For as long as Dean Winchester could remember, one of the first rules— the golden rule of hunting so to speak, was one of the more embedded mottos inside of his brain.

That you can't save everyone. That there would be losses regardless of the job.

But unlike himself who lived by that mantra for decades, Castiel learned that the hard way in mere hours.

It was a long hunt, brutal, bloody, the works. Dean almost fell asleep at the wheel if it wasn't for Sam who constantly pecked at his shoulder to keep him awake long enough for them to book in at a nearby motel and crash as soon as his knee hit the flat mattress. Falling endlessly into his need four hours, before he would be called to attention by the annoying neighbors the room over or crows pecking at the windows.

Sam had decided earlier on in the ride that he would be the first to take watch since he had to do some research on the demon anyway. Dean, of course, didn't argue. His brother was good at what he did, and considered all three of them needed sleep (including Castiel) there was nothing on the table.

However, the watchdog that was Sammy didn't last long either.

About an hour and a half later, Dean eased out of his sleeping state and rolled around to find a more comfortable sleeping position. Hearing the increasingly loudening noise of Sam's snoring racking around in his brain.

But something deep down felt off. It was stirring him a little more awake than he wanted. Rolling over yet again, he faced the other bed beside him. Divided by a thin wooden end table. A vintage lamp was perched on top, along with an old-fashioned clock and some random half-empty tissue box, the room was desolate. Save for his brother's insolent snoozing—

Cas.

It was lacking Cas.

Once Dean grew aware of the situation, he flopped onto his back and stared contemplatively at the popcorn ceiling. Should I really go after him? Go find him this damn early in the— what time is it? Not even two yet? He grumbled mentally. Folding his hands together subconsciously weaving them together.

Out of the long day, he had to admit what he saw wasn't pretty. But what Castiel witnessed was even worse. They were all there, they watched that little girl collapse as a cloud of demonic black smoke left her mouth and body. They watched as Castiel bolted to her side, dropping his angel blade. Holding her head and body before it slammed to the ground. The angel's pleading expression as he tried to harness the last drops of grace he had left to heal her before her heart stopped.

She left that house in a body bag.

Castiel was completely broken by this. He was quiet on the ride back; staring absentmindedly outside with a curled frown on his face. He was heartbroken.

Circling back to the now, Dean soon found himself hoisting his tired body upright. Dangling his feet over the cold hardwood flooring, and slipping on his boots.

Once up and about, it didn't take long for him to spot him. He was standing outside of the motel, leaning against the railing connected to a sheet metal laid overhang. Watching the stars in the blanketed night sky.

The hunter shook his head and opened the door gently. Weary of waking up the sleeping giant. The angel heard Dean's movement and craned his head slowly in his direction.

"I see you're still up," Dean's gravely voice rasped. It wasn't even morning yet, and his vocal cords were already dry as the Sahara Desert.

Castiel's brows pinched together, his blue eyes glimmering faintly in the moonlight. Dragging over the form before him, recentering his gaze to the open sky.

"I'm not accustomed to…sleeping." Cas simply said.

"I figured that much," Dean agreed, finding an eventual purchase along the railing beside him. "Especially after yesterday, I don't think I can sleep much either."

A pause substituted by the crickets and peepers enveloped their silence into a ringing melody. The tall pines swayed in the gentle midnight breeze, the owls hooted deeply in the distance— it was a serene moment.

Dean allowed himself to close his eyes, and take in the peaceful quiet. He wanted to say something. Say anything to lift that hopeless expression from Cas' face, and it killed him that he'd somehow become nonverbal in such a short time.

Moments passed, and all he could see was the darkness under his eyelids. "Cas," he started, biting the bottom of his lip. The sound of crinkling clothing from his right indicated that the angel had looked his way. He had his attention now.

Opening his eyes back up again, he was met with Castiel's unmoving, occasionally blinking stare. The hunter looked away, "I know…I know yesterday was…rough." He scratched the back of his head nervously. Why can't I goddamn say anything? "And I know being somewhat…human isn't helping either."

Castiel's ocean eyes flicked down in a silent agreement.

"So," Dean breathed, "Want to…talk about it?" He wanted to slap himself. He sounded like a parent who'd just found a stash of condoms in his son's shoe box under the bed. And his sour expression at his tone spoke volumes.

Castiel folded one arm and braced his elbow against the railing. "I should have protected her."

Now that was a punch to the gut. Dean didn't expect him to be so forward with his answer, but a small part of him unexpectedly expected it. "But you couldn't," Dean added softly, mimicking Castiel's leaned-over stature.

"Yes, I could've. I had my angel blade, yet somehow it…" Castiel trailed off, his jaw locking in an awkward position. He murmured, "Somehow that demon slipped right under me."

Dean listened, scooting himself a foot closer. "I know," he grumbled. "It happens to most of us. She's in a better place now. Think of it like that."

"I doubt she's in a 'better place', Dean."

Dean sighed, "Look at it this way, okay? And I'm going to only say this once:" He pointed a vertical palm in Castiel's direction. "You can't save everyone." He said slowly, a firm tone grasping his voice as an air of authority came over him. "It's just what happens, and we have to push through that no matter what or it'll only hold us down."

Dean might as well have been a hypocrite with those words. He'd come to reason with the angel, yes, but it's not like he was a good example himself either.

Castiel's rumbling monotone replied shyly, "And…you do that?" Question laced his tone. Arcing his neck to face Dean's. The hunter's eyes were set out to the open forest ahead of the motel's desolate lot. His elbows and arms lean against the wood.

Dean snorted and waved a playful, yet tired, hand. "What? No, no, that's the opposite of what I do." He grinned, "You think I would've learned by now, huh?"

"Then why are you giving me this 'advice' if you don't even use it yourself?" Cas parried, perking up at his question.

Well, well, riddle me this, "Why? So you don't become a shitshow like me and Sammy." His chest rumbled like a thunderstorm for an incoming coarse retort, or maybe it was just his plain 'ol hunger.

Dean never regretted picking himself or his brother apart. They were a mess of a family, a messy relationship, so why hide that everything was just spiffy? Castiel's eyes roamed over the hunter one last time, before eventually shuffling himself right beside Dean. Their elbows and shoulders touching, and occasionally his impatiently swaying hips would knock into his.

"You're not a shitshow, Dean," Castiel reassured and gently leaned his head onto his shoulder. "You're just human."