A/N: Hi, guys! I'm sorry for the pause. Me and my friend moved from one flat to another, and it was crazy. Totally worth it though! Anywho, here's the new chapter for you 3

- Castiel -

Humans were... confusing.

Humanity is such a complex cluster of chaotic emotions; moments experienced in such a short time span rationed out to everyone by Father, sometimes fairly, sometimes not. It seemed almost futile—it always had to Castiel—to fight against the time and to try wedging as many memories as one was able to into a single day. Why try so hard when your life is as fleeting as the leaf's fall off a tree? When nothing would be left and when the true Paradise awaited you at Heaven's door after your fragile vessel turned to dust?

Pointless.

But that was before he met the Winchester boys. Before he met Dean.

Dean was unique in a way Castiel didn't understand. From the very first moment he saw the battered yet still incredibly bright soul in the deepest bowels of Hell. When he touched it and it eagerly reached to him with trust, and they rose up, up, up.

There was... something. A connection Castiel wasn't able to explain.

Dean made him question and think for himself, and Dean made him rebel against the set rules. Dean made him feel.

And suddenly, human life didn't feel so negligible anymore. The time on earth started to flow slowly. Every second felt important.

Castiel had known that what he felt for Dean was different than the gratitude he'd felt for Daphne, his guide and helper after he'd found himself as a human healer Emmanuel. He also knew, theoretically, that people loved. People craved. But angels weren't created for desire, and he'd never understood what it really was to fall in love.

So he wasn't able to put a name on that pull that was urging him toward Dean. When the butterfly caged inside his chest would start fluttering around in heat and urgency every time Dean was around, he'd been so foolish not to realize what it was trying to tell him. He hadn't realized the answer was so simple. That it was how love felt. Love for the one human being, amongst billions of others but who mattered the most, would always matter the most.

Across the years to follow, across the centuries, Castiel would always carry with himself this love. Love for Dean Winchester.

It was funny, really. How blind he'd been. He'd watched Dean interact with women. But they seemed all alike. It was a constant that Dean would flirt with them, touch them. Castiel had noticed the interested looks men occasionally gave Dean, but the human would never return them. He would seem out of his depths so Castiel had never entertained the idea. It had never occurred to him.

Then Dean's memories happened, and small smiles turned into horror and rage. Castiel's fluttering butterfly seared to life like a fever, ready to burn. He could have kill Dean, he realized afterwards. When he'd lost control in that memory. But the single thought of hurting his human had saved them all. Dean had saved them from Castiel yet again. It was quite extraordinary that he didn't even need to be present to do so.

Castiel would have never guessed that love could be this soul-consuming, head-spinning and sometimes so painful it felt like he could die, burn, and disperse into ash.

He watched as Jeremy slid Dean's hand into his, whispered sweet words in his ear.

Tilting his head and feeling his vessel's eyebrows furrow, Castiel thought that this was it. This was what he felt for Dean, the same as Jeremy did. He could see the exact devotion in Jeremy's eyes like a mirror.

"Cas," Sam said, when the sweet memory rolled into a new darker one, "do it, please."

Do it. Castiel understood the urgency. And the painfully looking clench of Sam's fists. Because in this memory, young Sam was telling Dean under the soft glow of a table lamp that he'd applied for college, and, "Don't tell dad yet, please, he wouldn't understand. You do though, right?"

Dean nodded with a tight smile. Then he went out and picked a fight. He drank, he took some drugs and he drove what had to be quite a distance, because when Jeremy opened the door in the next memory, daylight shined into his squinting eyes. He looked surprised.

"What? Not happy to see me?"

Jeremy sighed. "I'm always happy to see you. But remember last time? You told me to fuck off."

"You told me to leave my family."

"I told you to find a job."

"I have a job," Dean snapped.

Chuckling bitterly, Jeremy looked up as if praying to God for a dose of patience. He then grabbed Dean by his wrist with one hand to keep him in place, using the other to tilt his head into the light and finding his pupils dilated and glazed over. "You're fucking high. We're not doing this now."

"Why not? I can think pretty clearly."

