Hey guys! This one is from Cas' POV, as promised-I love to hear your feedback, so feel free to review. Doesn't have to be long, short and sweet works for me XD (Double entendre intended) I hope you appreciate how hard it is to skip homework for y'all. ;)

Hugs and kisses and bumblebees

-TheEliot

I am suspended in the center of the tunnel of water, my body spinning so quickly I almost feel formless again. There is salt water in my lungs and through my sinus cavities, but I have surpassed the pain of drowning, and my Grace heals my vessel as his body—my body, now that he's gone—starves for oxygen. I should be working to piece together what is left of Heaven, but for now, there is just spinning, and darkness, and quiet.

Cas, buddy, you gotta come down here. It's hard to explain, but—it has to do with angels, I think. It's important. Just come.

The voice of Dean Winchester upsets my reverie and in less than a nanosecond I am flying once again, the vortex of the continuum of time and space pummeling my clothes and hair and lungs as they dry. I revel in the ecstasy of allowing my wings to expand and grow substantial as they beatbeatbeatbeat and then I am standing with Dean in a motel in west Texas and my wings are gone and reality's back.

Dean starts babbling incoherently, clearly trying to remain quiet for some reason, and I can't quite focus on what he's saying because of the

Presence.

"Why?"

I haven't felt that Essence since. I haven't remembered that life in. They commanded me return to Heaven, and I refused to look back, refused to disobey, but.

Kara.

Her face, smiling mischievously at me as I prepare the prison that cost her mother her sanity, that cost her father his life. Her eyes, unsuspecting, filled with trust and hope and love.

Then.

The moment she caught sight of the incantation in the spell book—the same book she stole from her enemies to protect herself. She'd have been safer if she'd left it alone.

"Hey, isn't that the one…"

The light of trust and hope and love doesn't falter. She looks up at me, and I meet her gaze with coldness, distance, feeling this feeling that I've never felt before and hating myself for it, hating myself for hurting her and hating myself for caring, for caring like a human cares.

And she does't hate me. She doesn't blame me, her eyes tell me. She knows I'm doing what I have to in order to protect the world from an abomination.

She hates herself. She trusts me so fully she hates herself.

I wish I had her confidence.

But then her fear—her blinding terror—interrupts her confidence and I just want to hold her like I did when she was small, when she was too little to intentionally cause harm, when Heaven still had faith in her.

But I can't.

"Why?"

I don't know, Kara.

I finish the incantation and watch her gorgeous eyes, filled with that hateful self-loathing, dissipate into particles as she is sucked into the trap I designed. The trap I sealed with my own Grace. I'm selfishly glad that a part of me remains with her.

And she's here. She's standing in front of me, her shoulders slightly caved in with insecurity, her eyes shining with vulnerability. She looks like a child again.

And I'm terrified. What will I see when I look into her soul?

What have I done to you?

Behind the naked vulnerability there is an emptiness, a deadness, a pain that wasn't there before—she is broken.

And I broke her.

That feeling, suppressed by thousands of years of angelic training, teaching, and mental cleansing is rising to the surface like acid, and I am convinced that I am about to experience vomiting for the first time.

I hate myself. I hate this.

Angels aren't supposed to feel this, this—loathing.

She is the reason I listened to Dean Winchester. She is the reason I disobeyed.

I could not make the same mistake twice.

There is a tightness behind my eyes, a heat, as I confront the person I love still—the little girl who could have changed the world—and I feel my eyelids prick as water begins to well into my eyes.

I can't breathe. I don't need to breathe, but somehow my body is convinced that it does, and my breath is coming in short gasps.

I realize that I haven't said anything, but before I can, she speaks and I hear her voice—her voice, mezzo and clear and silky, say my name.

"Castiel?"

Something in the room seems to break, and she takes a few steps forward, gushing,

"Castiel I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't know I was doing anything wrong, please please don't put me back please." She's sobbing, broken, wrenching sobs and I know what I've done to her. I put her in a tight, dark place for thousands of years when even a small room with no windows used to throw her into panic attacks. I put her in her own personal Hell.

And she's apologizing.

What?

There are tears rolling down her cheeks, and despite the self loathing that is rising up inside me, my compassion for her overwhelms me, and I step towards her, reaching out my arms just as she rushes in to meet me. It feels natural, normal, though strange with a new Vessel. She is sobbing into my chest like she did before, and I feel the hot…tears…slip down my cheeks as I rock her back and forth, crooning nonsense words and reassuring her that I won't be putting her back—not that I have the power to do so now the she is wary of me. The only reason it worked last time was her complete trust.

I see Dean enter my line of sight and make eye contact, expecting to see confusion and impatience. I have so much to explain.

But he's not confused, not impatient. I meet Dean's eyes and he's livid.

Somehow Dean always seems to know who's in the wrong.