Random shout out to user sad little satsuma for being my follower number one hundred! (The counter is stuck on ninety-nine for some reason but the Legacy Story Stats says that it's at one oh three and now I am confused ugh) Like the name. Always respect the Doctor Who Christmas Special~

I chose Pumpkin Soup for no particular reason other than it is the name of a Kate Nash song and whatever.

My friends' dogs are named Molly and Casey, so...

Dean arranged a tray for Cas consisting of Crowley's pumpkin soup (which he sneaked a spoon-full of in the hallway; it was ridiculously tasty for one might expect of rabbit food prepared by the ex-King of Hell), tea, water, and buttered white bread with blueberries arranged in a smiley face on top. Sam had wisely decided not to comment on this choice of decoration, but Crowley was bold enough to smile at the hunter's hard-won affection.

The ex-King would never admit it, at least not yet, but he was really, truly, undeniably glad that Cas and Dean were... whatever in his former kingdom's name they were. He had seen the way that they had acted around each other, and was able to use that to his advantage as a demon. But now, now he was happy that they were able to...co-exist in that weird, not-wholly-platonic manner of theirs.

He had been able to feel some odd, perverse imitation of happiness as a demon, sure, but it was usually something else masquerading as such. Satisfaction at a job well done, exhilaration at a particularly skillful kill, pleasure at maiming and torturing whoever dared to stand between him and what he wanted. But none of any of that could ever hope to compare to the little spark of joy that he felt for Cas and Dean, or the slight flickering ounce of hope that he experienced when Sam defended his presence for some stupid reason.

Still, though, it was unwaveringly drowned out by the immeasurable guilt and sorrow for all that he had done, the lives he had ruined, the pain and terror and lies and manipulation-

I think I will go make a cake now.

Dean, unaware of Crowley's gaze trailing after him, padded back to Cas's bedroom, and opened the door softly without knocking.

"Cas? I brought you some food."

"Mhh." Cas looked up weakly, taking in the sight of Dean silhouetted in his doorway.

"You doin' okay?"

"I am experiencing a severe hangover and I have no painkillers in my system. I feel weak and purposeless."

Dean set the tray on the bed-side table, and sat down on the bed next to Cas.

"Cas..." There was not much to be said. "I just want you to know... I want you to know that no matter what species you are, you will always be worth something to me- to us."

"Thank you, Dean," Cas responded, but he didn't look completely reassured. He gazed down at his left hand, very interested in his ragged thumb-nail all of a sudden.

"Try some soup," Dean urged.

"No," Cas whispered.

"Cas, please?"

"No." The fallen angel's pretty blue eyes were becoming glassy, and tears were gathering in the edges.

"Please don't cry, Cas, I- I-"

Cas blinked and an uncomfortably hot tear glided down his cheek. He looked away, ashamed.

"Cas," Dean said. His heart was breaking for the fallen angel. More tears slipped out and he made a quiet choked sobbing noise.

"I am sorry, Dean, I- I..." Cas closed his eyes and hung his head.

"Shhh, it's okay, man, it's okay." Dean hesitated briefly before throwing his arms around Cas in a giant bear hug. Cas leaned into his chest and cried silently. "It's okay." Dean ran his hand through the fallen angel's hair comfortingly, something he hadn't done in years. He had been holding a dying twelve-year-old girl in his arms, singing her to rest. Before he knew about Heaven.

"Dean," Cas muttered into his shoulder.

"Shhh. It's okay. It's okay, Cas, you're okay."

"I- I-"

"You know, Cas, I used to take deaths on the job really, really hard," Dean admitted. "Especially children. I couldn't save them all, and sometimes they would die in my arms." Cas sniffled. "But ever since we got tangled up in the Apocalypse... Now that I know that there is a bona fide Heaven..." Dean rocked Cas back and forth, back and forth. "I feel much better knowing that you were there for them." Dean closed his eyes, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of his friend's hair.

"I used to w-watch you and Sam on your h-hunts," the former angel said, voice muffled by Dean's chest but intelligible. "Do you remember a little girl named Molly Casey?" Cas hiccuped.

"I can't forget her. She was stabbed six times and she just suddenly healed, just like that-" Dean pulled back. "That was you, Cas, wasn't it?"

"She was pure of heart." Cas nodded, a faint smile ghosting over his features.

"That hunt- that hunt was awful. But in the end, little Molly Casey..." Dean smiled. "You're truly amazing, Cas, do you know that?"

"I knew our paths would cross, so I watched out for you," Cas admitted sheepishly.

"Thank you, Cas, really. It means so much to me."

"The old Dean would have sputtered indignantly and said 'that's creepy, Cas'," the fallen angel said, smiling.

