It wasn't long before they found the way.

Well, more like, Dean found it. And that only made it worse.

It happened during his lunch break at the workshop –being an angelology consultant didn't make it for dinner, mind you-, and he was skimming through that day's newspaper when he spotted it. He blinked once, twice, and then stood up, his hands grasping the paper so tightly his knuckles went white.

"You okay, brother?" one of his coworkers asked. Dean was too deep in his trance to hear him, so the man repeated his question.

Dean looked up, then back to the inked words, then up to Benny's eyes.

"I need you to cover for me. I have something to do."

As soon as Benny told him there was no problem, Dean thanked him quickly and left the workshop with a hurried wave of his hands. He didn't hear Benny's chuckle or one of the other employees' questions.

It took him half the usual time to drive home.

He stormed in his studio, ruffling through notes and other newspapers scattered around his desk. He opened a book, which was hidden beneath a notepad, and hurried through the pages until he found what he was looking for. A short paragraph on the manifestation of angelic grace. Dean looked back to the newspaper, back to the book, and he knew he was right.

Dean had found Castiel's grace.

He sat back on his chair, rubbing his temple, a smile plastered on his face. This was it. Castiel could go back to normal, to being himself, out of the suffering he had gotten himself into. No more bloody feathers or midnight nightmares or sickness or pain. He would get his wings back, he would get his full grace back, and he would go back to Heaven. And Dean…

He couldn't do it.

The rest of the afternoon he pondered for a way to tell Castiel. But everything he came up with felt wrong. All of this felt wrong.

Castiel had been out, hanging out with Charlie, who had told him about a movie they both had been excited about. When he came home, he found Dean still sitting in the studio, eyes closed and feet up against the desk. The moment he walked in, Dean opened his eyes.

"What are you doing?" he asked, tilting his head in that way only Castiel could muster. "You got home earlier."

"Took the day off," Dean answered, finally landing back in reality. "Want something to eat?" he asked immediately after.

"Sure," Castiel smiled. Dean returned the smile, telling himself he would tell him about his grace. Just- not then. Dean needed time to say goodbye.

But why was it so hard? A day turned into a week and a week into a month. Dean had to say it at once, swallow down this selfish feeling, no matter how much he wanted Castiel to stay.

Castiel, at the same time, seemed to be feeling better. He talked more, laughed brightly, and was even having an appetite, unlike the last few weeks where he barely ate. He wouldn't lock himself in the bathroom anymore, bloody feathers around like he had the first few weeks, and he carried himself more like he had when he was an angel, instead of hunched over, probably in pain.

His nightmares had been happening less and less frequently, as well. The angel wouldn't tell him, but Dean knew they were not related to Castiel falling. It was not the pain of the fall. He had seen them, the effect they had on Cas, how he turned desperately in his bed. Dean was always there to help him out of the illusion, but when he asked, Castiel refused to tell him what it was all about. All he knew was from the first night. "Punishment", he had said.

He knew, though. Dean knew Castiel had been tortured because of him.

Dean tried to convince himself he was keeping the information to himself because maybe, just maybe, Castiel didn't need it anymore. He was feeling better, and he could stay with him, away from Heaven and what he had gone through, finally rid of the fall. He may be able to survive it, become fully human. And Dean tried to believe it, even when he knew what a lie that was.

It truly didn't make sense to him that need he had to keep Cas with him, but he was certain it was related to what Sam had meant with his words. As well as it didn't make sense why he couldn't stop staring at his angel, taking in every smile and every little gesture, and how something in his eyes shifted every time they stared silently at each other, none of them wanting to look away and having nothing else to say.

He told himself it was because he would miss him. But never really thought why.

Eventually, everything snapped, all the pieces and stares and thoughts suddenly fitting perfectly together, the storm of confusion finally appeasing.

It happened when Dean less expected it. And when it did, he almost laughed –laughed at how simple things were all along, how everything made sense in a way he had been blind to, how this had been going for months and he had been stupid enough to ignore it.

Sam was right. Now he understood. And he had known why, too, because of course, his little brother would know Dean more than himself. He thanked, internally, that he didn't tell Dean. He had to figure out for himself; that much he knew.

The moment was casual, a normal thing, something he and Castiel did all the time. But this time, his brain finally snapped out of his daze and realized how they had been slow dancing with each other for months.

They were in the kitchen, preparing everything for a day out. It was Saturday, the only day in which Dean had his morning free.

