"Goddamn, this is good," Dean said after his first bite of the chicken-and-rice MRE. While he had never been a picky eater when it came to instant food, military food wasn't high on his list of 'favorite foods,' having eaten his fair share during Colt's Gate and his army days. And if someone had told him that one day he'd be enjoying one while sitting in a cave in the middle of a rainstorm (with an angel, of all people too), he would have laughed in their face. But two days since his last meal, there was only one way to describe the food: "This is the best thing I've ever eaten."

"It's glorious," Castiel agreed with a groan, eyes closed as he sipped at his beef stew. His wings fluttered in pleasure, light from the fire they had built giving his dark gray feathers a blue hue. It wasn't quite the rainbow of colors Dean so fondly remembered, but they were still pretty to look at, and made him wonder how they glowed like that. But then he was chuckling when Castiel's wings did their excited half-flap again, smacking into Dean's side for what was probably the fiftieth time.

"Sorry," Castiel said quickly, though he didn't sound apologetic at all, mostly because he was taking another big slurp of food. For limbs that hadn't done much but lay flat against his back with the occasional rustle, his wings had come to life since they had found food. While they had searched for shelter when the storm had hit, Castiel's wings had began to sway and quiver, bobbing out and doing their little half-flaps. And once they had found a dry cave and gotten comfortable inside, the small space meant Castiel's wings started thumping against Dean. It might have been annoying at any other time for Dean, but amusement had eventually turned into appreciation: as the feathers dried, they felt nice against his bare skin just as much as the warmth of the fire did.

When they had been settling down in the cave, Dean had started to build a fire to cook the MRES; while they could have eaten them cold, when it had been more than two years since Castiel had eaten a hot meal, Dean wanted him to have that luxury. Castiel had excitedly went through his options while Dean had sliced away at wet wood to get to the drier parts underneath the bark.

"What do you think, Dean? Chicken and rice or hearty beef stew?" Castiel had asked, sounding breathless, while his wing smacked Dean's side again and again. "The chicken and rice sounds good, but it says the beef stew is hearty, substantial and nourishing. It would be good to have something substantial and nourishing, wouldn't it?"

He hadn't been wrong there, Dean had thought, and he looked over the scars and bruises all over Castiel's too-thin body again. It had been a painful sight when he had helped Castiel out of his wet trenchcoat, and had seen the rest of his upper body. While there was nowhere near the same amount of scarring, there had been a bite mark on his shoulder that looked like it was from a vampire (but hopefully not from one of the vampires they knew), as well as some light scarring, bruises and scratches on his back that was probably the result of living such a hard life. And of course, there was how thin he was, Dean able to count all the vertebrae in his back and see the outline of his ribs.

But any anger he had felt had faded when Castiel turned back to him and helped Dean out of his wet shirts. (Bad thing about having bruised ribs? Couldn't lift your arms very high. Good thing? It made for attentive angels.) Those were left to dry next to their gear, guns, angel blade and Sam's knife from the trap, and with the warmth of the fire heating up chilled skin, bones and feathers, Dean decided he could be angry later. They were close to finding Sam, they were getting the hell off this island in a day, and they had food. The smile had yet to leave Castiel's eyes, and Dean couldn't help but return it. What wasn't there to smile about?

To the chicken and rice or hearty beef stew question, Dean had offered the best solution. "Why not both?" he said as he took both packets from Castiel. He decided the stew was going to have to be Cas's first meal, however; out of the two, the stew would be easier on a stomach no longer used to heavy foods. As Castiel blinked owlishly at him, he added, "We can share."

"Oh," Castiel breathed, as if it were the most novel idea in the world. "Oh. Oh, yes, good plan, Dean."

"I have them from time to time," Dean joked, and got to cooking them once the fire was going. Castiel helped them with that too, feeding the flames dried leaves and twigs that were in the cave, remarking how he hadn't seen fire in so long. Dean tried not to be angry about that either (though he could feel his eye twitch several times in protest), turning his attention to placing the food packets on hot rocks he had set up near the fire to heat the MREs up.

