Her full, pink mouth, swollen slightly from kissing me, her wide, pupils blown with desire, the skin of her lower back soft as silk against the palm of my hand as I slide my fingers under her shirt…

Snap out of it, Castiel.

How can these feelings be so fresh after so many years? I sigh in frustration.

I open my eyes to the darkness of the room and allow the human eyes to adjust, enjoying the dullness around me. Sometimes being able to see everything is painful.

When it's dark I can pretend she's sleeping beside me, like in my imagination.

I need to get her out of my head.

To distract myself, I sharpen my vision and get up out of the armchair in the motel, walking over to the large stack of books I left there before deciding to abandon study for the sake of some human television—all for the sake of acclimating myself more to this environment, of course—but the problem with human television is that it puts ideas into my mind that I never would have conceived of on my own.

Spreading her out on the bed under me and melting into her silky, warm body, pleasure so intense it's almost pain shooting up my legs…

No more. Since Jimmy left, this human body and this human imagination have become more and more unruly, distracting me from the mission. The…daydreams…are very tempting, too tempting, but coming back from them to the world in which she looked at me with those coldly despising eyes is too painful. I need to stop this. It's bad for me.

My teeth biting down on her soft neck…

No. Unable to handle the temptation of giving in to that dream, I spread my wings and begin to fly, going further and further and further until I am no longer in warmth, my feverish skin cooling rapidly, and I plunge though a sheet of ice into the ocean, the ice freezing again above my head rapidly as I shoot downwards, pressure building, until I am once again in the dark.

So cold.

So dark.

So…peaceful. Empty. Painful. The pain is so interesting to me—sharp and strange, this pain. Not really like being cut or burned. More like intense pressure—the pain of freezing. So distracting, this pain.

It's been five minutes since she last entered my mind.

I let the cold seep into my human brain as I slow down my healing capabilities, allowing the cells to begin dying. It's so painful and horrible and distracting and liberating, this feeling.

And I deserve the pain a thousandfold.

I see that now.

But it doesn't matter. Too little, too late.

I let my body freeze until my flesh begins to turn black, then I slowly float to the surface, relishing the pain, knowing she dealt with worse than this because of me. I increase my ability to heal and break the ice, floating momentarily on the surface.

A voice interrupts my reverie.

Castiel—I need to talk to you. The Winchesters have been talking about this list of yours—I know a lot of these items, but they're all very dangerous. We need to know more about where it came from.

I am standing now, on hard ice, my heart racing. She's praying to me.

Castiel, I know you can hear me. This doesn't mean I want to talk to you personally. I want an angel I can trust, and I can't forgive you, but I know I can trust you. Also I can kick your ass in a fight.

I fly so quickly my skin is barely healed when I land softly behind her. The dawn is breaking here, and the soft lavender and orange from the window put her slender form into sharp relief. She doesn't turn around at first. Just looks out at the orange and lavender and lets me stand here, behind her. I realize vaguely that I am entirely at her mercy—she has enough power to fight and defeat twelve of me on a regular day, and with this extra anger fueling her…she's unstoppable.

This is what they were afraid of. This is why they had me trap her.

That plan certainly backfired.

She turns around, and I curse myself for giving in to those fantasies—they're so fresh in mum mind, so vivid, and she's so close to me…

And she hates me.

Her dark eyes get darker with loathing as she looks at me, her lips pressed into a thin line and her entire form tight with anger. She says coldly,

"The list. The list you gave the Winchesters—the reason they found my box—they told me it's a duplicate of one in the possession of the king of Hell, and that he would attempt to use the items himself, and that's why they had to get to them first. Castiel. I know that that story is a lie—but I want you to tell me the truth. Where did you get the list?"

I open my mouth to answer, but stop, confused—she knows where I got the list. She can tune in to angelic communication. Why….

Oh.

She's trying to figure out if I let her hear on purpose.

She always was quite clever.

I can't lie to her.

I look directly into her eyes, accepting the loathing, relishing the pain of it, swallowing. Moving on.

Or at least trying…her eyes are so beautiful. How did I go all those years not fully appreciating her uniquely captivating person? I reply matter-of-factly,

"I never lied to you—I'm quite certain of that—and I will never lie to you. You know where I got the list, because I allowed you your hearing. You heard the angels give it to me. You know I am to eliminate each item. You don't have to manipulate me—I'llm always tell you the truth."

"Okay, then tell me—why did you do it?"

"Heaven told me to. I am a servant of heaven. It should have been that simple."

"But it wasn't?"

"No, it wasn't. I can show you my story if you'd like."

I take a deep breath, gauging her reaction. She seems…dubious, at best. I have to show her.

She needs to know.

I need her to know.

I need her to understand.

She squints up at me slightly, her head tilted. I look back levelly.

"Well then what are we waiting for?"