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Castiel liked to think that his idea of disobeying God came from something later, from Anna poisoning his thoughts with ideas of going against their father’s words, from Uriel turning on God and fighting instead for the angels over the orders and good word of their Lord, from fear of how the coming war would treat him and his fellow angels.

The fact of the matter is, that just wouldn’t be the truth.

Castiel’s thoughts of disobedience didn’t begin when Anna regained her grace, not when Alastair escaped the Enochian devil’s trap, not when Uriel told him that it wasn’t God giving the orders anymore.

Every sinful thought began the moment that Castiel met Dean Winchester.

————

As Castiel walked through the warehouse, the flickering and exploding lights that followed his footsteps prevented a clear view of Dean’s face.

Despite the consistently fading in-and-out lighting, Castiel knew it was Dean; he had rescued this man from hell, had held him to his chest as he fought off demons and rescued him from eternal damnation. Before him was the man he had rebuilt atom by atom, using his own grace as the bonds and glue to hold him together. Even without seeing it, Castiel knew the handprint that was seared like a third-degree burn onto Dean’s shoulder, the imprint of Castiel’s hand.

When Dean opened fire on Castiel, Bobby joining in the mix with his own bullets, the angel was not discouraged or upset in the slightest. His entrance had been quite extravagant, and even without his true form, there was good reason that angels always warned humans to be not afraid when they arrived on Earth.

“Who are you?” Dean had asked, and although Castiel had held the hope that the man would recognize his savior, he was not negatively moved when Dean made it apparent that he did not, in fact, know who he was.

“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition,” came the response, words seemingly carelessly thrown out despite the large feat it was to raise a soul from the torture that was Lucifer’s home.

Castiel was not fazed by Dean’s instinct to stab him, instead only giving him a look before gently pulling the knife from his chest and swinging Bobby in front of him to lose him his consciousness with a gentle touch to the forehead.

It was only after Dean had rushed to check Bobby’s pulse and looked up to Castiel upon hearing that he was alright that the angel got a chance to really look at Dean.

Dean’s hair was more ruffled than usual, hands likely having been run through it for the greater part of the evening in response to anxiety and fear. His eyes were wide, showing their green hue that caught Castiel’s attention with so much ease the angel began to worry that there was a possibility they were pure sin, akin to the call of a siren with how alluring they were. Dean’s freckles stood out against the pale canvas of skin that had become his face, and his lips were tinged red from worrying them for the past hour.

The thought crossed his mind before he was able to stop it, and Castiel spent the next months praying to be forgiven after the fact for how sinful just two words could be.

‘He’s beautiful.’

————

The next time Castiel had sinful thoughts were when he and Uriel were sent to destroy an entire town to keep an old god from being summoned and another seal be broken.

Dean had been so determined to save the lives of everyone in town, had been insistent he and Sam could save them all, it had struck Castiel in a way he couldn’t explain. Despite what had been said about him, what Dean had done during his time in hell, he was caring. Dean wanted to protect people, to save their lives, going as far as to argue with Uriel directly to his face that he could do it.

When the end came, and the seal had been broken anyway, Castiel sat next to Dean on a bench overlooking a playground.

“If you’re here for the “I told you so” speech, I don’t wanna hear it,” Dean had said, but Castiel shook his head.

“Our orders–”

“I’ve heard about enough of these orders of yours.”

“–Our orders were not to stop the summoning of Samhain, they were to do what you told us to do.”

Dean seemed shocked by the words that had just fallen from Castiel’s mouth, and the angel couldn’t help but wonder why Dean hadn’t realized it sooner; if the true orders really were to smite the city off the map, they would have forcefully removed Dean and Sam anyway and gone ahead with it, such was the life of an obeying angel.

“Okay, so, your orders were to follow my orders?”

“It was a test, to see how you would perform under… battlefield conditions, you might say.”

“So, I failed your test, huh? Well, you know what? If you raised that time-traveling wand of yours and I had to do this whole shit thing all over again, I’d make the same call. I have no clue what’s gonna happen when these seals all get broken, or what’s even going to happen tomorrow. You know what I know? This right here, these kids playing in front of me.. I know they’re alive because of my brother and me. I’d make the call to save them every time, Cas.”

Dean’s tone was wistful, melancholic, almost, and Castiel couldn’t help the way he appreciated it. Dean had genuine care for people, worried what would happen to them and was willing to do near anything if it meant he could protect the lives of innocent people.

“You misunderstand me, Dean. I was praying you would choose to protect the town,” he replied, watching the realization dawn on Dean’s face as the words washed over him.

As Castiel told Dean of how humans were his father’s creation and beautiful, Dean’s expression stayed as one of wonder until the mention came of the possibility of hell on Earth as more seals were broken.

“Dean… Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?” Castiel spoke, looking to the man that sat beside him.

“Sure, Cas, go ahead,” Dean replied, looking back at him.

“I’m not a… hammer, as you say. I have questions. I have doubts. I don’t know what is wrong and what is right anymore, whether you passed or failed here.”

Dean’s face changed to one of surprise as he heard those words, and Castiel couldn’t help but wonder if he shouldn’t have said anything at all. It was against the law of God to question, to doubt his word and commandments. Still, he couldn’t help it. Meeting Dean, it messed with his judgment.

Before Dean, every one of Castiel’s actions had been controlled completely and only by God, every order being followed exactly, each commandment spoken worshiped with abandon, his soul being completely and utterly devoted to his Lord’s service. Now, after seeing how Dean valued human lives over the will of God, how he cared about people and the well-being of others, Castiel didn’t know what to think. He wasn’t sure if it was worth following his father’s law if it cost the lives of others in return, but he had never known any other life than following blindly.

For the sin of doubting his Lord, Castiel prayed for months and begged for forgiveness, clutching the rosary necklace that hung down below his collarbones in his hands and looking to the sky as he muttered prayer after prayer and tried to wipe all doubt and question from his mind, attempting to rinse out the words of sin from his mouth with holy water.

————

Once the day had come that Castiel and Uriel had to bring Dean to the building where Alastair was being held and ask him to torture the demon for information on who was killing angels, Castiel was ore hesitant on anything he did.

Castiel’s seemingly favored nature to Dean was costing him positions; now, the angel was forced to have superiors, to not be the one giving orders.

Of course, Dean, observant as he was, noticed this fairly quickly.

“I want to talk to Cas alone,” he had said to Uriel, his tone commanding, brushing aside the request that had been asked of him and keeping his back turned to the door that opened to Alastair.

“...I think I’ll go seek revelation. We might have further orders,” Uriel had responded, caught off guard for a moment at the tone Dean had taken up with him. Angels were not used to being commanded or ordered by anyone other than God, and while they would easily be able to argue against it if it had come from someone besides their Lord, this was not a command so much as it was a request. Dean being given privilege to speak alone with Castiel was a request, one that could be ignored, but it had been said with such force that even Uriel could not deny it.

Once Uriel had left, Dean had not wasted much time in stepping closer towards Castiel, giving him a look the angel didn’t know how to respond to, being forced just to look into those breath-catching green eyes that caused Castiel to fear for his divinity.

“What’s going on, Cas? Since when does Uriel put a leash on you?” Dean asked, Castiel stopping for a moment upon the realization that Dean had, in fact, noticed the restraint with which he had spoken, the warning looks Uriel had thrown in his direction when he said something slightly out of line.

“My superiors have begun to question my sympathies,” Castiel responded after a long moment of silence, the roughness in his voice not going unnoticed.

“Your sympathies?” came the response, Dean’s tone coming incredulously.

“I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You. They feel that I’ve begun to express emotions. The doorways to doubt. This can… impair my judgment.”

Even without Uriel there, Castiel couldn’t help but restrain himself when he spoke, fear of going against his Lord controlling the better of his consciousness. Dean had easily taken notice of the sudden change in tone, and had decided not to question further, much to the relief of Castiel.

“Well, tell Uriel, or whoever… You don’t want me doing this,” Dean spoke, misery evident in his voice. Castiel was thankful for the subject change, but he wasn’t very happy about how it came at the price of Dean’s emotional state.

“Want it, no. But I’ve been told we need it,” Castiel replied, hoping it came across as comforting rather than demeaning.

“You ask me to open that door and walk through it, you won’t like what walks back out,” Dean insisted, impatience in his tone that was mixed with a hint of desperation.

“For what it’s worth, I would give anything for you not to do this,” came the confession, Castiel admitting that despite what God wanted, what the angels needed, he did not want to put Dean through the torture of reliving what he had done and enjoyed in a sick way during his last ten years in hell.

Castiel watched as Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and it was all he could do to restrain himself from pressing his thumb to the space between the man’s eyebrows and soothe the knitted crease as he resigned himself to the action he would have to do.

—

When Anna entered the room where Castiel stood, his thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and fear. He didn’t know what he was meant to do; all the conflicting emotions around him had thrown him from his usual understanding, and he was beginning to believe his superiors were right in thinking his judgment was impaired.

As the conversation with her ebbed on, the sounds of Alastair choking and screaming in the background only make Castiel more uncertain as he knew Dean was forced to torture him in this way, for the sake of angels he knew nothing of.

“The father you love. You think he wants this? You think he’d ask this of you? You think this is righteous?” Anna says, and Castiel can’t bring himself to meet her gaze. His stomach feels sour, his mind dizzying and the only two coherent thoughts are that Dean is being tortured in that room just as much as he is torturing Alastair and that God would be disappointed, so disappointed that his son was having so much trouble following his word as he had done so easily before.

“What you’re feeling? It’s called doubt,” Anna continues, her voice gentle as she rests a hand on top of Castiel’s, a sharp difference from the screams of Alastair in the other room.

Rather than respond in any way, Castiel keeps his hand rested on the table, looking down and trying to sort his thoughts.

“These orders are wrong and you know it,” she presses on, “But you can do the right thing. You’re afraid, Cas. I was too. But together, we can still—”

Those words were what finally snapped Castiel into a different state of mind, grabbed his attention and evoked reaction. No one called him Cas but Dean, and the sound of the nickname rolling from her tongue didn’t settle right within him. To her, to every angel, he was Castiel. He was only “Cas” to Dean, and he wasn’t very keen on the idea of her joining in with that nickname.

“Together?” Castiel said, his tone sharp and disgusted. He pulled his hand away from hers quickly, looking up from the table and turning to look her in the eyes, glaring with a heated passion that was nowhere in sight just a few moments ago.

“I am nothing like you. You fell. Go,” he spoke, his voice clear and intentions impossible to miss. He did not want her company any longer.

Castiel was God’s angel, a servant of the Lord. He did not go against his father’s word like this, not with another angel who had fallen by God’s hand for her disobedience, not with this angel who had stolen back her grace, not with this angel he had been ordered to kill. He would not go with her, would not dare go against his Lord with her.

“Cas,” she pleaded.

There it was again, the nickname that was not hers to call him, the word that sounded akin to poison falling from her lips, what sounded honey-coated coming from Dean suddenly devoid of all warmth and familiarity when it came from her.

Keeping his glare, Castiel kept his gaze on her as she looked to him with a face of desperation.

“Go,” he said again, and Anna was gone, the silence lasting mere seconds before Alastair screamed again.

—

Soon, Castiel could hear a different voice screaming, a voice he recognized well.

As soon as the realization dawned on him that it was Dean screaming, not Alastair, he quickly ran into the room, refusing to let Dean get killed by the demon that had tortured him for thirty years in hell and torn him to bits every day and night.

The sight of Dean covered in blood and held up against the hexacle of the devil’s trap filled Castiel with a rage he couldn’t explain. The trap was supposed to be solid, wasn’t supposed to break or let Alastair escape- and yet, here he was, out of chains and holding Dean by the throat.

Grabbing Ruby’s knife from the table full of torture instruments, Castiel quickly goes up behind Alastair to stab him in the shoulder, watching as Dean falls to the floor, unresponsive and unmoving.

The sight of Dean limp on the floor terrified Castiel. He knew that Dean was alive, that much he could tell, but that didn’t keep the horror from flooding his veins and filling him with adrenaline.

When Alastair is stood back, not dead, Castiel glares in his direction, wanting more than anything to tear him apart but not yet having the means of how.

“Well, almost. Looks like God is on my side, today,” Alastair taunts, a smile on his face, teasing Castiel for how his Lord wasn’t helping his own cause and rather allowing Alastair to live on in this moment after having beaten Dean unconscious.

Raising a hand, Castiel watches as the knife twists itself in Alastair’s shoulder, causing a groan of pain before the demon pulls it out and tosses it to the side. He charges forward, Castiel meeting him in the middle and striking him hard in the face.

This wasn’t supposed to happen; Dean was supposed to torture Alastair until he got the information of who was killing angels, then he was supposed to walk out of the door and tell he and Uriel who it was so that they could be stopped. Alastair wasn’t meant to escape, he wasn’t supposed to nearly kill Dean, Castiel wasn’t meant to be in a fight with this demon over the near death of a human man, a man that had broken the first of the sixty-six seals.

Hitting Alastair again, Castiel was caught by surprise at a sudden blow to his own face, followed by more hits. Pulling away, the angel looked up at him, ignoring the blood running down his chin from his busted lip and instead charging Alastair again, acutely aware of Dean’s condition on the floor.

Castiel couldn’t stop the disappointment he felt in himself for not being able to keep up a good fight, winding up held against a wall by Alastair, a hand on his throat.

“You’re like roaches, you celestials. I really wish I knew how to kill you. Unfortunately, all I can do is send you back to heaven,” Alastair mused, beginning a chant in Latin to send Castiel away.

As the chant went on, Castiel could feel as his being was slowly ripped from his vessel. All the while, however, his only focus was Dean; Dean, who was still on the ground, unconscious. Dean, who was covered in so much blood it was impossible to see where the wounds themselves were. Dean, who had been put in this situation despite his pleas not to be forced to do this, whom Castiel had convinced to do it. Dean, who, as long as he was in this position, Castiel had no way of rescuing and protecting from harm.

Castiel’s existence was almost ripped from the vessel, one more repeat of the chant would have been enough, and still he held on tightly to the small hope he could save Dean—

And then, it was over. The pressure to his throat was gone, the body pinning him to the wall was no longer there, and Castiel slid to the ground as his essence settled once again in the body he used as his catalyst.

There was Sam, standing, a hand held up as he pinned Alastair to the wall, choking him and forcing him to answer the question of who was killing the angels, being met with unsatisfactory responses.

Castiel pulled himself to his feet once again, and the whole time, while he should have been concerned as to how and why Sam was doing this, he kept glancing between Alastair and Dean. Dean was still unconscious, and while the blood continued to spill from his still unseen wounds, he was still bleeding and his breathing was shallow, which meant he was alive. Alastair was being tortured by unseen force, and soon, he was dying, Sam killing him without a second thought. That was what it took for the horror of what Sam had done to finally overtake Castiel, and the sound of Alastair’s vessel hitting the ground was what finally raised another priority above Dean.

