CHAPTER 4

The LORD spoke to you face to face out of the fire on the mountain.

And he said:

"I am the LORD your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery.

You shall have no other gods before me.

You shall not misuse the name of the LORD your God.

Observe the Sabbath day by keeping it holy, as the LORD your God has commanded you.

Honor your father and your mother, as the LORD your God has commanded you.

You shall not murder.

You shall not commit adultery.

You shall not steal.

You shall not lie.

You shall not covet your neighbor's wife.

You shall not covet your neighbor's goods."

These are the commandments the LORD proclaimed in a loud voice to the whole assembly there on the mountain from out of the fire, the cloud and the deep darkness; and he added nothing more. Then he wrote them on two stone tablets and gave them to Moses.

Deuteronomy, 5:4-22

THEN

Somewhere in Heaven

Death, the Pale Horseman, the most powerful of The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, adjusted his tie and ran his thin hand over the right sleeve of his pristine, black suit. "What took you so long?" He asked.

The young angel in front of him looked uncertain. "I... was otherwise occupied," he said. "Observing my charge."

"You come when I call," Death roared, his voice like a thunder. "Are we clear about this?"

"Yes," the angel Castiel whispered. "We are, sir."

Death almost smiled. Almost. "Now tell me," he said, in a false soft tone. "Where is the soul I ordered you to collect?"

"I do not have it," the angel said. "I did not collect it yet."

"Well," Death rasped. "What are you waiting for?"

"Please, sir..." the angel's hesitant voice murmured.

"We have already talked about this, young one. And my answer now is the same it was before: no."

"But... but he is a good man!" the angel Castiel pleaded. "I do not believe his time has come, sir. Not yet! Give him more time, I beg you!"

"Sweet Lord," Death scowled, and then frowned and looked almost annoyed when a thunder was heard in the distance. "Aren't you a stubborn one?" he said. "I see you have plenty of initiative, young one. This could be considered a quality down on Earth, but in Heaven? You know the price for disobeying. Why do you insist?"

"I don't want to disobey, sir!" Castiel hurried to say. "I am merely asking you to reconsider your order to collect the man's soul!"

"Do not try to fool me!" Death snapped. "Trying to bribe me into accepting another soul in his place! Suggesting I accept the father, whose soul is tainted by adultery!" he yelled, stepping forward so his nose was almost touching the angel's.

Castiel tried not to flinch, and Death was strangely pleased by that. This one had a strong will; a mere foot soldier had strong will, something rare in a place where everyone was made to accept everything in blind obedience. What an unusual thing to find. He held the angel's stare, and because Castiel didn't look away, Death decided to speak in a softer tone for now.

"You know the rules. Everyone's time to die is already written in the book, from the moment they are born. Humans are finite beings, and when it's time for them to meet me, I order my angels to collect their souls. That's your job: obey. It's simple, and all your brothers and sisters do it without questions. Now this man...His time has come, and there is nothing you can do about it. What you can do, is collect his soul and bring it to me so I can take him to his judgment before the Lord. It has always been like this. You can't change the rules."

"I know I can't, sir," the angel, so docile until now, started suddenly to stand his ground, even though his voice was trembling slightly. "But you can," he stated, with a newfound confidence. "Please."

Death's face turned into a mask of anger. "Are you suggesting that I... 'bend' the rules to suit your purposes? Do you know how serious this is, little angel?" he spat the last words, like a curse.

This time, Castiel flinched a little, but didn't give up. "He is a good man, sir. His soul is bright and unblemished. He loves his family, he lives for them. He is a good son, a good brother, a good friend. I believe he has yet a lot to accomplish in his life."

"Oh, he does? And how did you find the time to learn so much about him? Instead of bringing his soul to Heaven, you spent days and days observing him and you…you got attached to the man! How foolish of you! Humans are fragile beings, and although our Father loves them, it is not wise to place any kind of affection on one."

"I am not attached. It is just that...with all due respect, I do not think it is fair to take his life now."

"Fair?" Death asked. "And what do you know about fairness? You have only a few thousand years, how dare you talk to me about the rules of Heaven when I helped our Lord to create a few of them myself? You are nothing compared to me, Castiel. Nothing. How dare you compare your pitiful existence to one who is older than time itself?"

"Spare him, sir. Please," the angel insisted. "I have never asked for anything for myself."

