing to worry about. You're safe and cared for. I wish—

Dean didn't let himself finish the thought. It was inappropriate and unbecoming of his calling as a guardian to think of his charge in such a fashion. Pushing it aside, he pulled his pants back on, settled in for the night to watch Castiel sleep and tried not to envy the slim young man wrapped in Castiel's embrace.

There were many ways in which Dean was similar to mortals. He could feel, cry, make love, have a child, bleed. However, there were many quintessentially humans things that Dean could not do. Dean did not sleep. Though sometimes he chose to rest his eyes for a time, he was alert and ready at all times. Dean did not eat. His mouth was primarily for speech; he no digestive organs, no anus, not even the ability to eat should he wish to. Dean did not drink. Grace kept his mouth moistened as needed, his blood flowing, his eyes damp; his penis was purely an organ for sexual reproduction. Dean did not breathe. While he had lungs with which to draw air, he only used that air to vocalize. Watching Castiel indulge in a meal with Alfie, Dean could see the obvious pleasure the consumption of food gave, the relief of drinking a large glass of water, and he envied the gifts his Father had given the humans that the angels had been denied.

The mall was large, airy, the food court decorated with palm trees. Sunlight streaming in through a glass ceiling. Dean hovered amongst the fronds surrounded by the cacophony of hundreds of holiday shoppers, his ears attuned perfectly to the only two voices that were significant to him.

Damn, but the sound of Alfie's voice grated. The two had been together for over a year, a year of dates and snuggling and kisses and lovemaking and long conversations about the future and discussions of moving in together, a year of frustration and impatience and noticing all the little things Alfie did that made Castiel unhappy, all the times that Alfie took for granted all the kindnesses that Castiel bestowed on him.

It wasn't actually a bad relationship. Dean knew he was being unreasonable. Worse than that, Dean knew he was jealous, as if he had the least right to be jealous of Castiel's affections. Castiel wasn't his. If anything, he was Castiel's, his guardian, his watcher. For as long as Castiel lived, Dean could have no desires save those that aligned with Castiel's needs.

While that was technically true, Dean knew in his heart it obfuscated the actual truth. After a year of watching Castiel pursue happiness with someone, Dean knew his feelings were not the protective, almost parental affection what they ought to be. As he gritted his teeth listening to the two young men talk, knowing he was unfairly judging Alfie but unable to stop himself from doing so, Dean considered for the hundredth time contacting heaven and asking for a reassignment. His situation wasn't unique. Angels were allowed to have feelings, and as with humans, angel's feelings were, frustratingly enough, beyond their conscious control. Dean couldn't help that he cared deeply for Castiel, couldn't help that he was jealous. Dean had never had to request a transfer before, though, and the shame of it was enough to make him wilt. Further, he couldn't conceive of allowing anyone else to watch over his Castiel.

My Castiel…

God, Dean was in trouble.

Glass shattered overhead at the same instant that Dean's senses flooded with the sense of imminent danger. Fragments sliced into his suddenly-corporeal body, cutting into his wings, a crystal rain that cascaded in cracking sheets to the food court below. People screamed as the skylight broke apart and Dean acted without thinking, ignoring the pain as he strained his torn wings and soared down. People were scattering in all directions, backs bowed, arms held up in an ineffectual attempt to protect themselves. Behind and above him he could hear the protesting shriek of metal rending, but he only had eyes for Castiel and Alfie where they hid beneath the too-small table at which they'd been eating their meal. Sweeping the ground, knocking tables and chairs aside, Dean grabbed Castiel, cursing the directives that meant he couldn't help Alfie as well. No matter how jealous Dean was, Castiel was important to Dean and Alfie was important to Castiel, and that meant that Alfie was important to Dean. The rules were strict, though – Dean couldn't intervene to protect anyone except his charge.

