Title: Road to Joy

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Dean/Castiel

Spoilers: 4x16

Warnings: Character Death

Disclaimer: They belong to Kripke, no matter how much I wish they belonged to me.

Author's Notes: Forgot to mention this last time, but many, many thanks to my wonderful friend Meredith for helping me figure out how Dean and Cas would argue the morning after. She saved me from ditching this story in the second chapter.

Summary: Dean awoke from dreams of Hell, panting and shaking. He steadied his nervous breathing and wished with all his might that he had someone there to comfort him. Night after night with the horrible memories of Hell seared into his mind. All the pain, and no one to help alleviate it.

Chapter Three

What Makes A Man

When did he realize that he loved Castiel? Dean could pinpoint it quite easily, actually. It was the most simple and adorable thing he'd ever seen. Castiel was curious by nature, so when he and Dean were alone, he would ask lots of annoying questions about typical human behavior. One morning, Dean was brushing his teeth over the motel's kitchen sink, while Sam was showering in the bathroom, and Castiel approached him, questioning his actions. Never one to pass up a good laugh, Dean pulled out a spare toothbrush and taught Castiel to brush his teeth. Watching the little nerdy guy spit, sputter, and gag on the toothbrush was enough to have him doubling over with laughter. Like a parent with a child, or a man watching the person he loved more than anything in the world, Dean watched with adoration and reached out a hand to help guide Castiel. It was that spark he felt when their hands touched. The feeling of home. Whether he had been ready to admit it to himself on that particular day didn't really matter anymore, because he was going to admit it to Castiel as soon as he was finished with this hunt. It was a run of the mill haunting, so Dean figured he could finish it up within a day and then meet Cas somewhere and have the dreaded chick flick moment that they both desperately needed. Honestly, it was all he could think about.

Maybe that's where it all went wrong. Dean wasn't entirely sure how it happened. Maybe he didn't have his head in the game because he was lost in thoughts of the angel's warm, velvety tongue and the feeling of it caressing his own. The thoughts of the very pronounced, rather teasing hipbones begging to be gripped. Yes, that is defintely where it all went wrong. Dean couldn't fully focus on the task at hand because he was swirling through a sea of fantastically pleasing memories of Castiel and wishes for the outcome of their next encounter. The ghost was haunting a family who owned waterfront property and it seemed to be luring them to the lake at night and drowning them. After getting the backstory, he discovered that the previous owner's child had been drowned in the lake. An angry spirit, no big deal. Dean searched for some sort of remains to salt and burn, and after some investigating, he found the boy's favorite baseball cap that he had been wearing the day he drowned. His father had buried it near the lake. When Dean attempted to dispose of the hat, he was suddenly attacked by the ghost. The little boy pulled Dean into the lake and held him under the water, while laughing maniacally.

Dean was drowning and everything was black. He couldn't breathe, his lungs were aching for air. His last breath had been used in a gasp. That last precious breath of life was wasted in a silly gasp of surprise. How he wished he could have used his last breath to inhale the sweet scent of Castiel, just once more. The intoxicating scent of rain, lightning, and something like honeysuckles. He would have cherished a chance to have some sliver of happiness as he was buried alive in the pain. Part of Dean wished it would just hurry. If it was going to be today, just get it over with. Just let him die and feel no more pain. He turned his eyes toward the heavens and prayed for divine intervention, because giving up completely was not the Winchester way. He might have been powerless, but he was going to use his last, best chance at life, even if it meant doing something he'd never done before. Dean Winchester prayed to God for the first time in his life.

