Chapter 21: Broken

Castiel sits with his head in his hands, trying to stop the tears from coming. For once, he is glad that he had the sense to grab a coat on his way out the door. He had left quickly, choosing to ignore what he heard Dean say. Without a word, he had left the bunker, careful to avoid the confused glare he was sure Sam was giving him. Maybe he hadn't realized, but he had been yelling at Dean…so much for keeping control of his emotions.

Now, the cold air bites at his nose and his fingertips. His ears are cold, and Castiel can only pull his collar up and tug his jacket tighter around him. His right hand is still clenching the vial of his grace, holding it tight. He isn't sure what to do with it right now. On one hand, he could do what Anna had done, that day so many years ago.

For the first time in a long time, his mind wanders to her, to her story. How she had been so eager to help him, to push him into rebelling. He hadn't been kind to her, he knows that now, and he knew it then. He was different, he was changing but he was still so far from where he is now. He says her name out loud, wishing she was here now, to tell him what to do once again. He thinks about why she fell, why she tore out her own grace, and why it was her choice.

The choice she made had seemed insane, when it happened. Castiel could not fathom why she had done it. He had mourned her; the loss of her as a sister, and what she represented for him. His mind travels back to a moment, one that burns him now in the pit of his stomach, as he had watched her kiss Dean. He has kept that memory at bay for some time now, but the image fills his mind and he can taste blood in his mouth from biting his cheeks. He doesn't want to fill pain at the thought of someone else with Dean. In fact, he doesn't want to be thinking of Dean at all right now.

That's the problem though isn't it; he thinks as he hangs his head lower, twisting his fingers through his hair in frustration. He doesn't want to think of Dean, how he lied to him and kept something, kept this from him. The worst part is, he can't even begin to think of what to do about it all unless he thinks about Dean, and so it is a vicious cycle.

The moment his mind thinks of Dean, he thinks of how he is wearing Dean's shirt, and the freckles on Dean's nose, and the mouthwash he used that was Dean's. Every bit of him is entangled with Dean, and even now, the words fall gently from his lips…Dean.

Castiel squeezes his eyes shut, feeling the rawness of his tears leaving the wind to chill his cheeks. He doesn't want to think of what to do, but he has to. He can't fathom going back to the bunker, to pretending that everything is alright. Part of him is so mad at Dean, that he wants to hurt Dean; spit lies in his face, tell him how he doesn't matter to him anymore. He wants Dean to feel hurt too, but then his heart softens and he hates himself for even thinking that. Part of him wants to embrace Dean, tell him it doesn't matter at all because he'd finally found somewhere he belonged and that the road there didn't matter to him.

But it did. It does matter.

Castiel spends the night on that park bench, wrapping his mind around his predicament. His hands are numb as he finally tucks away the vial inside of his coat pocket. He still doesn't know what to do with it. He hadn't thought the decision would be this hard, because as much as he wanted to have a choice…the reality of it stung like the bitter cold. He has a chance to see his family again, to be what he was, full of power and purpose. There is little doubt in his mind though, what that choice would mean for his new-found family…what it would mean for the Winchesters….for Dean.

Castiel is laying on his back now, one hand over his eyes to shield them as the sun comes up. His coat lays over him, as he tries to keep his body warm. He closes his eyes for a moment, allowing the suns warmth to cover him, reminding him of what it felt like to fly. He breathes out, slowly, trying to keep himself calm, as he has been doing all night.

A rustling nearby startles him, and he sits up abruptly, his coat falling to the ground. He doesn't need to look past the shoes, to know who it is.

"Cas."

His voice comes out small, reserved, and very unlike Dean. Castiel fights his previous feelings to hurl insults at Dean, so he says nothing, but he stands slowly. Dean takes several steps forwards but stops himself from reaching out.

"I was so worried, Cas. I drove around and I just…I don't know what to say. I'm just glad you're safe."

Castiel looks up slowly, ignoring the pull he feels in his bones that is pulling him to fall into Dean's arms. He ignores the fact that Dean is in the same clothing he was wearing last night; the faded jeans that Castiel loves and a dark red button-down shirt over a black undershirt. He ignores that the red in Dean's shirt brings out the green in his eyes or that they are extremely red-rimmed and tired. Castiel presumes that his eyes look similar.

