The tiles were cold under Cas' feet that morning; colder than usual. Winter had somehow crept up on him without him ever noticing. The evenings had steadily dropped in temperature, but, in the warmth of Dean's arms and the comfort of thermal blankets, Cas hadn't sensed the change. His mornings had been spent in the clutches of restless sleep, still encompassed in the safety of Dean's familiar bed.

Time had so easily escaped him.

As he tread the quiet, icy halls, Cas tried to count back the days to understand how and when Fall had slipped into Winter.

More importantly, he tried to determine just how long ago he had made the angels fall.

The realisation dawned on him and his steps slowed with growing dread. It had been so long. Too long. And he had done nothing to rectify his actions—he still had no idea where to begin… if it were even possible. He knew there was little he could do if there was actually anything at all, but he hadn't even tried. Instead, he had shut himself off from the reality of what he had done, using Sam and Dean's prohibition on media as an excuse to hide. In truth, there had been so much time between Sam and Dean's departure to Dean's return, and Cas had taken so little advantage of it.

Were he honest with himself, Castiel would admit that he was afraid of seeing the damage he had caused.

He stopped in the doorway to the kitchen with his hands clasped together in front of him, his fingers wringing together and pressing firmly into his palms. His nails dug deep into his skin, carving fine, red crescents into it. The tips of his fingers were beginning to go numb again, and he knew it wouldn't be long until his hands could no longer feel anything other than pins and needles.

Dean smiled at him from the kitchen table and patted the stool next to him. Cas swallowed hard and stepped further into the room, deciding halfway to the table to sit opposite Dean instead of beside him. He wanted to be able to hide his hands beneath the tabletop to mask the deepening etches of his nails in his palms. He didn't want Dean to see the jitter of his left knee. He didn't even want to imagine how his face looked up close. He didn't want Dean to recognise the pale shade of his skin or the heavy bags under his eyes that had only deepened from the lack of sleep the night before.

Dean frowned but made no argument and carefully slid a cup of coffee across the table to him. Cas thanked him with an acknowledging nod of his head and he reached up to grasp the warm cup in his cold hand. As he lifted it to his lips, his hand trembled and his grip of the handle felt loose. He swiftly set the cup down without taking a sip and moved his numb hands into his lap. He couldn't trust himself to hold anything.

"You alright?" Dean asked gently.

Cas nodded again. "Yes. The coffee is too hot," he claimed.

Dean lifted his own mug to his lips and took a long drink. When he set it down, he moved it nervously from hand to hand, drawing his index finger around and around the brim. His eyes followed the motion, avoiding Castiel's heavy gaze.

They both knew that the coffee was lukewarm, if not bordering on cold.

Dean got up and went over to the counter, making more noise than necessary while pulling out utensils and ingredients from the pantry. He was trying so hard to fill the void with something. Anything. And the clattering of butter knives and the rustle of a bread bag was a lot more than anything Cas had to offer.

And, again, Castiel was sorry.

Cas watched Dean's back as he got to work putting something together for the both of them. He observed the tension in Dean's bare and broad shoulders. He couldn't help but notice the way the flex of his arms was more constrained than necessary. Dean was trying so hard to be at ease, but his stress and concern wouldn't allow it. Castiel had induced something horrid within him that made it impossible to relax.

Whatever this was… whatever was robbing Castiel of light, it was surely bleeding into Dean as well.

"We should go out today," Dean suggested suddenly with his back still turned.

"Out? You mean… outside?" Castiel was sincerely stunned. He hadn't left the bunker since the angels fell. For months Sam and Dean had insisted that it was too dangerous to go outside the warded walls, and, after so many rejections, Cas had given up asking. Eventually, the question became mute as he had lost the desire to leave his bed, let alone the bunker.

"Yeah, outside. Where else would I mean by out?"

Castiel shrugged grimly. His thoughts instantly went to death as a definition for 'out', but he refused to say as much. He saw no reason to make matters worse.

"I guess we could," he allowed, though he was clearly hesitant.

