A/N: Hello. This chapter is basically just fluff, but I'm trying to build up some kind of actual relationship between Brooke and Castiel, so I feel like I need fluff chapters occasionally.

Eight

Over the next few months, Brooke got truly back into hunting. The ghost of a man haunting a house who had murdered all of his children while they'd been sleeping; a wraith masquerading as a teacher in an elementary school (that one had been particularly awful). There were more.

She stayed away from anything that stank of demonic possession. With Bobby's charm necklace, she was safe from being possessed, herself, but it seemed like a bad idea to get involved with demons at all. Especially now that angels were real and hanging out down here on Earth.

Castiel hadn't contacted her at all, for which she was both grateful and sad. Sometimes, in dreams, she thought she felt his presence right before waking up, but it was never a certain feeling. He never whooshed into her motel room, or actually talked to her in her dreams. He had vanished, which was probably good, since angels were the bad guys now. She didn't know if she'd have had it in her to fight him, or run away, if he came directly to her. At the very least, if he showed up looking for Sam or Dean, or Anna, even if he searched her mind, she wouldn't be able to give him any information. Since she'd left, she hadn't spoken to either of the brothers, or to Bobby.

Bobby was the only one she really missed. Of course, she craved Castiel's nearness, but, after some time away from him, she had come to realize that that had less to do with genuine feeling and more to do with the fact that being near him was like taking drugs. It probably hadn't been healthy, whatever trajectory they'd been on. But Bobby, despite his gruffness and the fact that they'd ignored each other half the time, had kept her safe. He'd let her sleep in his house, he'd given her clothes and food, and weapons to protect herself with. She would be grateful to him forever, even if she'd only been in his house for a couple months. Somehow, his couch had been more comfortable than any motel bed.

###

Brooke was drowning. The ocean waves crashed down over her head, and the sky raged above her. Every time a wave pushed her down, she fought her way to the surface, gasping for air, but her body was tiring. She'd been out here for hours, and no rescue boat had come. She was so far from land, there was no way she'd make it to shore before her body quit on her. The water was like ice in her veins. Her arms and legs felt like lead. She popped above the surface again, but just as she opened her mouth, another wave shoved her under. She swallowed water. There were spots at the corners of her vision.

She was too far down this time. She knew she didn't have the energy or lung capacity to surface now. She stared upwards through the water, which was strangely clear, like pool water. Lightning lit up the sky, looking strange through the veil of water around her. Her lungs were screaming in agony. Castiel.

"Brooke."

She gasped, blinking, and his face appeared above her, in the water. Air bubbles floated around him. He seemed to float strangely down to her, in a way that should have been impossible. Everything around him was lit up like the sun, and the water calmed as he came closer to her. One hand reached down for her. She tried to grasp it, but was too far down.

"Wake up," he said.

"What?"

He pushed himself down farther through the water, his coat fanning out around him like wings, and reached her. One hand cradled the back of her head, as if she were a child. She smiled at him, bringing her own hands up to to cup his face. His other hand, which had been about to touch her forehead, stopped. He squinted at her in that way of his, tilting his head to one side. He stared at her for a time, and they continued to float in the water.

The storm had abated and suddenly she found she could breathe. More bubbles floated around his face as he breathed, some beading on his skin, in his hair. She brushed them away. His eyes glowed an enticing blue, staring at her like he was trying to burn a hole through her. Not a very inviting feeling, but it was one she had grown used to around him.

She pulled his face closer to hers. He breathed, and the sound echoed around her brain like a wind tunnel. His lips touched hers for a split-second.

Two fingers pressed into her forehead.

She opened her eyes to find herself in her motel room. Castiel stood over her, mostly dark, but backlit. They remained silent for some time.

Finally, Castiel muttered, "I should not have come here."

Brooke snatched one of his wrists in her hand. "Don't you fly off on me," she said, fighting through the sensations of the mental barrier between them shattering. He now stood before her in all his glory, light pouring from him, and a myriad of thoughts and emotions swirled around in her brain.