At that, a flash of interest passed through Death's eyes. "Indeed, you have never asked for anything. And I can't help but wonder why you decided to ask now. What changed, Castiel?"

Death started to walk around the angel, eyeing him critically, while the young angel stood his ground, albeit nervously. Then Death stopped in front of him again, eyeing him like a rare specimen in a lab and the angel lowered his eyes, as if waiting for punishment.

"Hum..." Death mused. "It just occurred to me that… since this man is so... noble as you say, I think I can spare him for a little while."

"Sir?" The angel murmured with hope in his eyes.

"Since he's so perfect, with such an...Unblemished soul, he can live without disobeying the Ten Commandments, don't you think?" Death went on. "Such a perfect man would live a life free of sin."

"The definition of sin has gone through many centuries and men's interpretation may be erroneous. Not every word that is in the Bible is exactly according to the Lord's wishes," The angel recited, quoting what he had learned when still a fledgling. "To sin and to disobey the Ten Commandments is not necessarily the same thing."

"Do not try to teach me my job, Castiel," Death dismissed the comment with a gesture. "Religions acquired a lot of stupid definitions of sin over the centuries. I'm talking about the Ten Commandments, and I think you know too well what they are. Now... your human is just that: a human. Therefore, he is prone to failure. So I will give him this one chance."

Castiel waited expectantly while the Grim Reaper seemed to ponder about his decision.

"You will not collect his soul before he disobeys the Ten Commandments. All of them."

"But sir… I don't think that will ever happen. He would have to kill someone. And if he doesn't, will you let him die of old age?"

"He's perfect, isn't he? Unblemished, you said?" Death's eyes shone threateningly. "If your charge manages to disobey the Ten Commandments, you bring his soul to me immediately, no questions asked. Am I clear? But if he doesn't… I guess I can let him live until he gets old."

"Yes, sir!" The angel simply answered, but it didn't escape Death's eyes how hopeful he sounded. "Thank you, sir!"

"Don't thank me yet, young one. For your audacity of questioning me and my work, you are banned from Heaven until you can bring me this man's soul."

Castiel blinked, stunned. "Banned?"

"Banned. He is yours to protect from now on. You can only come back when you bring him."

"But sir – "

"You can only come back to Heaven when you bring this man's soul with you. I'm curious about what would happen to his soul if he breaks all of God's laws."

"He would never – "

"You can't talk about it with him, or I will make sure he – and you, of course – will regret it deeply. I'm talking about eternal punishment here. One more thing: your Grace will be diminished, and you will not have access to any of your brothers and sisters, nor you will be able to communicate with the Host of Heaven."

Castiel could only stare at the Death. He was being punished for fighting against what he believed was an injustice and he couldn't understand how it could be wrong. He was an angel, and one of the angels' duties was protecting people, wasn't it? He just wanted to protect this man; to give him more years of life. Why was it so wrong?"

"You are dismissed now," Death said with disdain.

"What if he never disobeys all the Ten Commandments, sir? Will you let him live?" The angel asked, anxiously.

"I told you, Castiel. Of course he will live. But then you will stay there in the mud with humans, Castiel. You will feel and you will fear, just like them. You will eat, and sleep, and get dirty like them. If this man stays pure and clean, you are expected to bring his soul only when he is old and wrinkled, and you will stay many, many years away from Heaven. Perhaps banned, you will know your place and learn not to question me."

Castiel lowered his head, accepting his fate. He would not get discouraged. A lifetime away from Heaven would be hard, but he was an angel; he would be still alive even after the human race had vanished. So, because he believed Dean Winchester deserved to have a long fulfilling life, he would do what he believed was the right thing: he would protect the man and he would stay on Earth, guarding him, until he was old and dead. He would miss his home greatly, but he would not endanger his charge's soul just so he could return to Heaven soon.

"One more thing," Death said. "Every time he breaks a commitment you will feel the pang of your failure in your heart and you will know that disobeying me is useless."

"Yes, sir," Castiel said, full of confidence. Dean was a good man; he would not break all Ten Commandments in one lifetime. Castiel believed in the goodness of Dean's heart. He had seen tendrils of his soul, around him like a halo, and what he saw was beautiful, like Dean was alight from the inside. He would not let that light vanish in death and darkness.

Castiel had been in many battles in his long life, but this would be his first time on Earth as more than a mere observer. A change in scenery would do him good.