Having isolated himself from the world for so long, Cas' imagination had managed to run rampant. He visualized a world in chaos, with angels jumping from vessel to vessel, leaving broken and bleeding human corpses behind. He thought of the angels slaughtering one another, leaving scatterings of scorched wing marks across the globe. And he felt their confusion and agony as they walked amongst the humans they could never understand or truly be at peace with.

Cas didn't feel prepared to see his fears come alive with his own eyes.

Dean came back over to the table and placed a plate down in front of Cas. He'd made them both a PB&J sandwich, which he knew was still Cas' favourite. Cas thanked him quietly and offered a quaint, not-quite-there smile before picking at the crust the way he often did. Despite having been sat across from him before, Dean opted for the seat beside Castiel this time. Their legs brushed together beneath the table, and Dean's foot played idly at the hem of Cas' pyjama bottoms, tickling at the skin of his ankle. Glancing over, Cas saw Dean comfortably biting into his sandwich and watching the wall as he chewed. His touch, as cutely suggestive as it was, was most absent of ulterior motive; leaving it up to Cas to interpret it however he liked.

Despite the comfort and distraction of Dean's affection, Castiel's thoughts had already surpassed the bunker's walls and were traversing the world outside them, picturing death and destruction in every direction. It wasn't quite the mindset he could make love to, and so he took Dean's touch as nothing more than innocent banter, which ceased eventually when Dean finished his food and got up to clean their plates.

Swallowing the last bite, Cas stood up and wrapped his arms around Dean's waist, nestling his face into the crook of Dean's neck. He kissed gently, his lips lingering for a little while longer than they normally would. Dean sighed and instinctively leaned back into his embrace, perhaps relieved that Cas had instigated it in the first place. At his worst, Cas would desperately take assertions of love whilst failing to give any in return. And it wasn't by fault. He felt there was no point in denying that he loved Dean more than Dean could ever love him. But, somehow, his ability to show it became stunted and buried beneath his irrefutable fear of breaking everything he touched.

Sometimes, it didn't even occur to Cas how broken Dean must feel whenever he failed to touch or kiss him.

Dean turned around in Castiel's arms and easily graced the corner of his lips with his thumb, wiping away a dab of either peanut butter or jelly. Dean rested his thumb at Cas' lips who obediently parted them and gently sucked. Dean smiled and withdrew his hand, leaning in for a kiss. Their mouths tasted sweet as their kiss swiftly deepened, and Dean had to stop, breathless, before they went any further.

"You stun me, baby," Dean breathed. He shook his head to regain his senses. "Go get changed, I'll ready the car."

Cas nodded dutifully, kissed Dean one more time, and then left the room.

When he went down to the garage five minutes later, he paused just outside the doorway. He could hear Dean's hushed murmurings into the phone, his soft words weighted with apprehension and… was that frustration? Cas definitely thought so as he pressed himself against the wall and strained to hear exactly what Dean was saying.

"I don't know how long. Just a few more days, maybe a week… a week and a half, tops," Dean murmured. "Just turn them inside out and get an extra day's wear out of them. Or go to a laundromat like a normal person." A long pause. "Why didn't you just stay at Jody's?" Another pause. "Okay, okay, I get it. You're too considerate. But surely she understands… well, maybe not. How are you meant to explain a depressed ex-angel, even to someone like Jody?"

Castiel physically winced but forced himself not to withdraw. A sadistic part of him wanted to hear what Dean had to say about him. He almost needed to have his suspicions proven and his fears validated by Dean's resentment for having started an intimate relationship with him in the first place.

Cas could finally hear in Dean's own words everything he had wanted, but refused, to say.

"He was doing fine for a few days. He was doing really good, actually… and then he just…," Dean sighed, "I don't know. He just suddenly lost it and everything fell back to square one again. He can't or won't talk about it and I'm kinda afraid to ask." Dean paused again, but Cas could hear the quiet, methodical pattering of his feet as he paced. "No, I haven't told him what's going on…" Pause. "Because I can't, Sam, I just can't. I look at him and I just see this broken shell and I can't bring myself to tell him, knowing it will tear him apart." The pacing suddenly stopped short. "He can't do anything, Sam. It's not even that he's human now, it's just that he is so fucking hopeless, I don't think he has it in him to try anymore."

