I'm back Cas. Sorry I dropped you last night, Sam-well, he scared the shit out of me. I thought we we're past this, you know? I thought he was getting better. I guess he's been acting better than he felt cause he doesn't want to let me down or whatever. Hell, he's a Winchester. Martyrs through and through.

I got his fevere fever back down to 101, so at least he's not cookin'. Tell uh…tell your angel buddy thanks. I know I haven't had a lot nice to syasay, but…her little doodle helped Sam a lot and I'm grateful. …Yeah. You too. You helped too. I saw what Kevin wrote, and don't worry about that. He was just upset. We're all a little tense over here.

Sorry I'm not my usual chipper self. Ha. Sorry for the handwriting too, not like I'm much better on your averrage average day. This is my "Writing with a concussion while attempting to hold a bag of frozen asparagus to my throbbing skill skull" leverl level of conversation.

I'm gonna go lielaylie hit the couch for a couple, I think. 'Night Casss.

Dean

Hello Dean,

Concussion? As far as I know, a concussion can be quite serious. I'm not sure if frozen asparagus is the best treatment for that. I'm positive the blood loss from drawing the sigil didn't help matters. Please promise me that you're taking care of yourself as well as Sam.

I'm glad to hear that Sam is feeling somewhat better. Ambriel appreciates your thanks. As do I, though I wish I could have done more.

I'm beginning to wonder if more can be done for Sam. Ambriel tells me that before the angels fell from heaven, rumors of "the boy with demon blood" began circulating for the first time since the apocalypse was averted. How they could feel him purifying. I don't know if it means anything, but I will keep searching for a cure.

We are headed north to our next batch of coordinates. Let me know how Sam is doing. Tell Kevin I'm sorry about my hesitation. Please take care of yourself.

…

"If you grip that pen any harder, you're going to snap it in half." Ambriel said, rolling her eyes in her new signature way, "Though I suppose without your grace that would prove to be difficult."

Cas glared sideways at her. "Your opinion has been noted, and ignored."

They had finally made it to Olean, New York. A small town supported by a large Franciscan University, Ambriel swore she could sense a large amount of angel energies coming from here, even though it was almost a hundred miles east of the closest Men of Letters coordinates. Not a Starbucks in sight here, instead they were parked on a street bench to rest before they continued their search.

And so Cas could write to Dean, if he was being honest.

To his dismay, Ambriel kept speaking. "You and your human spend a lot of time writing to each other, yet you never seem to say anything."

"Dean and I are communicating to exchange news. From one hunter to another. Our writing is practical." Castiel spat back. Something nagged at him in the back of his head, however, softly saying She's right.

If he was being honest with himself, Castiel had hoped that writing to each other would put him and Dean back on track. Back to talking and confiding in each other before he had ruined everything.

So far the closest they had come to being honest was in the form of drunkenness or hastily crossed out half-sentences. Cas's letter didn't come close to conveying the worry he felt, the anger he felt at Dean for taking so much on. The disappointment he felt in himself for leaving.

With new resolve, Cas gripped his pen still tighter and again set it to the paper.

Dean?

I …I wish I could be there right now. I wish I could take care of you. I realize that I can't perch on your shoulder anymore. Heaven knows I wasn't very good at protecting you to begin with.

You probably think I'm being irrational. I know you are fully capable of taking care of yourself. But you won't. You will hold a half-thawed bag of asparagus to your head for ten minutes (at the most) until you have to go take care of Sam or check on Kevin's work on the angel tablet and make dinner. You probably already have.

Leaving was my choice, and I don't regret it. I only regret that I left you alone in your own care. I want to take care of you, Dean. I always have. I have only ever kept secrets for that purpose. It's not an excuse, just the truth. I hope that's ok for me to say.

Just.. please keep the asparagus on your head a little longer. If you won't do it for yourself then do it for Or better yet, get yourself some proper ice.