Lifting Castiel easily, Dean banked upwards, gaining altitude. The roof crumbled outward, the metal framework distending and glass panes breaking, and Dean aimed for the center, for the clear cold air of the winter afternoon and what he hoped was safety. Even if the danger was something from above, if Dean was outside he could fly them both away, as far as needed to be sure that nothing happened to Castiel. Something solid struck his shoulders and wings, blanking his vision with pain; by the time he regained his senses he was plummeting, his back towards the ground. Even semi-conscious, he had moved to shield Castiel with his own body. Rolling to his front, he got air under his wings and with a mighty flap, Dean took to the air and didn't stop rising until they were well above the pandemonium. There, Dean circled, watching the skies, watching the mall, watching everywhere. Castiel was warm in his arms, trembling and clinging; at some point he'd gotten his arms around Dean's neck and their legs tangled together.

"Oh, God," Castiel whimpered.

"I'm sorry," Dean breathed, feeling terrible for the harm he was doing in his attempt to protect. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry I couldn't help Alfie. I—"

"Who cares about Alfie? Are you alright? You're bleeding!" Each statement came quickly, more frantic than the one before.

"Please, don't worry about me," said Dean as he continued to survey the scene with a wary eye. "My only concern is protecting you."

"I know," said Castiel. Dean frowned, trying to read Castiel's tone of voice. He thought there was an edge of hysteria to it, maybe? Concerned, he tightened his embrace, held Castiel closer and earned a pained, shuddering gasp in reply. "You don't worry about yourself at all, do you? You're hurt badly – you're shaking!" Dean's eyes widened. Castiel's voice was angry and worried. Realizing that Dean's charge was concerned about him warmed Dean's heart far more than it should.

"Everything is fine, Castiel," he replied, hoping he succeeded at keeping the warmth from his voice. "My sense that you're in danger has faded. I think the situation in the mall is back to normal. I'm going to return you there now, alright?"

"Yeah, sure," Castiel said, disgruntled.

Dean soared down. There was a crowd gathered outside the mall, the sound of sirens rapidly approaching, and as Dean circled over the onlookers he suddenly became more interesting to them than the damaged building and the press of people trying to escape to the safety of the parking lot. Fingers pointed up, people shielded their eyes to see him despite the glaring sunlight, and Dean wished he didn't have to drop Castiel amidst such a hubbub. Many people would take Dean's presence as a sign that Castiel was involved, would think he was an intended target. The crowd would mob him, the police would question him, he might even be forced to the hospital to be sure he was alright. In comparison to the aggravation that Castiel was about to face, the pain wracking Dean's body was negligible. Dean hated to leave him, but already Dean was feeling the pressure to absent himself again. Castiel was out of danger and Dean had to go incognito again until the next time he was needed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered in Castiel's ear as Dean set Castiel's feet on the ground some distance from the curious audience. "I'm watching over you. You're safe. When you need me, I'll be there."

Stepping back, Dean gave him a quick once over, taking in Castiel's windswept appearance, the tension tightening his brow, the grimace marring his face, the smudges of Dean's blood staining Castiel's shirt and jeans. Agony lanced through Dean as he spread his wings wide, a blood-matted feather floated to the ground, and he was glad he disappeared before Castiel had a chance to notice Dean's tight-mouthed, pained expression.

"Castiel!" Alfie's bright voice caused Dean to wince as surely as Dean's injuries did.

Taking to the sky, he invisibly watched from overhead, waiting, keeping an eye on Castiel. Every beat of his wings hurt, but he'd have time to heal that night while Castiel rested. A frantic Alfie greeted Castiel with a huge hug and demanded to know what had happened. Castiel calmly explained about his guardian angel while Dean watched over him, explained to the mall goers, explained to the police, explained to the EMTs and the media and a suited FBI agent. Long after most of the victims had gone home, Castiel was still explaining that he knew nothing of what had happened.

It was nearly midnight when Castiel returned to his dormitory, having insisted that Alfie return to his own for a change. Dean shifted his wings uncomfortably in the confined room, every movement causing scabbed over wounds to crack open and leak fresh blood. Stepping into the room, Castiel looked around helplessly then crumpled into his computer chair with a sigh, elbows on his knees, hands pressed to his forehead. Worried, Dean perched on the hutch of Castiel's absent roommate's desk and watched, wondering what was troubling Castiel so.