Still, Dean lying near-dead on the floor held so much of Castiel’s attention it scared him.

—

Seeing Dean in the hospital with a breathing tube to keep him alive, wrapped in so many bandages, Castiel couldn’t endure the sight. He knew if he’d only been less distracted by Anna, he could’ve noticed sooner and kept Dean from getting this injured.

Stepping away from the doorway, Sam, who had been sitting at Dean’s bedside, got up to follow him.

“Sam-” Castiel started upon seeing him follow.

“Get in there and heal him. Miracle. Now,” he demanded, looking angrily upon Castiel.

“I can’t,” came the angel’s response, regret in his voice.

“You and Uriel put him in there because you couldn’t keep a simple devil’s trap together.”

The words were thrown with such accusation, such anger, Castiel couldn’t help the slight stutter in his reply.

“I don’t know what happened. That trap… it shouldn’t have broken. I’m sorry.”

If only an “I’m sorry” could begin to cover the guilt Castiel felt for letting Dean get hurt like this, maybe he wouldn’t feel so awful, his guilt wouldn’t feel as though it were swallowing him whole.

“You understand this whole thing was pointless, right? Demons aren’t killing the angels. It’s something else. Alastair wasn’t lying,” Sam responded, not relenting in his anger. After staying long enough to see Castiel’s stunned expression, he turned and left, leaving Castiel to piece together how to move on from here, what to do.

—

Later that night, Castiel stood out, contemplating whether or not to really call for her help. She was a walking example of what every angel shouldn’t do, but for the moment…

Castiel felt that he was out of options. He didn’t know what to do. The uncertainty he felt was driving him insane, and it was all he could do not to pray to his Lord every waking second he had and beg for forgiveness and the sweet salvation that only God could give.

In the end, the curious part of him won the internal battle he was fighting.

“Anna,” he called, receiving no response in return.

“Anna, please,” he called again, and this time he felt the presence of another being behind him, the lamppost above him flickering with the arrival of the angel.

“Decided to kill me after all?” came her voice, bitter.

“I’m alone,” was the only argument that Castiel could give in reply, turning around to face her.

“What do you want from me, Castiel?” she asked, annoyance clear on her face and in her voice.

Castiel stopped for a moment, thinking the words over before speaking them cautiously, the three words seemingly echoing throughout the otherwise silent night.

“I’m considering disobedience.”

For a moment, all Anna did was nod. Then, Castiel heard a single word fall from her lips: “Good.”

Shaking his head, Castiel gave her a disbelieving look, desperate for an answer of what to do. “No, it isn’t. For the first time, I feel…”

“It gets worse,” Anna offered, “Choosing your own course of action is confusing, terrifying.” She lifted a hand, resting it on Castiel’s shoulder. Looking down at it, Castiel couldn’t help but wonder if this was the right decision to make, asking a once fallen angel for help on what to do.

This was the reason Anna had fallen, after all. And, despite the idea she might know what to do, considering she was known as the angel who had questioned, Castiel wasn’t sure if this was appropriate. She had fallen from grace because she questioned, because she disobeyed, and now he was asking her what to do while he considered if he himself should disobey.

She dropped her hand down from his shoulder upon the lack of response, her voice seemingly disappointed. “Right. You’re too good for my help. I’m just trash. A walking blasphemy.”

Castiel watched as she turned to walk away, suddenly afraid to let her leave.

“Anna.”

She stopped, not yet turning around, but showing she was willing to listen.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, his tone turning desperate as he pleaded, “Please tell me what to do.”

She turned around this time, shaking her head.

“No. It’s time to think for yourself,” were her final words before disappearing into the night with the sound of fluttering wings to compensate for her lack of appearance.

—

The next morning, Castiel stood in the room where Alastair had been held captive, noticing a leaking faucet that had broken the devil’s trap, turning it off without touching it.

“You called?” Uriel spoke, and as he entered the room, Castiel stayed turned away from him and examined the pipes and the trap.

“Strange,” Castiel started, ignoring Uriel for a moment, standing up straighter for a moment before turning to face him. “Strange how a leaky pipe can undo the work of angels when we ourselves are supposed to be the agents of fate.”

“Alastair was more powerful than we imagined,” Uriel offered, locking eyes with Castiel.

“No. No demon can overpower that trap. I made it myself,” he spoke, giving Uriel a look of contempt.

“We’ve been friends for a long time, Uriel. Fought by each other’s sides, served together away from home, for what seems like forever. We’re brothers, Uriel. Pay me that respect. Tell me the truth.” Castiel took great effort to place each word with care, to put emphasis where it was needed and scorn where it was due, stressing the importance of what he said.

“The truth is, the only thing that can kill an angel…” Uriel started, and for a moment, Castiel was hopeful that his suspicion was wrong.

That hope was diminished in a split second when Castiel watched as a blade slipped from Uriel’s sleeve, dropping into his hold with ease.

“...is another angel,” he finished, Castiel looking at him with a mournful expression.

“You,” came Castiel’s voice, quiet and reluctant to accept it.

“I’m afraid so,” Uriel replied, a smile of malice on his face.

“And you broke the devil’s trap, set Alastair on Dean,” Castiel continued, anger seeping into his voice as he recognized what Uriel had done, knowing now who was really responsible for causing Dean that danger and harm, that he himself could not have truly stopped.

“Alastair should never have been taken alive. Really inconvenient, Cas. Yes, I did turn the screw a little. Alastair should have killed Dean and escaped, and you should have gone on happily scapegoating the demons.” Uriel’s tone was patronizing, heavily condescending on the nickname. His smile as he said that Dean should have been killed made Castiel’s blood boil, but Castiel wouldn’t dare to hurt his brother, not at this moment. He didn’t wish to harm another angel and stoop to Uriel’s level.

“For the murder of our kin?” he asked, repressed anger showing clearly through his words.

“Not murders, Castiel. No, my work is conversion. How long have we waited here? How long have we played this game by rules that make no sense?”

“It is our father’s world, Uriel,” Castiel spoke, attempting to remind him for a moment of their place in this world and what their job is, although to no avail.

“Our father? He stopped being that, if he ever was, the moment he created them. Humanity, his favorites. This whining, puking larva,” Uriel replied, disgust evident in his expression as he thought of them.

“Are you trying to convert me?” Castiel asked, tilting his head a bit and stepping closer.

“I wanted you to join me.” Uriel’s tone was unreadable for a moment. “And I still do. With you, we can be powerful enough to—”

“—Raise our brother,” Castiel muttered, the horrifying realization washing over him.

“Lucifer,” Uriel smiled, the sight enough to make Castiel’s blood run cold.

“Do you remember him? How strong he was? How beautiful? And he didn’t bow to humanity. He was punished for defending us. Now, if you want to believe in something, Cas, believe in him.”

There it was again, the patronizing tone as Uriel called him Cas.

“Lucifer is not God,” Castiel spoke, his voice cold.

“God isn’t God anymore! He doesn’t care what we do, I am proof of that.”

“But this?” Castiel responded, half-yelling, his voice full of disbelief, “What were you going to do, Uriel? Were you going to kill the whole garrison?”

“I only killed the ones who said no. Others have joined me, Cas. Now, please, brother, don’t fight me. Help me. Help me spread the word. Help me bring on the apocalypse. All you have to do is be unafraid.”

Uriel was continuing to use the nickname, and each time Castiel only got angrier and angrier. Uriel would let Alastair loose with the intent for Dean to die, and then had the gall to call Castiel by the name that Dean alone used for him? Perhaps if he wasn’t a traitor, if he had no ill-intent. But then, of course, begged the question of why Castiel was so upset when Anna had called him Cas. He couldn’t come to a conclusion, but he knew one thing for certain; Castiel was not to be called this nickname by another person, by another angel, and especially not the one who had killed so many of his brothers and sisters. He would not be patronized by anyone, calling him a nickname to be seen as childish and put him in the place of an incompetent being.

“For the first time in a long time, I am unafraid,” Castiel replied, and upon seeing the smile on Uriel’s face, promptly punched him through a wall several feet away.

When Uriel rose and the two fought, Castiel did not think, did not allow himself the pleasure of daydreaming as he punched, kicked, threw, and did everything in his power to harm Uriel without killing him. When, inevitably, Castiel fell, he looked up to Uriel with pure devotion on his mind.

“You can’t win, Uriel. I still serve God.”

“You haven’t met the man! There is no will. No wrath. No. God,” came Uriel’s response, words cruel as he continued hitting Castiel. Until, finally, when he was about to hit Castiel with another blow that was surely going to be much stronger than the others, the knife he had held earlier was stabbed through his neck from behind.

“Maybe. Or maybe not. But there’s still me,” comes Anna’s voice, and as she pulled the blade from Uriel’s neck, the wounded angel fell to the ground and screamed, holy light shining through his eyes and mouth before exploding out of him like a supernova.

When the light finally faded, Castiel stood and looked down upon Uriel’s corpse, his wings seared into the floor across the devil’s trap.

Castiel told himself this act of violence was needed, that it was an act of disobedience against God, the same reason Anna fell from grace, and that he need not apologize for the actions that had just occurred as it happened in the name of the good Lord, God.

—

Soon after Uriel’s death, Castiel found himself in the hospital sitting next to Dean.

Thankfully, the breathing tube was now gone, proving that Dean was doing better and would hopefully be alright (despite the fact that, as an angel, and an angel with such a close bond with Dean at that, Castiel could tell that Dean would be fine, a new feeling of worry constantly followed whenever Dean was faced with dangerous situations even though the angel knew he could take care of himself quite well).

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked, his tone even and a silent prayer going through his head that his words came across as concerned as he had thought they did.

“No thanks to you,” was the response, Dean’s voice more gravelly than usual. The snippy comment was still his usual behavior, though, proving that he was feeling better (much to Castiel’s relief).

“You need to be more careful.” He knew that the statement was likely ignorant to even begin to utter, but he still worried greatly about Dean, and for a moment he wondered if this was what people referred to as “mothering” someone.

“You need to learn how to manage a damn devil’s trap.”

Fighting the urge to smile at the comment, Castiel nodded a bit, but continued on anyway, “That’s not what I mean. Uriel is dead.”

“Was it the demons?” Dean asked, his voice suddenly concerned. That was right; to Dean, at the least, Uriel was Castiel’s brother that had been concerned about the lives of his siblings dying, and Castiel might be upset that his brother was dead by the hand of the same thing that killed the other angels.

Castiel shook his head slowly as he replied. “It was disobedience. He was working against us.”

Dean sighed, looking away for a moment, and Castiel couldn’t help the concern he felt as he looked at Dean’s miserable expression.

“Is it true?” he asked, and before Castiel could ask for clarification, he continued, “Did I break the first seal? Did I start all this?”

Castiel’s heart broke a little at the sound of Dean’s voice breaking midway through his question, the way his eyes welled up a bit with tears and his face was slowly growing a pinkish-red from how upset he was.

Taking care to keep his voice gentle, Castiel answered.

“Yes. When we discovered Lilith’s plan for you, we laid siege to hell and we fought our way to get to you before you—”

“Jump-started the apocalypse,” Dean interrupted, his voice melancholic.

“And we were too late.”

“Why didn’t you just leave me there, then?” Dean asked, and once again Castiel felt his heart tearing to pieces at the sound of Dean’s tear-stained voice.

It was true, really, what the angels said. Dean didn’t believe he deserved to be saved. He believed that he belonged in hell still, that he shouldn’t have been brought back, that he shouldn’t have been raised. It was true, really, that Dean didn’t see his own self-worth and his importance in this world, didn’t have an ounce of the confidence he seemed to have when in front of people. The angels and their terrible, horrible gossip, gossip that Castiel had refused to believe, was true. It wasn’t just a rumor that Castiel believed that people had said with no evidence, the claims were true. Dean believed he wasn’t worth rescuing.

“It’s not the blame that falls on you, Dean. It’s fate,” Castiel offered, trying to give some form of comfort but not knowing how. “The righteous man who begins it is the only one who can stop it. It has to be you, Dean,” he said, trying to give the message that Dean was important, needed, that he was worth more than he imagined.

“Lucifer? The apocalypse? What does that mean?” Dean asked, suddenly teeming with questions that filled him to the brim until they spilled out.

Castiel turned his head to the side, looking away from Dean for a moment.

“Hey! Don’t you go disappearing on me, you son of a bitch. What does that mean?” he barked, glaring in Castiel’s direction.

The angel had to resist the urge to laugh at the immediate assumption that he would leave, although that was a fear that was not unfounded, considering his tendency to leave, and, in his wake, leave questions unanswered that he had only given vague responses to.

“I don’t know,” he replied, looking back to Dean once again.

“Bull,” was the only response, and again Castiel had to keep himself from smiling at the comment, knowing for sure that Dean was doing better now.

“I don’t. Dean, they don’t tell me much, but I know our fate rests with you.”

Seeing the reaction and the way tears welled up once again in Dean’s eyes at that sentence, Castiel knew he wouldn’t be strong enough to keep seeing Dean if it meant that his heart would keep breaking like this every moment he was sad. He couldn’t continue to be the bearer of bad news; this cycle of hurting Dean was tearing him to pieces, and although he knew it was God’s will for Dean to be the savior of this world and to stop the apocalypse, he felt that he couldn’t do it anymore.

As punishment for that, Castiel sat in church after his visit with Dean and prayed at the altar for hours, splashing himself with holy water and begging for God’s mercy, all the while admitting that he was not worthy of the love of his father and the salvation that his Lord would offer.

————

When Sam and Dean found out about the prophet Chuck, Castiel felt terrible for not being able to interfere for a long period of time, and when the time came he could finally say something, he hated himself for being unable to offer any help.

The sight of Dean praying for help caused an inner turmoil for Castiel. Of course, Dean didn’t know he had been in charge of hearing prayers for a long time, and that he would certainly hear the prayer before God would. None of the other angels paid enough attention to humans, and before, Castiel wouldn’t have paid the humans any mind if it weren’t his job to hear their prayers for the Lord. Next to no one knew that Castiel would hear all prayers, but the idea of a non-religious man such as Dean praying, with Castiel being on the other end of that line, gave him a feel of power and weakness at the same time, his stomach seemingly doing flips for no reason.

“Prayer is a sign of faith. This is a good thing, Dean,” he spoke, stepping into the light to greet the other man.

“Does that mean you’ll help me?” Dean asked, eagerness evident in his tone.

Looking upon his pleading face, Castiel couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy and pity for him.

“I’m not sure what I can do,” he spoke gently, tilting his head to the side just barely.

“Drag Sam out of there before Lilith shows up,” came the response, quick, near begging.

A look of disappointment and sadness drifted across Castiel’s face at the request. He shook his head gently, his voice dropping a few octaves lower than usual.

“It’s a prophecy. I can’t interfere.”