While they cooked — and Castiel watched the packets like a hawk — Dean realized he kind of had the demons to thank for the meal. Their weird way of keeping order and loyalty in the ranks by withholding food still seemed weird, but two days without eating, Dean had understood the impulse a lot better.

When the smell of piping hot food finally hit their noses, Castiel's entire body had jerked, his pupils slitting again. Dean hadn't blamed him — he could feel his mouth start to water and hands shake as he opened up the beef stew to let it start cooling. He plopped a spoon inside before holding it out to the angel, Castiel's eyes laser-like on the food as Dean murmured, "Alright, Cas, we gotta have some ground rules, 'kay? Look at me."

It took several seconds, but Castiel's eyes left the cooling bag in Dean's hand to meet his gaze. "You need to eat slowly, alright?" Dean stressed, and then forced a smile to belie his very real concern. "I know you'll probably die happy, but you are not going into a food coma over instant beef stew MRE, y'hear? Let's save that for the good stuff."

The hunger was so heavy in Castiel's eyes that Dean didn't think he had heard him, and as PSAs about glucose shock went, Dean probably hadn't done his best. But then Castiel nodded with a whisper of "Yes, Dean," and Dean gulped down his worry, before gingerly handing the bag over.

Castiel's wings and hands were trembling as he reached for the bag, and worried he was going to drop it, Dean kept a hold on it. The angel's hands cupped gently around his own before he drew it in, his eyes sliding closed as he ignored the spoon and brought the bag to his lips. His wings gave away what his first taste of food in however-many-days was like, feathers shuddering violently against his body. It made Dean look away with a pained grimace; goddamn, did he feel guilty for telling Castiel he should have starved…

But as much as Dean probably deserved it, there was no judgement in Castiel's eyes when he opened them up. His pupils were back to normal, and the warm look returned as he pulled the stew away from him. "Your turn, Dean," he prompted. "Eat."

So Dean did, after settling down next to Cas and stretching out his leg, knee popping loudly. After he took his first bite however, it struggle not to wolf the entire MRE down. (They were supposed to be sharing after all.) Castiel was following his advice at least, savoring his meal with every slow sip, wings declaring his feelings about it.

"This is so much tastier than kelp," he muttered after several dozen sips, and Dean glanced over at him.

Mouth full, he could only grunt out, "Kelp?"

"Yes, and an abundance of it recently," Castiel replied, picking up the neglected spoon inside the packet and sliding into his mouth. Dean tried not to stare as Castiel sucked on it. "Pine nuts and mushrooms too, but I was attempting to store those for winter, so I didn't eat as many as I would have liked."

"Sounds…" Dean trailed off, and while he wanted to say depressing, he decided not to. "That wasn't all you had to eat here, right?" Everything Castiel had mentioned so far — except for the fish — did not sound appetizing at all.

"Oh no, no, only in the winter," Castiel replied, spoon bobbing up and down in his mouth as he talked. "There is more variety during the rest of the year. Winter is just the hardest and…"

He trailed off, and since the end of that sentence lay 'I-tried-to-eat-you' land, Dean just waved it off. Castiel took the hint and went on, sliding his spoon free and dipping it back into the stew. "It really depends where you are. In the meadow, there are grasses and flowers through the spring and summer. The seals and birds come back in the spring, and there's fish in the autumn. When the tide is low on the beaches, you can find oysters, crabs and other animals in the tide pools. There were berries not too long ago — that was nice. Oh, during the warmer months, there are plenty of insects too."

Dean choked on his chicken and rice. Castiel look over in concern as Dean coughed, breathed and then gagged. "Bugs?!" he cried, looking over at Castiel in horror.