Cas peered cautiously around the corner and saw Dean leaning forward against the hood of the Impala, one hand pressed and holding up his weight, and the other tightly clutching his phone to his ear. His head dipped forward, dejected and totally defeated.

And it was all Castiel's fault.

Castiel was causing Dean's distress, he was keeping Sam from coming home, and his actions had more than likely caused irreparable destruction—devastation to angels and humans alike. His inability to get up some mornings, let alone face his wrongdoings, had burdened the weight of the world on Sam and Dean's shoulders.

Castiel had become useless.

He was a fallen soldier.

A warrior with no fight left in him.

A hopeless, empty void that couldn't save anyone, not even himself.

And Dean knew it too.

There was only so much Dean could withstand and only so far he could go to mask his true aversions and frustrations. Eventually, without even trying, Cas would break him. Everything they had would fade into dust and forgotten once-beens that even retrospection couldn't beautify. Dean would one day look back and remember those few weeks he'd foolishly tried to love a tired and broken thing. He would regret all the time he had wasted on something so dissatisfying and poisonous. Any fond memories would be polluted by Castiel's tears and his heavy silences and his tired bones that couldn't be lured out of bed.

They were already tainted by Cas' failings and greed and cumbersome neediness.

"Please, just give it a little longer. I'll call and tell you when it's best to come home," Dean said gently, "if you really, really need me, then I'll be there. But, Sam… I mean really need me. I'm afraid of leaving him alone. I'm afraid of what he might do. I try to sleep at night and I just keep thinking of what would happen if I came home and found him—." Dean's voice trembled and he took a long, shaky breath. "Thanks, Sam," he whispered finally before hanging up.

Castiel stepped back from the corner and hid beyond the wall. He didn't want to be caught eavesdropping—adding yet another thing onto his growing list of faults. He waited a few more moments before stepping through the open doorway, trying with everything he had to act comfortable and totally naïve. It was surprisingly easy. At first, he feared that the pain would linger in his features; that the emptiness would pierce his eyes and leave a quiver at the corners of his lips. But there was nothing. His expression was content: a blank canvas absent of riddles and doubts. He looked like his old self again with stiff, broadened shoulders and an unwavering resolve to his stride.

The vast agony had left him entirely numb.

"Ready?" He asked Dean.

Before Dean could reply, Cas clambered into the passenger seat and shut his door. Dean hesitated to follow, testing the doorhandle warily twice before finally opening the door and settling down in the seat beside him. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and fumbled with the keys, suddenly at a loss as to which key was which. Cas watched him, mildly bemused, unsure as to how Dean's bitterness could so closely resemble the sadness Cas so often felt.

Cas tentatively reached over and took the keys from Dean, passing them back again after selecting the correct one. Dean murmured a thank you and started the ignition, taking extra care to pull out of the garage as if suddenly thwarted by the slightly curved road that he had driven along countless times before.

Once out in the open, Dean's free hand sought Castiel's and slipped easily into his loose grasp. His calloused palm was warm against Cas' cool skin and their fingers intertwined. Cas squeezed back and turned his attention to the window.

Out here, everything was at peace. The trees drifted in the breeze and blurred as the car picked up speed. Sunlight glinted through the canopy in heavenly waves and flickered like a pulsing heart against Cas' pale skin. He rolled the window down and peered out into the wilderness. The wind swept through his limp hair and revived it with wild texture. He hadn't noticed the staleness of the bunker until the fresh air filled his hollow lungs and made them feel practically airborne. Taking deep, practiced breaths in through the nose and out through the mouth, it was as if his stomach lifted and his chest expanded for the first time in months.

Everything heavy simply faded into the open sky.

And, god, was he glad to feel it go.

It wasn't long until the sun began to burn, but he didn't care. The heat reddening his skin was nothing compared to the dull shadow that had graced it before. He welcomed what he knew would later be a horrendous sunburn, relieved to know he would finally feel something with a physical source. It was something he could see and touch and feel, and it had an origin he could understand.

Just the thought of it was glorious.

What's more, he knew it would soothe and heal over time. Which was more than what could be said for his far more profound wounds.

