A\N: Okay then. Finally done, this is the last chapter for this story. This is probably the longest I've written for this story, and I kinda hope I wrapped it up okay... welp. You tell me, eh?

Anyways, I'm gonna flee 'cause I have like three hours to sleep before my next shift, and let you read the damn thing.

Thank you guys for all the lovely reviews! Watch out for the sequel!

Summary: Angels were watching him, that's what Mom always said before she put him to bed. He remembered that. Why, then, Dean believed angels did not exist for so long? He wasn't always like that.

I own nothing.

Chapter 7 or Epilogue:

It's been two long weeks after the fire, and Dean hadn't said a word since that night. John Winchester knew his son had a problem, needed someone to comfort him, but John just couldn't find the strength to care for him. He detached himself from everything and everyone, and even when Mike or his wife tried to talk to him, he'd just lose focus in the middle of a sentence, trail off. He drank a lot, and buried himself in books and paperwork that carried signs and symbols he never thought he'd see in his life. All he could focus on was a journal he started writing after Mike told him he should.

Mike Guenther let the small, broken family stay at his house until they found a place of their own, but even he didn't know how to get the four-year-old Winchester boy to talk again. Dean stopped communicating with his surroundings, and the only thing he showed interest in was Sammy. The child didn't allow anyone but his father near his little brother, and since John wasn't functioning as a father at the moment, it was up to Dean to take care of the poor baby.

Mike's wife tried to help, but there was so much she could do without making Dean upset.

After a while, John moved himself and his sons to a motel room outside of Lawrence, telling Mike he couldn't stay there any longer. Once they were out of town, John found out he could breathe again, and so he started paying a little more attention to his boys - a little bit, every day.

He saw constant pain in Dean's green, glassy eyes, and tried getting the boy to talk to him. All in vain.

After a while, he stopped trying.

Instead, he focused his mind on his youngest. Sam, too, didn't take the recent events all too well. He never stopped crying, aside from when he was held in Dean's arms. He fussed all the time and woke at least ten times a night. And every time - every night that John woke up to a screaming baby, he'd go to the other room to find Dean sitting inside Sam's crib, holding his brother close to him, as if he was scared of letting him go.

It broke his heart to see his boys hurting like that, and he couldn't help but thinking of what would Mary say if she knew what was happening to her sons. The thought filled his heart with shame.

It was dark outside, way past midnight, but Dean lay in his bed in silence, wide awake and restless. John had already went to bed, and even Sammy managed to fall asleep without fussing too much. Nights like that were a blessing... but he still couldn't sleep. Thoughts rushed through his head, throwing images and memories he wanted to see so badly and yet was frightened of.

Mom's face, smiling at him brightly while her hand ruffled his hair, changing into bright orange and yellow light and the stench of smoke...

Cass, running towards him in the park, holding out a hand that started fading away the moment Dean tried to reach out and grab it, the angel's name dying on his lips in a silent scream...

And Dad. Dad turning away from him, with Sammy in arms... leaving Dean alone... alone...

A silent sob tore at his throat and forced himself to calm down, breathing deeply and burying his face in his pillow.

The four-year-old tossed and turned, pulling his blanket close and curling into a ball. It was one of those night, where whenever he closed his eyes, he saw flames chasing him and fire making his home collapse in on itself, taking his mother away from him... Dean shut his eyes tight and willed the tears away, turning back around to throw the blanket off of him in frustration.

He secretly wanted to ask his father if he could sleep in his bed tonight, but he didn't dare open his mouth. He wasn't even sure he could anymore.

A single tear escaped his closed eyes and slid down his cheek.

Silence.

A sudden flatter of wings outside his window made him sit up in bed with his eyes wide open, heart racing in his small chest. He threw his legs to the side and climbed off the bed, his bare feet hitting the cold floor as he hurried to the front door. The boy carefully opened the motel room's door, listening to his father snoring lightly in the other room. With a sigh of relief, Dean sneaked outside.

He froze.