"They're high in protein?" the angel offered, and Dean shuddered in disgust; however, Castiel seemed to determine to one-up himself, adding, "I also ate a lot of bird eggs too, during the spring and summer."

That, at least, made Dean snort in laughter. "Cannibal," he teased, and Castiel huffed through his nose in what could have been a laugh of his own. His eyes narrowed in a mock glare, a look Dean had to admit he liked... though he was starting to wonder what it would look like if Cas actually laughed.

He hoped he'd be around to see it when it happened. At least he got to see Cas eat his first real meal in two-something years... though MREs still weren't high on what he called his "real food" list. "Damn, Cas," he said with a shake of his head as he leaned over to give Castiel some of his chicken and rice. Cas's eyes lit up at the new addition. "We're going to have to make sure eggs, insects and MREs aren't forever your standard for good food. Not when there's a whole world of real food out there waiting for you."

Castiel gave him a thoughtful look. "Real food?" he asked.

"Yeah. Like, steak. Or I don't know, pie." Fuck, that sounded good: Pie. Dean licked his lips at the thought. "Something you like. What's your first real meal going to be?"

Castiel frowned, slurping at his stew again while he pondered that over. Dean wondered what Cas would choose — if he was going to go for some exotic angel dish Dean had never heard of. But he started grinning when Castiel, with a twitch of his lips and his right wing flapping into Dean's side again, murmured, "I... I would like a hamburger."

"Oh, an angel after my own heart," Dean crooned, and Castiel looked at him, eyes scrunching up in a pleased expression. Dean grinned again, nudging their shoulders playfully. "I'm going to have to take you out for hamburgers, Cas," he said, and briefly entertained a fun, little fantasy of feeding Castiel said hamburgers. Then he frowned, realizing something. "And geez, help you catch up on everything you've missed, huh? The movies alone…"

That look of Castiel's — the one where he had clearly forgotten what a particular something was — passed over his face, but quickly faded. "I was always terrible with keeping up with those," he murmured around a spoon of stew. "I may have missed a lot."

It was like the heavens opened up and lights shone down on Dean. He sat up, excited. "Oh man, you have come to the right guy," he said, waving his fork around. He could already see it too, an entire plan mapped out in his head. "We're going to do this right: hamburgers, pie, the top 10 movies of last year, and then we'll go from there. Get some classics in, too: The Untouchables, Godzilla versus Mothra, Star Wars…"

Castiel listened to his little spiel with a fond expression forming on his face, and Dean's heart did one of its little flops again. He still wanted a real smile from Castiel, but he really liked the angel's happy looks. It made Cas look so…

That thought was cut off by Castiel's wing flapping right in his face. While Castiel jerked it back, looking mortified, Dean snorted in amusement. "Well, I'm glad your wings are excited," he teased.

Castiel ducked his head, embarrassed. "I-I'm sorry, Dean. I can't control them. I'm... I'm acting like a fledgling."

"Your wings?" Dean asked and, as if in reply, Castiel's wing thumped against his side again. Castiel's eyes flickered away in embarrassment once more, but Dean just chuckled. "They're not so bad. I mean, they do remind me of hyperactive four-year-olds, but I'm used to that."

Castiel looked back at that, brow creasing slightly. "Do you... have children?" he asked curiously.

Dean was a little thrown by that, before he thought back on what he said, and then he quickly shook his head. "Me? No. Sam does though. Two kids — four-year-old twins: Mary and Joan. Cutest rugrats you'll ever see. Sam, and Jess — Sammy's wife — they're both pretty busy with their careers, so I'm kind of their unofficial nanny. I take them to preschool, host their tea parties, that sorta thing."

Well, he had. But that was a sad thought, and one he didn't want to have right now either. He was in too good of a mood for depressing thoughts. Instead, he thought about how, if he had them on him, he'd start pulling out the photos for Castiel to see. He loved showing off Sam's kids — how they had been walking and talking by nine months, how Sam was horrified by how much they loved Spaghetti O's, how much they loved rides in the Impala, and Dean had let them carve their initials right next to his and Sam's...