They drove for an hour with the radio quietly humming against the roaring wind whipping through their windows. Dean idly tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat, often losing pace whenever the music softened. Cas watched and mused over it for much of the journey. It was easy to become captivated by these insignificant moments whenever his repetitive thoughts ceased and allowed him to do so. And they had indeed ceased; even if only temporarily.

He was somewhat comforted by the peaceful state of the world outside, but his attention was naturally drawn to the beautiful man beside him instead. The further they ventured, the more Castiel's fears lessened, as nothing at all resembled the chaos he had envisaged. And the more time that passed, the more momentous Dean became.

It was if the dust had cleared and Cas could finally see.

Dean had always been striking, but there with his expression comfortably lost, he truly took Castiel's breath away. His green eyes glistened in the sunlight and Cas was better able to see the full length of his pale lashes. Faint freckles dusted Dean's cheeks and nose—more than Cas actually remembered ever noticing before. It stunned him to think there was anything about Dean that his attentive eye had managed to miss. He wondered if his humanity had clouded his retrospection, or if he had been so blind as to overlook flawed perfection when it was right in front of him.

His eyes panned down to Dean's slightly undersized flannel shirt. The hem was beyond the point of fraying and had begun to completely unravel on one side. The seam of Dean's sleeve had clearly been torn and patched time and time again over however many years, which suggested that this shirt was possibly favoured above all others. Where much of Dean's clothing had been thrown out or abandoned after being ravaged by violence or Castiel's inability to correctly do a load of washing, this shirt had survived. No, it had been revived countless times and worn with love despite its obvious shabbiness. Castiel remembered once commenting on it years ago—back when its fabric was near new and unhindered—about how it suited Dean. He'd said it in passing, though he had stared as he so often did back then before he fully understood why it was impolite to do so. It was such a simple remark, but Dean had run his hand down the front to the final button and near blushed at the words.

After that, he seemed to wear it more often.

Still, to this day, Dean cherished the fond memories of a tired and worn thing. He could have replaced it, and maybe he should have, but Cas knew that he never would.

Dean wasn't someone to throw away the things he loved. Instead, he kept them forever.

"Pull over," Cas said and reached forward to turn the music off completely.

Dean gently swerved the car over to the side of the road and parked on the rocky terrain. Cas sidled in closer and kissed Dean's cheek, his jaw, and then finally his neck. He wanted Dean to feel loved. It was important that Dean knew he was truly wanted and desired, even if it still wasn't enough.

At least it was everything Cas could give. Maybe even more.

"Can we sit outside?" Cas asked.

Dean nodded and kissed Cas once before opening the door and getting out, taking a brief moment to search the immediate area for any looming dangers. Dean's eyes panned the trees and the seemingly endless road ahead of them before finally settling on Cas. There appeared to be nothing to be afraid of as Dean's tension eased and he relaxed into the promise of peace.

Cas stood with his face up toward the sky. It had been so long since he last stood basking in the warmth of the sun. He felt it kissing his skin, but it was the way it caught the fabric of his shirt and the density of his jeans that made him smile. The heat pierced through the fissures of his thin shirt and graced the skin beneath, somehow filling his hollow centre with a sense of hope. The bunker had, over time, overwhelmed him with its stagnancy and he had seeped into the pale walls and bright lights like a passing echo. He didn't truly exist there. Out here, he felt almost part of something, and he hoped Dean saw him that way too.

Dean sat on the hood of the Impala and watched Cas as he opened his arms to the wind as it picked up speed. It was a good day, as far as the bitter beginnings of winter would allow. The sun was combatting the cold breeze that Cas knew would steadily evolve into a gusty flurry of snow. Sooner rather than later, the sun would lose the war and they'd all be temporarily pitched into days spent bundled in many layers, warming their hands in front of the heater, and kicking the slush out of their shoes.

But, for now at least, all was well.

Cas eased himself up onto the hood beside Dean and naturally leaned into him; arm against arm, thigh pressed to thigh, hand touching hand. Cas smiled delicately. Daunting as it was, Cas couldn't truly recall the last time he had. It felt like the first time in forever. Dean must have thought so too, since he leaned into Cas and took the smile sweetly between his lips, kissing him and capturing the briefest of moments for all that it was worth. Cas knew Dean deserved more than the fleeting and the weak, but he didn't want to believe that he'd never be more than just that. He'd heard Dean, heard the waver in his usually solid voice and the nearly imperceptible cry behind each and every word. Cas had done that to him. Not for the first time, and not for the last. But he had to believe that Dean was still there for a reason—there and falling effortlessly into his arms.