The scenario shifted almost instantly. The ghost pulled Dean out of the water and flung him ashore. Gasping for air, Dean rolled over onto his side and curled up into the fetal position. His lungs were burning with each breath he drew and his limbs were heavy due to his soaked multiple layers of clothing. Without warning, Dean felt a strong kick to his back. His body jerked and he cried out in pain. The ghost had given up on the drowning, choosing to beat Dean mercilessly. He grabbed a fistful of Dean's hair and slammed the hunter's head onto the ground repeatedly. Dean tried to fight back, but it was of no use. With each thud on the ground, he inhaled mud and grass until he was choking. His mouth tasted of iron and earth, his vision was blurred and nearly blackened again. He felt a sharp blow to the back of his head and knew it was almost over. There was a warmth spreading on his head and neck, and he felt dizzy. This was the last of it, the ghost had won. He wondered if the praying had really even mattered at all. Just as Dean was about to lose conciousness, he felt a strong hand grip his right shoulder, turn him over, and cradle him.

Castiel arrived too late to save Dean. He was lying on the ground, broken and bloodied. Cas flicked his wrist in the direction of the ghost boy and he disappeared instantly. Castiel swept the man into his arms. There was so much blood and the back of Dean's skull was pouring a continual stream of it. If he was still alive, Dean would not last long. The angel prayed for his chest to heave, his eyes to twitch, God, please any sign that he's still alive. Almost instantly, Dean smiled and softly whispered, "Cas."

Castiel held him close to assure Dean that he was there and he would not leave him. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dean cut him off.

"It was the day you were brushing your teeth over the kitchen sink. That was the day I knew. "

Castiel cocked his head slightly, remembering the day clearly. It had been one of those days where he forgot about the boundary between an angel and his charge. A day when Dean was more than just a mission. He was a friend. Maybe it had been more than friendship, really. He remembered how Dean had clutched his midsection, laughing furiously at Castiel's feeble attempt to carry out such a trivial human task. How Dean's face had lit up like fireworks, the genuine smile stretched across his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and there had been something else lingering in Dean's eyes that day as well. Something Castiel couldn't quite put his finger on, but it was intense and so unlike any emotion he'd ever seen painted across the broken hunter's face.

How had it all come to this? Castiel was overcome with terror, for the first time in his existence. He needed more than anything to tell Dean that he loved him, as much as an angel could love anyone who wasn't God. He needed to pull the hunter close and promise him that it would all be okay. He could do neither of these things, because Dean was gone. He had lost too much blood before Castiel even arrived. It was almost as if a higher power had kept him alive long enough for him to confess his love to Castiel. The hunter had died in the angel's arms and Castiel discovered a new emotion at that moment. Anger. Rage. He was dangerously close to falling. Too many emotions, too much of an attachment to his charge. Castiel did not care anymore. He laid Dean's lifeless body on the earth and looked up to the Heavens.

"Why would you take him from me? I have given so much, I have done everything you have ever asked of me. I have been a good soldier!"

Castiel hung his head in despair and allowed a choked sob to escape his mouth, before turning to Dean and taking him into his arms. With a blink, they vanished.

#####

Sam stood in the doorway, dumbfounded, when Castiel arrived with Dean in his arms. Castiel placed Dean's body on Bobby's couch and turned to face Sam with a solemn look etched upon his face.

"Is he...is he...dead?" Sam could barely force the words out of his mouth, because he wanted so badly for the answer to be "No".

With a nod, Castiel replied, "There is a way to bring him back. I'll do it. It's my fault he's dead. I'll do it."

"Well, how? I'll help."

"My grace. I can transfer it to him and he will live again."

Sam's eyebrows shot up and he stuttered, "Castiel, are you- are you sure you want to lose your grace? I mean, won't that make you...human?"

"Yes. A small price to pay to have him back, don't you agree? I suppose it is the equivalent of him selling his soul for you, but I won't face Hellhounds for my choice. Only the burdens of a mortal life and having to endure pain. But that pain is nothing compared to what we would all experience without him."

Sam furrowed his brow and frowned before agreeing, "If there is no other way, and it's really what you want..."

"It is my decision to make and he will always be my choice. Sam, please leave the room, you will surely be blinded if you look upon either of us during the transferral." Castiel faced Sam with pure determination and devotion plastered across his face. Sam nodded in agreement and touched Dean's shoulder before exiting the room.

What makes a man pray, when he's about to die?