It was clear how much Dean wanted to grab him by the collar and threaten him, although the restraint was clearer.

“You have tested me and thrown me every which way,” Dean spoke through gritted teeth, desperation evident in his voice, but he continued despite it. “And I have never asked for anything. Not a damn thing. But now I’m asking. I need your help. Please.”

Telling Dean that he couldn’t help him felt like a terrible crime, but Castiel knew that he couldn’t. No matter how much he tried, there was nothing he could do.

“What you’re asking me… it’s not in my power to do.”

“Why?” Dean barked out, glaring at him now, “because it’s “divine prophecy”? Is that it?”

“Yes.”

“Screw you. You and your mission. Your God. If you don’t help me now, when the time comes that you need me, don’t bother knocking.”

Watching as Dean moved to walk away, brushing past him, Castiel couldn’t help but feel useless. Feeling like he was insignificant to God– that was one thing, a feeling he was used to. But feeling powerless and like he could do nothing for Dean? It was something he could hardly take, like he couldn’t handle the disappointment and anger he knew Dean felt with him.

“Dean,” Castiel started.

He didn’t know what he was doing– sharing this information could lose him his life, cause him to fall to Earth and lose his grace, or risk his wings getting clipped. Still, he couldn’t let down Dean.

“Dean,” he repeated again, louder. This time, Dean stopped and turned around.

“You must understand why I can’t intercede. Prophets are special. They’re protected.”

Groaning, Dean looked like he rolled his eyes, although Castiel couldn’t be sure in the low light.

“I get that—”

“If anything threatens a prophet, anything at all, an archangel will appear to destroy that threat. Archangels are fierce. They’re absolute. They’re heaven’s most terrifying weapon.”

Why was he saying all this? He was risking losing everything, more than just his job as God’s chosen angel, he was risking his life altogether for the sole purpose of not disappointing Dean.

“These archangels, they’re tied to prophets?”

A nod was all Castiel could manage in response, feeling half sick with the risk of what he was doing by giving this information.

“So if a prophet was in the same room as a demon—”

The angel did his best to swallow down the sour feeling in his system at the sound of Dean’s growing excitement, his voice sounding a bit rougher as the words tumbled from his lips. “Then the most fearsome wrath of heaven would rain down on that demon. Just so you understand… why I can’t help.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

The smile Dean gave in response was enough for Castiel to feel his heart stop for a moment. Dean rarely smiled, but when he did, Castiel believed that all of heaven should stop to watch him, if only just for a moment.

Instead of the smile being meant for a girl, or for something Sam or Bobby did, this smile was meant for Castiel, and it was all he could do to cherish it.

“Good luck,” he responded, the two words being all he could muster up as he tried to remove any sinful thoughts from his mind, watching Dean rush away now that he knew a way to prevent a part of he and Sam’s fate.

The sour feeling in his insides seemed to grow, but all he could do was push it down and pretend he didn’t feel the guilt of going against his father’s word. Castiel was tempted to throw himself to his knees and beg for forgiveness, to find the nearest church and pray his heart out as he begged for the sweet salvation only his Lord could give, but he knew deep down that if he did, God would have further reason to punish him for his decision to help Dean go against the destiny that was set for the Winchesters.

For right now, this would be a secret he kept away from his father, from God, and kept to himself, although that didn’t keep him from trying to scrub away the sin from his skin as he stood in a scalding hot shower full of holy water.

————

When the time came a few days later that they were on the road, Castiel waited until Dean and Sam had stopped at a hotel before appearing in the passenger seat of Dean’s impala, Sam having just carried his things inside.

“Jesus Christ, Cas—” Dean spoke breathlessly, jumping at the sudden surprise of seeing someone materialize from nowhere next to him.

“My apologies, Dean,” Castiel gave as a response, smiling a little at him.

The moment was short-lived, however, when Dean groaned a bit and leaned forward, resting his forehead against the steering wheel for a moment.

“What is it now?” he asked, causing Castiel to tilt his head in confusion.

“What is… what?”

Dean lifted his head up, shifting his gaze to look at Castiel with an expression that was unreadable.

“You only show up when you have to bring bad news, I have to do something, after a case to tell me something, or when I ask for you. I know I sure as hell didn’t ask for you, and me and Sammy haven’t even started our case yet. So, what is it? Do I’ve gotta raise the dead from the grave? Give you some- some of my blood, or a tooth, or something, for some kinda ritual? Did another seal break? What is it, Cas?”

At the sound of that, Castiel gave a little huff of exasperation before shaking his head.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Dean.”

“What?” Now it was Dean’s turn to be confused.

“I bear you no bad news today, you don’t need to worry. No further seals have been broken, to my knowledge, at the least. You are not needed for a mission of God. And no, I do not need your blood or teeth. I prefer to keep those inside your body and mouth where they belong.”

Shifting in his seat to face Castiel, Dean gave a look of bewilderment, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion as he took in what was said.

“So, then… Why are you here, exactly?” The question fell from Dean’s lips in uncertainty, as though he were unsure if what he was asking was proper.

“I just wanted to come and visit you,” Castiel replied, closing his mouth before he could say the rest.

“What, isn’t there like- a number you can call, if you want company? An angel to come hang out with you? Why me?”

“Why you? Dean, if I were that needy for company I could just as well ask Anna for her time, or sit with someone else, or even bother Sam. No, I wanted to come visit you. You are… a different kind of interaction, when I speak with you. In a way I find to be both better and more concerning than other people I hold conversations with.” Castiel turned his head a bit more to get a better look at Dean, once again falling into the allure of those forest-green eyes of his that were so easy to get trapped in.

He wasn’t quite able to tell, but Castiel was sure he saw Dean’s adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, his eyes suddenly more at attention and staring just as intensely back.

“Well, you’ve- you’ve visited me. Was there, I don’t know, something you wanted to talk about, or–?”

“Perhaps there was something,” Castiel agreed, nodding slightly.

“And that something wasss…?”

The expression on Dean’s face was something Castiel would commit to memory likely to his dying day. The way his eyes gleamed with a bit of amusement, the way the corners of his mouth twitched up just a bit too much to consider what he was wearing a smirk, but still too low to be a smile. Castiel could see the freckles that dotted across Dean’s face, and the sight was absolutely heart-melting.

“I am… struggling, with my beliefs.”

Dean snorted, his face breaking into a wide smile as he gave Castiel a look that seemed to yell: “Really? Are you kidding me? You can’t be serious.”

“You? Mister right-hand-of-God? Questioning your beliefs? And you’re coming to me? What, did I die or something? Am I dreaming? If this is the start of some porno, it sure as hell is imaginative,” Dean replied, grinning as the humor of the situation settled in him.

Rolling his eyes, Castiel groaned a bit. He’d thought it might be a bad idea.

“Yes, I am. That’s so hard to believe? And no, you aren’t dead, and no, this definitely isn’t the set up to a pornographic movie.”

“Why would you come to me? I’m not the religious brother. You’d do better to ask Sam. I was the one that didn’t believe in angels until I met you.” Dean’s face was still full of amusement, and, despite his annoyance, Castiel was happy that Dean found humor in the situation.

“Be that as it may,” the angel started, “I still wish to speak to you.”

“Why?”

“Because you see things from a viewpoint outside of faith. You see things through a skeptical lens, through logistics rather than faithfulness. I wonder… if that is perhaps the viewpoint I should try and see from.”

Giving him a look, Dean adjusted the way he sat.

“Cas, you’re an angel. How the hell are you questioning your faith?”

Grimacing, Castiel thought for a moment before giving his response, “Anna’s thoughts and Uriel’s last words have… confused me. He claimed that he was proof God does not care what we do, said that perhaps… maybe our orders were not coming from God. Anna said the same, about orders coming from superiors, but not God. I am… conflicted, Dean.”

Castiel purposely left out how he had been having doubts since he had first met Dean, that he did not understand how if God was so merciful and kind that he would not step in and rescue the man that was meant to stop the apocalypse when he was in great danger and on the brink of death. He had purposefully left out how he had avoided apologizing for his sins at one point, left out how he had nearly given up doing what he does for fear of saving Dean’s mental state, wishing to stop bearing bad news to him.

“Well- What’re you so conflicted about? Is it the fact the orders might not be coming from God, or—?”

“The problem,” Castiel started, his voice strong at the beginning but continuously getting softer and quieter, “is that some of his orders… I don’t know if I can do them.”

“Well, then don’t,” Dean replied, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

“That’s the issue, Dean, I can’t. I’ve followed my Lord’s orders since the beginning, it’s what I am to do as an obedient son and angel.”

Looking more to Dean for guidance, Castiel couldn’t help the way his voice seemed to tremble in fear.

“Cas, you can’t keep listening to him forever.”

“But his word is law. His commandments, they’re meant to be followed. God said—”

“Damn it, Cas,” Dean interrupted, leaning closer to Castiel. “Stop with what God said for a minute. What do you say?”

Castiel stared incredulously at Dean for a moment, blinking a few times in confusion. “What?”

“You can’t live your whole life by his rules, Cas. You’ve got to live for yourself. You can’t obey and do everything he says, it’s bullshit.”

Looking across his face, Castiel searched for any sign that Dean might be joking, but he was instead met with a serious expression that looked far from breaking.

“Living for yourself is a sin, Dean,” he spoke, his tone unsure. “You’re meant to devote your life and serve the Lord—”

“Oh, for the love of— Give me a break. Everything is a sin, Cas. Sometimes you’ve gotta draw the line for yourself. Make your own rules. You can’t live your whole life under someone else, you’ve got to be your own boss, eventually. Living in your father’s shadow isn’t what your whole life should be, shouldn’t be your life’s purpose. You’ve got to get out there, do things for yourself. Do what makes you happy. You’re your own person, Cas. You’ve got to act like it, too. You don’t need a superior,” Dean advised, and for a moment, Castiel was fully convinced that he was right. He didn’t need to follow under God to a T, he could be his own boss.

Then, Castiel remembered; an angel was not to self-govern, he was meant to follow God, regardless of what may happen. An angel’s life was God’s, not his own. To self-govern and be your own God was to sin, the route of Lucifer, the road to damnation.

Still, despite the remembrance of what an angel’s place was, if only for a moment, Castiel had seen that there was a way to live outside of his father’s plan.

Noticing the hotel room door opening as Sam moved to peek out to look for Dean, Castiel gave a grateful nod before disappearing, going to think about the vision he had been granted for just a moment by Dean’s small speech.

————

Castiel sat in the back pews of the church, waiting for the last of everyone to clear out. All that was left was the father, whom Castiel had asked earlier if he might leave the holy water out alongside the bread and wine for communion for the night. Thankfully, he had agreed, and continued on about the rest of his nightly duties before he would usually leave the church.

Once the man had finished, he walked forward towards Castiel at the back of the church, offering a warm smile.

“There you are,” he spoke, his tone cheerful and calm. “You have the church to yourself now, son, just as you had asked. The bread and wine are sat upon the altar, and holy water fills the basin still as you have requested. I hope that you have a good night.”

Castiel smiled in return, taking the father’s hands in his own and giving him a small nod.

“I wish you the same, father. I hope your night is well. May God bless you.”

The man nodded in return before pulling his hands back to himself. “What did you say your name was again, son?”

“Castiel Novak,” was the response, practiced.

“Well, Castiel, I hope the church can supply you with your needs as you have your time with God. Perhaps I can see you in future sermons?”

Giving a hesitant shake of his head, Castiel’s smile faltered slightly for a moment. “I am constantly on the move, father. I’m afraid I might not be able to join you in church as much as I might wish. I thank you for your kindness of entrusting me in the church, however. It’s quite beautiful.”

Smiling in understanding, the father nodded again before resting his hand on Castiel’s head, giving him well wishes as he left the church, shutting the doors behind him.

As soon as the father left, Castiel rose with practiced movements, walking up the aisle of the church and kneeling at the steps leading up to the altar. Looking up at the large, stained-glass cross against the back wall, the angel took a moment to adjust to his surroundings, being alone in a church with the intention to confess to God.

Taking a deep breath, Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, letting his hands rest against the red carpet-covered steps, feeling the fibers beneath his skin. Giving himself a moment to relax, the angel took a few minutes to familiarize himself with the aura of the church and the way that each of his movements echoed throughout the open space.

Castiel reopened his eyes for a moment, looking over the altar.

The altar in front of him was draped with a purple cloth, signifying the season of advent. A wreath with five candles set in it sat on a pillar to the right of the altar, one purple candle lit to signify hope in the church, and to the left of the altar sat a marble basin filled with holy water.

Above him, the stained-glass cross casted a long shadow across the aisle, stretching over halfway down the row of pews and reflecting different shades of blue against the red carpet, the moonlight streaming through the window the primary source of light in the church aside from the weak spot lights planted in the ground to illuminate the cross.

Deciding that it was time to stop stalling, Castiel took a deep breath, giving himself a final moment to collect his thoughts before opening his mouth to speak, looking up at the cross.

“Forgive me Father,” he started, his voice echoing throughout the church.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”

Castiel fell silent after saying so, closing his eyes again.

“What are you doing?” came a voice from behind him, a familiar gruff tone that had Castiel’s stomach doing flips.

“Hello, Dean,” was the response, Castiel opening his eyes and turning his head to look at the man that was walking to stand beside him, then sitting on the steps to the altar with his back to the cross.

“What are you doing, Cas?” Dean asked again, a look of confusion on his face.

Castiel smiled a bit as he replied, “I am here to take holy communion and confess my sins to my Lord.”

One look at Dean’s eyes quickly gave away that he didn’t understand for a moment what, or why, Castiel would be confessing. “What sins? You’re an angel, you can’t have done anything confession worthy.” Dean’s voice was unsure as he spoke, looking to Castiel for light to be shed on the situation.

“I have doubted God. I have questioned him and his ways, his word, and have had thoughts that were sinful. I have felt emotion, committed acts that are the doorways to doubt, the beginning of the path to damnation. I am here to confess my sin and take the body and blood of Christ, to pray and beg for the salvation I do not deserve to be given from my savior,” Castiel spoke, a soft smile still etched on his face, perfectly alright we the admittance that he did not deserve to be saved by the gracious love of his Lord, but he would pray for it anyway and happily receive it.

“Cas, why wouldn’t you deserve it-?” was the response, Dean not looking an ounce less confused.

“The son, Jesus Christ, our Lord, gave himself to allow us all to repent for our sins. It was a sacrifice none of us were worthy of, but a sacrifice done for us anyway, a proof of our God’s love. John 3:16, Dean. It’s a powerful verse, a gift given for which we sinners do not deserve.”

“What’s John 3:16—?”

Smiling, Castiel adjusted the way he knelt to cup both of Dean’s hands between his own, looking up to him as he recited, “John 3:16 : For God so loved the world he gave his only begotten son, so that those who believed in him would not perish, but have eternal life.”