She took a steadying breath. "Last time I saw you, you were about to kill Anna for God knows what reason. What are you doing here? We haven't spoken in months."

"The fear in your voice was real," he said.

She squinted at him. "What?"

"In your nightmare, your fear was real. You… called out to me. I heard you. All I knew was that you were terrified. I didn't know the cause."

Her fingers, still circling his wrist, squeezed. "You came because you thought I was dying," she whispered.

"Yes," he said.

She sat with the knowledge of that for a while, sifting through her thoughts. "You know, I don't think I ever properly thanked you for saving my life that night," she said, gently, after a time. "I was so awed by you that I wasn't thinking very clearly."

"Well, you're welcome," he replied.

They were quiet.

"You should not have kissed me," he said, suddenly.

She smiled a little. "It was a dream, you know. I don't think I was fully aware of what I was doing."

"It was a sin," he said, and a feeling somewhere between fear and anger lashed across her mind.

She sucked in a breath and let go of his wrist. "Well, I'll remember not to do it the next time you save my life."

"A verbal thank-you would suffice."

Silence followed this statement.

"Since you're not dying," Castiel said, "I should go."

"Wait."

He remained standing beside the bed.

"You said you heard me cry out to you in the dream. Do you hear me every time I talk to you?"

"Yes."

"So, all those nights at Bobby's…"

"Yes."

She remembered the times she had laid on the couch late at night, unable to sleep, and prayed to Castiel, telling him about her day, telling him her secrets.

"Castiel… you're a good guy, aren't you?"

"I hope so," he said quietly, and vanished.

###

A week passed, and Castiel appeared in her motel room again. It was a different motel room now, a different state. She'd been getting ready for bed and had pulled her shirt off to start putting on sleep clothes. She heard the air rustle behind her and stood still. She had a bra on, but her face flushed all the same.

"Uhhh…" he said.

She closed her eyes.

"I… I've turned my back to you," he said after a moment.

She breathed deeply and pulled the shirt back on over head. Afterwards, she turned to him and put a hand on his arm. He faced her slowly, eyes darting everywhere but her face. She put a hand on his cheek, hoping to steady him. The barrier broke, but more gently than it usually did. The room filled with his light, which still took her breath away, but it was easier to see past it, to think through it. Perhaps she was getting used to this, to being near him. Although she still could not understand his thoughts, she could feel his emotions were all aflutter. She'd never felt him so nervous before.

"Castiel," she whispered.

His eyes stilled. He stared at her.

"Why are you here?" she asked, gently.

"Uriel is dead," he answered, although that didn't really make things any clearer.

"Who?"

"The angel who was in the barn with me the night we came to kill Anna."

She nodded, remembering. Her hand was still on his cheek, but he hadn't made any kind of movement to suggest that he disliked it there. "How did Uriel die? Are you all right?"

"I'm—I'm fine," he said.

She could feel the lie in her mind, and she knew that he knew it. She held his gaze and waited.

"I'm fine, physically. But I'm…" He turned away from her, and she dropped her hand. "I'm so confused."

Brooke swallowed. She watched him, but didn't say anything.

"I used to be so sure that I knew what I was supposed to do," he said, softly. "I had orders and I followed them. But this mission… Uriel killing angels…"

"What?" Brooke interrupted, alarmed.

Castiel turned to face her again. "I only came to tell you that I think you're safe now."

She shook her head. "Look, I know you're confused, but now you're confusing me. What—what do you mean Uriel was killing angels?"

"He no longer trusted the Will of God. He thought the orders were coming from someone else. He was… converting my brothers and sisters, and killing those who refused to join him. He wanted to free Lucifer, to start the Apocalypse." Castiel was speaking very quickly, and though she wasn't touching him, she could hear a jumble of thoughts in his head, twisting around themselves over and over.