Usually, they would have breakfast together before he went to work, and Dean came back around noon. Castiel waited for him to get home before they cooked together and ate in the living room. It was all so tranquil and perfect Dean had never thought much about it, just enjoyed it. And he loved every moment of it. From the morning to the afternoon, and hanging out at Charlie's, or walking around town, grabbing a coffee, watching a movie.

On Saturday, ever since spring had begun to warm the town, instead of having breakfast at home –except when it was cloudy and rainy, in which case they would prepare something and watch a movie sitting on the couch like the winter before-, they prepared some food and headed out somewhere nice.

Sometimes during the week, they hung outside, of course, but never during the morning. Which Castiel had made clear was one of his favorite moments of the day. Not because he was alone, he would always rather be with Dean. But due to how the sun illuminates everything, an eerie touch that made nature glow differently, and how it brought up every color of everything that Castiel couldn't help but stare.

When he was alone during the week, he went there on his own, to sit and watch and breathe and just memorize everything. But it wasn't as fun, or as nice, as it was with Dean. So Dean humored him, and made a picnic basket every Saturday, and chatted with Cas about everything, instead of asking why would Castiel need to memorize the glow of nature when the sun was bright and the colors shone beautifully. He didn't want to ask.

This time it was different, though. Dean couldn't quite say why, but it was.

They were still in the kitchen, their elbows bumping from time to time, as Dean made a few sandwiches and Cas prepared some juice. Dean made a joke, and Castiel laughed openly at it as he slammed shut a bottle. The angel regarded him, saying something in response, something silly, laughter still tinting his voice with a smile. Dean looked up, listening to the low rumble of Cas' voice.

He was smiling, staring directly into Dean's eyes as he spoke. The morning light shone through the window just right, illuminating half of Cas' face, his blue eyes almost transparent. And they sparkled, a small shine lighting them up even more than the sun itself did at that moment.

Dean was speechless for a moment, his mind reeling because he had been staring at Castiel for months, but he had never realized how gorgeous he was.

It was beyond a vessel, beyond his physical appearance. It went to his soul, to his grace, and how it was easy to appreciate from the outside. How his personality shone through all his features and how his soul could be seen in the glimmer of his eyes. It was so utterlyCastiel, the beauty Dean now could see, that he was left breathless.

The angel's voice brought him back to reality, asking if he was okay, and Dean could only smile and nod, because he had never been better.

After that, he saw Castiel in a new light.

The whole day outside, he took it upon himself to watch Castiel. Every line of his face, every little smile, every twinkle of his eyes.

Dean had been watching him a lot lately, sure. And now, he also knew why. And he knew that he had been memorizing all these things as well, even when he didn't know what it was about, what he was looking for. But now he knew. And he knew he had been memorizing the man he had fallen in love with.

The fact that he had done it a lot, wouldn't stop him from doing it now. If anything, he would just stare even more, taking it all in consciously.

So the entire day, he watched Cas. He watched him laugh and run and talk, and lay on the grass, and rant about nature and animals and bees. And Dean took in every single word he said.

By the end of the day, as they watched the sunset sitting on the Impala's hood, Dean turned around.

The sunset was beautiful, but not as much as his angel.

At some point, as Dean traced with his eyes the curve of his jaw or the deep of his nose, and how his eyes glimmered with the dark light of the afternoon, Castiel turned.

He pinned Dean down with just a stare. The blue was smooth and soft in the light of the sun, like the sea during a clear day. But there was something behind them, like a building storm, and somehow Dean knew he had been the one to start it.

He didn't think. He didn't even breathe. Before he knew it, he was leaning in.

A barely there kiss, a soft touch of their lips. But it was everything. They made it last, and it went until the sun disappeared completely. It was so calm they didn't even need to pull apart to breathe. And yet it was charged with emotion, feelings Dean could only imagine had been locked in for months and were all rushing out through this. Deep, breathtaking, it disarmed Dean in a second.

It was infinite. It was right. It was all he had been wanting for months. So he held on.

When they pulled apart, Castiel had his eyes still closed.

"Let's go home," Dean said. Castiel hummed in agreement.

It was dark outside by the time they arrived at the house. They took the picnic basket and walked back inside, fluttering around each other as they put everything back in place. As per usual, they began preparing everything for a movie night. It was out of habit, really, because none of them were really thinking about what they were doing.