Those happy thoughts were quickly replaced with a horrifying one though. "Do… do you have children?" Dean asked quickly as he looked at the angel, a little scared for the answer. He didn't remember ever reading or hearing about Cas having kids, but still: What if Castiel had forgot that he had children? How horrible would that be?

He was never more relieved when Castiel shook his head. "No," he murmured around a slurp of stew. "It never happened. If I were still in Jannah, perhaps, but…"

Dean frowned, confused. Why would he have kids in his home country, but not here? "What do you mean?"

"In Jannah, our partners are chosen for us by our host's elders when we come of age," Castiel explained, and Dean lifted an eyebrow. He had never read about that before, though he couldn't recall ever seeing anything on angel courtship in books. "They want to ensure that strong, healthy children are born each generation so they pair us with partners based on their bloodline and rank within the hierarchy."

Huh, Dean thought. That was different, but he rolled with it. Each species had their own ways of marriage (if they even married) and kids, after all: Werewolf mothers raised their children on their own; vampire nests were usually comprised of the matriarch, her partner and their children; demons had their kids and then sent them on their way when they were full grown. Still, it was weird to think of someone choosing a partner for you. "So no angels marrying for love, huh?"

"That is a very recent Western human concept," Castiel replied, brow furrowing, which huh, Dean didn't know that either. "And our partnerships wouldn't even be considered marriages in the human sense. It's… complicated. Saying that, when my host came to America, Gabriel let us choose who we'd partner with and raise children with, if we decided to. But many of my brothers and sisters still went to our elders when they came of age so they could make the decision."

Well, you learned something new every day, Dean thought. But there was also something else he was curious about, and glanced back at Castiel. "So if you've never got a partner and kids, have you never… y'know?"

At Castiel's bewildered look, Dean made a finger-hand gesture; when Castiel tilted his head at that, Dean offered, "Cloud seeding?"

It was like when he asked Castiel about angel porn: it took the angel another moment of staring at Dean's gesture before his eyes went wide. Dean tried not to laugh as Castiel ducked his head and began rubbing at his neck fiercely.

"I've had… encounters," he grumbled. Dean snorted in laughter again.

"Encounters, huh? Is that what angels call it?" he teased, and when Castiel rubbed his neck again, Dean grinned. Cas being shy about sex was just too great, and he nudged the angel playfully with his elbow. "I mean, I hope you've had a lot, Cas. I mean, you're you. You could have anyone."

Castiel's hand stilled against his neck, his eyes shifting to Dean's. "Anyone?" he whispered.

It was the way he said it that made Dean hesitate before replying. It almost sounded like Cas had never considered that before, or had never thought about himself that way. And well, Dean had been doing his best not to let his angel fetish problem be too obvious … (A fetish more or less started when he was thirteen by the very same angel sitting next to him, ironically.) But Cas, while needing to gain some goddamn weight (purely for health reasons), was still a pretty good-looking angel...

"Yeah," Dean heard himself say from far away. "You're an angel. You're not even limited to your own kind. I bet..." He swallowed, and licked his lips. "I bet you wouldn't even have to talk someone into the whole interspecies double dip."

Dean didn't exactly know what kind of reaction he wanted from Castiel, but it was not the angel's brow slowly knitting while his nose wrinkled a little. And it was certainly not Cas saying, "My brethren, Balthazar, used to say things like that. Not in those exact words but... if I remember correctly, he was trying to organize an orgy."

If there was any way to send Dean's brain into a tailspin and put him in his place all at once, that was it. He stared at Castiel blankly, before muttering, "What."

"He tried to talk me into a lot of orgies," Castiel went on, and Dean swallowed slowly, trying not to feel too... Well, too less of a man with his somewhat limited experience in comparison to multiple orgies.

"Is that... Is that an angel thing?"