Castiel had to believe it. He just had to try.

"If I'd known we'd be stopping, I would have filled the cooler," Dean said eventually.

"It's okay, we don't need it," Cas assured him, "besides, I still don't favour alcohol after that last time…"

Dean chuckled darkly and nudged Cas' leg with his knee. "Hey, Cas… vodka and gin," he teased.

Castiel shuddered with genuine disgust and wrinkled his nose at the horrendous memory of sitting hunched over the toilet with the entire contents of his stomach emptied into the bowl. He could practically taste the bitter tang of bile just from the thought alone. Shaking his head, he quickly rejected the trauma and swallowed hard.

"You promised never to say those god-awful words again," Cas reminded him.

"You're right, I did," Dean granted, "but I also said it was tempting. I gave into it. Couldn't help myself."

"You're just cruel," Cas said flippantly and rocked his shoulder against Dean's.

"Totally sadistic," Dean agreed lightly and leaned back on his elbows. He tilted his head back to gaze up at the sky. A gust of wind swept through his hair and ruffled the material of his shirt up his stomach.

Cas turned, somewhat uncomfortably, onto his side and gently placed his hand on Dean's exposed skin, moving it gradually to his waist. He considered saying something. Admitting what he had overheard and just asking the questions that he'd unsuccessfully tried to suppress. Like: where did they go from here? What if Cas couldn't escape this unscathed? Could Dean still love him despite it? Despite the days spent bound to his bed? Despite the odour he exuded whenever he couldn't muster the energy to shower? Despite his guilty and untameable tears?

Cas knew that were it Dean in his place, he'd still love him despite that and more. There was no obstruction too great and no burden too heavy that could rob him of the sensations he felt right now in this moment.

The unspeakable thing that robbed Castiel of light and left him so empty couldn't take that from him. Even it wasn't strong enough. And, were it to try, Cas knew he'd find enough fight within him to combat it and win. He simply loved Dean too much and so purely and completely.

There were only a few things Cas knew for sure. He knew he loved Dean. And he knew that Dean probably loved him too… but he also knew Dean shouldn't.

Castiel sighed and laid back, ignoring the discomfort of the hard metal beneath him and the awkward angle. His arm remained loose over Dean, and his hand gracefully ran up and down his side. He felt the soft material of Dean's shirt and then the tender warmth of his skin, and went back and forth between the two. Dean hummed and closed his eyes. Cas stared at his serenity and internally debated the sincerity of it.

It seemed real. But Cas couldn't fully dispel his doubt. He couldn't help but wonder: 'what if?'

Cas slid one leg over Dean's, making himself more uncomfortable still, but it seemed better than the alternative. Better than falling away forever or watching as Dean faded away like ash swept into the sea. It seemed wise to tether himself to Dean, just to be sure.

Closing his eyes, Cas focused on the sun kissing his cheek and the steady rise and fall of Dean as he breathed. It helped. The more he fixated on where he was and who he was with, the better he felt. Unlike most things in life, this was easy.

Castiel opened his mouth to speak. To say 'I love you', or something of that regard, but then his head was abruptly struck with the most piercing of sounds. He sat up immediately and clutched at his head, crushing in his temples hard with the palms of his hands. The inside of his skull felt as though it had suddenly swelled and the bone was crushing from the inside out. The noise burrowed deeper into his brain and he felt his wild pulse in his hands and his neck and his ears. His throat constricted and he clenched his jaw so hard he could taste blood from where his teeth had bit down into his cheek. Every muscle tensed like all the air had been ripped from his lungs. A heat burned his eyes and momentarily suffocated his sight with bright and impenetrable white. Castiel couldn't see or hear or speak until voices erupted in every crevice of his mind. There were so many of them, all talking at once, each distinctive octave overlaying the other, illegible cries of pain and confusion.