"No, you really can't."

Dean cocked his head, licked his lips slowly. He leaned closer to Jeremy, and Castiel felt his butterfly flare with excitement at this single act.

"... Maybe we can do something that doesn't require much... thinking."

"Dean..."

"No, come on. You think too much."

Jeremy exhaled when Dean started planting open-mouthed kisses on his lips. "Dean... Dean, wait. Dean." When he managed to get his arms free and pushed, Dean stumbled backwards.

"What's your goddamn problem?"

Jeremy rubbed a hand over his face. "My problem? My fucking problem is we always end up doing this! We ignore the obvious issues, Dean. You ignore them!"

Dean threw out his arms in frustration. "Fine. Okay, I get it. You don't want me here. I get it." He turned around to leave but Jeremy was quicker, and he shoved him up against the building's wall, hands gripping Dean's collar.

"That's not fucking true. Don't ever say that."

"It's the truth, though," Dean told him, staring up into Jeremy's eyes, daring him to say otherwise. "You always want more, ask for things. Isn't this enough?" He smiled then, a soft smile, and ran his hand up Jeremy's bicep. "I like what we have, ya know."

Jeremy released the grip he had on Dean's shirt and threaded his fingers instead through Dean's spiky hair. Bringing their foreheads together, he took a shuddering breath. "Me too."

Dean nuzzled his cheek with a nose. "So what's the problem? I'm not enough for you?"

"Of course you are. But it's—I—we can't keep doing this forever."

"Forever is a long time."

"Dean—" Jeremy's voice wavered unsteadily, stopping him from saying more.

"No, shh... C'mon." Dean kissed his lips. "Stop thinking." Another kiss. Then another. "It's just me and you here... We don't have to deal with anything else for now, hm? We can enjoy what we have."

Jeremy nodded jerkily and let Dean take his hand to place it on his body. Jeremy's fingers twitched as he squeezed Dean's hip. Despite the nod, he still seemed to be struggling with himself.

"Hey," Dean murmured gently, noticing Jeremy's resolve crumpling. "I've got cuffs in the trunk if you want."

A small shudder ran up Jeremy's body. He exhaled loudly. "You don't like it."

"But you do," Dean said. "And I like it when you like it, so it's fine."

It was wrong, Castiel thought. From what he'd seen while observing human pairs and from what he felt was right, he knew love shouldn't work like that.

But the hand on Dean's hip started up, under the shirt's plaid material. "Yeah... okay." With some humans, it apparently worked. Castiel felt disappointed in Jeremy.

"Your safe word," Jeremy said.

Dean nipped at the boy's ear playfully, smirking when Jeremy gripped him tighter in response. "You know what it is."

Jeremy sighed, extracting himself from Dean and putting his hands on Dean's cheeks to make him focus and look into his eyes. "I want you to say it."

Dean blinked before a lazy smirk stretched his lips.

"Taylor," he said.

Castiel closed his eyes and called for his Dean. Enough with the distractions. He wasn't able to help this Dean. What happened had already happened, and however horrible it was, it had forged the Dean they knew and loved. There was nothing to do here.

But his Dean, his real Dean. He needed Castiel's help. And from now on, Castiel would do everything to his best abilities to deliver that help, and forever be there for him.

Calling for Dean was like tugging at a connection settled deep inside his core. Now that he knew its origins (what it was and what it meant; what it was made of) it was easy to focus on the delicate threads woven from careful touches and warm smiles. It was easy to caress and send whispers along the wings as they came to life.

- Dean -

He's throwing a plate against the wall, watches as it cracks and falls to pieces. It's broken. Just like him. It's broken and will never be fixed and Jeremy just stands there and looks at him with sad eyes. Jeremy wants to move in somewhere with him. Find an apartment. Or a house. He wants a normal job and sweet, sweet neighbors. He wants garden parties and a white fucking picket fence. Jeremy doesn't want just him, because apparently it's not enough. He doesn't want to have what they have. Jeremy wants more. But he will never be able to get it.

Dean doesn't understand him.