For his sake, as well her own, she quickly placed both hands on his face and said, "Castiel!" She said his name loudly, and with conviction, trying her best to replicate that whip-like effect he could so easily use on her. She needed to snap him out of whatever funk he was in, before he took a leap off a cliff, straight into mental breakdown.

He quieted, and the jumble of thoughts swirling around dissipated.

"Come here," she said, her voice gentler now. She looked up at him, and pulled his head down until their foreheads touched. He stiffened for a few seconds, almost pulled away, then gave in and let his forehead rest against hers.

"Close your eyes," she told him, and waited.

He hesitated for a moment, then did as he was told. His eyelashes were long, and quite feminine.

She closed her eyes, too, keeping her hands on his face, holding his forehead to hers. "Breathe," she instructed. She inhaled slowly, and heard him do so, as well. They exhaled at the same time. She took four more breaths with him, long and slow and deep, before releasing his face from her hands. When she stepped back from him, he looked and felt more familiar to her. More sure, more soldierly. But there was a glimmer of something different in him, something gentler, something almost human.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"When I had nightmares as a child," she explained quietly, "my mother would do that with me."

Castiel stood still and looked at her for a time, and Brooke stood and looked back. There was less electricity between them, and even his angelic light seemed a little less cold, and more comforting. She didn't know if that was really the case, or if she was imagining it, or if this was simply what happened when one got used to staring at angels. But she liked it.

"I didn't want to kill Anna," he said, after a time. "She's still alive. She saved me from Uriel."

"Uriel attacked you?" A thrill of fear went through her.

Castiel's eyes softened. He reached out a hand touched her cheek for a moment—the first time he had done so. "Yes, he attacked me when I wouldn't join him. Anna killed him."

"Remind me to thank her if I ever see her again," Brooke said, faintly.

"Now that Uriel is dead," he went on, "you are safe to follow Sam and Dean in their plans to stop the Apocalypse."

"What are you talking about?"

"I told you I came to let you know that you are safe now. Uriel… He—they all—know about you. But Uriel knew the most about you, aside from me, and he was concerned that I was growing… too close to you. That's why I stayed away for so long after that night with Anna in the barn. I was afraid he might… remove you, if he thought you were distracting me too much."

"Kill me, you mean."

"Yes."

"Well," Brooke said, shaking her head. "That's comforting."

"He's dead now," Castiel sad, again.

Brooke laughed mirthlessly, shaking her head at Castiel. He squinted at her in confusion. "He's dead, yes," she said. "So you've come to tell me the threat is passed, and now I can go join Sam and Dean to… fight other monsters, and possibly other angels, and demons, to try and stop the Apocalypse. As if, somehow, Uriel was the greatest of all threats to my life."

Castiel looked at the floor. "I realize how foolish of me it was to assume that Uriel, of all threats, would be the worst. He was simply the threat closest to me, and I spend a lot of time with Sam and Dean. I could not let him… see me in your presence. He might have been able to detect our… bond."

"Bond?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The mental connection that we share."

Brooke stared at him. "The angels don't know that I can read your mind?"

"No," he said. "They know only that you can see the true forms of angels and demons, but not to what extent. Uriel… got a small taste of it in the barn—

Brooke made a face at the idea of Uriel tasting any part of her.

"—but he was not near you long enough to realize what was truly happening."

Brooke looked around the room without really seeing it. "That's partly why you took me so far away, isn't it?" she asked. "It wasn't just because it was painful. You were trying to protect me. You didn't want him to know how closely I can connect with angels." She looked up at him. "Or with you, specifically."

Castiel couldn't meet her gaze at all.

She folded her arms across her chest. "You know we've only met a handful of times, but I could swear you've got a crush on me. And last week when I kissed you in the dream…"

She saw him flinch.

A slow smile crept across her face. "You know Castiel… methinks thou doth protest too much."

He finally looked at her again, face full of confusion. "What?" he asked.

