When Castiel forcefully ends the mind-meld, Dean is thrown backwards into the wall, and Castiel drops to his hands and knees, panting, unable to move. Unable to think.

Dean…

What was he thinking, accepting that damned Mark? Why was this particular method to Abaddon's demise so appealing to him that he couldn't—that he didn't want to consult Castiel? What was he even thinking? Did he even think how this would affect Castiel? How it would affect himself?

Of course not, because Dean is unselfish.

No matter how that man portrays himself, no matter how many walls he builds to hide behind, he never ever thinks about himself. Always about others, always to do the seemingly correct thing in order to save the majority involved. Dean, regardless of what he has told himself his entire life, is a hero.

Dean was a hero.

The small side of Castiel that still persists on loving the bastard, however, is unwilling to give up. But he still is a hero…somewhere in there. I know my Dean is somewhere in there—he has to be. I will find him and bring him forward. I will cure his soul somehow.

"Dean," Castiel breathes out, finally looking up. But he is speaking to dusty air; Dean has disappeared.

And Castiel is alone.

"Damn it, Dean!" he cries out to the empty air. Hurriedly, he flits to the alleyway where he first located the impala, but naturally it is gone, Dean presumably having taken it. Castiel reaches out and frantically senses for it, but Dean seems to have learned his lesson and warded it, Castiel unable to locate anything relating to him. He angrily runs his hands through his dark hair, his breathing coming in short rasps again. I can't lose him, not again, he repeats, to himself. Castiel is not used to feeling so many intense emotions and is at loss at how to relieve himself. His body begins to shake uncontrollably and his heart continues to pound in his head. I have to find Dean, I have to find Dean, I have to find…

Castiel barely has enough time to drop his Angel's Blade and react to the other blade attempting to spear him from behind. It is an angel he doesn't recognize, but who doesn't seem like he's here to harm Castiel. He would not have made himself so obvious, or hesitated in stabbing Cas. He needs intel. Or he's just a scared, lower-level angel following fearsome orders.

Castiel, still somewhat distracted, manages to allow the angel to relieve him of his blade and gets pinned against the brick wall, both blades crisscrossed at the base of his neck. He slowly raises his eyes to his attacker, whose eyes are narrowed and teeth bared, similar to an animal in an attack state. "Where's the demon!" the angel demands.

Castiel hesitates. "…I don't know what you're talking about," he growls back, forcing his face into an expression of confidence.

The angel's expression only gets angrier, thrusting his face closer to Castiel's. "Where's the demon!" he repeats.

"Who are you working for," Castiel asks instead.

The angel punches his face into the wall, his breathing hot on Castiel's face. "We know you have been in relations with Cain's successor. Where is he?"

"Who is 'we'?" Castiel manages before his face is pounded against the wall again.

"Tell us where the demon is and we will spare your pathetic life!" He must be one of Metatron's angels. But Metatron is still up in prison…where are these orders coming from?

"You are never going to find him," Cas spits a mouthful of blood at his assailant's face. "He doesn't want to be found, and even if you did find him, you'd regret it in an instant." The angel grips Castiel by the lapels of his overcoat and slams his upper body against the wall before letting him drop in a heap at his feet. He squats to his knees and grabs a fistful of Cas' hair, forcing him to make eye contact. Castiel laughs spitefully. "I will never tell you where he is." Hot rage begins to radiate off the angel like a jet stream, the arm bearing his Angel's Blade winding back, preparing to finish Castiel off. But what he doesn't know is that Cas hasn't been the one with the disadvantage this whole time—it was him. He never even realises it, either, even as Cas' blade plunges into his heart, white light filling the alleyway as he explodes, his vessel's lifeless body draping itself over Castiel. Cas annoyingly rolls the body off his person and practically tears his overcoat off, the remnants of the angel's wings seared into it, making him gag. He discards it into a nearby dumpster, collects his Angel's Blade and flits back to the vacant hotel room.

Before he can change his mind, he gathers the necessary components and creates a summoning ritual on the round bedside table, not bothering to create a devil's trap anywhere. He wouldn't dare mess with me right now; he's not stupid. He knows I could end his pathetic existence in a heartbeat. With that final thought Castiel strikes a match and drops it into the bowl, though when the smoke dissipates, Crowley is nowhere in sight. "Seriously?" he roughly exclaims. "Isn't it kind of mandatory that you show up?"