"I don't know what to tell you, Dean," he finally says, taking extra time to ensure that his words come out clear and devoid of emotion. Particularly when it feels like a tornado is tearing through his insides each time his eyes meet Dean's, and he is trying not to be pulled in every direction at once.

"Cas, tell me you'll come home, that we can sort this out."

"I don't think that is possible."

"What do you mean, you don't think it's possible?!" Dean says, losing the softness to his voice. He steps closer to Castiel, so close that Castiel can see the gold specks in his green eyes and the freckles across his nose. Castiel tries to ignore these things, the familiarities that cut him too close to his heart. He needs to be impassive, because he can't stand to look at Dean without feeling a knife twisting in his stomach, and he can't look at Dean without wanting to succumb to every desire; to kiss, to hold, to forgive.

"I don't think…I know that I can't go back to the way things were. Not now." Castiel makes the effort to not say it, to not say his name; the name the falls from his lips like familiar silk. He can't say it now, because he's afraid he will break. He hadn't realized his decision until he saw Dean, and then he knew. He knew his choice.

"So what, man? You're gonna angel-up, leave us? Leave me?"

"I don't know…I…I just know that I can't stay here."

"So then this isn't about the angel thing? Because you're losing me here, Cas. I get it, if you want to angel-up and go back to heaven. It sucks, but I get it because I know. You told me it before man, being an angel is belonging to a much better club and all. Humanity sucks," he spits out bitterly.

"Dean". Dammit.

"No, Cas. Don't. Do you remember what I told you, years ago? When you had fucked up so bad, and refused to help us, to help me. Broken or not, I told you I'd rather have you!"

"Of course I remember. I know…but things are different. Things are different between us," Castiel says softly, bracing himself for what comes next. It is one of two things; both of which are sure to break his heart.

"Don't make me say it, man. Come on. Not now, not here," Dean says, his voice deep and husky, which Castiel isn't sure if he is meaning to sound threatening or seductive. Castiel can't think about that, not now.

"I don't want you to say anything."

"No, Cas, you do. Because you obviously need to hear it before you'll come home and try to make things right".

"Dean, please," Castiel says, barely a whisper now, as he tries to steady himself. He knows it; he doesn't need Dean to say it. It will only break his heart to hear it; make it that much more impossible to leave.

"I need you, Cas, ok? Angel or human, or whatever. I don't care as long as it is you."

"Stop,"

"No, Cas. I won't, because dammit, I love you, ok?"

Which is how Castiel finds himself with his lips pressed to Dean's, his eyes squeezed tight and his fists wrapped around the lapels of Dean's jacket. He doesn't want to hear the words; he wanted to stop them from being said entirely. Despite all of his own attempts at holding back, he had failed. He knows what this will do to Dean, but he can't help but selfishly run his lips over Dean's, just one more time. Dean is obviously surprised but Castiel steps away before Dean has a chance to wrap his arms around Castiel.

"I made a choice, Dean," he says, not daring to bring his eyes up from the ground. He can't even see through the tears in his eyes, but he knows that he can't give this bit of hope to Dean.

"And it's not me, is it, Cas?"

Castiel shakes his head slowly, his fingers grasping tightly at the sides of his jeans. He still doesn't bring his eyes up as he watches Dean's shoes get further and further away until they disappear. Castiel isn't sure who is more broken right now, as he sinks to his knees and presses his palms into the cool earth and lets his tears fall. He chokes back the words he wants to scream into the heavens. He can't forgive Dean right now, not for this. He wants to tell Dean that he can't forgive him, can't be with him. That it would kill him to be with him and not with him.

It isn't fair, and he knows that what he did is cruel, but he can't see an alternative. He still has no idea if he wants to remain a human. It seems to fit him well, he thinks bitterly, particularly the broken part; the flawed portion. Castiel has never felt so alone, not in his millennia of life. As if heaven itself looks down on him, it begins to rain, and he chokes out a bitter sob as his fingers curl around the red and yellow leaves beneath him.

His eyes look towards the heavens, and for the first time in a long time, Castiel prays.