He could barely wait, actually.

Castiel vowed to protect Dean Winchester. And he would do his best.

NOW

Lawrence, Kansas, July, 2013

The diner didn't open on Mondays, so Castiel spent the day looking for Crowley. Well, looking for John Winchester, in fact, because he wanted to see if Crowley still possessed the man.

He was still weak from the night before but he could still fly short distances and Lawrence wasn't a big town, so it wouldn't take him too long to find John.

Crowley wasn't using John's vessel anymore.

He found the older man in a bar on the outskirts of town. He was the only customer, because it wasn't even noon yet, and he was sitting on a booth, his arms cradling his face. He seemed very upset and was probably a little drunk, judging by the empty beer bottles beside him.

For a few minutes, Castiel debated with himself if he should go and talk to him. He didn't know what to say or how John would react, especially if he remembered Castiel from the other day. But if John had been awake when Crowley possessed him, as most demonic possession victims were, he must be desperate and scared that it would happen again.

"God, please, help me…" Castiel heard John saying, and all doubt left his mind. He knew he had to help.

He approached Dean's father slowly, and stopped by his side. "Hello," he said softly, not wanting to startle the man.

John moaned and didn't raise his head. "Go away, leave me alone."

Castiel grimaced. "John Winchester," he tried again.

That got John's attention. "How do you know my name?" he asked angrily raising his head. Recognition filled his eyes, then, and he deflated like a balloon. "Oh. You."

"May I sit? I need to talk to you."

"Did Dean send you?" John asked suspiciously.

"Dean doesn't know I'm here. I was looking for you."

John rolled his eyes impatiently. "Listen, pal, you can be my son's friend n'all, but leave me alone, will ya? I'm not in the mood for talking now, and I don't even know ya, so unless you're the waiter an'ya have anotha beer for me, just go."

"I saw your red eyes the other day," Castiel decided for the shock treatment. He could see whom Dean had learned his stubbornness from. "I know what happened to you."

John went very still, looking at Castiel with a thunderstruck expression. "Sit," he said, eyes very wide in his tired face.

Castiel sat in front of him and John studied his face for a moment, cautiously. Then he took a swig of his beer and put it on the table, empty. "Are you a priest? Pastor?"

"Neither. But I know a demon when I see one."

"It happened to you too?"

"No. But I have seen it happening countless times."

"And how can I be sure he… the demon, he didn't send you?"

"You can't. But I swear on God's name that I'm not a demon. I just want to help."

"Why?" John asked suspiciously. "You don't know me."

"I know Dean. I'm his friend. He's in pain because of the fight, and I know it wasn't your fault."

John rubbed his face, as if to wake from a bad dream. "I hoped it was a nightmare. That I had drunk too much. I – I woke up on this park bench and I couldn't tell how I had gotten there."

"Do you remember what happened"?

"I was in Minnesota when he came. Then I was here, calling Mary, stalking Sam and Dean. I was… I was awake most of the time, but sometimes I blacked out while this… this thing inside me walked and talked with my body and I… I just…" John hid his face in his arms again, his shoulders shaking in silent crying.

Castiel gave him a moment. "So you weren't coming back to Lawrence."

"God, no," John raised his head, his face a mask of pain and regret. "You must have heard what Dean said the other day. I c – couldn't come back, after what I did. I was ashamed. I didn't wanna see Mary and the boys again, because there's no excuse for my actions. I was young and stupid, and I cheated on my wife. I t – thought it was better to leave them in peace."

Castiel nodded. He couldn't read John's thoughts, but he could still feel the truth emanating from his words. He was sorry for his mistakes, and now he clearly was in need of someone he could talk to. Castiel would be that person, if only because this was Dean's father.

"I screamed and I begged him to let me go," John went on. "But the more I begged, the more he was pleased to torment me. He made me drive all the way here. I saw the boys," he sighed with a wistful little smile. "They're doing great. Dean always liked cars, so it's not a surprise he restores them. Sam's a lawyer, and Mary's still… still beautiful. I don't wanna mess with their lives again."

"Dean is a good man. He helped his mother raise Sam and paid for his education with his work in the garage. He is a very good mechanic, a specialist in restoring old cars. I feel very fortunate to be his friend."

"You take care of him, okay?" John seemed determined suddenly. "And Sam and Mary. I'm gonna get the hell outta here before that thing comes back."