"I know you were hurt earlier," Castiel finally said. Dean flinched and winced. Piercing blue eyes looked up, looked around, scanned over the empty bed, the desk, Dean, without appearing to see him. "Don't be stubborn – I'd like to help."

The intonation was subtle but Dean knew Castiel well enough to recognize his sincerity. Dean's heart wrenched, his expression deeply troubled, and he wished he could reveal himself long enough to show Castiel that he had nothing to worry about.

"Please," Castiel importuned, hands out-stretched imploringly. "You were injured protecting me. I can't stand that you're suffering on my behalf."

Dean bit his lip to hold silent. He cares about me, he wants to help me...this is so wrong, it's so backwards, I can't...

"I'm not going to rest until you let me take care of you," added Castiel, scowling. "I'll ask all night if I have to."

"It's okay," Dean whispered, using grace to ensure Castiel could hear him. "I'll heal quickly. You don't need to worry about me, Castiel."

"Of course I don't need to," Castiel rolled his eyes. Rising, Castiel walked to his roommate's bed and sat on it. "We don't need to do things for the people we care about. You don't help me because you need to, do you?"

"It's my job," lied Dean. No, not exactly a lie, just an oversimplification. It's not my job, it's my existence...Castiel is different...

"It surprises me that you think I know you that little," said Castiel earnestly to the empty bed beside him, acting as if Dean sat beside him. "You have helped me so many times. You've only appeared twice but I've sensed you so many others times. You played with me when I was a child, you confronted Alastair...I know you weren't doing those things because you had to." Despite the confidence of Castiel's words, there was a hitch to his voice. "You left me a bloody feather." Castiel reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out the ratty frond. "I can't stand knowing this happened to you because a structural problem brought down the roof of the mall, that it happened because Alfie and I were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I have a first aid kit. Please, angel, may I help you?"

They sat in silence a long time, Dean deeply troubled, Castiel's expression growing increasingly defeated. The hardest part was watching Castiel's hope and faith in Dean crumble. Dean swore he could see Castiel wondering for the first time if this truly was nothing but a job to Dean, could watch the wheels turning as Castiel wondered if Dean had only helped because he had to. Castiel's sorrow was unbearable. With an unhappy sigh, Dean used his grace to dissipate the intangibility cloaking him. Castiel gasped to see Dean revealed, looked horrified as he saw the damage to Dean's wings. The usual brilliant forest green of Dean's feathers, speckled with yellow like fireflies flitting through a summer night, was mottled with shades of red, the crimson of fresh flow and the near-black dried crust leaving Dean's wings limp and ugly. Embarrassed, Dean nearly vanished again, but Castiel reacted quickly, knelt on the bed to reach up to where Dean sat on the back of the desk, lay a hand on Dean's wings. Despite himself, Dean whimpered in pain.

"Towels," muttered Castiel distractedly, pulling his hand away bloody. "I'm going to need wet towels. Can I use normal – human – medicines on you? Why don't you just use magic to heal?"

"I will – I am using magic to heal," said Dean. "Once I have time to rest, it'll only take a day or two. And besides, I'm fine. This is not enough to prevent me doing my duty."

The words were meant to soothe Castiel but instead his expression clouded and he scowled angrily. Confused, Dean quirked his head to one side, trying to understand. Castiel met his gaze steadily, blue eyes dark in the low light, and shook his head. "Sit here and wait for me. I'm going to get something to clean the blood off."

Every instinct and imperative that had governed Dean's life for millennia screamed for him to decline, to disappear, to return to heaven instantly and ask them to send someone else, anyone else, to look over Castiel. Looking into that earnest gaze, though, Dean couldn't do it. He struggled against himself for a long minute and then sighed, shoulders and wings slumping in defeat. Castiel smiled at Dean's half nod if agreement.