Cas didn't understand. He couldn't.

He hadn't heard anything on angel radio for months now, and he had come to believe that he had been entirely omitted from Heaven and the angels. He had been human for too long. Everything that had made him him had vanished and left him well and truly fallen. Until now.

"Castiel?" A voice said, surfacing above all the others.

Desperate to escape the torturous and all-encompassing noise inside his skull, Cas focused on that one voice and allowed it to erase everything else. Cas fell swiftly and completely into it and listened again for his name. For anything. Anything to free him from the sudden and unbearable onslaught of agony. At first, there was only an empty silence, but then, there it was again, distant and unsure.

"Castiel?"

"Cas!"

There was another voice. It was closer and urgent and immediate in Castiel's ear. He felt heated, calloused hands around his wrists, pulling down hard. Cas' hands fell away from his ears and the white in his eyes slowly dissipated to reveal the road and the canopy of trees on either side. His muscles couldn't loosen on their own and instead remained tight and pained in his shoulders and lower back. The taste of blood intensified inside his mouth and he leaned forward, shakily, to spit onto the dirt. Dean automatically reached forward and ran his thumb across Cas' bottom lip, and it came back red.

"What the hell was that?!" Dean asked, alarmed.

Castiel blinked dazedly and riskily eased himself off the hood of the Impala. He swayed on his feet for a moment before steadying himself with a hand against the metal. He spat again, his whole mouth now slicked with the metallic tang of his own blood. He tested the wound in his cheek with his tongue and winced. The voices were gone. The ear-splitting, shrill siren had disappeared, but his ears were still ringing. His stomach turned. His pulse slowed. He couldn't feel the world beneath him; not yet.

"Cas?" Dean quickly slid off the hood and held Cas' arms, holding him upright and meeting his eye.

"I'm fine," Cas tried to reassure him.

"Don't bullshit me. Not now," Dean demanded, his eyes manic and dangerous.

Castiel was afraid. He couldn't bear to burden Dean further. Not with this. Not now.

"It was angel radio," Cas explained sombrely.

Dean hesitated. "Angel radio? I thought you couldn't tap into that anymore?"

"I couldn't."

"So, what changed?"

"I don't know. I wasn't expecting it."

Dean clenched his jaw and searched Castiel's eyes for the lie, but one didn't exist there. He perceptibly eased into a sense of trust. He could see how shaken Cas was, and that he was at a loss as to why it happened or how or what it all meant.

"What were they saying?" Dean asked, now guiding Cas back to the car. He opened the passenger door and eased him down into the seat, obviously eager to get him back to the bunker as soon as possible.

Before Dean shut the door, a gust of wind swept through them and made Castiel shiver. He swore it was the arrival of bitter winter. The once so distant clouds now passed over them and cast them into shadow. Castiel's skin turned cold.

Fall had died.

"I couldn't understand them," Cas told Dean once he sat behind the wheel. He omitted the sound of his name from the truth. "They were so loud. There were so many voices crying at once…"

"Crying?"

Castiel nodded.

"It was the sound of agony, Dean," he said and his voice wavered.

Dean didn't respond as he turned the car around and pressed firmly on the accelerator, ignoring the speed limit in his despairing efforts to get home. He wanted to believe Cas was safe in the bunker. That nothing could penetrate those walls and harm him. But something had lingered inside all along—inside Cas. And there was no hiding from that. The faster Dean drove and the nearer they were to home, the more Cas believed that.

That voice calling his name would never leave him. It fed on the hollow centre of his being.

"Do you hear them now?" Dean asked finally.

"No," Cas mumbled. But he did. He still heard their echo; their pain. He would never stop hearing them.

"It's going to be okay, Cas," Dean promised. His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. His eyes were focused on the road, but Cas saw the fear glistening inside them, ready to escape in the form of tears. Dean was petrified. He already sensed what this could mean for them, and Cas knew it too.

The angels had come for him.

And Cas knew that, eventually, he would go to them.

Thanks for reading, guys! So sorry this chapter took so long! Writer's block is actually the worst. But I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Let me know what you thought in the comments, as I always love hearing your feedback. Thank you for being so patient with me! 3