"If he comes back there is no way to stop him from possessing you. There is a way to prevent that from happening, though."

"What do ya mean? That bastard won't get to me again. Not alive." John's eyes were angry and his hands were fisted over the table.

"You'd have to trust me and do as I say," Castiel looked inside John's eyes, trying to convey the 'I'm an angel of the Lord' look without actually saying it. He couldn't tell John who he was; but that didn't mean he couldn't help the older man.

"Do I have a choice?" John huffed a sigh. "You'n Dean seemed pretty close, walkin' together on the street, smiles n'all. And you know what a demon is. That's good enough for me."

Castiel went to the counter and came back with a pen. He drew a couple of Enochian sigils on a napkin and pushed it on John's direction. "Here. Put this on your skin. A tattoo would be more appropriate and effective. The demon won't be able to possess you if you have these symbols on you."

"How do you… how can I be sure this is not a demonic sign or somethin'?"

"This is the mark of God. Ask a priest if you want. But have this drawn on your skin as soon as possible."

John put the napkin inside his pocket. "As I said, I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

Castiel got up. "You always have a choice, John Winchester. You made the wrong one before, but I believe it's never too late to fix your mistakes if you truly regret them. Goodbye."

"Wait. Did you tell Dean about the demon?"

"He wouldn't believe me." And Castiel left the bar, his steps echoing in the almost empty place.

THEN

Lawrence, Kansas, March, 2013.

The task was a simple one: go to Earth, find Dean Winchester, make him die and bring his soul to Heaven.

But if asked, Castiel wouldn't be able to say why exactly he didn't want to follow that particular order. He had collected a few souls for the Grim Reaper before, and sometimes he did it reluctantly. But he had never failed to collect a soul before. He had never failed to do what was required of him in his whole life.

The whole system in Heaven relied on the angels' obedience(;) otherwise it would be a complete chaos. Someone always gave the orders – an archangel, Death, or even God himself – and the angels obeyed. It had always been like this since the beginning of time. Angels didn't disobey. If they didn't like their orders, either they fell or they conformed to the rules. The only one who had refused to fall was casted out to Hell, and there was nothing angelic in him anymore.

The first time Castiel saw Dean Winchester, he was getting out of his car, laughing at something his brother had said. He was like a beam of bright light with his big smile and relaxed expression; loud and larger than life. And Castiel was the one who would have to stop that smile, to kill that joy and take his soul.

He couldn't do it. He spread his wings and left for Heaven, and if the tip of a wing touched Dean's perfect face, the man thought it was the wind.

And the more Castiel came back to Earth, telling himself that he would take Dean with him, the more he couldn't do the job. Dean's soul was a mixture of kindness and loneliness, and sheer, unabashed love for his family, and it just took Castiel's breath away to see how perfect Dean seemed to be.

He decided to plead for Dean's life. Surely Death would understand that he couldn't kill someone full of life like that.

Death didn't understand. He even laughed at Castiel's face and told him to go back and do as he was told once and for all.

Dean was alone in the garage when Castiel came. He had his back turned to the angel and he was fiddling with what looked like a radio over an old table. The angel raised his hand to send his lethal blow.

Suddenly a loud music started playing and Castiel took a step back, mouth hanging open while Dean started dancing and singing, a wrench in his hand as a microphone.

"You need coolin', baby, I'm not foolin',

I'm gonna send you back to schoolin',

Way down inside honey, you need it,

I'm gonna give you my love,

I'm gonna give you my love.

Wanna Whole Lotta Love

Oooohhhh! "

A burst of laughter exploded from Castiel, so unexpected that he almost let the cloak of his invisibility powers slip and revealed himself to Dean. It was the first time Castiel laughed in his full of obligations and very long life. And he liked how that made him feel. Not that angels were supposed to feel; they weren't, but Castiel didn't want to examine that particular thought.

Not now. Perhaps not ever.

That was the moment the angel Castiel decided he would never, ever, bring Dean's death. He would do everything in his power to make sure Dean stayed very much alive. Spreading his wings and taking one more look at Dean, who was still dancing like mad, Castiel went to meet Death once more.

NOW

Lawrence, Kansas, July 2013

Dean's image remained in Castiel's thoughts the whole day. He decided to go back to the diner walking, so he would have time to think. The diner was very far from the bar where he'd just left John Winchester, but Castiel was an angel, and albeit weak, he was still stronger than the average human; he wouldn't get tired from a mere walk, not even one that long.