"No, I believe it was a '60s thing," Castiel replied, and then glanced at Dean as if he would know. Dean felt his cheeks heat up and he coughed, looking away.

"Uh, who knows. I wasn't exactly born yet," he muttered, and Castiel hummed in reply, sipping at his stew again. But that made Dean realize something, and he glanced back at the angel. "Wait, how old are you?"

Castiel, didn't look much older than him... And Dean remembered that he had been considered young when he entered the war. But that was also twenty-two years ago...

Castiel's face went blank at that, and Dean winced when he had to ask what year it was. "I am ninety years old," he said after a moment, looking amazed.

Dean's mind blanked at that, a spoonful of chicken-and-rice halfway to his mouth hanging in the air. While he knew angels lived hundreds of years — some books said up to four hundred years — it was still kind of weird to think that Castiel was almost three times his age. Damn, angels aged well, though. "Ninety, huh?" he finally managed. "Um. Lookin' good there, Cas."

That made Cas rub at his neck again, right as Dean realized what he said. Fuck, he thought, embarrassed. Okay, it was time to change the subject. Like right now.

Luckily, one came right to mind. "You know, '67 was a good year," he said, and Castiel made a questioning sound. Dean grinned at him. "It was the year the greatest car in the world came rollin' off the lot: my baby, the 1967 Chevy Impala."

He was surprised when Castiel's eyes brightened, wing thumping against Dean's side again. "You have a '67 Impala? What model?"

Dean's heart did a half-flop. "A 427 SS," he replied and Castiel's eyes lit up again.

"I know that one," he said, and the excitement was in his voice as well as his wings. "Three-eighty-five bhp, and they introduced the turbo hydra-matic that year, along with the positraction differential. With the 460 pound-foot of torque at 3400 RPM, it was one the most powerful engines built at the time."

Dean caught himself licking his lips, but he couldn't help himself: the angel was talking cars. Holy hell, Cas was talking cars. "You a car buff, Cas?" he said gruffly, and Castiel nodded happily.

"Yes. Not in mechanic or collector sense, but in an aesthetic way." Castiel paused then, eyes flickering in a way that meant he was remembering something. "I have a car, too."

"You do?"

"A 1957 Chevrolet Corvette," Castiel confirmed, and Dean lifted his eyebrows in amazement. That wasn't a car, that was a classic. An American-as-apple-pie car, if there was ever one. "It was… It was the first thing I ever bought for myself. My family… They thought I was mad for purchasing it. I didn't even know how to drive it."

Dean snorted at the mental image: Castiel with his floppy wings sitting behind the wheel of a car while his family stood by with confused looks. "Why'd you buy it if you couldn't even drive it?"

"It reminded me of the first car I had ever seen," Castiel replied and there was a look in his eyes that Dean couldn't quite describe. It was beyond happy. It was almost... rapturous. "The first time I had ever seen an example of human ingenuity."

Dean frowned. "Human ingenuity?" he repeated, and the look didn't leave Castiel's eyes as he explained.

"When I was a fledgling, I lived in a small village in Jannah, and humans… you were only stories to us," he said, and Dean frowned again. "I had never seen a human before, and I didn't understand you as a people. There was no way I could understand you either, not until the automobile came. It was a 1929 Rolls Royce Ascot Sport Phaeton... And it was like the Arch of Light had come to visit our village."

That would have been Michael, the first angel. Dean couldn't even imagine how an angel that was practically God to all angels could equate to a car. Castiel seemed to notice his confusion, and his gaze grew warm. "It was like magic to us, Dean. This machine that could outrun an angel; outfly one, too? My brethren and I, we spent all day racing the car in the altin fields outside our village, and Gabriel even let us drive it around."

The altin berries were what angels were famous for outside of their legendary skills in battle. It was one of their chief exports too, mostly used to make a wine that was insanely expensive. Dean perked up at the familiar name though. "Gabriel? Your arch, right? Or, former arch?"

