There were many things that he was prepared for, passive greetings weren't what he expected though. He found himself sitting across from him, confused, then irritated, then utterly lost. "Chuck?" He finally had to ask, because although the man did not have the air of the almighty, he might be donning a humble countenance for the heck of it.

"Yeah, don't tell me you already forgot me." He closed his laptop lid and waited.

"What are you doing here?" Dean didn't know where to begin. There were so many other questions, like where have you been, how are you alive, are you God?

"I'm subtly following you and looking for God."

"Uh, why?"

"Well, it is certainly good to see you too. Always nice to run into a fellow man of words." Chuck rolled his eyes and said, "Why do you think? Took me forever to track you here. Finally just followed Claire."

"And you're looking for God?"

"Yes. I feel like he might need me soon. Not sure though. He got tossed out of my form after, well, you know." He looked off like he felt guilty. "Sacrifices were made all around that day. Been having a few odd prophetic moments since then, but nothing like before. Figured I'd find you and give you the latest from the Winchester stories. Thought you might want to get some information on what's to come."

"I'm out, Chuck. I don't do the supernatural thing anymore."

"Yeah, picked up on that from the prophecy line. Pretty sure you're back in it. Felt any weird presences lately?"

"Yeah, a weird light thing, don't know what it is though."

"I don't either, but it's important. I think I might get something on it soon."

Dean got up then. "You're coming back to the apartment. Claire and I will need to talk with you some more."

"Gotta spare bed?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Good. Let me get a siesta first and then I'll talk your ears off." Chuck got up and packed his laptop, downing the last of his coffee in a single long gulp. "Well, let's go."

They introduced Chuck to Charlotte and said he was an old writer friend that they both knew from way back when. Chuck filled in the gaps with some random information, and Dean cut off the visit not long after so that they could head home. He promised Charlotte that they'd get together after classes on Tuesday.

Chuck was quiet, apparently deciding that he was not going to share even a tiny morsel until after his siesta. Dean gave up his bed and sat out at the dining room table with Claire once Chuck had sealed himself away.

"So, that's Chuck right?" Claire asked.

"Yeah, I asked. Not God." Dean glanced back at the bedroom door. "I don't know what to ask him. Like, seriously, it has been years. What has he been doing?"

"I know. He must know some things. You got to ask him something right?"

"He said he was looking for me and for God. Said he followed you in order to find me. Honestly, I think there's more to this than he's letting on. I mean, it's not like I've been hiding. And wouldn't he have like a direct line to God?"

"I don't know. It's weird." Now Claire threw a glance at the bedroom door. "Dean, God is literally sleeping in your bed." She made a face and asked, "How clean are your sheets?"

"I totally gave God's holy vessel a clean bed,Claire." He folded his hands together on the table in front of him.

"Dean?" She looked like she was thinking about a million things at once.

"What is it?"

"You think he might be able to tell us some things about what happened after..."

"I don't know."

"But what if he knows what happened to Cas?"

"We know what happened to Cas. He died. Lucifer wore him, and used him up, and burned out his grace. Chuck ain't gonna tell us a damn thing we don't already kinda know."

He got up then and Claire reached out to him saying, "But Dean, he might. He might know of a way that we can get Cas back. He might know of a way that we can get God to help."

"It's been years, Claire, years. If God wanted to help Cas out, he'd have done it by now." He moved off to balcony to get a breath of fresh night air.

"Maybe we should have just a little faith for once. Maybe we got a chance here."

"I'm not gonna get my hopes up, and Claire, you shouldn't either. That much faith in good things happening, just leads to all of the hurt. It's hard to get up from that kind of let down. For me, it was almost impossible. If it wasn't for Sam, I wouldn't have bothered."

Dean made sure to stay out on the balcony for as long as possible. He made a point of glancing back every now and then to see if Claire had finally gone to sleep. He wasn't sure where he'd sleep since Chuck had seemingly taken over his room, and his couch was Claire's now.

When the moon was high up in the sky, he decided to settled into a sitting position, back against the wall. He looked up to the stars, searching for Denab and the cross. He found it and stared long at the brightest point of light there. "Cas." It was as close to a real prayer as he had given in a long time. The other night with Claire had been a night of silent prayerful contemplations. That was different though.