He doesn't understand Jeremy and he doesn't understand Sam. Because Sam is leaving him. Dean isn't enough for him. He's never been, but that's okay. The kid has an amazing future ahead of him. Dean will never be part of that. He's too far gone. He's living in the shadows of people around him. And when they leave, the light goes with them and the darkness erases all borders. There are no shadows to hide in anymore.

He's alone, again, and it's dark, only a few hours after Sam got behind the driver's wheel to abandon his family with harsh and spiteful words as a farewell. He looked at Dean like he wanted to say something. But he didn't. He turned his back on him and climbed into the car.

Dad looks at Dean and opens his mouth. But he closes it again, doesn't say anything. No one ever says anything to him. They all just turn away and leave. Dad does that too—goes to a bar. Maybe he'll come back tomorrow, and maybe he won't. Why would he?

Dean hates this world. The people. Monsters he gets. They're bound to be vile. They can't help it, they were born that way.

It's the people who are evil, and Dean can't comprehend that. It should be the monsters that give him nightmares. But it's the people who make him want to outstretch his arms and try to fly off a bridge.

There's this... pull, which tugs him down. There's that... itch, which needs to be scratched.

He tries to drown in alcohol, just like his dad is doing somewhere right now (somewhere else far away from Dean). It doesn't help. He thinks about Jeremy but they argued the last time. Dean thinks Jeremy doesn't want to have anything do with him anymore. And Dean isn't blaming him. He wouldn't want to, either, if he were Jeremy.

"I hate you!" Sammy had shouted at dad, but it was probably aimed at Dean too.

"If you leave now, don't you ever come back."

And why should Sammy be bothered by that, Dean wanted to ask dad. They were holding him down. He's free now. He's free to fly just like Dean will never be able to.

"Come play with me. I won't bite," a guy says to him. It's meant to be playful, harmless, just for fun because the guy's drunk. But it still irritates Dean and he tells him to fuck off. He takes his jacket and gets out of the place, spiting, "Fucking asshole."

The night is cold. Dark. He remembers this one vividly, like it happened yesterday. Every time he wakes, he remembers this night. The night Sammy left. And the last words Jeremy ever spoke to him. This night is the end, but at the same time, it feels like the beginning.

He settles down and watches, with the easiness of an unbiased spectator.

He sees himself taking out the gun, the one which dad entrusted him for protection. And he's using it to protect himself from more pain. It hurts. So much. But maybe it won't anymore. Maybe, after one little click... Quick. Fast. The hurt will be gone. Just like him.

But it doesn't work and nothing happens. Of course nothing happens. The dull click, echoing in the silent night, tells him he's meant to live in the pain. He can't take a break. He's obviously not allowed to give up on himself like everyone else around him does. Not allowed to escape. Because that would be too easy, right?

Too fucking easy for Dean Winchester.

Too merciful.

The desperation is like a physical pain. It makes him want to try one last time. And he does that. He finds his cell phone, makes his last call for help. Jeremy picks up and they talk. He tells Dean to come over.

It will be the last time, Dean somehow knows that even when he's stepping over the threshold. He runs his fingertips over the walls, savors the dry feel underneath the tips. He wants to cry when Jeremy pins him to the bed. It won't mean anything because Dean can't give him what Jeremy wants.

It's desperate and it hurts. But that's alright. It doesn't hurt as much as the thought of what's coming after. Or rather, what isn't.

Jeremy asks him again. He's more persistent than most, Dean will give him that. But he wants too much. And Dean has to think about his dad (if he ever comes back, because his phone is turned off, he still hasn't called Dean, and it's been two days since he left). But even if Dean is to stay alone, he won't be able to give him the normalcy Jeremy craves. He doesn't know how to. He's not sure he will ever be able to.

You can't learn to be someone you're not.

So Dean says no (again, but for the last time), and he doesn't cry when Jeremy nods. He doesn't cry when Jeremy turns his back to him.

He does cry when Jeremy tells him to keep on living.

Because that's just not fair.