Castiel shook his head. "Not at the time. I was part the Vertus host then. The arch was an angel named Raphael."

Dean quirked an eyebrow. "A Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle was your arch?"

Castiel huffed out a soft sound, his expression gentle as he looked back at Dean. "No, not one of those," he murmured, and Dean flushed. The warm look kept him from feeling too stupid, plus everything Cas was saying was fascinating too, if not kind of confusing.

"So, you…what? Switched hosts?"

Castiel nodded. "That's why Gabriel came to my village. He was a new arch at the time, and it is customary for archs to exchange members of their host with the other hosts, much like human monarchs used to marry their sons and daughters to establish peace between countries. It's usually a contentious time between the hosts — high-ranking warriors are usually exchanged, and sometimes it can start wars between us — but Gabriel had different plans for his host. He wanted us to come to America."

Dean had always wondered about that, and as much as America liked rubbing it in the rest of the world's face that they had an angelic host of their own, why were there no other ones? When he asked, Castiel's eyes grew bright. "That's the very thing. Gabriel wanted Jannah to join the rest of the world. He wanted us to learn from you. He wanted us to learn from humans."

Dean frowned, a little lost. "Learn what?"

"Everything," Castiel said breathlessly and Dean saw the wonder in his eyes. "Oh, Dean, what your species is capable of, an angel couldn't even dream of. How you see the world, how you see its intricacies, how you learn from it, how you change from it, how you change it. For all my people's strength, all our abilities, all our skills... angels have never been capable of what a single human can do in one lifetime. And you just build and build from there."

Dean frowned again. He had never heard another species talk about humans like that before — most vampires and demons certainly didn't view humans as anything but parasites determined to destroy the planet and outbreed everyone. There was no denying Cas's passion however, but Dean didn't get it: How could he compare humans to angels? Angels were... Well, angels. There wasn't any comparison.

"Cars, for example," Castiel went on. "We would never think of that. We would have said our wings and our legs are the only transport we need, without once taking in account how much easier it is to drive."

Dean had to give him that, even if he didn't understand what Castiel was saying. "But you guys … It's not like you need cars. You guys are warriors."

Castiel's wing brushed Dean's side again, feathers tickling his skin, while he shook his head. "We are, but for centuries, we had no purpose. We were sell swords to any human nation with the most gold or capital. But my people could be so much more than that. Could we not help change the world, too, other than by war?"

Dean frowned again, while Castiel's eyes grew brighter and brighter. "We, who evolved to look like you… We were long overdue to learn your lessons. But we are learning, and one day, my host, my family, we will return to Jannah, and we'll show them everything we've learned. We'll teach our brothers and sisters a better way, we'll change our country and then… then…"

Dean was so caught up in everything that Castiel was saying that he grew confused when the angel trailed off. Then Dean grew alarmed when he saw a tear slide down Castiel's cheek.

"Cas?" he asked quickly, and Castiel slowly looked at him.

"I used to have hopes and dreams," he whispered, and Dean froze. "I used to have a family."

The sheer horror in Castiel's eyes had Dean's heart clenching. Had he forgotten them? But he had been talking about them...

"You still do, Cas," he said quickly, and Castiel's brow creased before his eyes lowered to his hands. They were trembling, and Dean felt the urge to reach out and sooth them. He leaned in instead and let their shoulders touch to provide comfort; Castiel pressed back, even if he didn't seem to realize it. Whatever he was struggling with, it made emotions flicker through his eyes so fast that Dean could barely read them.

"I-I forgot," Cas whispered after a long, painful moment; Dean baited his breath, letting the angel find the words. "I… I-I forgot that I haven't always been here. That I haven't always been on this island."

The pain in Cas's eyes was too much; Dean grasped his arm, and thankfully Castiel didn't tense up in surprise like he had before. He looked at him instead, more tears slipping down his cheeks. "H-How could I forget that, Dean?"

