InsaneJournal

Within a couple of days Dean really wasn’t breaking much anymore. Castiel did the best he could to help. As two angels in close proximity to one another, there was always an awareness of where the other was, a constant sense of energy even when they were apart. There was no Heaven, there were no other angels, and angelic energy reached out constantly in a desire to connect with celestial power.

It meant that it was easy for Dean to sense Castiel nearby while he was typing to him and Sam on his phone -- and easy for him to sense the abrupt and sudden departure when Castiel disappeared.

Dean didn’t need to say it. He didn’t have to explain; Castiel could figure it out. The spell for which Metatron had stolen his grace was the one that expelled all of the angels from Heaven and caused them to fall to Earth. It was the stuff of nightmares, of cautionary tales. Nowhere to go, cut off from Heaven, wings burning up in the descent. Many wouldn’t survive, others would be irreparably broken.

Dean had known, and hadn’t told him. He’d stared him down while Castiel tried to ask, had actively lied to keep it from him.

Everything he touched, he destroyed.

It wasn’t a matter of making mistakes. Everyone made mistakes. Castiel’s mistakes were world-shaking and bloody whether he was making his own choices or he was being led astray. But in the case of the civil war, he believed he’d been acting in the right. Devouring souls had been misguided but he’d been desperate to win. Unleashing the leviathans was an error in planning. Naomi used him as a spy without his knowledge. But this?

Castiel went back to the mountaintop alone.

Dean was tempted to just leave it, and it took about five minutes for him to admit that he couldn't. He should have been honest, but in reality, he just felt like he should have kept that secret better than he had. Cas wasn't there yet. He didn't understand. Even when he got there, he still wouldn't. It wasn't fair to make him deal with that here.

In much better control now than he was, Dean followed Cas to the mountain without much incident. Without the need to sleep or bathe or eat, it hadn't occurred to Dean to change out of his clothes in the last few days -- so when he confronted Castiel, it was in his pajamas, same as before.

"Cas, it wasn't your fault---"

Castiel looked sharply back at Dean. “What else have you left out?” he demanded. “That I was complicit in this? That I helped?” He was far more intimidating from Dean’s new perspective, his wings flaring out and eyes flashing. He was a hurricane in a vessel, there was so much more to him than what Dean usually saw.

For one fleeting moment, Dean actually looked afraid. It didn't last; he'd never had the proper respect for scary things, holy or demonic. "You were tricked! He used you. He manipulated you, he stole something from you. It's not on your head, Cas, that's why I didn't tell you. I knew you'd blame yourself."

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been alive? I should know better,” Castiel snapped. “God, Naomi, Metatron, you. I’m a tool to be used, that’s what I’m good for.”

Dean frowned. "Me? Are you fucking kidding me?"

“I fell for you.” Castiel, always happy to bleed for the Winchesters. He’d said it sarcastically but it hadn’t been dishonest. Even if he was happy to do it, he knew what he was -- he was their firepower, their heavy weaponry.

He shook his head, glancing away. He didn’t care to argue that point; there was nothing to argue. “Metatron used my grace to cast the angels from Heaven. Including Gadreel.” He didn’t explain what he knew, but the way he said the name was enough: dripping with revulsion and hatred and barely-contained anger. “Who then took possession of your brother because he claimed to be Ezekiel -- and you took my advice in deciding to coax Sam into being possessed.”

"Yeah, and that one's on me 'cause I did it in the first place. You had no way of knowing he was lying. Don't turn away from me---" Dean grabbed Castiel's arm and made him turn back. He was so much stronger now it was a little jarring. "When people use you or trick you or lie to you, it ain't your fault. You're millions of years old, you should know that by now."

Castiel turned, taking a moment to look at Dean’s hand on his arm. Normally when Dean did that he turned willingly, not because of Dean’s strength, but right now Dean could hold his own. “I should have known. I could have stopped this----”

He was so agitated he could barely speak, shoving Dean’s hand from his arm. The fall of the angels. His brothers, even the ones loyal to him, his friends, his companions, crashing to Earth because of something he did. Brushing it off as “not his fault” wasn’t good enough, and there was nothing he could do. It was the future, inevitable and unable to be changed, and because it hadn’t happened yet there was nothing he could do to fix it.

"But you know what? You didn't. Because it wasn't on you. You're not even there yet, you got no business blaming yourself for something you haven't even done," Dean insisted, resisting the urge to grab Cas again.

“Because of me, Gadreel possessed Sam!”