After nearly a half hour, Cas sighs and shakes it off. He does not need to stoop to Crowley's level again, he will find Dean without him. Somehow. He hopes. But where does he even start? How on earth is he going to locate Dean, especially if he does not want to be found? Castiel closes his eyes, draws in a calming breath, and thinks: Where, without fail, can Dean always be found?

Castiel nearly smacks himself, the answer seems so obvious, and he has been missing it this entire time.

A bar. He will find Dean at a bar. Anywhere there is alcohol and under-clothed women. Cas smiles triumphantly and makes a mental list of all the related establishments he is able to think of. Feeling confident, he flits to the first one on his list.

Or not.

He crashes through the ceiling of the hotel room he was just in and falls straight through the bedside table he cast his ritual on. Castiel gapes and gropes for air, all of it seeming to have left him. He cringes at the sharp splinters of the table jutting into him, as well as the ritual's bowl and candles. He can't find it in him to move for several minutes, even then he can hardly. Cas' breathing is fast and rugged as he pulls himself from the wreckage, having to painfully pull out anything sticking from his clothing or his actual person. His forehead quickly begins collecting beads of sweat, which then proceed to roll down his jaw line. He slowly drags on his feet to the vanity, leaning on it for support as he strips his overcoat, his jacket, his shirt. Cas turns and sees the mess of his back, the already apparent bruising and some small trails of blood coming from sporadic places across it. Castiel scrunches his face in concentration, but is unable to fully heal himself then, and he nearly collapses from the effort.

"You will die if you don't replenish it…"

Hannah's voice drifts across his mind over and over again, Castiel angrily trying to put her memory on mute. "I've still got time," he grunts, "I can hold out long enough to find Dean and help him. I will…" Castiel trails off as the floor becomes his ceiling and he only knows darkness.

"So you're beginning to burn out, huh?" a gruff voice sounds through Cas' half-conscious haze. His eyelids feel like lead and it takes maximum effort to keep them open once he's able to relieve his eyes of them. "Doesn't look like too much fun. Why don't you just slit another angel so you stay topside?"

Castiel slowly maneuvers his head towards the source of the voice. "Dean…" he croaks out. Dean's face grows larger as he moves himself closer to the fallen angel. His face hurts to look at, both physically and emotionally. Cas wrinkles his nose in disgust as Dean's strong cologne of alcohol wafts over him like a thick blanket to the point where he can't remember what fresh air tastes like. He clears his throat and moves to find fresh air again, but doesn't make it very far. "What are you—"

"I found a liquor store, Castiel," he smirks, and Castiel flinches again as Dean…no, not Dean, uses his full name.

"And…?" Cas prompts, not understanding his reference right off in his muddled state.

Something rumbles in the demon's…no, Dean's, chest resembling something similar to laughter, though no smile spreads itself across his face. "I drank it." Dean's eyes search Castiel's for some hint of understanding for several minutes, until, finally, Castiel understands and can't help but break into wide smile, the biggest he has smiled in a very long time.

Cas shoves through his dizziness and pushes himself upright, swinging his legs over the bed he has been placed on. He's still in the hotel room, though it has been cleaned up so nothing looks like it was ever disturbed. He meets Dean's eyes once more and tries to speak, but again is left speechless. Yes, Dean's fairytale green eyes were looking back at him, but they were only a façade, a mask the darkness was wearing deceitfully. "You never answered my question," Dean says.

Castiel clears his throat again and wets his dry lips. "Because I am no killer…not anymore," he replies in a raspy voice, "I would not be able to live with myself if I harmed another angel in anything other than self-defense. But even then…"

Dean's laughter actually becomes vocal this time, though the smile he breaks into is sarcastic and amused in the derogatory sense. "You are still such an immature dumbass," he says deeply through his laughter.

"Excuse me?" Cas cocks his head and raises an eyebrow, in need of clarification.

"Not willing to do what is necessary to keep you alive, Cas, to keep those wings of yours! What's one more dead angel to make that happen compared to all the ones you've already killed?" Castiel cannot tell whether the emotion of Dean's face is one of accusation or one of concern. He hopes it's the latter, but he highly doubts it.

Castiel looks back at Dean and can't stop himself from saying in a small voice, "You called me 'Cas'."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Of course I did," he replies, "that's your name, isn't it? Now what about your wings, Castiel," his voice transitions back into its normal roughness.