Looking down at him, Dean’s face faded to one of recognition for a moment before he spoke again. “If God loved so much, why would he lead his own son to die like a lamb to the slaughter?”

Castiel shook his head in response. “Jesus was aware, knowing the whole time that he would someday die for the lives of his worshippers and the worshippers of his father. He gave himself willingly, loving humanity just as much as God had loved them, wishing to rescue the sinners like you and me from the torture of Lucifer’s domain after death.”

Dean gave an unreadable expression, adjusting how their hands were held so that he had Castiel’s hands cupped on the inside of his now. In the back of his mind, Castiel was acutely aware of the roughness of them, the callouses that decorated his palms, likely from working on his car or handling various weapons.

“If God was willing to sacrifice his son then for humanity, what would stop him from sacrificing you?”

At the sound of the question, Castiel stopped for a moment. Dean was right, of course; there was always the possibility that God would decide that he should give his life for the good of the world. However, there was also the honor that came with it.

“If God decides that I should lay down my life for this world, I am willing to do it, as it’s my father’s will. I am his obedient servant, an angel of the Lord, and if he commands it, then it will be done as it was said,” he spoke, looking up to Dean still, his smile faltering a little.

Dean sighed in response, gently squeezing Castiel’s hands between his own and changing the topic.

“So… confession, huh? If you’re confessing, where’s the father? Isn’t that how confession usually works?”

Castiel’s smile came less forced at the obvious attempt to care. “Usually, yes. However, right now, I’m confessing to God, not a mouthpiece for him, so I’m coming to an empty church and confessing my sins before taking communion to cleanse myself.”

“If you’re confessing, should I leave?” Dean asked.

“You don’t have to, Dean,” Castiel replied, taking note of how Dean hadn’t dropped his hands yet. “If you’re willing, you could help me.”

“Help you? How would I do that?”

Dean seemed eager as he asked, like he wanted to be helpful in this situation, although Castiel couldn’t imagine why.

“Well, it’s the first Sunday of the month, which means it’s time for holy communion. Typically, a priest holds out the tray with the bread and the goblet full of wine for each sinner to take. You could do that for me, if you’d like,” Castiel instructed, giving a hopeful smile to Dean.

“Alright, sure. I can do that. Is there anything else?” Dean was nodding, seemingly taking mental note of what to do for Castiel. The sentiment of what he was doing, being a non-believer himself but willing to help Castiel with his religious rituals, melted the angel’s heart a bit, a feeling he wasn’t used to.

“This isn’t- not really a thing that happens, but I personally rub my forehead with holy water. There’s some in that basin over there, I asked the priest to leave it out. If you’d be willing to do that for me, too, it’d mean a lot, Dean.”

Dean smiled in response to Castiel’s request, and the angel swore for a moment that he hadn’t seen a more beautiful sight than the genuinity that shone through the tug of Dean’s lips and flash of his teeth.

“Sure thing, Cas. Just tell me what to do when, and I’ll do it for you.”

He seemed so happy to do this for Castiel, and the weight of his actions and offers didn’t seem to cross his mind. Castiel was grateful, overly happy that even though Dean didn’t believe in much himself, he was willing to do this for the angel in front of him.

“If you could rub holy water across my forehead now—?”

It came out as more of a question than an instruction, but Dean followed it nonetheless, turning and going up the altar steps to the marble basin, cupping a hand to take some of the water. Castiel watched all the while, his eyes tracking Dean as he turned and stepped carefully down the steps until he stood in front of Castiel.

Then, Dean did something that shocked Castiel for a moment.

Reaching forward with the hand not holding holy water, Dean cupped Castiel’s cheek for a moment before letting his hand drag down the angel’s face, holding under his chin and lifting his head up to look at him. Castiel looked up to meet Dean’s eyes, feeling his breath catch in his throat as he allowed himself to be enraptured by the green eyes he’d grown increasingly infatuated by. After a moment passed, Dean brought the hand of holy water to Castiel’s forehead, gently rubbing the water against the skin and taking care to ensure no water fell in Castiel’s eyes.

For a moment, Castiel wondered if something was wrong with him, the way his heart seemed to be beating too loudly compared to how it should. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears, each beat of his heart shocking him with the aggressiveness.

There was a second where he worried he would be sick, his stomach turning in a way he couldn’t describe. Still, the whole time as it felt as though his body was betraying him, Castiel looked up to Dean and refused to tear his gaze away.

Never before had the act of any sort of holy ritual seemed so intense, so confusing in comparison to everything Castiel knew. And yet, here, his face held in Dean’s rough but gentle hands, his eyes held by the color of a forest green, his act of trying to be closer to God seemed to be doing the opposite of its intention, as all he could focus on was the man in front of him.

The moment lasted a few minutes longer, Castiel unable to tear his gaze away from Dean, until Dean finally pulled his hands from the angel’s face.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel spoke, his voice a bit rougher than usual as he readjusted to no longer having Dean’s touch on him.

Dean gave a small hum in response, turning to cough into his fist for a second to move past the moment before speaking. “Is there anything else I can do for you, or—?”

Castiel smiled gently at that, nodding a little. “In a moment, if you could hold out the bread and wine for me? For right now, though, while I pray, I won’t have my eyes open to look at anything, so you’ll have to get my attention in some way once I’m silent to offer me the body and blood.”

Nodding, Dean managed a small smile in return. “Alright.”

Happy with the response, Castiel looked up to the cross above Dean for a moment before closing his eyes again, returning to the state he had been in before Dea arrived.

“Forgive me Father,” he spoke, hearing the way his voice reverberated throughout the church, “for I have sinned.”

After the initial confession, Castiel took a moment to think before he continued.

“As I come before you in this sacrament of confession I ask that you give me the gift of the Holy Spirit. Help me to see and to know my sins so that I may confess them and be free from them. Jesus, help me to trust that any sin I confess will be forgiven and that you came to save me from my sins.”

Castiel took a moment to swallow before rattling on.

“Come, Holy Spirit, into my soul. Enlighten my mind that I may know the sins I ought to confess, and grant me your grace to confess them fully, humbly, and with contrite heart. Help me to firmly resolve not to commit them again.”

Falling silent this time, Castiel kept his eyes closed and waited for Dean to get his attention.

What surprised him this time, was the feel of the tip of Dean’s thumb pressing against his lower lip to get his attention. Eyes flying open at the feeling, the sight of Dean’s face greeted Castiel’s surprised expression, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“Is this the part where I give you bread and wine?” Dean asked after a moment, Castiel nodding just barely, looking up still to Dean still from where he sat on his knees, Dean’s thumb still pressed against his lip.

They sat like that for a moment, Castiel looking up to Dean with reverence, Dean looking back at Castiel with a look in his eyes that the angel struggled to place.

When Dean pulled away, Castiel couldn’t help the slight disappointment he felt, berating himself internally for it.

Enjoying Dean being so close, the feel of the weight of Dean’s thumb on his lip, enjoying looking up to him and staring into his eyes like this was a sin. And yet, still, he couldn’t help it. As sinful and as terrible as it was, Castiel enjoyed it, and just that alone was enough to prove he belonged sitting here in this church, praying for his forgiveness.

Refocusing back into the present situation, Castiel watched as Dean picked up the tray of bread in one hand and the goblet of wine in the other. Turning around back towards Castiel, Dean carried the two parts of the sacrament back to the angel, holding it out in a way that caused the word “holy” to come to mind. Even though Dean was wearing his usual jacket, gray T-shirt and jeans, an outfit one typically wouldn’t wear in church, he still looked as though he was offering Castiel the salvation he so deeply craved for, the forgiveness for each one of his sins.

As Castiel reached up to break off a piece of bread, Dean met his eyes and spoke with practiced ease, “The body of Christ.”

Ignoring the shiver that threatened to go up his spine at the sound of Dean saying something so holy, Castiel took the bread, moving to dip it in the goblet of wine that Dean had lowered down for him to reach easier.

“The blood of Christ,” Dean spoke, and Castiel quickly took the bread and wine into his mouth to ignore the way Dean’s voice affected him.

Holding it in his mouth for a moment, Castiel looked up to Dean for a moment longer before closing his eyes, silently relishing in the taste of the bread and wine on his tongue as he thought for a moment to himself, slowly chewing before swallowing it down, speaking out loud again.

“Almighty God, I acknowledge and confess I have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed; I have not loved you with all of my heart, my soul, my mind, and strength; I have not loved my neighbor as myself. Deepen within me my sorrow for the wrong I have done, and the good I have left undone.”

Castiel opened his eyes to look at Dean, looking into his shock-filled eyes as he spoke a few more lines.

“I have not followed your word as you have intended, and have gone against commandments that had been etched in stone. I have experienced sin, as you had intended me not to do, and I have continued to sin against your good grace. I ask you to cleanse me of my sin as you have done to your other children, and to forgive my wrongdoings as I go against all you made me to do.”

Swallowing again for a moment, Castiel kept his eyes trained on Dean’s.

“In your name, Lord, I pray. Amen.”

Keeping his eyes trained on Castiel, Dean held the goblet to his lips for a moment, taking a swallow of the wine, his eyes still wide in surprise.

It took Castiel a moment to understand why Dean had been as shocked as he was, but once he realized, the notion of what he had done plagued his thoughts for months after.

He had looked as though he were praying to Dean.

—

Later that night, Castiel and Dean left the church, loading into the impala and driving off to an abandoned hotel parking lot.

In the back of his mind, Castiel wondered why Dean didn’t just drive them back to the motel they were staying at, where Sam was likely wondering where Dean was. When Castiel asked, however, Dean gave no response, continuing to drive onward towards the hotel.

It wasn’t until they reached the hotel and the car was in park that Dean spoke again.

“Why are we here, Dean?” Castiel asked, confused.

“I wanted to talk to you,” was the response, Dean pulling the key out of the ignition and turning to look towards the angel.

“We could have talked at the motel.”

“Yeah, well, I wanted to talk to you alone, without Sammy.”

“Why?”

Dean gave a sigh of exasperation.

“I just wanted to talk to you alone, alright? Can I do that?”

Smiling a bit at the familiar irritation in the other’s voice, Castiel smiled a bit, nodding.

“Alright,” Dean nodded, opening his car door and climbing out of the impala, shutting the door carefully behind him. He waited for Castiel to follow suit before walking towards the back of the car, Castiel watching all the while as Dean opened the door, pulling a cooler toward him and opening it, retrieving two beers from inside.

When Dean finally shut the cooler and car door, Castiel followed him to the back of the car, watching as Dean halfway sat against the trunk, holding out a beer for him.

“I don’t see the point in drinking,” Castiel spoke, tilting his head in confusion.

“Just sit and have a beer with me, Cas. It’s a thing guys do sometimes. Have a beer with each other.”

Slowly nodding, Castiel took the beer from Dean’s hand, carefully leaning against the trunk of the impala as well.

Castiel watched closely as Dean pulled a swiss army knife from his pocket, flicking open the bottle opener part and bringing it to the cap of his bottle, popping off the cap and letting it fall to the pavement under him. Gesturing at the angel’s bottle, Castiel took the hint and held out his beer for Dean to do the same and open it for him, listening to the pop as the cap came off.

“Cheers,” Dean spoke, closing the knife and putting it back in its place as he gently tapped the neck of his bottle against Castiel’s, holding the lid to his lips and tilting his head back, swallowing it down.

Castiel watched for a moment the bob of Dean’s adam’s apple as he swallowed, taking close note of how that part of his neck seemed more prominent and his jaw more defined as he leaned his head back.

The angel chalked it up to curiosity about humans, ignoring the way his thoughts threatened to imagine what other stretches of skin on Dean would look like, instead holding the bottle he held to his lips and taking a sip, making a face.

From his right came laughter as Dean watched the expression he made, a grin stretched on the man’s lips.

“Don’t like the taste?” he teased, Castiel unable to find the proper words to describe it.

“It’s… bitter. It kind of tastes like tainted water. But it’s.. bubbly? What is this supposed to taste like?” Castiel described, narrowing his eyes as he looked at the bottle.

“Hell if I know. All I know is, depending on your alcohol tolerance, drink enough of these and you can feel real happy, forget things you do.”

“Why would anyone want to forget what they do when they drink this?” Castiel’s voice was rising in concern, now.

“One night stand, maybe. Afraid to make a move on someone so they drink it to get in a different state of mind, have more confidence. It’s called liquid courage for a reason, Cas,” Dean answered, a smile still on his face.

“It still doesn’t taste very nice.”

“You get used to the taste. After a couple of sips you’ll get it,” he instructed, taking another swallow himself, Castiel once again watching as the liquid went down Dean’s throat.

Castiel took another tentative sip of the beer, slowly getting used to the taste, realizing Dean was right.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asked after a little bit, looking at Dean again.

Rather than answer, Dean took another swallow of beer, looking up at the sky for a moment like he was contemplating his response.

“Dean?” Catiel asked again.

“What did you mean in that church?” Dean spoke suddenly, throwing the angel off.

“...What? What do you mean?”

“All that you sinned against God and you haven’t loved him like you should bullshit. What did you mean by that?”

Confused, Castiel tilted his head once again. “I don’t know how I could have been more clear than that. What exactly doesn’t make sense to you about it?”

“Cas, you’re a freakin’ angel. How are you a sinner? How are you not loving God like you should? You apologize and ask God for forgiveness when you cuss, damn it. What did you mean?” Dean reiterated, looking right back at Castiel, the look he wore shocking the angel for a moment.

“Dean… How do I put it?” Castiel wondered aloud, leaning his head back and looking up at the sky as he thought to himself.

“If I am to love God, I am not to question his will, his word, his commandments. If I love God, I should not sin. If I love God as I should, my faith for him should not waver, and I should pray to him more often than just for forgiveness or guidance, I should pray to him for thanks as well as appreciation,” was the explanation he decided on, looking down from the stars and back to Dean.

Dean gave Castiel a look of surprise, taking another sip of beer before questioning once again, “How are you sinning?”

Castiel sighed, taking a sip of beer to stall for a moment.

“I have questioned my faith in God. I have forgotten my place as an angel, as my father’s child, and I needed to be reminded of it. I have sworn, caused the death of one of my brothers, invoked violence and had corrupt thoughts. I have done more, Dean, sins I’m not willing to admit, and hiding my sins from God is another sin in itself. I have sinned, Dean. Sinned much more than I should, a thing I still don’t feel much repentance from. I don’t feel.. Dean, when I take communion, I’m supposed to feel cleansed, I’m supposed to feel holy. I don’t feel clean, Dean, I still feel sin-ridden and guilty for my misdeeds. I’m a sinner, Dean, a sinner, and truly I don’t know what to do about it.”

Looking at the ground, Castiel avoided meeting Dean’s eye, although he could feel the gaze of those green-eyes boring into him.

“Cas, that’s bull.”

“What?” Castiel said, snapping his head up and looking at Dean with wild eyes.