Castiel said it like Dean was meant to know who he was talking about. Sam’s quote on the network did nothing to convey what that name meant to angels. He fell quiet, unable to meet Dean’s eyes. “I should have killed myself in Purgatory.”

Dean's heart dropped into his stomach -- or it would have, if he'd been human at the moment. He wasn't. Instead, he reached out again, grabbing Castiel by the shoulders. "Cas, look at me. Look at me. It was me, all right? All this bullshit with Ezekiel or Gadreel or whoever. I tricked him. I helped him into Sam's head, I told him what words to use to convince him. I made you leave to protect that secret. That's why I don't know how you're doing in the future. I couldn't let Sam go, so I got us into this world of stupid. I made a stupid choice. I knew what I was doing. You don't get to take credit for that, and you do not get to wish you were dead."

Castiel listened, but he’d gone silent, like something inside him had definitely broken. Ever since he pulled Dean from Hell he’d changed, and he’d gone against everything he was supposed to be. Everything had felt so simple before, and now … the blood was on his hands, for his decisions, for his choices. He couldn’t rest easy knowing he was following orders.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” he admitted.

The difference between here and home was that if Castiel really wanted to die, he didn't have a lot of reasons not to. He couldn't make things right while he was here, couldn't apologize to anyone who truly needed it. He couldn't redeem himself. Dean knew Cas well enough to know that was where it was going.

He should have said something else, something inspirational and affirming. Instead, his grip tightened and, with a mix of pleading and demanding, he said, "You don't get to leave me again."

Castiel opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again. Instead, he just watched Dean, who didn’t look at all like himself. He was no longer human, he was something Castiel could easily recognize with cues and hints he could more easily read.

“What do you want with something like me, Dean. You know I’m broken.” They were all broken.

"So what? We all are. I've never met a single person who isn't fucked up, especially not anyone who hangs around me. We're family, Cas," Dean answered, his voice softened. "Doesn't matter if you break. We don't leave each other behind."

Castiel bowed his head. He wasn’t sure whether he could accept that right now, with what he now knew. He knew Sam was hurting and didn’t want to talk, and that was just from the knowledge of who Gadreel was. It didn’t occur to him that Sam was just upset, as opposed to blaming him.

“I’m… mm.” Instead of speaking, he reached out and touched Dean’s cheek with a heavy hand. It wasn’t a smack, but it wasn’t a caress, either. Just a touch, reassuring.

"Just don't… go anywhere. Again." Dean sounded pathetic, and he knew it. But home had never been a place for him; it had always been people. It would always be Sam, but by now it was Cas, too. He never felt completely right when they were separated (which was often) -- and now this, there was something heavier to it. They didn't have a Heaven to reach out for, no other angels nearby. Dean understood now why angelic loyalty was so fierce and why being an army came so easily. They called out to each other in a way that humans couldn't understand.

Castiel nodded once. “I won’t, Dean.”

Dean was reluctant to let go, but he eventually dropped his hands from Castiel's arms, a little reassured. "You really feel like I think you're just a tool?"

“I…” Castiel hesitated. He wasn’t sure what Dean thought about him these days. “I’m useful to you, when I’m not being used against you. But I’ve grown close to you, and …” Hadn’t Sam said that Cas needed to talk to Dean? This was the first time they’d actually talked about anything remotely like this in weeks. “I think that you see me as more than useful.”

"Cas, if I only thought you were something to use, you sure as hell wouldn't be living in my house." Dean meant it to be comforting, and the way he said it, it actually was.

“I’m going to stay out here a while, though,” said Cas. “Just to watch the sky.” He wasn’t going to be over this as quickly as Dean would have liked, but he was calmer at least.

He didn’t invite Dean to sit with him, but it went suggested and unspoken.

Dean moved when Castiel did, taking it for granted that Cas wanted him there. He was quiet, watching clouds drift. In truth, he was working up some courage for things he didn't even know how to say, and when he finally spoke he went with, "Even if you lost your angel mojo and wanted to quit everything else, I'd still want you around."

Castiel bowed his head, but didn’t say anything. He just took this in and appreciated it, his wings relaxing. He had a lot on his mind, a lot to deal with that he couldn’t just dismiss. To Dean, it didn’t mean much, even if Dean was an angel. He didn’t care if the angels fell. But for Castiel, those were his brothers. It was his home. He wasn’t ready to talk about it yet.

The sun had gone down and the stars were out before he spoke again. “Sam is bothered by what he knows now, about Gadreel. He needs you.”

