To explain my random capital letters, I have this thing that things to do with the Angels should have a capital letter, such as Fallen, Wings, Angel etc. As God Himself is referred to as "He" Just a little note ^-^
Also - Haha I doooo have more, but it's not quite fully... Ermmmm... Germinated? Haha yet! =p Thank you sooooooo much for the reviews! Means a lot! =D If you reviewers have any work of your own, let me know and I will return the favor [=
~Lintu x x
Dean had prayed for Castiel's return, literally screamed for it on occasion; he'd take a drive out in his Baby, claiming he needed to clear his head, and he'd pull over on the side of a quiet road to scream abuse and shake his fists at the Heavens, and call Cas' name until his throat was raw. Hell he'd even found himself sobbing for him; not Cas, come on. His family, his friends, all bar Bobby and Sam had been taken from him. Not Cas as well. Sure, he was pissed at the Angel, for – just like his little brother with drinking the demon blood, I mean anyone with a lick of sense could see that was headed in a bad direction – he had ignored Dean's pleas to walk away; Deals with Demons never ended pretty. And seeing him collapsed against that door frame, as good as disintegrating before his eyes, Dean knew it then. He knew deep down that he was going to lose his Angel. He'd been in something resembling denial about how he felt about his feelings; Dean Winchester doesn't feel not in that way. He has to keep up the belligerent act, nothing fazes him, nothing can get to him, short of his brother, and Bobby, nothing and no one could have any sort of profound effect on him. And there it was. "We share a more profound bond." He'd known it all along. Ever since their first meeting, the barn doors blowing open and the Heavenly being strolling in, his steely gaze upon his human Charge, taking in every detail of the man before him, the man he had raised from the depths of Hell itself. "I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition." Castiel had not understood the suspicion and hostility Dean had regarded him with; his stance rigid, ready to attack or flee, his handsome face frozen in to a grimace of contempt. After a brief introduction which had landed Castiel with a blade in his chest – Dean felt a pang of guilt remembering his actions towards the man he now struggled to deny loved – Dean had noted a definite look of misunderstanding and, he was certain, pain in Castiel's eyes as he removed the blade. The way that Castiel looked at Dean had for the most part remained the same; fascination and adoration, and above all pure loyalty.
Stood in the shower at that very moment, Dean figured out the reason behind the confusion he always read in Castiel's eyes and actions around him. It was need. Castiel needed Dean, and he didn't understand the emotion. Little did Dean know that Castiel would visit him unseen, watching over him on the cases they didn't involve the Angel in, or simply going about his daily business on the rare days Dean Winchester got to act like something resembling a normal human being. Maybe that would freak Dean out. Maybe it would comfort him.
Dean closed his eyes and remembered Castiel standing close to him, for the first time showing raw passion and emotion. Dean could remember his own heart pounding, his skin alive with electricity, and he had pushed his feelings back, because Dean Winchester didn't have feelings; not those types of feelings, not for anyone, Angel or human. He just didn't. And least of all for his own Guardian Angel, in the vessel of some poor devout married man from Illinois.
"I've killed two Angels this week," Cas had growled at him, conflicting emotions raging in those cosmic eyes, "My brothers," That had hit the right nerve with Dean, the very thought of killing his own baby brother, his Sammy had brought a burning lump to his throat, "I'm Hunted; I've Rebelled, and I did it, all of it, for you." Castiel had only looked at Dean in the eyes with that same resentment once again, and that was in that dingy alley, after Dean had made the decision to say yes to Michael, but Castiel had gotten to him first, and he had beaten the everholy crap out of Dean. Dean hadn't even tried to fight back. He had wanted to die, and he had thought what better way to die than at the hands of his Fallen Angel, the last thing he would have seen would have been those freakin eyes. Deep down, even back then he knew Castiel had him totally defenceless. One piercing look from those baby blues and Dean would be putty in his hands. Only now did he understand that conflicted look Cas always gave him. Only now did Dean know why he was always so awkwardly jokey, and over manly around Cas. He would never admit it out loud, because no, that would mean it was real. That would mean he would have to deal with it. And Dean didn't deal with anything. It just wasn't who he is. Never has been, never will be. Dean Winchester takes everything in his stride, nothing affects him, no one affects him. That way it was easy, Dean had learned this young. Bottle it up, lock it away and lose the key. If it starts to surface, drink, go out and get in to a death match with some supernatural nasty that needed a good ganking. Whatever you do, don't open up, don't let anyone in, coz that's how you end up getting hurt. And not the battered-halfway-to-death way Dean was used to, he could deal with that, rubbing alcohol, maybe a few home made stitches, a bandage and let time do its job. That was the easy version of getting hurt. What really, truly scared Dean was his own feelings. Demons could beat him six ways from Sunday, but people could do far worse; they could get under your skin and to that thumping thing in your chest. And people had a funny way of ripping that thing and shitting on it, and that was far harder to heal than any injury any spook could inflict upon Dean. He had felt that, and dammit he still did losing Lisa and Ben. And then he had lost Cas. His heart just about tore itself out of his own chest watching him go. And that was when Dean had given up. What the fuck was the point? He had let Cas in, he knew he had; he couldn't explain exactly when or why, but he had. That damn Angel, and his damn power over Dean. It was the eyes, Dean decided. It had to be. Nothing on Earth could be that color, that perfect electric sapphire blue. Maybe the little confused head tilt Cas used when Dean threw some pop culture reference in his direction; that was so Cas, and it was so freakin adorable...
No, Dean. Snap out of it. You're drunk. Crazy. Get some sleep.