Dean didn't know how to answer that. While he struggled to, Castiel closed his eyes, head dipping. "I didn't mean to forget," he whispered, voice tight. His wings trembled, hands curling into fists, knuckles turning white. "I didn't want to forget."

Dean winced and shook his head again. "It's okay, Cas," he reassured, squeezing his arm gently. He didn't know exactly how to comfort him, and went with the first thing that popped in his head. "You'll be with your family soon, and it'll all be okay."

Castiel looked back at him, eyes filled with something Dean knew so well: aching loss, regret and remorse. But there was also the smallest trickle of hope, though it faded when Castiel's eyes widened with a flicker of fear. He looked down at himself then, his free hand lifting up to touch his scars, while his wings spread out and his gaze traveled over missing, broken and shredded feathers.

"What will they think of me?" he whispered, but the shame in his eyes when he looked back was for far more than his physical scars.

"They're not going to care, Cas," Dean reassured again, but Castiel looked away once more, tears in his eyes again. Dean gently squeezed his arm, wishing Castiel would look at him. "Cas, believe me. They won't."

"I forgot what I was. Who I was, Dean," Castiel protested, voice gruff. "I forgot them. I forgot my family, my host."

Dean frowned at that, confused. Forgetting what he was, who he was, Dean understood why he thought that, but forgetting his family? "No, you didn't," he said with a shake of his head. "Cas, you just told me about them: about Gabriel, and your family who thought you were crazy for buying a car, about your dreams and hopes for your country—"

"But I still forgot them, Dean," Castiel interrupted, looking at Dean desperately. "I forgot myself. I-I… I didn't keep fighting. I hurt people. I killed people. I let people die. I … I…" He looked away, squeezing his eyes shut, and Dean shook his head.

"You were tortured. You were hunted," he snapped, but Castiel only turned his head away again. "You were starved. You were forced to do things you never would do to survive, Cas, everyone here was, and you can't blame yourself for that."

Castiel looked back at him and Dean saw the anger in his eyes, the self-loathing. "I became nothing more than an animal, Dean," he hissed, before the self-loathing turned into utter horror. His pupils slitted, too, voice lowering to a whisper, "I-I tried to eat you. I would have eaten you."

Dean tensed, but then pushed that bad memory aside. Castiel went on, shaking his head. "I would have killed a human," he whispered again, and his gaze flicked back to Dean's, eye wet again. "I would have killed you."

He said it like the very thought of killing Dean was the worst thing in the world, and Dean hated that Castiel had to feel guilty about that. (As if Dean mattered.) "I don't care," he snapped, and this time meant it. He couldn't lose Castiel to this — he couldn't lose Castiel to Dick like this. "You saved me more times than I can count — in ways you don't even realize, Cas. I would have died if it wasn't for you. I would have never known how to find my brother. I wouldn't be so close to finding him. Cas, listen to me. Look at me."

Castiel had turned away while he had been speaking, but he did as asked, and Dean shook his head at him. "I know you feel guilty, Cas," he hissed. "I get it, but that wasn't you, you understand? That was Dick. He did this to you. You can't blame yourself for that, Cas. I don't, and your family won't either. You have to believe me."

Castiel looked away again, but Dean let him this time. "Your family's just gonna' be happy you're alive. They're just gonna' be happy you're home," he told him, and then swallowed, his throat starting to hurt. "Trust me, they would give anything to have you back."

Losing a family member like that, never knowing what happened to them — it's all you ever think about, he wanted to add, but it got stuck in his throat. As much as he didn't want to, he couldn't help but remember the days and nights after Sam disappeared. Nights were spent in the Impala, drinking until he passed out; days were spent drinking whiskey while waiting for that one phone call, the one where someone finally found Sam's body. There was the times when he would watch Jess and the girls go about their lives with the Sam-shaped hole in it, only for one of the twins to look around and ask, "Where's Daddy?"