"My wings…or lack thereof, are none of your concern, Dean," Castiel is unable to hide the defeat in his voice. His fading grace, his burning wings, seem entire insignificant compared to getting through to and fixing Dean. Though the sadness and pain that Castiel feels knowing that he will no longer be an angel, he will no longer have his grace or his wings, is almost too much to bear when he thinks about it. It is undoubtedly written on his face, Cas somewhat grateful it most likely masks the even greater pain he feels for Dean.

Dean gets up from the chair next to the bed and trudges over to the fridge to pull out a beer. He walks back over and sits down, popping the top and drinking himself deeper. The silence swallows them both for what seems like an endless amount of time, until Dean, in a voice Cas thought he'd never hear again, says, "Cas…" it is silent for a few minutes more, then he continues, "will I miss my green eyes, like you miss your wings?"

Castiel looks up Dean, incredulous. He sucks in a lungful of air and exhales, hoping his next words will be the right ones. "Dean…this will end. I will fix this. I promise you, I will fix this…I will fix you," before my imminent death, he adds silently. Dean looks into Castiel with such emotion at that moment that Castiel's heart lurches hopefully, no doubt being in his mind that the words he just spoke will come true.

But then that all nearly crumbles when Dean's face loses that vulnerability so quickly, Cas questions whether it actually happened or not. He throws his empty bottle angrily into the trash can and gets up, going to retrieve another beverage from the mini-fridge. Cas gets off the bed and follows him, and is there when Dean turns around, popping the top off his new beer. Castiel watches the indecision flit across his face while his nostrils flare, the fingers gripping the bottle turning white. It shatters on the floor a few short seconds after Dean drops it, grabbing Cas by the throat and pinning him against the wall inhumanly fast. Castiel refrains from gasping aloud when Dean flashes his demonic eyes, keeping them black as he growls, "And who says I want to be fixed, Castiel."

"You," Cas replies gutturally, talking through his lack of oxygen. "I know my Dean is somewhere in there, and he wants to be fixed. And you know it, too," he adds, his voice drowning in irate emotion, though with which one he can't decipher.

Dean loosens his grip slightly, but he keeps Castiel pinned in place. "Your Dean?"

Cas feels the blood rush to face and blossom behind his cheeks. Through his sudden embarrassment and still strained, however, he confirms, "Yes. My Dean." Dean releases Castiel then, Cas raping the air to satiate his deprived lungs. He quickly reaches out and grips Dean's shoulder tightly, saying, "Don't you dare disappear on me again, Dean. We need to talk about this."

He whips around to face Cas and yells, "What is there to talk about? We have nothing to talk about here! We are done here, Cas. You can't fix me—there's nothing to fix! We are both just better off going our separate ways. Don't waste your last precious breaths on me, Castiel. Go do something productive with your pathetic wing-less existence."

Cas' heart re-shatters as Dean's angry words pour out, and he tries to shrug it off and chalk it up to the demon inside, the anger, Dean just saying things to make him leave. But it doesn't make it hurt any less, hearing those words. Especially if they are Dean's words…or at least, Dean's voice. "I am not going anywhere Dean. Now don't you," he says again, firmer. Dean says nothing, only remaining in his fuming stance, his eyes never leaving Castiel's.

Finally, "Why."

Castiel takes one step closer towards Dean, them now being only mere centimetres apart. Before he can stop himself, before he can 'cop out', Castiel looks Dean straight in his eyes, straight through to his ugly darkness, "Because, 'I love you, Dean Winchester' are the words I should have said, before I heard the news 'Dean Winchester is dead'." Castiel watches his eyes widen, his mouth parting just slightly in revelation, speechless and unmoving. His heartbeat quickens to a pace much faster than any human's, and his body goes rigid. Castiel's, however, surprisingly remains unchanging. His only action being watching Dean and what he will do next.

Cas grabs the lapels of Dean's coat harshly, stopping him from disappearing. "I thought I made myself clear; neither of us is leaving this hotel room until we talk." Dean glances down at the hand gripping his jacket with one of annoyance, taking a deep breath, his body beginning to tremble slightly. He reaches up and places his hand over Castiel's. Cas sucks in a deep breath as the image of Dean in the crypt—beaten, bruised and bloody—unfolds in the front of his mind.

"Cas," he forced out, choking on his own blood, "I need you, Cas."

That was enough for Castiel. That one snippet of memory that Dean just shot into him—nothing can now sway him from the fact that there is hope for Dean Winchester. There is hope for him, and there may be hope for Castiel. And Castiel refused to wait any longer, to look back on this moment and regret not acting on the feeling he's been fighting, ever since he gripped Dean and raised him from perdition. And there was no inkling of a doubt in his mind that Dean has felt it too.