He took pride in keeping it together. He was every kind of hurting, yet he managed to keep it from spilling out. He kept it from pulling him under. He whispered again, as if he were afraid that someone else would hear him, "I know you can't hear me. I know you're gone, but if Claire's right..." He stopped pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes to stop the tears there. "If you're there, if you can hear me, I'd give anything to get you home."

He seemed to think about what he was going to do next then. "And God, if you even care, I don't need a reward or any kind of acknowledgement for anything I've done in this life, but if you could just give Cas his life back, I'd never ask for anything more."He closed his eyes then and sank further down to the balcony floor. His back was pressed up against the rough brick wall of his apartment. He could feel the warmth again, the comfort that came from the light. He chose not to open his eyes for confirmation. It was better to just sit there and feel the serenity of it. He didn't know what he did to deserve this type of haunting, but he was okay with it.

The dream was a warped version of a memory. It was one he had experienced before. Dean had a firm grasp on what the real situation had been, but he had not chosen to dwell on it much. It was better to imagine that he had been brave once where Cas was concerned. It was better to imagine that he had actually told him all of the things that he had been silently living with for years.

The dream always began in the same way. Cas was in Sam's room, wrapped up in blankets, watching Netflix. He looked like he had been beaten down by the universe, his eyes sad and tired stared back at Dean. The moment always felt like something profound. Dean came into the room and hovered at his side before talking to him. The talk was always the same, how are you, are you feeling better, can I get you anything, more blankets...

This time Dean hovered a moment before jumping ahead and telling Cas to scoot over. He did, and Dean wormed his way into the bed next to him to watch the random program with him. Dean still had a cut near his forehead. Cas stared at it a little. He could hear him asking if he could heal it even though he wasn't speaking with words.

Dean leaned a little toward him, increasing the pressure of their bodies against each other. He dipped his head to Cas' shoulder and said, "I'm so sorry, Cas."

"What do you have to be sorry over? I'm the one that hurt you."

"I've brought you down. I've beaten and threatened you. I've caused your separation from heaven and all of your brethren. You've gained nothing good from knowing me."

Cas shrugged him away so he could look him in the eyes. "You are wrong about that."

"Name one good thing, Cas."

"I learned what it is to be truly heroic, to be kind, to be selfless. I have learned many good things from you Dean."

"Yeah, pretty sure you got most of that from Sam."

"No, you." Now he leaned his head down onto Dean's shoulder and stared off at the screen. "I wish you could know what you are worth. You only seem to see the negative."

"There's a lot of negative."

"No."

And here was the point that Dean regretted. He could have changed their path. He could have made so much clear to Cas, but he didn't. In his dream though, he fixed the mistakes of the past. "I hope you know what you are worth," Dean said.

"I am helpful when I am not so pathetic. I will get my strength back soon though, and I'll be of service to you and Sam again."

Now Dean shrugged him away and looked at him. "You know that grace or not, you matter to us, right?"

"I do have a vast store of knowledge even if I lose my grace. I imagine that a few thousand years of existence can be useful." He smiled at Dean as he said it.

Dean could feel Cas' hand along the back of his own. He moved a bit and took it in his, giving it a squeeze for good measure. "You could lose all of that knowledge too and you'd still be worth plenty."

"Well, all life is sacred, I suppose."

"Do I need to spell it out to you, man?"

Cas tipped his head to the side and seemed intent on reading him. "You seem upset, so maybe you do."

"You matter, Cas. Just you with all of your quirky ways, and all of what just makes you, you. Sam and I care about you. I care about you. You could be a human, an angel, an amnesiac, for all I care. I would care about you. You would be worth much to me."

Cas seemed to weigh the words carefully, then said, "Thank you, Dean. You too are worth much to me as well." He squeezed Dean's hand back. "Let me heal your injuries."

"Only if you promise that you won't think that I only want you around for your mojo."

Cas smiled at that, "I promise." He reached out to Dean then and settled his free hand on Dean's cheek. His thumb brushed over Dean's temple and back into his hair. He could feel the grace flowing into him. It was peaceful and warm. He leaned into the touch and also a little forward, toward Cas. He brought his free hand up and settled it over Cas'. He settled his forehead onto Cas' and breathed in the air that was warm between them.

"I'm in love with you." He watched the flicker of a muscle at the edge of Cas' eyes. "I don't expect you to feel the same. I know that it's different for angels."