“If you’re sinning for questioning shit from a man you’ve never met, then I don’t know what to tell you other than that’s bull. Seeing is believing, Cas, and if you’ve never seen him I don’t blame you for not believing.”

“I’m an angel, Dean, I have to be an angel for some reason-”

“I didn’t say you didn’t think he existed,” Dean stopped him, “I said it’s fine to question what he tells you when you’ve never seen him, when the consequences of what you do make you feel guilty for the lives of other people. You heard the stories of how he gave his son to save the lives of everyone on Earth at that time and after, I don’t blame you if you question how he could have such strange seeming orders that seem like they hurt people when he did something so “good” before. I personally don’t think it’s good to let your son get crucified for a bunch of people that fuck up all the time, but for you and all the Christians in the world, that was a good thing. So, if he did something that only sacrificed one life for millions, but suddenly he seems like he’s sacrificing a bunch of people that don’t deserve it, I don’t blame you for questioning it.”

“Dean, questioning God is a sin—”

“Everything is a sin, Cas! I’d be surprised if drinking this beer wasn’t a sin! To that man, everything in this world is sin. But you know what? He created this damn world, gave all of us people self-awareness, let us make our own decisions! He gave us consciousness, and we used it! And then he got upset at what we did with it! This world is full of sin, but it’s a world he made!” Dean said, growing more exasperated by the second.

“Humans weren’t supposed to sin, Lucifer—”

“Yeah, I know. Lucifer tricked that girl into eating a fruit and then the world was open to sin. Temptation is a sin, isn’t it? You can’t say she made the whole world able to fucking sin if God caused the temptation by planting that damn tree first. Temptation is a sin if you give into it and God planted the seeds for it. God made that tree, and I bet it was waiting to see if humans would give into his trick. He didn’t need to make that tree, Cas. He didn’t need to make sin. If he really loved us all, there wouldn’t be a hell for us to go to in the first place, no eternal torture for the people he made. My whole existence might be a sin, but you know what? I love it. If my life is sin, then sin is the sweetest thing I have ever known, because look at this all around me. Sin meant I got my car. Sin meant I got my brother. Sin meant that demons exist so I can hunt them down and banish them back to hell. Sin meant that everything I love in this world would exist. Sin meant you had to come down from heaven, and sin meant that you would one day stand right here in front of me. Sin isn’t that bad if this is what comes of it.”

Castiel stopped for a moment, looking at Dean, and in a dark part of his mind slowly realized that he was right, although he might never admit it. This world was plagued with sin, but it was his father’s world, his father’s creations and what they built for themselves.

“I feel dirty, Dean,” Castiel spoke, clutching the beer bottle in his hand semi-tightly, reaching up to grab the rosary that hung around his neck and feeling like the cross was searing into his skin.

In a second, Dean had set down his bottle and was now taking the rosary off of the angel’s neck, tearing it from Castiel’s grasp.

“Stop turning to God for every damn answer, Cas. If he makes you feel this guilty for the smallest thing you do, and when you do his ritual to be “cleansed” or whatever you still feel dirty, he’s not worth following with this much devotion. If you feel dirty now, you’re only going to feel worse the longer you’re on this Earth. Stop treating him like he’s almighty if it’s only tearing you to pieces and making you feel like you’re drowning in sin,” Dean spoke, tossing the rosary far across the parking lot, giving Castiel meaningful looks.

As Castiel looked at Dean, he couldn’t clear his head from the jumbled emotions and thoughts that muddled it.

Although he didn’t want to admit it, there was the agreement in the back of Castiel’s mind that Dean was right, and, though he was told not to take the rosary off, he felt much better without it weighing down around his neck. The bible that had his name seared into it still sat heavy in his trench coat pocket, but without the cross around his neck, he felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted from his soul.

“Okay,” Castiel spoke, nodding carefully as he looked to Dean for guidance.

“Good,” Dean replied, pulling his hands away from Castiel’s shoulders (when had they gotten there?).

“Let’s just sit and finish our beer, alright? Maybe you can tell me more about the constellations up there. God knows I hardly know any of them,” he smiled, moving back to his side of the trunk, picking up his beer again and taking another swallow.

Once again, Castiel couldn’t refrain from noting how nice Dean looked with a smile.

————

The next time the two were alone, they were sitting in a bar parking lot late at night. Sam had insisted on staying in the bar, for once taking interest in a person inside (at least, that was what he had told Dean to keep him away, but Castiel figured it was because the person might have had leads on the case they were working on).

Dean had the radio playing on some rock station, listening as the radio host announced the next song (whether it was AC/DC or Led Zeppelin, Castiel didn’t hear, but it had to have been one of those based on the level of excitement Dean had responded with). The volume wasn’t that loud, but it was high enough Castiel had to raise his voice a bit to be heard.

“Dean,” he started, the other quickly taking notice and reaching to turn the volume down a bit so they could talk comfortably.

“Yeah, Cas?”

There was the nickname again: Cas. Something about it made Castiel incredibly happy, hearing it tumble so easily from Dean’s lips, a nickname that came up so quickly after meeting him. The sound of it was like honey almost, dripping with sweetness that never failed to put the angel at ease and think that whatever conversation was to follow, it was safe and would be alright regardless of what was said.

“I keep thinking about what you did for me,” Castiel responded after a moment, his tone light.

“What did I do for you?” Dean asked, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

Again, Castiel found himself wishing to reach forward, press his fingers against that spot between Dean’s eyes and rub away the tenseness that sat there.

“You ripped off my rosary and threw it away. It… I still feel awful about throwing it out, but at the same time, it’s relieving. Before, I felt afraid to do just about anything. Now, it still feels guilt-inducing, some of what I do, but it’s less than before. It feels better, now. I want to thank you for it,” he explained, offering a soft smile to Dean.

Dean gave him a puzzled look, but slowly nodded anyway. “Yeah, sure, Cas. It wasn’t making you feel any better, anyway.”

Nodding in response, Castiel sat in silence for a moment before taking a deep breath and speaking again.

“Dean, can I ask you to do something for me?”

Castiel’s voice came across as nervous, and it clearly affected Dean without having to look too hard for a reaction.

“What do you need me to do, Cas?” Dean responded, turning in his seat and resting his arm on the steering wheel.

Exhaling shakily, Castiel turned to face Dean as well.

“I just…”

Rather than finishing his sentence, the angel gave a vague gesture to Dean.

“Just what?” Dean asked.

“Can you- could you take off your shirt for a minute?” Castiel asked, closing his eyes in case the request was too outlandish.

“I- okay, sure. But why?”

Nervously opening his eyes again, Castiel looked to Dean, surprised he agreed so easily.

“I want to see something.”

Rather than ask any more questions, Dean shucked off his jacket, letting it pool on the seat behind him before pulling off his shirt.

Forcing thoughts away from his mind of how Dean’s body was attractive, Castiel reached out nervously as he rested his hand against the handprint on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean shivered at the touch, and Castiel could feel what felt like a shock of electricity jolting through him at the feel of his own handprint burned into Dean’s skin like a brand.

His hand fit perfectly over the handprint, and although Castiel had touched Dean’s shoulder many times since his touch had been branded into him, he’d never actually touched the bare skin since he had raised Dean from hell. The skin was raised, a bright red in comparison to the rest of his skin, and although it looked like it hurt, Castiel couldn’t help but feel a bit proud at the semi-permanent mark he had left on Dean. On some level, it did something to Castiel, a stirring feeling he couldn’t explain.

“I wanted to see it,” Castiel spoke, his voice a near-whisper.

Despite the fact he had raised Dean from hell and put every piece of him back together, Castiel didn’t perfectly remember all of what Dean looked like. It hadn’t been until recently he wanted to learn every stretch of Dean’s skin, wanted desperately to go back and pay much closer attention to each part of Dean as he put it back in its place, to learn again each atom and every inch of Dean.

Castiel knew that to look at all of Dean, to study him as he wanted, would be sinful; to wish to see the parts of another man that only a woman was to see of him, whether it was for that purpose or not, was a kind of lust that was sinful, one of the deadliest sins there were. Still, Castiel wanted to see, wanted to know each part of Dean like he knew each part of himself. He wanted to be familiar with the different parts of Dean, to feel the difference in the skin on his shoulders and the skin on his stomach, to see the tattoo that marked Dean’s chest, to know what parts of Dean’s body were more tan than others. But, because that was sin, this was what the angel could do, what he could see, the part of himself that had left a mark on Dean for a long time to come.

Dean looked to be at a loss for words, unsure of what to say. Castiel was in the same position, unsure how to move on from here.

“I didn’t realize what it’d be like when you touched it,” Dean finally choked out, Castiel nodding in response.

When the angel opened his mouth to speak, he was cut off by the sound of the impala’s back door opening, Sam climbing inside and shutting the door behind him. There was the sound of rustling papers and the shuffling of Sam’s fabric computer case against the car’s leather seats, Castiel and Dean taking the opportunity to pull apart, Castiel turning to look out the window.

Dean had just finished putting his shirt back on and was slipping on his jacket when Sam started with his usual “so get this” as he pulled out a newspaper article, a smile on his face.

————

At some point, the three of them wound up at Bobby’s place. Sam was excited to use the time to read through Bobby’s old books on folklore and different supernatural beings, while Dean used the break from consistent driving to “give his baby some love”. Castiel didn’t understand what Dean had meant by that, but had originally assumed it was an innuendo for something sexual.

Because of his assumption, Castiel was surprised to see Dean outside with a bucket of soapy water, a hose, and a stool, a sponge in hand as he washed the impala.

Castiel looked out the window for a moment, watching Dean wash his car despite the sweltering heat. His gray T-shirt was soaked through, whether it be from sweat or water, Castiel wasn’t sure, but the fabric clung to Dean’s body in a way that left very little to the imagination. His jeans were soaked as well, the denim clinging to his legs, especially up higher towards his thighs. Sweat was running down Dean’s face, constantly being wiped away by a semi-dry towel that kept being tucked back into his front pocket by one of its corners, and the amulet that hug around his neck kept lightly clanking against the car as he leaned forward to rub harder at different spots.

Noticing how parched Dean looked, Castiel watched for a few minutes more before turning to the kitchen and grabbing a glass full of ice, filling it with lemonade to take outside to Dean. He was careful not to let the liquid spill as he stepped carefully out the door, trusting it would surely lose most of its contents if he flew instead, walking slowly towards the car.

Upon walking within a few feet of the impala, rock music could be heard from the radio inside, the car windows rolled down to hear it better. Smiling at the familiar sound of Dean’s music, Castiel mouthed the words to a Bon Jovi song to himself for a moment before calling out to the man now washing the rims of the car’s wheels.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel spoke, stepping closer to Dean and holding out the glass.

“Oh, hey, Cas,” Dean responded, looking up through his eyebrows to avoid the sun glaring into his eyes, lifting up the towel from his pocket to wipe the sweat from his face once again.

“I brought you lemonade. It seems too hot to be outside, you’re sweating.” Castiel’s voice was full of concern, tilting his head for a moment as he tried to understand why Dean would still be outside.

Gratefully taking the glass, Dean flashed Castiel a smile that caused his heart to speed up for a moment, although he didn’t truly understand why.

“Thanks,” Dean spoke, quickly holding the glass to his lips and swallowing half of it down in one go. Once again, Castiel’s attention was brought to the way Dean’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, the gasping sound he made when he finished drinking, the way he licked his lips afterward.

“I needed that—” came Dean’s voice, knocking Castiel from his trance at the sound of the other’s joyful laugh. “It is a bit hot out here, isn’t it? But it’s the perfect time to wash her. It’s a nice day out, nothing will dirty her up right after I finish cleaning her off. I’ve got all day to do it.”

Blinking a few times to remind himself how to speak, Castiel wet his lips to counter the way his mouth went dry before talking, “Wouldn’t the water evaporate? I think that could leave streaks.”

“Not if I work fast enough,” Dean smiled, giving a joking wink in the angel’s direction. “She deserves some love. We’ve been using her to drive around everywhere for months and I haven’t been able to sit and take care of her properly. Here, Bobby has all the stuff I need to make sure she’s running perfect. I rebuilt her from next to nothing after a car accident we were in here in this yard and I’ll use this yard every time I fix her up. Got paint to touch her up if there are any scratches, everything I need to change her oil, fresh gas to fill her tank, got the soap and water to clean her and I’ve got wax to make sure she’s shining all pretty. I’m gonna clean out the inside, too, make sure she’s getting a full clean. Want to help?”

Tilting his head once again, Castiel gave Dean a confused look. “How would I help? I’m not sure what you’re asking me to do, Dean.”

“I’m asking you to help me wash her off. I’ve done most of the soapy work, but you could rinse her off and make sure she stays wet enough so I can dry her off myself and keep her paint from streaking,” Dean clarified, Castiel nodding slowly in response. “I can do that, I think. If you tell me when.”

The way Dean’s eyes lit up at that made Castiel worry he’d be sick with how his stomach seemed to flip, a smile stretching wide across the man’s face that showed off his pure white teeth, the sight somehow shocking as the angel felt a jolt of nervousness in his whole body.

Dean looked about ready to jump for joy, but rather than say an audible “thank you”, he stood up from where he sat on the stool that had been previously unused and wiped his hands on the towel before reaching out, starting to slip the trench coat off Castiel’s shoulders.

“You could get soaked, wouldn’t want your coat ruined,” he offered as a way of explanation, Castiel slowly nodding, helping him take it off, the bible that sat in one of the inside pockets being removed from his person at the same time, lifting a weight from his soul.

When the trench coat was safely thrown over one of the broken-down cars in the yard, Dean excitedly handed the hose to Castiel, showing him how to use it.

“Just.. pull this? And water comes out?” the angel spoke, Dean nodding in response.

Castiel held up the hose, accidentally pointing the nozzle at Dean as he pulled the trigger of sorts, water spraying all over Dean’s shirt and thoroughly soaking him.

“CAS—” Dean yelled, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to close his lips to keep any water from falling into his mouth, reaching up to seemingly attempt to fight the water away.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” Castiel swiftly apologized, letting go of the trigger quickly and accidentally dropping the hose in the process, the nozzle falling to the ground and the trigger getting pressed down at the impact, water spraying Dean in the face.

Bringing his hands up to his mouth, Castiel almost shrieked in apology, starting a mantra of “I’m sorry”s as he nervously closed his eyes.

Because he had closed his eyes, however, he didn’t notice that Dean had picked up the hose and pointed it at him, shouting in surprise when suddenly he was sprayed with water, his button-up starting to cling to his skin.

“Wait, wait! I’m sorry!” Castiel cried, opening his eyes to see Dean’s mischievous grin, the hose held like a weapon in his hands. “Oh, no, Cas. You sprayed me. This means war,” he spoke, repeatedly squeezing the trigger on-and-off, splashing Castiel at random intervals, earning shrieks in response as the angel attempted to run away from the hose, hiding on the opposite side of the car in search of safety.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Dean yelled, Castiel peeking up above the car, immediately getting sprayed in the face with water.