Dean sighed, drawing up his knee so he could wrap his arms around his leg. "I know," he admitted. "I'll… He needs time to himself." He was afraid to face it, scared of going back to talk to Sam and losing all the progress they'd made now that Sam had been reminded of what Dean had done. It was a big deal, that he was here with Cas instead of isolating himself completely.

Castiel kept his mouth shut about what he knew about Gadreel. He was a cautionary tale, an angel so reviled that it was difficult to say his name. The fact that he’d been inside Sam, that he’d deceived Dean in order to take over Sam’s body … Cas could barely wrap his head around it. He thought things had already gotten as bad as they could. How could they get so much worse?

He lifted his eyes to the stars. “I miss human you,” he admitted.

Dean snorted. "Why?" Not that he didn't miss being human, too, but… "Human me doesn't seem… I don't know. Small?"

“It seems right,” Castiel corrected. Dean was such an example of humanity, he fought and died for it. The idea of Dean being anything else was unsettling, even if it meant that Dean sort of understood what life on Earth was like for Cas.

Dean looked over, watching Cas for a few moments. Castiel's facial expression wasn't as important as what was underneath it; Dean had an easier time understanding the disconnect between grace and vessel now, and more important was the shift in his grace and the flutter of his wings. He couldn't fully interpret them the way he could human body language, but he got the general idea. "I miss being human, too. Doesn't feel like it's been that long, but the way you feel things is weird. Everything smells funny."

Castiel bowed his head and actually chuckled. There was no real sound behind it, but Dean’s confusion genuinely amused him. It was only fair, wasn’t it, after Castiel spent all this time desperately trying to fit in with Dean and exist on Earth, constantly making an idiot of himself because he didn’t understand the culture.

He glanced at Dean with a little smile. “Suck it up.”

Dean's mouth pulled into a crooked grin. "You're just cranky you can't enjoy food."

Castiel shrugged. “It isn’t a biological requirement.”

"So? Food's not about biological requirements, it's about feeling awesome after you put something in your face. Two best things in the world are food and sex." Dean paused, made a face, and added, "Three. Food, sex, and good music."

Castiel glanced at Dean. He’d eaten food and enjoyed it, and while he’d vessel had had sex Castiel specifically never had, and he didn’t have any strong opinions when it came to music. But he had been kissed recently, and while he’d asked Sam for advice he hadn’t actually talked with Dean.

His eyes drifted from Dean’s mouth to his hands, and then he turned to take in the city below.

Dean was looking back when he did it, expecting some sort of comment. They hadn't been speaking much recently, but Castiel usually had questions or some weird little observations. Now he was unusually quiet.

And that look was kind of funny.

"What?"

“This is the longest you’ve spoken to me in a couple of weeks.”

Dean dragged in a breath (out of habit, not because he needed to) and looked back out at the city. "Yeah. Well."

Castiel glanced at him as Dean looked away. “You kissed me,” he said bluntly.

Dean's response took some time while he weighed his options. With all the noise -- the sounds of the universe, for one, but also the sheer amount of prayers that came through angel radio that Dean didn't know how to block --, somehow avoiding this seemed… less immediate. It was difficult to parse through the voices, but with hours and hours at night and no sleep, he didn't have much else to do but listen.

He wasn't sure if he understood people better now, but he had some perspective. A lot of people asked for vague blessings, but he was drawn to the people who begged for their lives to be better. He listened closest to people like him, even if he didn't acknowledge exactly how alike they were.

Eventually, he said, "Sure did."

Castiel’s brow furrowed. “And then you stopped speaking to me.” And he was relatively sure that wasn’t how it was supposed to work.

Dean fidgeted. "Yeah, it…" He looked like an asshole, and he knew it. He was bad at knowing what to say in general, let alone in this… situation. Eventually he took a deep breath and continued:

"There's some kind of shit going on. With… I don't know, us. Or just me. I don't know what to do with it, 'cause you and me…" He shifted his weight again, wishing he was in his body like he always had been. His grace didn't cling to the inside of his skin like his soul used to, and his hands and feet and mouth felt disconnected from his intentions. "I don't know what it'd mean to you. It won't feel the same."

Castiel blinked once. Whatever he’d thought about saying sort of faded away, and he was left with: “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

"When you touch people, you feel their… parts." Ugh, awkward, but he didn't know how else to say it. "And this body is mine, so I know how it feels to belong in it, but that's not yours."

Castiel looked down at his hands. Dean was right, they weren’t his, and he still differentiated between what this body had done and what he had done, and what his body wanted and what he wanted. He sustained a vessel, and even though it no longer possessed a human soul and effectively belonged to him, it was a thing that contained him. It wasn’t him.

