This is an underdeveloped AU, wherein Castiel was sent down from Heaven to search for Anna, the leader of his garrison. They are both needed to fight the inevitable civil war among the angels. Unable to return without her, he is slowly losing his powers.

This is the same story, told from the other side of the coin.


The door blew open again. Castiel didn't bother looking up. It was not Anna. She was not in this town-he would move on to the next one shortly.

(He was falling now, had been falling since he came down to Earth. He was losing a little more Grace each day as he looked for his superior. It was something he was willing to lose to save Heaven.)

He had been on Earth for nearly two years now, had started riding the motorcycle nearly a year ago. He did not want to waste his power transporting himself from place to place. And the bike fit, somehow, the man he was not.

He thought about covering this body in ink to hide himself from anyone who could hurt him. He had tattooed an Enochian spell on his left abdomen, hiding him from angel eyes after Uriel had nearly killed him shortly after his arrival. He would get an anti-demonic possession tattoo on his left arm to match the bands around his right for the angels he had killed. He would place a compass all across his hip, hoping it would lead him home one day. His back was still bare-he was considering wings, the very human concept of irony not lost on him.

No, he really didn't care who had just entered this little shop in this tiny town. His attitude changed when they sat down beside him and Castiel could feel the power radiating off of him. He was angel-touched. Castiel would keep his head down and hope he left soon.

The man spoke and Castiel's head snapped up, examining the human before meeting his eyes. He was beautiful, well-suited for the archangel that Castiel could almost see in his shadow. Full, soft lips, light skin covered with freckles, wide, bright green eyes that looked at him with was Michael's vessel, empty and waiting. This then, was Dean Winchester, doubly blessed as the Righteous Man and vessel of Heaven's finest soldier.

He finally replied, a basic response that he often heard humans exchange when a compliment was given. He asked for another drink, marveling at the things humans came up with.

And there he sat; speaking with one of the most well-known humans of heaven, pretending to be only the man he appeared to be. He enjoyed himself immensely, probably another sign that he was falling, that his Grace was diminishing, more feathers were dropping from his wings.

(And he reveled in it.)

They talked about such inane things that Castiel marveled at the interest he took in the conversation. The angel could see that Dean had a tattoo and reached out to better examine it. He pulled his hand back, realizing that humans did not welcome the touch of a stranger.

He pulled his human shell around himself and asked Dean about his mark. He suspected he should not be saying things quite the way he was, but this man was the most interesting human he had ever encountered.

He should take his leave, before the presence of Dean Winchester led him to do something he would regret. Instead, the angel's eyes sparkled as Dean asked about Castiel's tattoos, because he felt surer that he would see this man again than he had ever been of anything else.

Castiel pulled the collar of his shirt over, couldn't help smiling a little, allowing Dean to examine the Enochian script inked just above his collarbone. The hunter brushed his fingers along the unfamiliar letters, causing the angel to shiver slightly.

(He must be falling even faster than he had thought. Touch should not do that to an angel.)

When Dean asked what it meant, Castiel replied softly, his mouth close to Dean's ear, his deep voice almost poetic as he explained.

(Never forget that you are not human, that you are not on Earth for them, that you have a mission, that you will topple Heaven to find her.)

The young man drew back slightly, green eyes wide, meeting Castiel's in a sudden blaze of understanding.

(We're the ones writing our story.)

Scents of coffee and pumpkin spice, sounds of voices and music all faded away.

Green eyes, so young and haunted, met blue, so ancient and lonely. Dean brought his lips to the mouth of the angel, gentle and sweet, hesitant, unsure, lasting a second frozen in time before breaking away; still close enough for their breath to mingle in the warm air.

Kissing was an intricate, intimate, inextricably human thing. It was a response to so much-happiness and sadness, tenderness, faith, despair, protection, adoration. A Sign of loyalty, love, trust, desire, need. Castiel kissed for all of these reasons.

Dean Winchester was special. Castiel knew this before the human had leaned into him, felt it as for himself as their lips touched, and as the hunter examined him afterward, it settled into what remained of his Grace, lodging, becoming a part of him.

Now they are both frightened, Castiel of his quickly developing humanity, Dean of his fast-falling façade.

(Castiel was falling, falling Fallen, losing his Grace, his wings, faster every day and this human was making it so much worse. He had watched him with curiosity once or twice but never would have thought to try to meet him. Never would have guessed the results of such an encounter.)

Castiel could see the blood rushing to Dean's face, the moment he realized what he had done, the uncertainty on his face as he tried to decide if it was good or bad.

He should go, but he is captivated by green eyes, looking at him with clarity, compassion, lust. He should go. Shaking himself free, he stood, drawing his wings close around him.

Dean followed him to the exit. The angel felt the human's hand on his shoulder as Dean turned him around and pushed him against the wall of the shop. Grabbed his jacket lapels, crushing his lips against the other's for too brief of a time. This was furious, co-dominating, not sweet and gentle and testing as the first had been.

They broke apart, breathing heavily, watching each other, neither sure about the other's next intent. The look that they shared said I can't believe I'm doing this, I want to know you, I want to see you again, why why why? It's so raw, so open.

Castiel cleared his throat. It was time. He must find his sister and remaining with the human was likely to result in the full loss of his grace. He wanted to stay, to explore these feelings. He wanted to. But he had long been trained to ignore his wants. He would complete his mission and he would, if he was lucky, meet the hunter again. Not too soon-too soon would be disastrous.

(Castiel did not think he would stop his Fall if Dean was what waited at the bottom.)

Castiel allowed himself a smile. He was happy, no longer as deep in despair of finding his sister as he had been. Dean had given him back hope, and now he was loath to leave.

It was no simple thing for the angel to admit his purpose to the human, even if Castiel knew that Dean would not recognize the magnitude of the information. He was touched that the hunter would offer to help. Castiel know that Dean had his own work to do.

His purpose renewed, Castiel was finally able to say farewell to Dean, even if it was a no less bitter goodbye than the drink that they had shared. He mounted his bike, Dean kissing him one last time, desperation mingling with desire. He kicked into gear and drove away, leaving behind sea foam green eyes and lips with promises lingering unspoken.