He kept his head down, lost in his thoughts about the night before. Especially the kiss. Part of him wanted to go looking for Dean and ask him if he'd really meant to kiss the angel. The other part was afraid of what Dean would say, because he'd been drunk and maybe he didn't remember the kiss. Or worse: maybe Dean remembered and regretted it.

It had been the first kiss of Castiel's life. As an angel, he had watched humans kissing before, but he'd never thought, not even for a second, that he would be kissed one day. Angels didn't kiss each other; they merely clasped hands and, if they were very intimate, really close brothers, they hugged.

But angels didn't kiss.

Angels weren't even supposed to want a kiss. But Castiel was starting to realize that a lot of things angels weren't supposed to do were the exact opposite of what he did. Maybe humanity was really growing on him.

The kiss had been everything Castiel didn't know he wanted. But, boy, did he want it. It had been perfect, because it had come from caring and from genuine emotion, not only physical attraction. Not that Castiel didn't feel attracted to Dean; it was impossible not to, because Dean was perfect, aesthetically speaking. But it was so much more than beauty, this pull he felt towards Dean. It was more than mere friendship, or desire to protect him.

Castiel was almost sure it was love. What else could it be?

Dean was sitting on the sidewalk, by the diner's door, when Castiel arrived home. He had his back resting on the wall and his legs were stretched before him, and he was looking at the sky, like he enjoyed doing so much.

Castiel stopped by the flower shop on the other side of the street. It was a quiet evening, and the street was calm, only a few people passing by, going home from work. Above Dean's head, the diner's sign was off, and it was almost sad to see all the lights out, the windows dark and looking abandoned.

The angel's human heart started beating fast; he wanted to cross the street, but his legs didn't want to cooperate. What if Dean told him to forget everything? How hard it would be to keep being Dean's friend, to look at him every day and know he would never kiss him again and –

Dean lowered his head, as if sensing Castiel's presence, and he got up fast, his eyes widening. "Cas…"

Castiel's legs started to move almost without him realizing it, and he finally crossed the street, stopping in front of the man. "Hello, Dean," he said, trying his hardest to hide the trembling in his voice.

Dean gave him a soft smile. "This was the first thing you ever said to me."

"I remember."

"I thought you were a wacko, then. All formal and speaking like you'd swallowed a dictionary."

"Do you still think that? Because I am sure I still speak like that."

"Yes," Dean said, fondly. "You do. But I don't think you're nuts anymore. This is just another thing that makes you… you."

They looked at each other, Castiel's cheeks burning at Dean's words. "Do…Um… do you want to come inside?"

Dean looked flustered, his cheeks reddening too. "Sure," he said, barely keeping his cool exterior.

Castiel walked to the alley beside the diner, and unlocked the back door. He got inside, turning on the lights on his way to the kitchen, Dean right behind him. "Um… do you want to sit at a table?"

Dean looked around, sitting on a stool near the kitchen counter. "Nah. Here is good."

Castiel sat on another stool, facing Dean. There were so many things he wanted to say, to ask, but none of them found its way to his mouth now.

"I looked for you," Dean said, looking at Castiel expectantly.

"I went for a walk."

"Dude, since morning?" Dean frowned, like he didn't believe Castiel. "I came here three times looking for you, man. No one answered. Were you avoiding me?"

Castiel eagerly shook his head no. "I wasn't!" he hurried to say. "I would never avoid you!"

Dean didn't look convinced. "It sure looked like you were, Cas."

The angel tilted his head to one side. "Why would I avoid you?"

Dean took a deep breath and ran a hand through his short hair. "Man, I gotta ask, because if I don't, I'll just explode. Did I… Did we…"

"You can ask me anything, Dean."

"I'm trying here, man!" Dean got up from the stool and started pacing the kitchen. "Did we… um… I think I drank a little too much last night and I… Um… I don't know how to say this, man."

Castiel's head was still tilted to his right and, at Dean's reluctance to speak, he started to fear the worse: Dean wanted to tell him to forget the kiss. He would have to pretend he didn't care, of course, to keep something akin to dignity.