The angel was busy trying to wipe his eyes dry and spit out the water that had gotten in his mouth when Dean wandered to the other side of the car, spraying him in the back.

“Come on, Dean, you’re cheating!” came a voice from across the yard, Castiel blinking enough water from his eyes to see Sam grinning from the porch of Bobby’s house. Evidently, Castiel’s shrieks of terror had been enough to draw Sam away from the mini-library in the house, and he was now watching as the angel was pelted unfairly with water from a hose spray-nozzle.

“It’s not cheating if he started it, Sammy!” Dean yelled back, Castiel quickly taking the opportunity to steal the hose from Dean, getting far enough away that the other man couldn’t steal it away immediately.

“Uh oh,” Dean spoke, turning to try and run upon realizing his mistake, Castiel instead aiming the nozzle and spraying water at the back of Dean’s head, hearing the yell as water ran down the back of his neck and dripped down his back under his shirt.

“SHIT—” Dean yelled, trying to run away faster, Castiel following after him and spraying him as he ran.

Castiel laughed, a wide smile on his face as he chased Dean with the hose. This was fun, it was nice to have this moment, spraying each other with the hose on such a hot day.

“Have mercy!” Dean cried, turning around and falling to his knees, hands clasped together in a sort of mock prayer as he knelt in front of Castiel, stopping the angel in his tracks for a moment at the sight.

For a moment, Castiel didn’t know how to register the sight in front of him. Dean’s clothes were soaked through with water, his hair wet and parts of it clinging to his forehead instead of in its usual spikes. His face was shiny from water and sweat, and his eyes were wide, showing off their forest-green hue that seemed to gleam in the sunlight, the sight causing Castiel’s breath to catch in his throat. Most of all, the sight of Dean so willingly throwing himself down in front of Castiel like this with his hands held together in some sort of prayer put the angel’s thoughts on pause.

“SPRAY HIM AGAIN, CAS!” Sam yelled, and Castiel snapped out of his trance, quickly spraying Dean in the face with water, grinning and letting the other thoughts slip away from his mind as Dean sputtered and tried to wipe the water from his eyes, ignoring Sam’s usage of Dean’s nickname for him as a sort of brotherly affection (although he’d never think of it as brotherly when Dean used it).

“Just wait until I get that hose from you again, Cas,” Dean threatened, Castiel childishly sticking his tongue out and shaking his head.

“If you can catch me, Dean,” the angel teased, turning and running in the opposite direction before Dean could get up off his knees.

The car didn’t get finished until the last of the sun was disappearing behind the trees.

————

A week later, the three found themselves fighting a room of demons.

As Sam exorcized demons with his psychic ability, Castiel and Dean were alone as they fought demon after demon. There was no time to make any devil’s traps, and at times, the ring of salt was the only thing protecting them well enough to give them time to recuperate.

Castiel had the ability to touch a demon’s vessel and send the demon back to hell, but with so many, it was hard to deal with them all quickly enough to ensure their safety. Sam still took some time with each demon, but it was Dean who was likely struggling the most.

Or so Castiel thought.

When the angel turned his head to check if Dean was alright, his fears were almost immediately proved wrong as Dean fought demons easily. He hit them, causing what would be bruises to the people they were possessing, but never enough it would gravely injure the person. He’d burn them with holy water, grab them and stab them with the knife that would draw the demon from the vessel in places that were easy to keep cauterized for the person that could come back into their body.

Even as a demon would seemingly have Dean in a terrible situation, Dean didn’t use much effort as he threw them off of himself, holding their arms behind their backs and reciting exorcizing incantations he had sat for hours learning them well enough to be memorized.

All the while, Castiel watched, enthralled and in awe by the sight of how easily Dean could fight, how quickly he could move to avoid capture. As the demons started to clear up, Castiel was able to touch the few stragglers as Sam finished his last demon, Dean exorcizing his last with a few final words.

Now that the demons were gone, Castiel could see that Dean had hardly broken a sweat, that his breathing was still even and he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked, despite already knowing the answer.

“Sweet as pie, Cas,” Dean replied, a smile on his face as he gave a thumbs-up.

“I’m good too, thanks for asking,” Sam interjected, rolling his eyes but giving a small smile to show he wasn’t really irritated. He mumbled something under his breath that Castiel didn’t quite catch, but Dean seemed to understand, giving a face to his brother.

“Mind your own business, Sam,” he said, Castiel unable to tell if the tone was disgusted or bashful.

“Come on, Dean, it’s the truth!” Sam grinned, his voice playful.

“Shut it,” Dean replied, giving a half-smile as he turned the other way.

Castiel looked between the two, giving them each confused expressions. “Am I missing something?” he asked, both of the brothers looking at him and shaking their heads.

“Nope!” Sam cheered, giving an unconvincing smile.

“Not a thing, Cas,” Dean spoke, reaching out to pat Castiel’s shoulder.

The angel smiled at the touch, deciding to accept the response even if he didn’t believe it.

————

At some point, Castiel noticed the emotions he felt around Dean reaching sinful territory.

A man should not think of another man in the sense he was, but still, he did.

Castiel found himself trying harder to gain glimpses of parts of Dean he shouldn’t, staring moments too long when Dean’s shirt was off, noticing when his belt was a bit too loose and his jeans hung just slightly too low on his hips. Castiel took notice of more things of Dean, the make of his hands, the callouses that decorated his fingers and palms from long stretches of time holding weapons and time spent working on his impala. Castiel noticed more of how Dean stood taller than him, found himself wishing that the few touches they shared would last longer, that they wouldn’t have to separate so soon.

Despite his wishes and actions, Castiel knew what he was doing and hoped for was sinful. He knew that every action he continued to commit was against God, was frowned upon. And yet, still, he wished more than anything to continue to do what he did, to feel more of Dean’s touch, to see more of Dean, to be closer to him and be skin-to-skin if Dean allowed. Castiel wanted to feel the heat of Dean’s body against his own, to know what his touch would feel like in places beyond his shoulders and hands. Castiel wanted to feel Dean, every part of him, regardless of the sin it would be to act on those wishes.

Castiel knew what he wished for was wrong, he knew the disappointment God felt within him at his wishes. He knew to feel this way was the road to damnation, knew the consequences of his actions. He knew it was sinful, and while he wanted above all else not to care, to feel the way towards sin that Dean did, he was terrified of what his Lord would feel about him, of what punishment awaited him for his sins he refused to repent for. At the same time that his sin filled him with guilt and torture, the same pleasure he was allowed by letting his thoughts wander and to go farther than they had before was enough he couldn’t throw himself down at the Lord’s feet again, not if it meant that he’d go through twice the guilt by admitting his sin only to do it again.

When Sam left their motel to go research a theory he had on their case late at night, Castiel was left alone with a fast-asleep Dean.

Turning to look at the sleeping man, Castiel let out a sigh. When his habit of watching over Dean as he slept turned into a thing he used as an opportunity to study him, the angel didn’t know, but he couldn’t help the guilt that consumed him as he took close note of the peaceful face Dean wore in unconsciousness.

Dean’s hair was messier than usual, parts sticking to the pillowcase as he slept, his lips parted slightly in the bliss of sleep. His breaths came slow and soft, showing the peace he felt in his rest.

Castiel watched for a moment as Dean rested in calm, noticing immediately when a slight shiver overtook Dean’s body from the cold. Silently, Castiel moved the chair he sat in closer to Dean’s bedside, reaching out to pull the blanket that had slipped halfway down Dean’s torso back up to his shoulders, warming it as though it had just come from the dryer with a touch.

Instantly, a sigh of relief came from Dean’s lips, a deeper breath than the past few rising with his chest before the breathing cycle returned to its usual even calmness. Castiel sighed quietly yet again, reaching up to Dean’s face as though he were going to trace his fingers across the curve of his jaw, or the bones in his cheeks, but pulled his hand away at the last moment before their skin made contact, resting both of his hands back in his lap. He would not allow himself the pleasure of the shock he felt each time they touched, not in this moment, not in this dark room when the weight of his sins carried heavy on him and the bible in his pocket seemed to yell each insulting verse it could at him.

Castiel watched how Dean slept, taking note how more often than not he slept on his side, his face halfway buried into the pillow. He watched as Dean adjusted the blanket in his sleep, pulling it just above his shoulder before falling back into a still and calm rest, his face peaceful and each breath he took reassuring in a way that couldn’t be explained.

Taking a deep inhale, Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, the sight of Dean washing him over with so much guilt at the moment he couldn’t bear it, even though almost every part of him screamed for him to open his eyes again to look at Dean once more, whether it be to look his sin in the face or to admire the man sleeping in front of him once again.

Shaking his head, Castiel kept his eyes closed, mumbling softly to himself.

“This is sin,” he spoke, squeezing his eyes shut tighter as if it might rip the misdeeds from his soul.

Speaking bible verses to remind himself, Castiel spoke holy word after holy word into the otherwise near-silent room, trying to remove the sin from his being and consciousness despite the root of it being asleep in front of him.

“...do not think about how to gratify the desires of the flesh,” he muttered, “Romans 13:14.”

When instead of the verses making him feel better, the words only drawing memories of times he’d allow his thoughts to wander further about what he wished to do with Dean, Castiel continued with a different verse.

“John 2:16— For everything in the world–the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life–comes not from the Father but from the world,” he recited, hoping desperately that if he reminded himself that lust was not a thing of God, but a thing of the mortal world, that maybe the thoughts would go away, that the want would fade and the sin’s temptation might leave.

Still, it did nothing, the ache of wanting but the guilt of sin staying the same within him.

Opening his eyes once again, Castiel looked to Dean’s sleeping face for any guidance on what to do.

“I’m lost,” he admitted, raising a hand and letting it rest on the edge of the bed that Dean slept on. Taking a shaky inhale, Castiel looked up to avoid the welling of tears in his eyes as his sin terrified him to the point of crying.

“Can a man scoop fire into his lap without his clothes being burned? Can a man walk on hot coals without his feet being scorched?” he spoke shakily, “Proverbs 6:27-28.”

As the angel tried to calm himself, he gripped tight onto the edge of the mattress where his hand rested, careful not to disturb Dean in his sleep.

“I don’t think anyone living can avoid that,” he muttered, trying his best to wish the tears away, “but still, still I want to feel it, that fire. I want to feel the burning, that feeling you keep from me, Dean. I want to feel everything I can’t because it’s sin.”

Gripping the bed just slightly tighter, Castiel took a breath to try and ease himself, staring still at Dean’s sleeping form.

“I want to feel you, Dean, in every way I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t lust for you the way I do, but I do, and I can’t help it. I didn’t- I didn’t think I’d be able to feel desire, not like this, but you make me feel things I shouldn’t, Dean, things that make me hate myself for them but they feel so good I just can’t stop feeling them– I don’t know what to do, Dean, I don’t know. I’m lost,” came the admittance, Castiel’s voice tear-streaked and scared.

All the while, Dean slept, breath steady. Still, as though he had heard, Dean shuffled in his sleep, resting his hand on top of Castiel’s.

When Dean did that, Castiel almost sobbed.

By morning, however, Castiel was standing at the end of the bed like he always was each time Dean woke up, asking how he had slept with a soft smile.

————

It wasn’t until a month later that any of the guilt began to rise off of the angel’s shoulders.

Despite his best attempts, Castiel couldn’t hide his foul mood from Dean. Whether it be he was too quiet for a few seconds too long, or his tone of voice was different, Dean could tell when something was wrong with Castiel. But, no matter how many times Dean asked, the angel wouldn’t tell what was bothering him.

A month later, however, he decided he couldn’t do it anymore.

“Dean,” he had asked, appearing in the passenger seat of the impala one night.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean replied, giving a concerned look to Castiel at the tone of voice he had been greeted with, no longer shocked by the random appearances the angel would make.

“I want you to take me somewhere.”

“Woah- what?”

“I want you to take me somewhere,” Castiel repeated, looking at Dean meaningfully.

Dean gave the angel a confused look, speaking slowly. “Okay, I can do that. But why can’t you fly there yourself?” he had asked, putting the key that he had just taken out before the angel appeared back into the ignition and turning it.

“It’s something I want you to be there with me for, Dean. It’s… important.”

“..Alright,” Dean said hesitantly, “where do you want us to go?”

Castiel thought for a moment as Dean put the car in reverse, backing out of the parking space they were currently in, turning the wheel to the direction needed to leave the parking lot.

“I’m not sure. I’d like to go somewhere that we won’t be bothered, Dean. Preferably away from most of town.”

Throwing Castiel a glance, Dean shrugged a bit as he put the car back into drive, turning them out of the parking lot and onto the main road.

“Okay, but it kind of sounds like you’re leading me off somewhere to have sex, Cas.”

Giving Dean a wild look, Castiel quickly shook his head.

“No, no, Dean, it’s not that—”

“I’m just saying, Cas, if you wanted to fuck me I could’ve just handed Sammy one of the credit cards I’ve got and kicked him out of the motel.”

“Dean, I’m not trying to have sex with you right now.”

“Well, not with that attitude you aren’t.”

Rolling his eyes, Castiel turned and looked out the window on his side.

“I can’t do this with you right now.”

“You know you love me,” Dean insisted, Castiel able to hear the cheeky smile he was wearing without even having to look at him.

Rather than answer that statement, Castiel was quiet for a minute before speaking again.

“There’s something I want to do, Dean. Something I’m afraid to do, and that’s why I want you there. That way I can’t talk myself out of it.”

Castiel turned to look at Dean, watching as he noticed the change in atmosphere, pressing his lips together in thought for a moment.

“What do you want to do, Cas?” he asked, glancing over to the angel.

“I…” There was no light way to put it, to say what he wanted to do without hating himself for saying it out loud. Taking a deep breath, Castiel mustered up all the strength he could before forcing the words out.

“I want to burn my bible.”

Dean just barely managed to keep himself from whipping his head towards Castiel, the angel knew, but still Dean managed.

“What!?” he cried, opting to take quick glances between Castiel and the road instead.

“Please don’t make me repeat it, Dean, I feel sick just saying it once,” Castiel pleaded, looking at Dean with a hopeful expression.

Taking a deep breath, Dean nodded slowly, driving them past a sign that read “Now Leaving: Belmont” as he gently pressed more against the accelerator.

“You want to burn your bible? You mean the one that has your name burnt into it?” Dean clarified, gripping a bit onto the steering wheel.

“Yes,” Castiel choked out, nodding a bit.

“Okay, okay—” Dean muttered to himself, Castiel nervously glancing at him.

“We’ll go find some old house on the outskirts here. There’s got to be one, there’s one in just about every town.”

“Why an abandoned house—?”