There, standing in the spotlight of a street lantern in his familiar stiffness, was the one person Dean wished every day to see again. He couldn't believe it. No matter how much he prayed, no matter how many nights he fell asleep with the blue of Castiel's eyes in his mind, the angel never came. Dean began to give up on his hope to see his extraordinary friend - the one being beside Sam that could help him cope.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean started walking slowly towards him, his eyes wide, and a glint of excitement shone in them. He stared at Castiel in silence, taking in the sight of those painfully familiar blue eyes. He opened his mouth for a second – to say hi, to ask him where did he go, why did he leave him alone, anything – but a lump stuck in his throat and no sound came out. So Dean closed his mouth again and lowered his eyes in defeat.

"Dean?" Castiel's childish – yet grave – voice said, his expression concerned. He placed a hand on Dean's shoulder and coaxed him to look up again, staring into the Winchester child's green eyes. "What's the matter?"

Dean opened his mouth again, but closed it immediately. He shook his head furiously, tears of frustration welling up in his eyes.

"You can't speak." Castiel said quietly. "I understand. Dean." And then, just like that, the wall that kept the tears inside crumbled down, and the boy let out an anguished and broken sob, throwing himself into a very surprised angel's arms. Castiel awkwardly placed his hands on Dean's back as the child cried his heart out.

He could feel everything he felt – the grief and pain over his dead mother, the longing for his father's love and care... there was the terrible need to protect, that awfully huge responsibility for his little brother. A responsibility no child his age should feel.

And at the end of everything, there was the fear of losing Castiel himself. The repeating question of why, why, why didn't he save his mother? He was an angel... why wasn't he there when Dean needed him the most? Why didn't he answer his prayers? He was an angel, his angel...

It hurt Castiel more than he ever thought he could hurt, to know that he was the cause for such a great part of Dean's pain. But he could make it better. He knew he could.

"Dean." Castiel said again, his voice more gentle than Dean ever heard him.

The younger boy looked up and sniffled, wiping his eyes as another sob made his chin tremble. "If you want me to... I can take some of your pain away." He said, and sorrow gripped at his heart.

Dean stared at him quietly for a few long seconds, before sniffling again and nodding slowly. Two fingers were suddenly pressing on his temple, gently, as Castiel's other hand supported Dean's collapsing body.

The boy felt his head spinning, and everything seemed lighter, more peaceful... who was that that was holding him? He couldn't remember... he should remember, but he can't... can't.. and then, the realization of what was happening hit him, and the four-year-old tried to cling to the fading thoughts so desperately, he almost slipped out of Castiel's grip.

He squirmed weakly in the angel's arms, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish, desperately trying to get the words out.

"-no...!" He finally managed to choke out as everything started becoming darker by the second, trying to focus on Castiel's face, his blue eyes...

He saw Castiel's lips moving, but he couldn't make out what he was saying.

"I don't wanna forget...!"

His ears were ringing.

"No, Cass...! Cass! Ca-" And then everything went black.

"So. What makes you think you saw an, uh, angel?"

"Odd, yes. Supernatural, maybe. But angels – I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"'Cause there's no such thing, Sam."

"Okay, all right. You know what? I get it. You've got faith. That's - hey, good for you. I'm sure it makes things easier. I'll tell you who else had faith like that. Mom. She used to tell me when she tucked me in that angels were watching over us. In fact, that was the last thing she ever said to me."

"Well, what's to tell? She was wrong. There was nothing protecting her."

"There's no higher power, there's no God. I mean, there's just chaos, and violence, and random unpredictable evil that comes out of nowhere and rips you to shreds."

"Because I've never seen one."

"Who are you?"

"Castiel."

"Yeah, I figured that much. I mean what are you?"

"I'm an angel of the Lord."

"Get the hell out of here. There's no such thing."

"And why would an angel rescue me from hell?"

...

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."

A\N: So? Was that clear enough or-

Please review and tell me what you think, k? The sequel will be up by the end of the month, hopefully. I love you guys!

Ta ta!