"Yeah, well, the old Dean..." Dean smiled. "I don't know where he went."

"It's okay. I like this Dean too," Cas confided.

"Yeah? Well, I like this Cas." Dean ruffled his best friend's hair before turning his attention back to the food. "And I think this new Cas will like new Crowley's soup."

After spoon-feeding Cas ('Cas, you're like a freakin' garbage disposal or something!' 'I do not understand why you are comparing me to an appliance.') the entire bowl of soup, the bread and the beverages, Dean had helped Cas curl up under the covers.

"Beds are nice. I like beds a lot," Cas murmured. "Can I have some more covers?"

"Beds are good," Dean agreed, putting all of the dishes back on the tray. He walked over to the door and turned off the lights. "I'll be back in a minute with some more covers."

Cas listened to Dean's footsteps and wondered why the hunter bothered helping him.

I don't have my powers any longer; I can't 'teleport', as he puts it, I can't heal anyone, I can't smite. He shall be rewarded in Heaven for his kindness and generosity. He shall be one of the most lauded men in history, with all of the people he has saved from evil and the good deeds he has done. God will forgive him his lies and stealing, his heart is pure enough to cleanse out Hell and every single demon therein.

Even Sam, the boy with the demon blood, has redeemed himself thousands of times over. He shall sit upon a throne of laurels alongside his brother.

Kevin Tran; the reluctant prophet, giving up his dreams in order to fulfill his...unwanted...destiny. He will be written into the Holy Book.

Cas felt warm and comfortable, the blankets chasing away the omnipresent guilt, at least for a while.

I love these brothers.

Dean ignored Sam's questions and Crowley's gentle hints as he washed the fallen angel's dishes off.

"Where's Cas sleeping? Is he in your room? Is he doing okay? Does he need any painkillers?"

"Dean, you seem to be growing quite close to that angel."

"Did you find him some clothes? Did he eat the soup?"

"He might like it if you stayed with him."

"Both of you, shut up." Dean grabbed a towel and began to wipe the dishes dry.

"Oh, let me," Crowley interjected, snatching the towel, leaving Dean staring dumbfounded for a minute before he shook his head clear and continued speaking.

"Cas hasn't eaten in like, six days, which, in combination with his massive hangover, made him really weak. He has his own room and I am not sleeping with him. Not now, not ever."

"But he-" Sam snapped his mouth shut, carefully reconsidering his words. "He's probably going to have nightmares, Dean, you should stay with him."

"Yeah," Crowley agreed. "In the cell, he was tossing and turning all night, screaming about silver knives and stuff."

"Really?" Sam asked. "You should definitely stay, then, Dean," he added, nodding. Dean narrowed his eyes.

"He kept asking for you all throughout the night," Crowley said.

"He did?" Dean asked softly, indignation wholly forgotten.

"He likes you a lot, Dean," the ex-demon said.

"No. You know what? I have a perfectly good bedroom. Where I sleep. On my own. Alone. Without Cas. He has survived much worse than a night alone," Dean snapped.

"It was worth a shot," Crowley muttered to his fellow conspirator as Dean retreated down the hallway.

"He'll come around. He's caught up in a masculinity crisis right now," Sam whispered, nodding.

Dean clenched and un-clenched his fists as he walked away. Since when is my brother best friends forever with the King of Hell? And what is with their sudden slumber party gossip session?

He reached his own bedroom and went inside, making a bee-line for the bed where his own covers lay. There were probably more in a supply closet somewhere, but they were for Cas and therefore had to be worthy.

Dean headed back to his friend's bedroom, tugging an armload of tangled blankets along with him.

He did not notice Sam standing at the end of the hallway, gesturing wildly to Crowley.

Cas was sniffling softly, but he cut it out as soon as Dean entered, clearly wanting to hide his emotions from the hunter.

"I got you some more blankets," Dean said softly.

"Th-Thanks, Dean," Cas responded. Dean left the door open so that he had some light by which to work. He spread the blankets one by one over the already-thick stack of them, covering the fallen angel with at least four inches of fabric before he had depleted his supply.

"Goodnight, Cas," Dean said, walking over to the door.

"Stay," Cas whispered, so quietly that Dean wondered if he was imagining things.

"What?"

"Stay with me. Please, Dean?" Cas paused for a minute. "I don't like having nightmares."

You know what? Dean thought. Screw masculinity. Screw it in its big, ugly face.

He closed the door and returned to Castiel's bed, lying down atop the covers, not entirely ready to crawl under them and wrap his arms around his sleepy friend.

I personally think masculinity has a rather nice-looking face, but whatever. Oh, and thanks, everyone, for your kind reviews!