During the car ride, Dean could almost feel Castiel buzzing. And he could only imagine he was just as excited, or nervous. So it really was no surprise that when the microwave beeped, the popcorn ready for them to grab, Castiel grabbed Dean by the collar instead, pinning him down against the fridge.

Cas kissed him roughly this time. It was completely unlike the one they shared in the sunset. This was desperate, heated, something dark that had been rising for a long time now. Human, passionate, sinful.

"Eager much?" Dean chuckled, eyes dark and voice breathy.

"You're an idiot."

Dean smiled in the kiss and sucked at Castiel's swollen lips. Grabbing him by the waist, he turned themselves around, pinning Castiel down this time, a low thud.

Castiel flinched and made a noise.

But it wasn't a moan, or a whine, or a sigh. It wasn't a sound made of lust. It wasn't a growl, or a shudder, or a gasp. It wasn't like the other beautiful sounds Castiel had made and it made Dean's blood run cold and freeze in place.

The pained sound made them break the kiss, and now Dean was staring down at Cas with a terrified gaze. He was certain he hadn't been too rough. He had put his best to turn them around swiftly, to pin him down delicately, and even if it had made a noise, it couldn't be something painful.

And the former angel had the same expression, as if he had been caught in the headlights, pleading Dean not to ask.

"What happened?"

"It's nothing."

"Cas…"

"Dean."

His eyes were pleading, yes, but Dean made him turn around nonetheless. And when he lifted Cas' shirt, he made a sound awfully similar to that same pained whine, tears gathering in his eyes and a lump hurting in his throat. Of course, things couldn't last.

Two long red-hot gashes crossed Castiel's back, tainting his smooth white skin with awful scars. They weren't bleeding, but they might as well have been since they were painfully recent as far as Dean could tell. His hand hovered over them, yet he didn't dare touch. Instead, he made Castiel turn around, slowly, to examine the rest.

Those were the worst wounds. But it didn't make it less horrifying. And it didn't lessen the shock he felt when he found scratches and scars all over his chest, sides, and abdomen. Dean kissed them lightly, carefully, and he watched Castiel's face closely, making sure he didn't make him wince.

He was done hurting Cas.

This was his fault, really. It had been a month since he had found out about his grace, and he had kept it from Castiel. Because he was selfish, and he didn't know how to say goodbye, and he had needed time to find this, to find them, and he wanted that. He wanted this. So he had kept it, convincing himself that Cas was okay anyway, that he was getting better.

He had been clearly wrong.

Dean stood up, putting Castiel's shirt back in place, carefully, and took him to the bathroom in silence. Castiel didn't say anything as Dean took a first aid kit and started tending to his wounds, one by one, trying to ignore ever wince Castiel made until he was done.

They didn't talk about it. Dean couldn't talk about it. Instead, they went back to the kitchen, grabbed the long-forgotten popcorn, and like every Saturday, they accommodated themselves back on the couch to pick a movie.

The movie was forgotten, too, of course. Because they were selfish and wanted this. So, carefully this time, tenderly, memorizing each other with soft touches, they let themselves go.

On Saturday, Dean decided, was when he was going to do it.

Dean had nightmares, too.

He hid them well. He had had them his entire life, sometimes more often than others, sometimes not at all, sometimes many in a row. But he knew how to handle them.

Unlike Cas, he didn't make a sound. He just woke up abruptly, slapped himself back to reality, and tried to calm himself back into sleep.

Lately, he had been having those more and more. At first, they weren't nightmares. They were more like eerie dreams, strange dreams. A flutter of wings, an angel's grace, but he always found out with surprise it was not Castiel.

In the end, it was always the same.

"Over the hill, you will fly."

He had no idea what it meant.

Over the last month, and ever since he had found Cas' grace, it had turned more into a nightmare and less into a weird dream. They were bloody, with broken feathers, and Castiel was crying as the wings fluttered and the grace shone. The same words, but with a strangled sob.

"Over the hill, you will fly."

That Saturday, he woke up from the nightmare covered in sweat. Dean must have made some sounds while sleeping, because Castiel was leaning over him, worried and pale, like he had been the last few days. And no wonder. Because the bloody feathers had turned into rivers of red. And the words, with a cry of pain, had changed.

"Today."

Castiel asked, over and over again, if Dean was okay. And he lied, of course, because that strangled sob and the last words sounded a lot like Castiel's voice.

He knew it was today. He had planned it himself. He just didn't know why he would fly.