Your friend,

Castiel

June 10, 2013: Just Outside the Headquarters of the Men of Letters

Cas wiped sweat from his brow, emerging from under the hood of his car, finally finished. Carefully closing the hood, he stood back to look at his handiwork.

His Car.

At first Cas had protested when, after a week of driving lessons, Dean announced that Cas was a natural driver and needed a car of his own. He didn't understand why it was needed, honestly. Especially when Sam didn't have one and and he wasn't going anywhere without Dean and the Impala, not anymore. Dean shook his head, simply saying that it was a human thing.

After a week of elbow grease and TLC, the 1997 Chevy Cavalier looked almost presentable. Dean had put up a little resistance when Cas had pointed at the teal model at the rock-bottom used car lot, but in the end accepted that there was only room for one jet-black car in the family anyway. All "she" needed was a few tune-ups and a good scrubbing before Dean could deem her fit for the public eye.

"All done there, Cas?" Dean rolled out from underneath the car, wiping grease from his hands as he joined Cas by the hood.

"Yes." Cas affirmed. "You were right, the salesman highly overestimated when the last oil change occurred."

Dean nodded. "I told you. Slimy son of a bitch. Seems to have been truthful about everything else, thankfully." He walked over to the cooler and grabbed two bottles, opening them for the two of them. "She's no classic, but at least she's a Chevy."

Cas smiled and took the offered beer, and they drank in silence while sitting on the hood. He didn't have much of a taste for the stuff, but it was cold and the heat in Kansas was sweltering. His t-shirt stuck to him, sweat dripping down his face and back. His neck ached steadily. Human things. It wasn't entirely unpleasant.

He had expected his life to be turbulent and messy since the angels fell and was still shocked at the calm and domesticity of it all. Scientists were still trying to unravel the mystery of the "meteor shower" that had lit up the sky almost one month ago. No news of rogue angels reached their ears.

Dean was different. He made breakfast every morning and drank coffee instead of whiskey while doing research and was always suggesting that they have a Star Wars marathon. Looking at him, Cas could no longer see the dark circles that once were a constant under his eyes and his shoulders were relaxed. Dean smiled to himself before lifting the bottle to his lips again. Cas felt a prickling, strange heat begin to climb up his neck before he looked away. How he wished he could still hear Dean's thoughts.

"I'm telling you man," he wrenched Cas from his own thoughts, "We gotta get Charlie down here again, I can't believe you two still haven't met. She's a riot."

Cas nodded silently, having heard many stories about their red-headed genius friend. She had even insisted on speaking to Cas on the phone a number of times to ask what angel omens she should be looking for and about Dean's well-being.

"Dean," Cas began, "Are we doing the right thing just waiting here for something to happen? We are bound to-"

"I'm gonna stop you right there," Dean interrupted, "We're not just waiting here. We're strategizing and preparing for whatever's coming next. And it's not like we can do anything with Sammy... feeling like he is. Kevin's working on the angel tablet, we're keeping our ears open, there's nothing else we can do right now."

"I suppose you're right." Cas said, taking another sip of beer, "I can't help but feel uneasy about Crowely, however. And Abaddon."

Dean shrugged and nodded, "Well you got me there. It's quite a mystery."

Dean had explained to him that after Sam had failed to finish the final trials they had left Crowley in the Church. When they returned he had been gone. Hadn't heard from him since.

Dean tossed his now empty bottle into the garbage can with a shattering of glass and started to make his way back to the bunker door.

"Dean," Cas called him back.

"Yeah Cas?"

Cas exhaled, trying to find the words. Trying to find the right words to tell him how much it all meant to him. How at home he felt. How humanity was beginning to feel good, even right.

He knew Dean wouldn't hear any of it. Brushing it aside was what he did, always with a declaration of "no chick flick moments." Instead he asked a question.

"Why did you buy me a car, Dean?"

Dean smiled in a way that reached his eyes. "You've got a home here, man. But you're not a prisoner. You're a real boy now. A free man."

Cas smiled back, feeling the now familiar heat settling in his chest, next to his heart.