“Well, I think starting a big ass fire in some random place is pretty frowned upon by police unless you’re starting a garbage fire for warmth in New York or you own an actual bonfire pit in your backyard, and we aren’t in New York, and we definitely don’t have a backyard to have a bonfire pit in,” Dean explained, checking to make sure there were no cars around before pressing harder on the gas, rushing them down the road.

After roughly twenty minutes, they found a side road that looked suspiciously like a driveway, turning down it and coming up on a house that was in shambles, wood rotting everywhere.

Dean put the car in park, turning off the ignition and climbing out of the car.

“Come on, Cas. Let’s go burn a bible,” he spoke, Castiel slowly nodding and opening his car door, climbing out before shutting the door behind him.

The two wandered behind the house, finding a hole in the ground that had been dug a while ago. Grass had grown around the hole, but the inside of it was completely bare of anything but compact dirt.

“Here,” Dean said, pulling a lighter from his pocket.

“Dean, I—” Castiel started, his chest suddenly feeling tight.

“Cas, you said you wanted to do this,” Dean reminded him, giving him a look.

Castiel swallowed for a moment, unsure of what to do.

“Dean, I’m afraid.”

As soon as the words left the angel’s mouth, the night seemed to go silent.

“Cas,” Dean spoke, his tone suddenly worried, softer than before.

“It’s alright,” he reassured, stepping forward and resting his hands on Castiel’s shoulders.

Castiel looked up to Dean, swallowing hard. The bible in his pocket seemed to weigh more by the second, but looking at Dean seemed to make it feel a bit easier.

“It’s okay,” Dean repeated, giving a small nod to Castiel.

Nodding back, Castiel took a deep breath.

“I trust you, Dean,” he spoke, reaching up to hold Dean’s wrists loosely. He could feel the square lighter that Dean held press against his shoulder through the trench coat, the feeling somehow grounding.

Smiling a bit, Dean squeezed Castiel’s shoulder with the hand that wasn’t holding a lighter before letting go.

The two separated for a moment, Castiel nervously reaching into his pocket to pull out the bible.

The bible itself was bound in soft leather, the name “Castiel” seared into it with gold. It was held closed with a buckle strap, the pages a visible yellowish-tint. The weight of it felt much heavier than it really was as the angel held it, knowing what he was about to do with it.

“You want me to light it?” Dean offered, Castiel nodding slowly in response.

“Dean…” he started, thinking of how to place his words.

“I don’t… God is supposed to be so loving. He’s supposed to care about his children, about humans. God says you’re supposed to be so important, says it’s imperative you’re protected. But his orders, everything he says you have to do— no matter what the situation is, it’s always something that ends up hurting you. Like with Alastair, you didn’t wish to torture him, but you were forced to anyway, and it ended in you in the hospital and in psychological distress. You keep being put into situations that hurt you, Dean, and I hate it. I don’t want my God to be someone who cares so little about the people he’s supposed to view as important, and even the people he doesn’t. It’s not… It’s not what God is supposed to be.”

Dean gave him a confused look, opening his mouth to speak, but Castiel continued.

“God is supposed to be loving. To care about every person to walk this Earth, to think that they deserve forgiveness even if they go against his rules. If someone does something God doesn’t like, they are a sinner. If it’s a sin he especially hates, they go to hell. Why would he wish hell on someone he’s supposed to love? Some of the sins you go to hell for- they don’t seem that serious. You went to hell because you saved your brother’s life, Dean. You went to hell because a deal with a demon was a sin, even though you wanted something so pure. It’s not fair. God should offer forgiveness to everyone, give everyone a fair chance and want to protect them all.”

Castiel held out the bible, waiting for a moment before Dean clicked open the lighter, starting the flame and waiting until the corners of the pages lit. Once the pages began to burn and the fire grew, Castiel dropped the bible into the hole he stood over.

“God should be someone beautiful, someone kind. Someone who would do anything for those he loves,” Castiel spoke, his voice growing quieter as he watched the flames flicker and grow.

“Cas,” Dean interrupted, causing Castiel to look up at him.

“You know, if God is so terrible, why don’t we make our own rules?”

Castiel tilted his head, staring incredulously at Dean.

“Like what?” he asked, confused.

“Like… not everything in this world is a sin. You don’t have to feel guilty for every little thing you do,” Dean offered, a small smile on his face. “We don’t need God to tell us what we should do, to tell us we should worship him or go to hell. We can pick our own life.”

The smile Dean gave made Castiel stop for a moment, his breath hitching in his throat.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, thankful Dean didn’t know what he said.

Castiel looked down to the burning bible, watching the pages be consumed by the flames, paper charring to black and the leather cover curling up from the heat.

“You don’t need God to control your every move, Cas,” Dean spoke, looking down at the fire with him.

Nodding a bit, Castiel smiled gently at the sight of his name shrinking and curling in the hole, a weight lifting from his body as the bible burned longer and longer.

“God should be you,” he mumbled, a smile still on his face.

“What?” Dean asked, Castiel looking up to meet Dean’s eyes.

“Nothing, Dean. Just thinking out loud,” Castiel whispered, his voice just loud enough to carry.

After a few minutes of silence, Dean was the one to break it.

“Well, I think this deserves a celebration. How about me and you go get a burger, huh, Cas? I’m sure I can find some diner open this late. We can pick up some coffee for Sammy, too. Maybe a salad.”

Looking with a smile, Castiel nodded.

“I think that sounds nice, Dean.”

————

It wasn’t long before Castiel and Dean were alone in the car yet again.

The only difference this time, however, was that Sam had decided to tell them both to go ahead and drive to Bobby’s, that he’d keep working on the case where they were and ask questions where he could. After showing Dean yet again that he did, in fact, have all of his fake badges as well as all of his suit, along with the proper weapons if he were confronted, he had practically shoved his brother and Castiel from the hotel room and shut the door in their faces before Dean could nag him about anything else.

“Well, I guess we’re going,” Dean had said after a moment to get over the shock of having a door shut in his face, turning and walking towards the car, keys in hand.

“How will Sam get places?” Castiel asked, tilting his head in his signature act of confusion. “He can’t fly places like I can.”

“He’ll get by. Now c’mon, get in the car or you’re flying yourself,” Dean yelled back, climbing into the driver’s seat and shutting the door behind him. Castiel, deciding he didn’t want to fly alone and wait several hours for Dean, walked quickly to the car and climbed in the passenger side, shutting his door.

“Seatbelt.”

“Dean, I don’t need a seatbelt, I’m perfectly capable of sitting without one—”

“Seatbelt, Cas. I’m the driver, I make the rules, and what I say, goes. Also, public safety laws. I’m not getting a ticket for your ass if we get pulled over and you aren’t wearing a seatbelt like you should be.”

Grumbling a bit, Castiel reluctantly listened, pulling his seatbelt across his chest and buckling it.

“See? Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Dean teased, putting the key in the ignition and starting up the car.

“I dislike you right now,” Castiel replied, turning to look out the window, watching as the car pulled away from the hotel, Dean driving them towards the interstate.

“Oh, don’t be mad. One day we’re gonna get in an accident and you’ll thank me for the seatbelt.”

“Actually, as long as I am in the car, you will not end up in an accident,” Castiel spoke, looking over at Dean. “I am on watch as consistently as you are, and if a car happens to try and come our direction I turn their wheel to keep them from scratching the impala or crashing into us. I would not let anything happen to you or your car.”

“That’s…” Dean started, glancing over for a minute before visibly wetting his lips. “That’s nice of you, Cas.”

Smiling a bit, Castiel turned back to look out the window once more. “I am no longer upset with you. You complimented me.”

“Geez, you’re easy to please, aren’t you?” Dean mumbled, Castiel smiling a bit wider.

“Not exactly, just specifically when you do anything.”

The sound of Dean’s hands hitting against the wheel as he readjusted them to turn the car filled Castiel’s ears, making up for the lack of seeing it.

“How is it so special when I do something?” he asked, righting the wheel once again after they turned a bend.

“Perhaps it’s the “profound bond” that we share,” Castiel smiled, turning his head back to Dean again, unable to decide between the trees outside his window and the sight of Dean.

“That it, huh?” Dean spoke, casting a glance over in Castiel’s direction before returning his eyes to the road, keeping the wheel steady.

“Maybe,” was all the angel responded, smiling a bit wider now.

—

“We’ve been on the road for hours, Cas,” Dean spoke a few hours later, “how about we stop for a minute? My eyes are getting a bit tired after squinting through the windshield from the rain a few miles back.”

Nodding a bit, Castiel looked around outside the window for someplace to stop.

“Should we go somewhere with food?” he asked, turning to Dean.

“Nah, not feeling too hungry, and I know you don’t really eat. Just looking for a rest.”

Careful not to study Dean too closely and space out, Castiel quickly shook himself from his thoughts before he could stare too intently at the green of Dean’s eyes he could see from this angle.

“A hotel, then?”

“Not sleepy-tired, Cas. Just a break,” Dean replied, thankfully patient through Castiel’s guesses.

“Oh, okay.”

Looking around, Castiel eventually pointed towards a side road up ahead.

“Maybe we could stop there for a moment?”

Dean glanced up to the direction the angel was pointing, smiling a bit.

“Yeah, there looks nice,” he agreed, Castiel smiling at the idea of making Dean happy enough with an idea to agree.

As the two continued, Dean eased up on the gas enough to take the turn, revealing a shorter stretch of road that ended in a lakeview.

The reason the road was clearly traveled less than it should be (or wasn’t even meant to be a road at all) was made obvious as the road changed from asphalt to dirt and grass with barely-there tire marks and a few patches of uprooted grass, the only clue this area had ever been driven on at all. The “road” ended almost abruptly, like a cliffside, overlooking a large body of water.

“Well, Cas, you seem to have a knack for finding what looks like date spots,” Dean joked, the smile he wore clear in his voice.

Rolling his eyes, Castiel looked over the water, humming to himself.

“Lake Vermillion,” he announced, looking over to Dean. “We’re around thirty miles from Bobby’s.”

Dean pulled up to the edge of the drive before putting the car in park, turning to Castiel and resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Would you look at that? We’re almost there. About forty minutes away. Looks like I really did pick a good time to stop.” Dean squeezed Castiel’s shoulder, offering a smile.

The sight of Dean’s smile melted Castiel a bit, and he had to resist the urge to lean more into Dean’s hand.

“I guess you did,” he agreed, deciding just to smile back.

After a moment, Castiel turned to look at the water, watching the way the sun set behind the trees and reflected against the ripples in the lake.

“I always liked sunsets. They’re pretty,” he murmured, hardly giving the words any thought before tossing them out for Dean to hear.

“Really? I didn’t take you for a sunset kind of guy. Imagined more of uh.. I don’t know what I imagined, but sunsets weren’t it.”

Castiel smiled, laughing a bit at the comment, not looking away from the water.

“I can see why you wouldn’t. I like the purples and blues up higher in the sky, they look nice compared to the orange and pink lower down. They look much different here on Earth than they did in Heaven.”

Sensing the feel of eyes on him, Castiel turned his head to see Dean watching him intently, curiosity clear on his face.

“What are you looking at?”

Dean smiled, shaking his head in response. “Nothing, Cas. Just looking.”

Smiling gently in return, Castiel allowed himself a moment to look at Dean, a thing he had denied himself earlier. He allowed his eyes to trace over Dean, to look at the barely-there freckles that adorned his cheeks, the color of his lips and the way they stretched a bit to show his teeth when he smiled. Castiel allowed himself to look further down than Dean’s lips, to trace the curve of his jaw over with his eyes, to let his eyes trail down and take in the sight of how Dean’s shirt seemed to cling to his body, how his jacket was fitted to his frame and how his jeans hugged his waist—

Castiel swallowed hard for a moment before looking back up, watching as a sliver of sunlight fell across Dean’s face.

“You’re beautiful,” he found himself whispering before he could stop himself, and despite the AC/DC playing on the radio, it was too quiet to cover the sound of his confession.

He felt himself growing nervous over the stretch of silence that followed, no reaction coming from Dean, and for a moment, Castiel was worried that Dean would tell him to get out of his car, to leave him alone after the words fell from his lips.

In fact, Castiel might have preferred that over the teasing remark he gained instead.

“I’m beautiful, am I? How long did it take you to come up with that one?”

Dean was smirking, that sadistic bastard was smirking, like he knew exactly what he did to Castiel with his very existence. His eyes were closed a bit at the edges with amusement, and for a moment, the angel briefly mourned the loss of his view of the green of his eyes.

“Dean, you’re insufferable.”

The fact he had even managed to sound mildly annoyed surprised Castiel, his heart feeling as though it were going to burst from his chest.

“Ooh, big words there, Cas. Got any more for me?”

Despite his attempt to tease and seem calmer, Castiel could see the nervousness on Dean’s face as he licked his lips, could see the way he swallowed down hard when Castiel leaned a bit closer.

“Dean Winchester, you are single-handedly both the most irritating and most charming man I have ever met.”

And, although it was said with exasperation, the comment sounded more flirtatious than had been intended.

“You think I’m charming?” Dean asked, the smirk faltering and becoming more of an uncertain smile. It was all Castiel could do to simply nod instead of letting every word of praise that had ever come to cross his mind rush from his lips like a broken dam.

Silently leaning a bit closer, Castiel waited for the usual reminder of “personal space” to come from Dean, although it never did. Instead, Dean seemed to lean closer to him as well, what had once been feet between them now becoming only inches.

“Dean, I have something to ask you.” The voice it was said with was a near-whisper, as if someone might be listening to each word Castiel spoke.

“What is it, Cas?” As though he understood the cause for Castiel’s lowering volume, Dean’s voice came softer as well, reassuring the angel that he wasn’t the only one who could feel the sudden shift in atmosphere and felt compelled to bend to its whims.

Despite setting himself up for a question, Castiel couldn’t find the words he needed to ask what he wanted to. Instead, he moved forward a bit further, watching as Dean’s face lit up in shades of orange and gold from the rapidly-setting sun. Flicking his eyes up and down, unable to choose between looking at the green of his eyes or the pink of his lips, he was thankful as Dean understood him, leaning a bit closer.

Feeling as his breath caught in his throat, Castiel looked up to the green of Dean’s eyes, ignoring each thought that ran through his mind that screamed this whole thing was wrong.

“Dean,” he spoke, his voice so quiet that if he weren’t so close it would’ve been impossible to hear.

It was only a split-second of hesitance before Dean leaned in the rest of the way, both shocking Castiel and flooding his veins with a sense of relief he had been chasing for months.

Regardless of the fact everything Castiel had been taught in heaven said that every part of this was wrong, he couldn’t help but allow himself the right to relax, to melt into this, to finally know the answer to every question and desire he had that he’d buried in the darkest part of his mind. He knew this was sin, he knew God would be angry, but for a moment he couldn’t bring himself to care. Dean’s lips were on his, and in this very second, that was enough to wipe every doubt and fear from his mind.