When Dean went back to sleep, lured by Castiel's fingers carding through his hair, like Dean had done many nights when their positions were reversed, he noticed something strange. Something warm, flooding through him, making him go back to sleep, appeasing his tumultuous thoughts.

They slept in. It was Saturday, and it was only ten in the morning, but Dean hated it. So he woke up abruptly, cursing as he got down of the bed and turned to look at Castiel, who was still sitting on the mattress, hands on his lap and messy hair too dark against his pale skin. Dean hated it too. Castiel was never this pale.

"Did you use your mojo on me?" he sounded angry. Why was he angry? He shouldn't be angry, not today. But he was worried, and sad, and definitely not ready for that Saturday.

"You were crying."

Dean remained silent for a second and sighed.

It was obvious that using his grace took a toll on Castiel. In the last few days, he had been withering more and more. But that morning it was awfully obvious how much the fall was affecting him.

But Cas had just wanted to help. So Dean smiled, even if weakly. He smiled as best as he could, opened the curtains, and helped Cas out of the bed.

"I picked somewhere nice for today."

Castiel hummed pleased as they got dressed.

When they arrived there with their picnic basket on hand, Castiel made a noise as he stared at the place in amazement.

"What is it?" Dean asked.

"It's beautiful."

Dean grinned and voiced his agreement. It really was. A field covered in dandelions, a glade surrounded by trees, the grassland being lulled by the breeze in every different direction. The sun was still high in the sky, but it was obvious that when it set, it would disappear behind the hill in the middle of the glade.

Castiel stopped, staring at his surroundings curiously. "And… familiar."

His words didn't confuse Dean at all, but the human didn't try to explain. Castiel would know, eventually.

They settled close to the trees, where their shadow couldn't cover them from the sun but its presence was comforting either way. They laid everything on the ground, and like every other day, they ate and talked and laughed. Except it was not like every other day, not since the last time, and their fingers were tangled, unwilling to get apart.

Dean was both happy and heavy with dread.

But they enjoyed it. And they ignored Castiel's pale skin as he talked about bees, and they ignored his wounds as Dean hugged him softly, and they ignored everything, every single thing that could go wrong, for the sake of spending that time together.

But all things came to an end, and when the sun began to set, Dean was reminded of that.

He stood up and offered his hand to Castiel.

"You know why this field is familiar?"

"No. Why?" Castiel took his hand and let Dean guide him away from their place, and towards the hill.

"Because you made it."

The manifestation of grace was through life, and both Castiel and Dean knew that. Wherever it landed, wherever it was, it created something beautiful and unique, something irreplaceable. It was made of power, of light, and it was only right that it created life.

So when Castiel's grace had landed on that empty field, his unique grace, full of love and beauty, it was only fit that it would bring to life such a breathtaking scenery.

As Dean explained this, realization dawning on Castiel's eyes, he helped him up the hill, a steady hand gripping him firmly by the shoulder so he wouldn't fall. And he explained it with pride, with something irradiating from him, and he said it in awe, but not surprising at all, that Castiel could create such a thing.

The closer the angel got to the top, the more visible it became. A little ball of light, a spot of grace, on top of the hill, waiting for him. Castiel felt it. Dean could feel it too. But Castiel felt it calling, luring him, asking him to retrieve it so they could be one again and return to Heaven.

Castiel was dying, and Dean explained this too. He wasn't sure he could survive the fall. So when Cas tried to protest, that he shouldn'tbehere, that Dean shouldn't have done this, Dean insisted it was necessary.

He would rather die of pain himself than watch someone like Cas run out of life.

Dean took him to the top of the hill. Castiel just had to touch his grace, and it would be over. But he couldn't.

So he refused.

The divine was something impossible to comprehend. No matter how much you studied, how much you knew, it would still take you by surprise. And this surprised killed both of them.

When Castiel refused his own grace, in his anger with Dean for making such a decision without him, the light flickered, catching both of their attention. And then it disappeared.

Castiel crumbled to the floor. And Dean fell with him, too, grabbing his hand and pleading.

He cried, and he prayed, and Castiel told him it was okay, but it fucking wasn't. This wasn't okay. This was all kinds of wrong. But it wasn't Cas' fault, and Dean made sure he knew that. He hugged him to his chest, telling him nice things, wondering why as he shushed sweet words to his hair.