Castiel kissed him. Hard.

He kissed him with the passion of the hungry, trying to fit years and years of emotion into one simple act, into one simple embrace. Castiel's head was reeling, his heartbeat deafening, beating everywhere around him and out of sync. When Dean did not reciprocate, his heart began to fall and his lips began to slow, but then not a moment too soon Dean returned Castiel's greed, slamming him back into the wall, causing it to crack. The kiss was bruising, desperate; and air, life, seemed insignificant. Nothing else mattered. Nothing. No one else mattered but Dean Winchester, and to Dean, nothing else mattered more than Castiel. In that moment, they were one.

Dean breaks away first, his breathing coming in short rasps. "Cas," he breathes against his lips, "Cas, get out."

Castiel, his head still reeling from the kiss, still trying to regain his breath, looks up at Dean in confusion. Did he not just reciprocate the kiss? Did I do something wrong? "No, Dean, I am not leaving. How many times tonight do I have to tell you that?" He plants a softer kiss on the demon's lips. "What are you so afraid of?"

Dean's voice shakes unsteadily as he replies, "Because, Castiel, you're an angel. I'm a demon. There's got to be like a million laws against that," he laughs to relieve the tension.

"I won't be for much longer." Cas searches for Dean's lips again.

"Yeah, or alive for that matter," Dean says gruffly.

Cas grabs a handful of Dean's hair and pulls his face towards his, causing Dean to flinch. "For once in your miserable life, Dean, can you not speak your mind." Dean, pained, nods in reluctance. "Good," Castiel mutters, tracing Dean's plush lips with his finger, cocking his head to the side. "This is all so…foreign to me," he remarks, losing himself in Dean's body, the pleasure he feels from finally being able to claim it nearly overwhelming. Castiel longs to brand Dean as his own again.

He is contemplating where, when Dean replies, "I'm sure you'll do fine, Cas," a smile playing at his rough lips. When Castiel only continues to stare at his lips intently, Dean takes a small step back and slides off his jacket, then tugs his shirt off over his head. Cas reaches out and clasps his right shoulder, the shoulder that once bore his handprint. For some reason he frowns at its absence. "Yeah, I kinda wish it had stayed, too," he says, mirroring Castiel's thoughts as he gently guides his hand back down and peels away his trench coat. He reaches for Cas' suit jacket, but Cas holds out a hand to stop him.

"It's okay, I can do it," he says, bringing a full smile to Dean's face, which immediately frowns and twitches from the alien feeling. Cas pulls off his suit jacket, then unbuttons his shirt and sets it on the floor with the other clothes. Hesitantly, he closes the distance between the two of them again. Standing on his toes, he cranes his neck and melts their faces together again, his hands smoothing down Dean's torso and wrapping around his belt buckle. This is the only time where I have been grateful for Metatron giving me the knowledge of modern day culture, he thinks as he undo's the buckle and pulls the belt out of the loops. Though the way his heart is hammering in his chest, he is still so unsure and scared he might mess this up.

Dean swiftly does the same with Cas' pants, making them join the pile of clothes. Castiel quivers in embarrassment, feeling naked…he is naked. And Dean can see every inch of this vessel he's called his own, can touch every inch, can kiss every inch. Cas shivers in anticipation, though shies back against the wall. "C'mon, now, Cas. Gonna make me do all the work?" Dean's deep, raspy voice breaks through Castiel's haze. Dean does not give Castiel a chance to respond before planting a heated kiss on his lips, then creating a path of kisses along his jawline, his neck, his torso. Castiel can't help but gasp once Dean touches his cock, his composure slowly leaving him with each move Dean makes. Cas can't help but watch Dean as he begins his work, licking a firm stripe down to his head and running his tongue along the bottom of his shaft. A shiver racks its way through Castiel as Dean makes his way to the tip, where he sucks long and hard before working his way back down again. His hands snake their way up Cas' legs and grab his ass, pulling him more into Dean, his dick hitting the back of his throat as he begins to bob faster, up and down, back and forth. Castiel's eyes close as he tilts his head back, a new kind of pleasure beginning to radiate through his vessel's body. Instinctively, he runs his fingers through Dean's hair and grips his head, keeping him in place. He feels as Dean tries to contain a smile, hollowing out his cheeks and continuing to blow him as the pleasure builds and builds inside Castiel. Noises he has never made before begin to leave his mouth, his peak so close yet so far.