"It's not." He became silent a moment then added, "Different." Dean ran his hand down Cas' arm. "Clearly, my affection for you is not what most angels choose to feel, yet it is there. Angels have the capacity to love, yet they don't often let themselves. It is dangerous to love a human. Yet, I do and have for some time. I regret many of my choices, but I'll never regret my feelings for you."

Dean closed his eyes then and pressed his lips to Cas'. Cas slipped his hand back into Dean's hair and pulled him closer. Dean lived in the closeness of it. He let it last and linger. The moment was a dance of lips parting in sync, tongues tasting, and hands clinging to each other for all either of them was worth.

It always ended the same way, with Dean pulling back to just look at Cas. The blue of his eyes was always the last thing to fade away. He loved him in dreams and knew what it was to be loved in return. He let himself have those moments, because they weren't hurting anyone but him.

Sometimes when he hated himself, he'd imagine Cas rejecting him. Sometimes when he was just overwhelmed by the immensity of his loss, he'd imagine Cas slipping away into death. In rare moments though, when he was content with life, he would imagine moments like this, where everyone was finally, blessedly on the same page.

Reality, though, is a spiteful little bastard. When Cas was back in the bunker, recovering from the attack dog spell that Rowena placed on him, he spent much of his time alone. Dean had asked after him, had been concerned about him, had even offered up what creature comforts that he could. He did not though, crawl into bed with him, hold his hand, or tell him that he loved him, though he wanted to do so more than once.

He didn't feel that he deserved any joy from Cas. He didn't feel like he could live with the possibility of a pitying look or kind rejection either. It was possible that Cas felt love for him in the way that he was commanded to by God. It was also possible that he felt something more, but Dean talked himself out of exploring the possibility every time an opportunity arose.

Instead, he let time pass, and in the end Cas was lost to him in all ways. He was beautiful even in death. Dean held him close, pressed his lips past his hair to the solidness beneath it. It was the only kiss Dean could give him, and Cas wasn't there anymore to reciprocate it.

Sam eventually got Dean to let him go. He eventually got him to stand and move from the space. He didn't stand long though. His legs gave out, and he was unable to move without help. Sam helped, and took care of Cas. Dean, for his part, left not long after for his year of suffering.

In the end, Sam saved him, but sometimes Dean thought that it would have maybe been better if he had not.

He awoke out on the balcony a few hours later, sore and cold. He was not alone. Chuck was sitting out on the balcony too. "You're awake."

"Yeah, you too." Dean started to moved, but shooting pains sliced through every muscle. "I'm not giving you my bed tonight. I don't care if you are God."

"I'm just Chuck. Besides, I'm done sleeping." He got up and reached down to Dean to pull him up. "Come on. We got stuff to talk about, and you need to make me some coffee."

Dean felt the creak of bones and the agony of pain in every muscle as he got up. The balcony would never be his bed again if he could help it. They slipped into the house. Claire was still asleep on the couch because it was stupid early.

Dean set up the coffee and the burble of it was enough to perk him up into wakefulness. When it finished, he poured them both a mug and sat at the table. Chuck looked anxious. His hands held onto the mug like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. "So, how've you been, Dean?"

"Is that how this is gonna go? We gonna start with small talk?" Dean rolled his eyes and said, "Fine, Chuck. You?"

"Sorry, I just don't know where to begin. I mean, it's been years, man."

"Yeah, it has. So let's not waste anymore time. You said you were looking for me and God. Well, one out of two. Why were you looking for me?" Dean sounded gruff and businesslike with each clipped sentence.

Chuck didn't drink his coffee. He just sat there staring into its darkness. "I'm sorry Dean. I mean, about Cas and all of that."

"Shit happens." It was an understatement, but Dean didn't want to have this conversation with anyone, least of all Chuck. He repeated, "Why were you looking for me?"

"After shit went down with Lucifer, God left me, but I remembered everything. Cas said something to him, but God kept me from hearing it. Then Lucifer was back in charge. Then God was taking care of business."

"Yeah, Chuck, I was there. Get to the point."

"I woke up in a strange field, far from where we were. It was like I had been dropped there from a tornado or something. I had to get my bearings. Couldn't even remember who I was at first. Over time, little bits came back to me." He paused and took a first tentative drink from his mug. "Then the prophecies came back."

"Great. We heading toward another apocalypse?"