Minutes later, Dean lay face down on Castiel's bed, his wings spread as best they could be in the confines of the room, Castiel gently tending to his injuries. The towel Castiel used was warm and comforting and every touch that didn't cause pain brought pleasure. Occasionally, a fellow angel had helped him groom and it had been a pleasant experience but that had in no way prepared Dean for how this felt. Castiel's hands on him was glorious, left him shivering, thrilled gasps alternating with hisses as Castiel scrubbed away blood, arranged ruffled feathers, smeared some kind of ointment over every wound, rubbed something soothing into the place back where something had struck Dean's back. As wonderful as it was, it was also torture, as so many interactions with Castiel were torture. Dean hoped that Castiel mistook the small signs of arousal Dean betrayed for reactions to the pain. He wished he could see Castiel and assess his reaction, but all he could see were sheets, pillows and the windowed wall of the dorm room. His senses revealed nothing but the tentativeness of Castiel's touch, the delicate way that he treated each injury, the gentle warmth that Castiel left in his wake as he worked down the length of one wing until he reached Dean's back and began on the other.

"What's this?" Castiel asked curiously, running a finger over the gland at the joint where Dean's wing met his back. Intense sensation burst through Dean's body, hardened his cock despite his lingering pain, seared through his thoughts. He gasped loudly, back arching from the bed. "I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?"

"No," Dean managed, voice cracking. It took all his willpower to ease himself back down, to relax, to not beg Castiel to touch him again just the same, over and over, smear the oil within over Dean's feathers until he lost his mind with the bliss of it. "They're glands that secrete lubrication to keep my feathers healthy."

"Are they injured?" said Castiel, running his finger along the gland again. Dean shuddered, his back spasming painfully, destroying the unspeakably good feeling of Castiel's hands on him.

"No," Dean croaked. "No, I don't think so, I'm fine, really – I should go, I should..."

"You can disappear any time you want to," Castiel said dryly. "But until you do, I'm going to treat your other wing as I treated your first."

Anything, anything you want, if you'll keep touching me like that…no, you have to stop, you have to…

Mercifully, Castiel moved on, his hands working miracles over every aching joint and broken feather and bloody tear. It took a long time; Castiel left periodically to rinse or replace the towels and refresh the heat of the water in which they were soaked. In those idle minutes when Dean was alone, he wondered why no one else in the dorms said anything about the sophomore walking back and forth to the bathroom with blood soaked linens, but if there were any incidents, Castiel said nothing about them. Finally, when Castiel was done, he lay his hands, palm down, on the muscles on the top of Dean's back, held them there warm and strong until the quiver of pain faded from Dean's body.

Despite with the pain, those hours were some of the nicest Dean could ever recall experiencing.

"I should go," Dean whispered again, though it was the last thing in the universe he wanted.

"Will you really be leaving?" asked Castiel. Dean couldn't answer. He couldn't lie to Castiel again, not then, not ever. "I didn't think so." The hands on his shoulders massaged him gently and Dean sighed into the bed. "It means a lot to me that you watch over me. Thank you."

"I have to go," Dean repeated, reluctantly gathering grace unto himself. "Goodbye Cas—"

"Wait!" Castiel interrupted, holding Dean against the bed as if that would make any difference in Dean's ability to become incorporeal.

"What is it?" Dean asked.

"What's your name?" said Castiel, his voice desperate as if he were afraid he'd never see Dean again.

I hope he doesn't ever see me again. I hope nothing terrible enough to require my aid ever happens to Castiel again. He doesn't deserve to have such fearful things occur.

"I shouldn't…" Dean trailed off, grunting, as Castiel dug his nails into Dean's shoulders. "Dean. My name is Dean."

He disappeared, leaving Castiel hunched on a bed spattered with blood, surrounded by destroyed towels. Watching him clean up afterwards left Dean ashamed but proud. Castiel, though exhausted, kept his head up the entire time, leaving his room spotless before he was done.

He's the most amazing man I've ever met.