- Sam -

Sam followed after Dean when Jeremy told him to live. His brother exited the house without looking back. He found the first empty street, huddled against the wall on the cold ground, and cried and cried and cried. Sam wasn't able to tell if he liked or hated Jeremy. The boy saved Dean so many times. He was the reason Dean kept on going even after Sam had left for Stanford. And his only crime was wanting to have something more with Dean.

But Sam hated that Jeremy left in the end, and that he hadn't been able to persuade Dean. Because he really didn't understand Dean. Not when it counted.

But hadn't they all? Sam had seen everything now. They'd gone from the very first memory to the beginning, took the journey and then came back, to the end. Now he realized that none of them had known the real Dean before.

"Cas, did you—did you make the... connection?"

He turned around when he got no response. "Cas?"

The angel stood still, eyes closed, breathing deep and regular. His coat fluttered in the night's cool breeze. Too real. It was all too real.

"Do you think he's made it?" Sam asked Benny, because there was no one else.

"He better. We were doin' nothing for far too long."

"We got distracted."

Benny sighed. He looked at the memory Dean crying himself to exhaustion. "That we did."

- Dean -

'Dean.'

It's cold. He's floating, desperately trying to get a hold of something to cling on. No, he's not floating. He's drowning and his fingers slip through the saltiness of his own tears without reaching a lifeline. Alone. He's alone. Why fight it?

'Can you hear me?'

Strays of fragile warmth tickles along the line of his struggling form, starting from down and going up, up and up and around, as if to embrace him. It feels familiar. He knows this warmth. Somehow, from somewhere. It evokes safety but also the feeling of a betrayal. The lust burning like a scorch but also the pain and coldness.

He snuggles into the warmth like in a fluffy blanket.

'Dean.'

The blanket tickles him softly. It's calling to him, whispering his name (just his name, like a prayer). It's tugging at his strings, urging him to listen. And he wants to, but he's not sure if he should.

'Dean, come to me.'

Like it's that easy.

It isn't.

I don't want to, he thinks. He wants to stay here, enveloped in the warmth. Asking to go back of him is unfair.

'I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. I didn't know...'

Didn't know what? Shouldn't the voice know everything? Have answers to everything? He's sure, somehow, that in some day, in some time, he thought the voice knew everything.

'Do you trust me?'

He should say no. No, he doesn't. It's impossible to trust anyone. He should trust only himself and no one else. People leave, people always break their promises.

Humans are evil.

But the voice... it (not it… him, it's him) isn't human. The voice, he's something purer. And Dean trusts him, even if he doesn't want to, even if he's been hurt by the voice as well. In the dark place of a forest, he was left alone by him, for days, then for months.

He shouldn't trust him. But he does. Somehow he still does. After everything.

So he says, 'Yes.' In the end, it isn't even hard to utter the word, not even a bit. It's stating a fact, a simple truth the voice already knew anyway.

'Thank you, Dean,' the voice replies, like it means a great deal to him.

It certainly means a lot to Dean. 'What should I do?' he asks.

'Do what I tell you. Don't panic or fear. Don't think. Only follow my voice. Can you do that for me?'

He thinks about it. Can he do it? Blindly follow orders? Sammy would say yes, he thinks of Dean like that, daddy's ever obedient little soldier. But Dean isn't so sure. He's never been obedient. He was just scared of stepping out of the line. He had to be good for dad because nothing and no one else in dad's life was there for him otherwise. Dean knew how that could hurt, and he didn't want his dad to know the same pain. He wanted to give him at least this one good thing. He wanted to get at least one thing right.

And for a moment there, he thought he did. But then dad exchanged his soul for Dean. What a waste, really. Dean was trying to save dad and in the very end, dad saved him. And he shouldn't. He really, really shouldn't.

'Dean, stop.'

Stop what? What is there to stop?

'Stop doing this. Just, please, follow me.'

The low, velvety voice. Kind, so kind, and pulling him closer. It's impossible not to follow.

So he says, "Okay."

And the voice replies, 'It will be alright, I promise.'

Dean isn't able to explain why but he believes him.

Then the voice says, 'Wake up.'

And Dean does.

Tell me how you like it. See you the next week!