"No. These are strange. Not annihilation strange, but strange like I don't know what I'm seeing."

"Well, describe it."

Chuck got up instead and went off to Dean's room. He came back with some paper. "So I tried to write about it, but I wasn't getting it. Then I figured maybe I could draw it." He handed over the paper to Dean.

"Oh god, Chuck. What the Hell is this?"

"I never claimed to be an artist." The image was of a many-headed creature. Its back held a collection of wings. Chuck's skill made the creature look like something out of a nightmare. The eyes all drooped down and the hands looked like claws. "It was actually pretty in my head."

"Well, keep your day job, buddy. This is not pretty. What is it?"

"Not sure. I thought maybe it was an angel in its trueform. I really can't say though. Then I started feeling a call like something was grabbing me by the back of the neck and pulling me somewhere."

"And that's why you started looking for me.'

"Yeah. Only I didn't exactly travel toward you like normal people do. I also don't think that I was always being pulled to you."

'Well what was pulling you then?" Dean was trying to follow this, but Chuck was not sticking to much of a narrative. Guy's losing his writer's touch.

"That's where I think that God comes in." Chuck took another gulp of the coffee. "I think that he is stuck between dimensions or something. He didn't come back to me after the battle, and he hasn't been able to give me a solid bit of prophecy. Like I said before, I just get bits and pieces. So, I think that he was trying to get me to you so that you can help me help him."

"How could you possibly help God?"

"I'm his vessel, like all prophets. Maybe I can draw him back to earth."

"Or maybe he's just fine where he is. He didn't have much to contribute for the last so many years so why should we be concerned about his issues now?" Dean was done. His tone showed it.

"Maybe he's not done with us yet. Maybe he has more that he'd like to do to help. He did help, Dean. If it weren't for him, we wouldn't have won before."

"Funny thing. What you call winning feels an awful lot like losing. Bet Cas would agree if he could." Dean got up and made an attempt at leaving the room. He stopped at the window to the balcony and stared up at the sky.

Chuck came to his side and rested a hand on his shoulder. "What if that's why he wants to come back? What if he feels like he didn't finish things?"

"Like what?" Dean turned to him for an answer, but before he could give one, Chuck's head tipped back and a bright white glow filled the space around them. "Chuck!" His shout got Claire up, that or maybe the light.

She was at his side in an instant. "What the Hell is happening?"

"I don't know. He just started doing that." Dean had his arm in front of her. He couldn't look at the light directly. As suddenly as it came on the light disappeared.

Chuck fell to the floor in a heap of limbs. Dean quickly fell to the floor at his side and scooped him up. "Chuck, Chuck. You okay?" His eyes shot open and he shoved himself away from Dean, crawling to the bathroom. They could hear him throwing up in there. "Chuck?"

There was more vomiting. Then he came out and moved back into Dean's room. He got the laptop bag and brought it to the table. He set it up in a manner that seemed almost mechanical. He set his hands on the keys and began typing furiously. He did not respond and he did not look at either of therm. Claire walked over to Chuck's side of the table and peered over his shoulder at what he was writing. "Dean," she whispered.

He moved to Chuck's opposite side to look over Chuck's other shoulder. There were coordinates and then directions. He glanced at Claire then and shook his head. "I can't go back there."

She reached out to him, cupping his face in her hand and said, "We have to."

"I can't do this. You don't understand."

"You have to, Dean, but you won't be alone."

Chuck was now typing a list of items. One of the items in the list was "a man of faith."

Dean looked at Claire and said, "That is so not me."

"Chuck?" Claire angled her head down at him in a nod.

"Maybe. He was a prophet after all. Somehow I don't think so though."

"What's it all mean? Is it a prophecy? Is it from God even?"

"We can't go in blind. We need to check into this. Looks like we now need to learn about weird spots of light, sites of apocalyptic battles, and why the heck Chuck is getting visions. Oh, and what all of these items will do if we bring them to said site." Dean ran a hand back up into his hair. "And I have a shit ton of work to do this week. They have finals coming."

Claire just looked at him like he was crazy. Maybe he was. He chose not to deal with it then though. Instead he went off to his room to catch a couple of hours worth of sleep that wasn't on a cold balcony. As he pulled the blankets over himself, he stared out the window at the sky and for just a moment, let himself hope. The stars seemed bright tonight.