He waited for Dean to continue.

Dean was struggling, even if it was quiet and internal (at the moment). He was grasping for straws, feeling stupid and young and frustrated, and eventually he just blurted, "We fucked. In that heaven portal place. It was Christmas, you were human, you were wearing this stupid sweater and you hadn't shaved in two days and every time I look at you that's what I'm thinking about."

Castiel lifted his head to look at him, surprised. “I was human?” Like he more or less would be, without his grace.

Dean looked over, a little dumbfounded. "Yeah, you were---that's seriously what you got out of that?"

“...Yes?”

"...Dude."

It was more complicated than that. In Dean telling Castiel that he was human in his personal heaven, it meant a lot more than the idea that they slept together. Dean wanted Cas without his grace. He wanted a version of Cas that he could relate to, who was so different from who Cas was now that he couldn’t wrap his head around it.

“That’s what you want?” he asked. It wasn’t about the sex; Dean wanted Cas without his grace?

Not talking about the sex, Dean decided, worked for him, even if it would bite him later. This was a hell of a lot easier to talk about it. "Yeah, you know what? You want the truth, I'd rather have you human."

It was a little reassuring to know that Dean didn’t keep him around for his powers, but Castiel shifted uncomfortably. His wings tensed and folded tight behind him. He waited for Dean to continue.

Knowing that Cas found it unsettling, Dean barrelled right through, maybe not to fix the feeling but to explain himself. "It ain't about taking anything away from you, but you belong here. All that shit in Heaven, you deserve it behind you. If you're gonna be here, you should be able to enjoy it the way it's supposed to be enjoyed."

“Like… food?” Castiel asked warily.

"Like everything," Dean answered with new understanding. "Like greasy takeout and the way wind feels when you're driving with the window down and… how it smells the morning after it rains. And sleeping. I sleep like shit, but everyone should know what a good night feels like."

Castiel’s mouth twitched. “You miss it.” Of course he did. A week of being an angel and Dean just wanted to be himself again.

"'Course I do. The second I'm back to normal, I'm making myself a burger, and then I'm taking a long nap."

“All of time and space in your consciousness, and you prefer a nap?”

"I prefer being human. I don't want time and space, I just… want my life back. It's fucked up and compared to yours, I get it, it's small and unimportant. I'd rather look at my brothers and see their faces instead of their souls. Who they are, instead of what they are."

Castiel was quieted by this. He closed his mouth and glanced down at the city again, wondering if that was how Dean thought of him. He didn’t know how to perceive people the way Dean did, but he was relatively sure he knew who Dean was. After all they’d done, after how close they’d become, Dean thought that Cas didn’t know? Or didn’t care?

“Hopefully this is temporary, as with the portals.”

"Has to be." And hey, if Cas was letting the kissing thing go, then so was Dean.

Castiel was only letting it go because Dean seemed to make his feelings clear about how he saw Cas. Now that he really understood that Castiel wasn’t human, now that he was aware he truly wanted him to be human, why would Dean want him? “Give it time.”

Dean was tempted to ignore Castiel's obvious discomfort and give himself credit for having a halfway decent conversation, but his conscience wouldn't let him get away with it. "...All right, what's wrong?"

At first, it seemed like Castiel wasn't going to answer. He was so used to not being asked these things, or putting his (complicated, overwhelmingly new) feelings aside to focus on immediate threats, but now he was being directly confronted.

And he didn't really have the words. Sam had told him to talk to Dean, but how was he supposed to do that if everything was so difficult to express? If he wasn't sure of himself, if he felt like he was stumbling about in the dark with no knowledge of how it would turn out? Risks were foreign to him prior to the last few years, and the risks he'd taken had all ended badly.

But Castiel didn't know what to say.

So he leaned forward, quickly closing the gap between them, and he waited just a moment, like he could take it back -- just for a small hitch of breath -- before kissing Dean hard.

It felt different this time around. Castiel's lips tasted like salt and skin, but there was something else, almost a hum of energy. Inside his vessel was barely-contained grace, a hurricane trapped in the muscles and bones of a man, and it was like static over Dean's tongue.

He tried to be more self conscious, but he'd been aching for weeks, avoiding Cas just so he wasn't constantly reminded of that night in heaven -- and then that kiss, right there in the real world. Dean was a little rough, not totally aware of his new strength, when he tugged Cas in by the front of his coat and cradled his face in his hands.

This was going much better than last time.