"You don't know Shakespeare?" She shook her head. "It means you're protesting so much to something that I'm beginning to think you really feel the opposite. Oh you can't possibly have feelings for me." Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "You're an angel. It would be wrong."

"It would be," he said, breathing heavily. He studied her face, and his eyes were… hungry.

She looked at him in partial disbelief, unsure of whether or not she'd really seen the look she thought she'd seen. Hesitantly, she brushed her fingers across his cheek. Fire seared through her body, and settled, curling, at her core. Passionate fire. Longing fire.

Her heart pounded in her chest. She drew closer to him, brought both hands up to his face. He was still breathing hard, like he'd just run a marathon.

I'm an angel. I don't need to jog.

The words came back to her and she smiled in amusement. She knew that he'd remembered them, too, or simply seen her memory.

She took a breath. "How wrong would it be?" she whispered.

He stared at her, eyes flaring. "Very," he said. And kissed her.

Her world exploded. His mind invaded hers, every corner, every dark memory she'd ever kept hidden—even from herself. If it had been anyone else, she would have considered it the worst violation of her privacy. But they had already shared so much, whether accidentally or not, that she simply let him in. She had always trusted him completely. The thing with Anna had been a stumbling block, but even then, she'd only stayed away to protect Sam and Dean, who were meant to stop the Apocalypse.

She didn't care if he knew everything about her. She relished it. A lifetime on the road, hunting the things that went bump in the night, had left little time for relationships. She'd only had her mother, and when she'd left the life, even her mother and she had gone their separate ways. She gave herself over to Castiel, glad to finally allow someone else to share her burden.

His mind was still a maze to her, though she pieced certain memories together. Castiel fighting hoards of demons; Castiel losing brothers and sisters in battles; Castiel questioning the will of God, questioning himself. There was so much of him; he felt more than even he thought he did. It was only that he had lived so long, and he was such a vast being, that his emotions got lost on the way to his brain. But they were there, and they were strong. The idea that angels were emotionless soldiers was something that he had been taught, and he'd eventually come to believe it. Now that he was feeling again, he'd thought that meant something was wrong with, but that simply wasn't true. Even angels were allowed to feel.

There was a roaring, ringing sound in her ears, and her vision was white, like when you stood up too fast. Her vision came back first, and she saw that Castiel was looking down at her with concern. She was being held up by him, literally. Her legs had given out. His mouth was moving, but she couldn't hear what he said.

"… Brooke… Brooke!"

Finally, her hearing came back, and soon afterwards, her ability to stand on her own. She braced herself against him and stood on her own two legs, wobbling slightly. "What… what just happened?" she asked, her voice very faint.

"I… I'm not sure. I think… one or both of us… may have gone overboard. Humans… humans have a hard time understanding the minds of angels even when an angel explains themselves in a language that humans can understand. Human minds were not meant to comprehend an angel's thoughts." Castiel lowered her to the bed, gently, and sat beside her.

She blinked slowly, feeling drugged. Her mind was sluggish. "I think what you're really trying to say…" she began, her voice slurred. "Is that you just fucked my mind with your mind… except your mind… didn't fit. Too big." She grinned, and then laughed, and then fell against his shoulder in a fit of giggles.

"I…" he said, dragging the sound out. "What?"

"Dick joke," she said. "You're a big, strong angel. I'm a fragile human. You're dick's too big. You broke my…" She began to giggle hysterically again.

He stared at her. "I… understand," he said, eventually.

She calmed down after a time, and seemed to come down from her high. She was still leaning against his shoulder. He sat still, his hands in his lap.

"Is it gonna be like that every time we kiss?" she asked him, in a teasing manner. "Because… I don't know if I can handle that."

"I… don't think so," he said, slowly.

Hesitantly, he lifted one hand out of his lap and placed it on top of one of her hands. She smiled and closed her eyes, keeping her head on his shoulder. They sat like that for a long time.