Dean threw his hands to the air, looking exasperated with himself. "Okay, here it goes." He stopped in front of Castiel, but not too close. "Did we kiss last night? Because man, I'm almost sure I remember kissing you. It could have been another dream, but… n – not that I dream of you every night, I mean, I don't, only some nights, b – but it's not in a creepy way and – "

"We did," Castiel interrupter Dean's avalanche of words. "We did kiss last night."

"We did?" Dean almost squealed, a mixture of relief and horror on his face. "That's, um… that's great! I mean, unless you think it was too much and, I swear I will leave you alone, I don't know what – "

"Dean, you're babbling."

The man looked at his shoes, his shoulders shaking in a small, self-deprecating laugh. "Yeah. I am."

"We did kiss last night," Castiel repeated. "I thought you wouldn't remember, because all of the beer you'd consumed before the kiss."

"I… Um… I hoped it was true. But I… I mean, if you're not into guys I'll back off, Cas, I swear."

Hope blossomed in Castiel's chest. "I'm utterly indifferent to sexual orientation."

"You are?" Dean asked, a slow smile starting on his face.

"Yes."

"Does it mean you, uh… you wanted it to be true?"

"It was true, Dean."

Dean lost his patience. "Dude, I'm trying to tell you that I enjoyed kissing you without looking like a creepy guy who gets drunk and kisses everyone, because I'm not like that! Will you let me finish?" he suddenly widened his eyes. "Oops."

Castiel could feel his own eyes widening too. "You enjoy kissing me," he repeated, like a parrot, like all coherent thought had just fled his mind.

"Yep," Dean's slow, beautiful smile was starting again, and Castiel would give everything to see him always like that, confident and happy.

"You don't regret it?" Castiel asked, just to be sure he wasn't misunderstanding the whole thing.

"Not one bit."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Could…" Castiel got up from the stool and stopped right in front of Dean, 4, 5, 6 centimeters from his nose, to be precise. "Could you kiss me again?"

"Hell yes." And Dean's hands were on the sides of Castiel's face, and he was kissing him again, all soft lips and warm breath. This kiss was different from the first; there was heat in this one, so much that Castiel's hands, already curled on the back of Dean's neck, were starting to sweat.

Dean kissed him again, and again, and again. And each kiss was different from the previous one, and maybe Castiel should buy a notebook and categorize and describe all of them? Surely there couldn't be so many kinds of kisses like that. Perhaps Dean had some kind of power unknown to mankind, – angelkind, in this case – because each kiss made Castiel feel, and it was glorious, wonderful, perfect. He wanted to keep kissing Dean forever.

They let each other go after some time, but kept holding each other close. "Does it mean I get to kiss you whenever I want?"

"I don't think it will be appropriate if we kiss in the diner, in the middle of my shift, Dean."

"Very funny, Cas. What I mean is, do we get to do this again?"

Castiel nodded eagerly. "Please, I would like it very much."

Dean kissed him again, their bodies close, legs almost intertwined. "I don't wanna hide this, Cas. I'm not the hiding kind."

"Neither am I," Castiel said, caressing Dean's hair like he'd done the previous night.

Dean closed his eyes. "Mmmm… I love when you do that. Hey, how come I woke up in my own bed this morning?"

"I – I took a taxi with you. Took you home and put you to sleep."

"Man, I don't remember any of it," Dean smirked. "You must have magical powers, then, because you didn't wake Mom or Sam."

Castiel shrugged, looking at his shoes. "I tried to be quiet."

"That you were. Hey, you hungry?" Dean was all smiles again, and he didn't wait for Castiel's answer. "C'mon, Mom made pasta with pepperoni yesterday and I bet there's still some in the fridge." He took Castiel by the hand and together, they walked to Dean's home.

And all the way, Castiel knew he had lied. There was no taxi; he had simply flown carrying Dean, from the garage right to his bedroom, and had left as silently as he's come. That was the reason he'd felt so tired today. His batteries were low, so to speak.

There was a weight in his chest that almost spoiled the happiness Castiel was feeling now. He couldn't tell Dean the truth. Who would believe Castiel was an angel? Who would believe there was a demon after Dean, and that he was breaking the Ten Commandments, walking without knowing, to his death?

Castiel couldn't tell the truth; Death had promised eternal suffering to Dean if Castiel told him anything. But Castiel could protect Dean, keep Crowley away from him, could be the best boyfriend in the world and try to make up for all the things about himself that Dean would never know.

He only hoped these secrets wouldn't come back to torment him one day.