This place has begun to cover me
I recall the light but the dark smothers me
The music blared through the tiny headphone speakers as he trekked into the torrential darkness. The only light illuminating the lesser town was from the iPod he held firmly in his hands. Though the object was foreign, he somehow felt one with the device. The music correlated with his current predicament, and he paced one foot after the other, synchronizing himself with the song. He swallowed his pride and climbed aboard the public means of transportation. He took a seat near the back, concealing himself from the world. Direct confrontation was officially his last resort. He shifted his eyes to the passenger window and reluctantly began replaying the motions in his head.
"You're better than this, Cass, you're better than them."
"Dean, I've always been one of them. The havoc I raise, every soul, every drop of blood, that's on my hands. I am no better." Dean let out an exasperated sigh, growing flustered with his doubts.
You don't know how it feels to be misunderstood
To reach for the sky
I thought you never would
Dean didn't understand; Cass was a warrior, a spawn of God. God was that of a righteous celestial being and expected each of his followers to obey under his word. Dean, however, did not abide by any laws. Dean abides by his own reckless principles. If he wanted Cass, he expected him to show in the requisite that it was his fair duty. Cass just couldn't do that anymore. He had obligations to heaven, none of which involved Dean.
"Dean, you have to understand my commitments—"
"No," Dean cut in bitterly, swinging around and pointing a finger on his chest, "You have to understand my commitments. You and Sam are my commitments." The conversation ran in a complete spiral. He decided to set the spiral straight.
"It's been a pleasure serving you, Dean."
But I'm bleeding, and my hands are bruised
From the grip that I once had on you
There was once a time when he had some influence over Dean's decisions, a time when Dean wasn't as resistant to him. Even though he doubted the existence of a higher power, he found some sort of refuge in Cass and knew in his heart he was different from the rest. And though he subjected to believing, his state of mind was still set on the notion that Cass was his savior.
"You betrayed your trust, Cass." He paused, letting the words rattle into Cass's cranium. He turned his back to him sorrowfully, avoiding Dean's face as he said, "But I need you. I love you, and I need you."
And I'm open for a new way
Because there's not much more that I can fake
Perhaps if he was his savior he would have walked with him through the unbearable dangers of the world, including those unseen, hidden beneath the earth. Or perhaps if he had gripped him tight and raised him from perdition, he would show more empathy toward him. Perhaps if He had commanded Castiel raise a righteous man from the pits, he wouldn't necessarily be rebelling against Heaven. Maybe, conceivably, it was his job to watch over Dean, to guard him with his own life; yet how many times had Dean sacrificed his own? And he wanted more of him?
Cass' eyes widened with sudden realization. He raked his hand over his mouth worriedly. How could he have been so selfish?
"Halt!" he yelled, darting from his seat, sending his headphones nearly flying from his ears. Everyone turned to stare at the man with the battered trench coat. The driver slammed on the breaks, the bus slowing to abrupt stop. Cass trampled up the aisle, occasionally bumping shoulders and quickly apologizing for his inconsiderate actions. "God bless you," he said kindly to the driver. He only turned his head and continued towing along after Cass exited the vehicle. Though Cass wasn't too sure about God, he was certain of one thing: Dean Winchester.
Dean was sleeping soundly when a knock came from the front door. He tossed underneath his sheets, turning on his side and pounding his pillow over his head. "Sam!" he grunted. No answer. He was probably too engrossed in his studies to hear him hissing his name. After a few minutes of clearly no response, he pushed the covers aside roughly and muttered something about technology dependency.
He made sure he grabbed the glock under his pillow before heading downstairs to open the door. He opened it warily, as if anticipating a demon; though the creature before him was no demon.
It was an angel of the Lord.
"C-Cass-?" he stammered, struggling to wrap his mind around the fact that he stood before him. He squinted as if it would help perceive Cass clearer in the pitch black darkness. He looked like the same old Cass, minus being dripping wet from head to toe. Cass only glanced down and up again.
"I'm wet," he said indifferently. Dean couldn't conceal his smirk. He ran a lethargic hand through his hair.
"Come here you filthy angel," he laughed, outstretching his arms. Cass didn't falter stepping forward and falling into Dean's torso. Dean absentmindedly ran his hand through his damp, curly hair and nudged him inside. He pulled Cass back suddenly, his façade vexed. "Jesus, I hope that's a roll of quarters." Cass rummaged his hands through the coat pocket, retrieving the iPod from earlier. "Is that mine?"
Cass nodded. "I enjoy your music." Dean tossed him an incredulous look and snatched the device from his fingers. "If you steal my stuff again..." Dean trailed off, unable to finish with Cass's submissive glare on him. He choked back his own words. He was just glad to have Cass home again where he belonged.
The iPod remained paused on the last verse of the song as Dean lay back in bed. He ran his fingers across the screen a few seconds before pressing play.
It's almost seeing your soul for the first time
And watching the mirror, show your life in rewind
Capture the ridicule of everyone
I'm tired of trying, and they wonder why I'm gone
Dean smiled. Smiled at the recent turn of events, at the song, at the rainy night, at the dark clouds above, and most importantly at Cass; because he knew as long as he had his radiating savior by his side, there was no such thing as a dark night.