And as he wondered why all of this happened, and why no one listened to his prayers, and why had he been such a coward as not to tell Castiel how he felt any sooner, a voice spoke to his mind.

Dean Winchester.

Dean opened his eyes, staring around.

We do listen.

Who are you?

I have many names. But you may call me Michael.

Dean knew who it was, of course. Michael, leader of Heaven. Second in command. Castiel's brother.

Save him.

We can't. But you could.

Castiel wasn't trembling anymore, instead staring at Dean curiously.

"Dean?"

How?

He can't be an angel anymore. But you can. I can make you one. And you can save Castiel. He is human, now. His grace is gone, and he has a soul. All he needs is healing to go through the fall.

What do I have to do?

Say yes.

"Dean? What's going on?"

Dean stared down at Castiel. Pale, bloodshot eyes, breath hitched. And it wasn't that hard of a choice, really. Castiel must have seen something in his eyes, because he was suddenly grabbing his arms, desperate.

"No!"

Will Cas be okay? Will I be okay?

"Dean, listen to me-"

When an angel became human, they fell. They gained emotions, hunger, sickness, pleasure. They lost their grace to gain a soul, and if they survived, they had the opportunity to live a human life. But what happened when a human became an angel? What then? Did something happen at all?

His mother had believed angels were their guardians, and sometimes Dean wished that was true. And if they weren't, then Dean would become a guardian angel himself.

He will be okay.

"Cas, I'm sorry," he said, even granting a sad smile.

Say yes and it will be done.

"Don't, Dean, please-"

"Yes."

Castiel saw it all as Dean's eyes went dark and then back to their usual green. A green that was once beautiful but that now made him sick. The warmth flowing through him, healing him, making him whole again, was unwelcomed. He would never be whole again. Even if he hoped he was wrong.

Dean put him to the ground, his arms leaving Castiel's body, and he stood up, tall and mighty, as he stared down at Castiel, examining him.

"You're sane now."

"Wish I wasn't."

The man's –no,angel's- eyes were a dull green, a pale joke of what they had once been. He had a blank stare, an expressionless face, as he stared at Castiel. All of Dean's warmth was gone.

"Who are you?" he felt the need to ask.

"I am Dean."

And Castiel couldn't contain his own tears, because this might be Dean, but it wasn'thisDean.

He had seen himself decay just so he wouldn't have to say goodbye to Dean. He had wanted more time with him, and he tried to extend his own life, even if he knew it was killing him. He tried to extend it because maybe, just maybe, he would be able to say farewell someday.

And he found out it wasn't about time; he would just never be ready to say goodbye.

But fate had it he had to say it anyway. Too soon, in a horrid way. Dean was taken away from him unfairly, and now a broken shell of what he used to be was standing in front of him, making fun of his misery.

"I have a question."

Castiel looked up.

"Why do angels fall?"

He remembered. And he hoped that, whatever had made the angel ask such a question, was still there. He hoped as he gathered his own memories, his own thoughts, tears drying on his cheeks were they burned with dread.

He hadn't fallen in love with Dean at first. He had acted out of impulse, tired of injustice, tired of watching his own charge suffer. They were supposed to be their shepherds, their guardians, and yet he was expected to stand by and watch.

He had acted out of righteousness and ended up in punishment. But he didn't regret it. And he didn't back off.

But he knew, deep down, that even if it wasn't his intention, it all lead to the same thing.

Castiel was meant to fall, to feel all those human things. To feel emotions, love, sadness, to feel pain, to feel pleasure. He was meant to fall in the most humane way possible. And he didn't regret a thing.

He remembered, eating some pasta with good company by his side. Dean staring at the screen with a childlike expression. Sharing the movie that Dean would not let him miss and feeling so warm, so at peace in the middle of the turmoil that his life had become.

He was sure, now, that it hadn't been just a feeling, just something passing by. At that moment, Castiel had known he was in the right place, after all.

So whatever made him fall in the first place, whatever reason, whatever fate, it was no wonder what was behind it all.

"Love," he said. He chocked in his own words. "They fall because they love."

In the end, it was all about that. To feel. To love.

He didn't know when he had started crying again, but it only made sense how hard it was to breathe under Dean's intense stare, void of emotions, and void of warmth. Dean smiled. But it was cold and awful, and it made Castiel want to cry even harder.

"Foolish."

With a gush of wind, Dean disappeared.

And Castiel was left on top of a hill, in the middle of the field, wondering how it had all turned into this.