"God, Dean!" escapes his lips as Dean takes his balls into his hand, massaging circles into them as he continues to suck, the pleasure feeling nearly unbearable to Castiel. Cas feels Dean twitch, flinching at his father's name, but he quickly shrugs it off and now seems more determined, fiercer, than ever. And then Castiel feels it rapidly build and he is so close, he's so close, so close—

"Oh my—Dean! Damn it, my god—" The orgasm that then fills Castiel causes his body to buckle, and had Dean not reached out and looped a supporting arm around him, he would have fallen into an indecipherable heap on the carpet. It is like nothing Castiel has ever felt before—he can find no words to describe the fire surging through him. Unintelligible mutters and incessant repetitions of Dean's name continue to leave Cas' mouth as he continues riding through his orgasm. He almost does not feel Dean guide him over to the bed and place him on the edge of it, his head falling to rest in the hollow of Dean's neck as he kneels in front of him.

"Shit, Cas, you alright?" Dean's laugh travels through his chest and reverberates through Castiel's still throbbing body. Castiel manages a nod as he wraps his hand around Dean's neck and pushes their lips together hungrily, the need to touch him taking over as his pleasure unfortunately begins to die out. He pulls Dean towards himself in a frenzy, frustrated that he is unable to touch and kiss all of Dean at once. "About…time…" Dean mutters in between Cas' attacks on his lips. Castiel crawls backwards as Dean crawls onto the bed, shifting them higher up the mattress. Somewhere in this move Castiel switched their positions, and the next time he opened his eyes Dean was below him, his eyes masquerading green as they refused to break contact with his angel's. He opens his mouth to say something, but his breath instead gets hitched in his throat as Castiel reaches between their slick bodies and latches onto his dick and begins to work his way around it, Dean's body shivering uncontrollably. "Holy fuck, Castiel…" he groans, black beginning to pool into his eyes. Castiel tries to only focus on giving his Dean pleasure and not about the eyes that have now come into view, his face making Cas cringe. His hands and fingers slow, and his jaw clenches almost painfully as he closes his eyes and forces himself to only focus on the task appointed to his hands.

Which then suddenly weren't encompassed around Dean's cock, but were being gently pinned against Dean's chest, his now-green eyes begging contact with Castiel's wet eyes. Why are they wet? he thinks as Dean reaches up with one of his hands and wipes a tear escaping from Cas' eye. "Quit fucking crying, Cas, you're making my heart hurt," he mutters raptly.

"You don't have a heart," Cas replies gutturally through his now-apparent tears. He places a hand over Dean's heaving chest where his heart should be, and like he stated, there's nothing there. There is no heartbeat, no sign of life in his lover's darkened body. Not even those fake green eyes bear a signal of life. All Castiel sees when he looks at Dean is death and blackness…all he will ever see. How am I supposed to fix you?! Castiel screams internally while he tries to soften his eyes as they look into Dean's.

"If I did…when I did," Dean says slowly, "it was always hurting for you. This evil that has consumed me…you said you could fix it—"

"Might. Dean, I have no idea how to go about fixing your soul. But that sure as hell is not going to keep me from trying. But Dean," he breathes out, "you have to know that we may have, unfortunately, finally reached the point of no return."

Dean angrily pulls Cas towards him and whispers against his lips, "Don't say that, you bastard," his voice begins to tremble, and Castiel's heart lurches. "Don't you say that." To make an unidentifiable point, Dean holds Castiel's face forcefully in place as he flashes his eyes black. Cas tries to pull back, but Dean stops him. "Look at me, Cas!" he growls. "Look at my eyes and tell me you are going to let me stay like this!"

Cas whimpers against the pressure of Dean's hand against his neck and the horror of his face. Of course he wasn't going to let Dean rot like this—but the question of 'how not to' still presses indefinitely on the forefront of his mind. "I am not going to let you remain in this state, Dean. I swear on my life—before I die, I. Will. Fix. You." He searches for Dean's lips again, and Dean releases his grip on him, giving Cas silent approval. Their lips meet and move and meld against one another as the room, the world, spins uncontrollably and their bodies entangle themselves together as if they have finally found their missing piece. With each kiss, with each touch, they each hopelessly try to melt away their pressing nightmares and problems, refusing to let anything more come between their love tonight. The love they have each waited countless lifetimes to manifest.

The love that will be the death of them.