It still so goddamn painful to think about, but Dean forced it down, down, down. It didn't matter anymore, he reminded himself. He was going to find Sam and get him home. And he was going to get Castiel home too, even if it fucking killed him—

Castiel looked back at him then, eyes filled with so much guilt Dean could have drowned in it. "But how do I not blame myself?" he whispered, a question that made Dean's heart sink slowly. "How do I live with myself, Dean?"

The look in Castiel's eyes said that Dean could argue up and down all night that it wasn't the angel's fault, but that didn't mean Cas could or would ever believe it. And that hurt Dean, as he wondered if this was his fault. Hadn't he put those thoughts in Cas's head? He was the one who had accused Cas of not being an angel, of not fighting back, of not saving people. What had he done?

But just as desperation was settling in — the thought he would lose Cas to this, because of his own selfishness — the answer to Cas's question came to him. Promise me, Dean, Sam whispered in the back of his mind, and Dean's heart thudded hard in his chest.

He knew guilt. He knew it damn well, and that there was only one way to live with it. And it was such an awful answer … But if it kept Cas from drowning in his guilt, Dean would give it to him. "You're…" he began slowly, a lump growing in his throat as he pulled his hand away from Castiel's shoulder. "You're going to have to figure out how to live with it, Cas."

With the pain, the guilt, with yourself, he didn't say, not that he needed to. Castiel looked up and then over at Dean, the question in his eyes. "You're going to have to find something to live for," he answered, and then swallowed again. "Until you figure out how to do it for yourself."

It was a horrible, horrible answer, and Dean hated himself for having to give it to him. But something about it resonated with Castiel, as he blinked several times, his eyes returning to normal. Dean could practically see the wheels in his head turning, Castiel looking down at his hands, which were no longer shaking. They curled into fists as he let out a long, slow breath, wings rustling before going still.

Dean couldn't look at Castiel after that — not after giving that answer — and he turned away, leaving the angel to his thoughts. He looked toward the cave entrance, rain pooling in between the roots of trees that had grown into the cave. He wondered where Sam was then... and if his brother had been thinking the same thing when he had Dean make that promise. He had wanted to give Dean something to live for, until he figured out how to do it for himself again...

And maybe it would have worked, if everything hadn't all gone to hell.

Promise me, Dean, Sam whispered again, and Dean felt his heart clench.

"Dean?"

He stiffened, not wanting to look back at Cas, so he didn't. But Castiel pressed on.

"Dean, what is it?"

Nope. Still didn't want to look. Dean just wanted to watch the rain and lament over not having any alcohol on him. Promise me, he heard Sam whisper again, and Dean shut his eyes tight.

When Castiel's hand touched his shoulder, it made Dean's breath stutter out. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes — God, when was the last time anyone had touched him to comfort him? Why did it have to feel so nice? — before he hesitantly glanced at the angel. Castiel looked back at him with a soft, concerned gaze, like they could see all of Dean's guilt and regret and pain, and Dean hated that he could.

What was his pain compared to Castiel's anyway? he thought. How could it ever compare to what Castiel had lived through? It couldn't, and Dean shook his head, dismissals and excuses on his tongue, until Castiel shook his head.

"Dean, please," he whispered.

It was strange how that made the words slip right out of his mouth, before Dean even realized it. Maybe he was that desperate; maybe it was the look in Castiel's eyes that made him want to confess everything.

"I made a promise to Sam," he whispered, and he almost lost it there, his throat closing up. He had to swallow around the lump there, and Castiel's wing brushed his side until he could find the words again. "Before he disappeared, h-he made me make a promise: If anything happened to him, I would look after his family."

Whatever his reasons — so Dean didn't look for him; so Dean lived for someone other than his brother — it didn't matter. But it took everything for Dean to admit it to Castiel, through gritted teeth and clenched fists and his blurry vision.

"But I'm the one who tore our family apart."