Letting his eyes fall closed, Castiel was careful, waiting before nervously reaching up to rest a hand on Dean’s shoulder, being met with relief as he felt the palms of Dean’s hands cupping either side of his face in return, rough calluses calming and his touch soft.

Dean was gentle, slow, easy. It was obvious he wanted to do more, but for the angel’s sake, he was moving carefully, putting in effort to make sure each movement of his lips were slow, Castiel using it as an opportunity to learn what to do as he met each movement with the same careful enthusiasm. Although they had looked chapped at times, Dean’s lips were soft against his, gentle in every way of the word as they pressed against him, tender in a way that almost didn’t fit Dean’s entire being; still, here they were, Dean treating him so sweetly Castiel was almost sure he’d melt under the touch, leaning more into Dean’s hands as the moment stretched on.

And then, it was over.

Slowly, reassuringly, Dean had pulled back, his hands still ghosting over Castiel’s face with barely-there touches.

“Was that alright?” he asked, his voice quiet, caring, worried.

Castiel nodded slowly in response, his words failing him. The only thing he could bring himself to do was to reach up, to gently rest his hands on top of Dean’s and hold them there.

There was a conversation to be had here, questions to be asked, answers to be given. Yet, in this moment, something so fragile it was scary, neither could bring themselves to have the words push past either of their lips.

For the moment, there was a silent agreement, that what had just happened, happened, and for right now, neither of them knew the words to explain it or a label to put to it, how to explain the emotions that were involved. There were no excuses to ignore it, to pretend it didn’t happen, but there was also a silent conversation to not say something about it just yet, to let this moment stay as it was without the taint of a worried conversation.

And that was how it went. Even after they pulled away, when they had driven and gotten to Bobby’s, neither of them spoke of what happened; instead, they had each ignored it until they had gone their separate ways for the night as Dean went to the library to do research for Sam.

Once the house was silent, with Bobby asleep and Dean reading, Castiel allowed himself to relive the moment over in his head, allowed himself to relish in the knowledge of what it felt like to kiss Dean Winchester, the righteous man who had shed blood in hell.

————

The next time they kissed was hardly a week later.

Sam had managed to find a way to Bobby’s and was now searching to find ways to stop the apocalypse, his head constantly buried in a book. Dean, on the other hand, was taking a break from trying to research about the apocalypse, sitting at the table with a beer in hand.

Castiel sat across from Dean, watching as he took sips from his bottle.

“I don’t understand how you drink it so often.”

“What?” Dean looked up, zoning back into the moment.

“I don’t understand how you enjoy beer so much to drink it so often,” Castiel repeated, gesturing to the bottle.

Shrugging his shoulders, Dean took another sip before responding, “I don’t know either, Cas. I just drink it.”

“It tastes.. strange.”

“You’ve had less time to get used to it,” he reassured, giving a barely-there smile.

Neither of them seemed ready to bring up what had happened, and talking had become so awkward between them that Castiel half regretted what they had done. Sure, there was the doubt due to the sin that accompanied kissing Dean, but if kissing him caused such uncertainty between them, he started doubting whether it was truly worth the feel of his lips against his.

“I guess so,” Castiel replied, tilting his head a little in thought. “I might be more used to it, now.”

Looking up to Dean once again, he was met with the sight of Dean’s eyebrows creased together in thought that only went away when he took another swallow of his beer, throat bobbing as the liquid went down.

“You might be.”

The response had seemed dismissive, like the conversation was done. Deciding that he should go check on Sam’s progress, Castiel stood up from his chair, walking to the direction of the fridge to grab a beer for Sam.

The sound of footsteps suddenly came from behind him, and the feeling of being spun around before being pinned against the counter surprised Castiel.

In front of him stood Dean, bottle in hand, holding him up against the counter.

“Want to test it?” he asked, shaking the bottle just barely to explain what he was referencing.

It took a moment before Castiel could find the words to respond, but eventually he managed to choke out a shocked “yes”. Watching as Dean lifted the bottle, he was confused when the bottle was held to the lips of the man in front of him, a small sip being taken out of the bottle.

“I thought you meant—”

Castiel’s comment was cut short when Dean reached up a hand to hold his chin, leaning forward and kissing him quickly.

Although he wasn’t complaining about the kiss, he didn’t understand the correlation Dean was trying to make until the hand on his chin pulled his lower lip down a little, surprise flooding through him when Dean’s tongue slipped into his mouth, the taste of beer prominent but less shocking than the last time he had tasted it.

Reaching his hands up to Dean’s shoulders, Castiel gripped on semi-tightly for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut as he opted to trust Dean, still unsure of what to do. It wasn’t until he felt Dean's tongue begin to lead his own that he relaxed, slowly melting into it and copying what Dean did until he got the hang of it all.

Small amounts of beer pooled in his mouth, a little running down his chin as Dean stayed so close, his lips slowly becoming slick with saliva the longer it went on.

When Dean finally pulled away, it took all that Castiel had to keep from pulling him back into another kiss, instead deciding to swallow the bits of beer that had found its way into his mouth, licking his lips.

There was no way to avoid the conversation that needed to be had now, not when they had just kissed again, not when Dean had had his tongue in Castiel’s mouth, not when Castiel wanted more; if the look in Dean’s eyes were any indication, he wanted more as well, much to the angel’s relief.

“Dean,” was all he could say, keeping his hands on the other’s shoulders and holding him tight.

Rather than respond, Dean set the bottle down on the counter in front of him, bringing his hands up to cup Castiel’s face.

“Dean, we’ve got to talk about this—” he tried, his words entirely opposite to the way he leaned into the hands that rested so gently on his face.

“I know,” Dean whispered back, unmoving save for the way his thumbs brushed lightly across Castiel’s skin.

“Dean,” was all he could say for a moment, feeling the way his guilt was catching up to him as he was held like this, feeling the disgust with himself twist in his gut as every rational thought that had been hardwired into him screamed this was wrong.

“This– This is wrong, this is sin, I can’t– Dean, I can’t– God says—”

For once in his life, Castiel couldn’t finish a phrase that related to God, couldn’t finish any part of God’s word without the guilt weighing on him for burning his bible.

“Cas,” Dean spoke, holding his face just slightly tighter, enough to bring him back to ample attention to realize the tears running down his face and the way he just barely shook at the realization of all he had done.

“Dean, I can’t—”

His words were desperate, and he gripped tightly onto Dean’s shoulders as if it might save him from his own guilt.

“Yes, you can.” Dean’s tone was tougher this time, still holding Castiel’s face gently.

“You can, Cas. Who cares if God says it’s so awful? Damn it, Cas, if you want this as much as I do then you’ll get past feeling like your piece of shit dad would hate you for every little thing you want to do. If this is the best fucking thing I’m ever going to do, if doing anything with you is the closest thing to heaven I’m ever going to get, then how can it be so wrong?”

Swallowing down hard, Castiel slowly nodded, bringing his hands up from Dean’s shoulders and instead resting them on the sides of his neck, blinking tears from his eyes.

“Just kiss me again,” he whispered, looking up at Dean pleadingly, thankful when his request was fulfilled.

Right now, Castiel didn’t have the strength to face his sin, but as long as Dean’s lips were on his, it was easier to ignore the guilt he felt with every action.

————

After their kisses in Bobby’s kitchen, Castiel and Dean had come to a sort of pattern where they kissed when no one could see, moments when Dean would tease or Castiel felt guilt.

It amazed him how easily Dean could tell when he questioned himself, could tell when his belief and fear of God threatened to bring him to a point of breaking down. Each time Castiel began to feel too scared about his sin, too guilty about it all, Dean would come along and kiss him, wash away every thought just with his lips alone.

Soon, though, it got to a point that even through the kisses, the guilt still stayed heavy in Castiel’s mind, still eating him up despite each moment he had Dean’s lips against his.

When the time came a few weeks later that the two were alone in the car again, they were parked on a side trail off of the main road, surrounded mostly by trees, and Dean had pulled Castiel into another kiss.

Despite how enthusiastically Castiel returned it, the kiss still wasn’t enough to wipe away the ever-growing guilt in his stomach.

“Dean,” he whispered, eyes open just enough to look at the man in front of him with a pleading face.

In a clear attempt to comfort him, Dean had reached forward and rested a hand on Castiel’s hip, shocking him enough to shove the guilt from his system for a moment.

“Are you alright?” Dean asked, noticing the little gasp that had fallen from the angel’s lips at the sudden touch.

Nodding, Castiel took a calming breath, only for him to jump slightly as Dean squeezed his hip reassuringly.

“Cas– you sure you’re okay?”

Although Dean’s voice had taken on a worried tone, Castiel nodded quickly, feeling the guilt slowly start to drain away from his body as he allowed himself to relax a little in Dean’s hold.

“I’m alright, Dean,” he reassured, inhaling shakily for a moment. “Just.. do that again.”

Seemingly unsure, Dean obliged, squeezing Castiel’s hip again and gaining a soft, barely-there whimper in response.

“Cas?” Dean asked, slowly gaining more confidence in the situation, whereas the angel seemed to be growing more embarrassed by the second.

“Yes, Dean?” His voice was soft, worried if this was right, if the sound he had just made was okay.

“Was that nice?”

Was it?

Castiel didn’t need to think long before a “yes” came tumbling from his lips, staying leaned close to Dean.

In response to the “yes”, Dean smiled, squeezing Castiel’s hip again before pulling him into another kiss, starting off slow.

It didn’t take long, however, for the situation to become more fast-paced and needy, Castiel grabbing onto the front of Dean’s shirt as hands ran across his chest and attempted to slip his trench coat off his shoulders.

Faster than Castiel could think, his coat was laid in the floorboard, Dean’s hands undoing the knot of his tie and throwing it down to join the coat while shrugging off his own jacket.

Everything was almost happening too fast; Castiel was sliding off Dean’s shirt, giving in to the instinct of what he should do, not letting himself think for a second of what God might say about any of this. All he knew was how much he wanted, how much he needed Dean, and the thought of anything else seemed so far away.

Before long, Castiel’s shirt had joined the rapidly-growing pile of their discarded clothes on the floor, and Dean’s mouth had started to make its way down his neck, pressing kisses and biting marks in places Castiel wouldn’t have dreamed of someone touching in a way as carnal and intimate as this; hot breath was hitting his skin constantly, and in the back of his mind there was the knowledge that he was making sounds he didn’t know he could: whimpers and moans, begs and soft pleas for something more, something he didn’t know for sure what it was but he something he knew he needed, all falling from his lips so fast he didn’t have time to wonder where any of it was coming from.

Castiel knew all of this was wrong, knew that he shouldn’t be doing any of this, that just to want Dean’s touch in such a way was a deadly sin. He knew he shouldn’t dare want for a moment any of this, that he should be praying and repenting and trying to get forgiveness for one of the seven deadly sins that he had committed so often.

“We should move to the backseat,” Dean whispered, and any thought of how he shouldn’t want this left the angel’s mind in a split second.

Castiel let Dean lead him over the back of the seat, tumbled onto the bench in the back of the impala and immediately fell back into the previous rhythm they’d had once Dean joined him.

Nothing about it was gentle, all of their movements needy, demanding, desperate. Dean had taken off Castiel’s belt and tossed it to the side before the angel had any time to realize what was happening, slipping off the pants the belt had held up before taking off his own jeans with the same enthusiasm, all the while as Castiel held him close by his shoulders, desperate to pull him into another kiss; the space between them seemed achingly empty, and all Castiel wanted was to close it, to have Dean’s lips on his, have their skin touch, have not even an inch between them.

“Fuck, Cas,” came the voice above him, a hint of a smile in Dean’s voice. “I didn’t think you’d be so needy.”

Hardly a thought was given before the words tumbled from his lips, “I didn’t think you’d be taking so long to have me already.”

The words were almost teasing as much as they were a beg for Dean to hurry, to give him the thing they both wanted and were obviously eager to have; if what Castiel said wasn’t enough to convince him, the hands pulling down on his shoulders and the legs wrapping around his waist certainly were, Dean not taking any more time in moving things along.

Every touch that came from Dean’s hands set Castiel’s skin alight, the sin of it all almost searing itself into his body in a delicious burn, the consequences it would bring fleeting from the angel’s mind and instead replacing itself with the pleasureful nonchalance of sin; no matter what the consequence, however earth-shattering or not, it would be worth having this moment, feeling Dean’s body on his own and finally fulfilling the aching desire that had crawled under his skin for longer than Castiel could admit. He’d more than likely ached for it longer than he knew– for all the attention he had given it, Castiel could’ve been in need of Dean’s touch like this since before he knew what it was in enough detail to crave it, since the night he’d laid eyes on this man in hell.

Each bite and every kiss at his skin resulted in an involuntary noise spilling from his lips, Dean’s name coming across his tongue so easily it was almost scary. Every action resulted in another grab at the man above him’s body, another scratch to his skin and another pull to get him closer.

As soon as there was a grind against the other, the sounds they made in response mixing in the air between them, Castiel knew it was over, there would be no more waiting or stalling-type touches, and he was proven correct at the sudden desperateness in Dean’s pull at his waistband.

Every touch had become frantic, needy, quicker than before, or at least as frantic as it could be while Dean made sure to be gentle enough to not hurt Castiel during his first time.

Before he knew it, both his clothes and Dean’s were completely gone, leaving them both with only their own bodies to be seen, no clothing to hide behind; if taking apart someone’s inner thoughts and mind were easier, as if you could pull away a curtain and see what the other person was thinking, they would have done it, would have laid themselves out for the other to look at, to see and learn from the inside out; every thought would be on display, the sad thoughts comforted and the good ones smiled at and related to.

For all it was worth, their bodies were almost enough, each stretch of skin telling its own story; every tensed muscle showed nervousness that was quickly soothed, every scar told its own tale of hurt that would be told in its entirety later, when they had the patience to sit and kiss each bit of pain away and ease the darkness of mind it left behind.

“Dean,” came the plea, Castiel not bothering to stop himself from letting the name spill from his lips.

Dean met the call of his name with ease, letting his hands touch every place they couldn’t before, learning Castiel’s body over with more than just his eyes. Each touch was met with some kind of sound, some recognition to each feeling that was different than what the angel was used to, whether that be a whimper or a claw at Dean’s back.

The more things escalated, the more Castiel lost himself, letting each act of sin wash over him and welcoming it with ease. Even when Dean was stretching him open, biting at his neck and whispering words of praise in his ear, Castiel held tight onto the other and let it all fill him with the guilted pleasure only Dean could give him.

And, once Dean had finally pressed against him, filling him in a way Castiel wouldn’t have dared to think of before, the realization hit him that he couldn’t bring himself to care about how much he was sinning.

If sin felt so good, if its flames were so warm and comforting and offered him salvation from the constant fear of how it would burn if it touched him, why would he be so afraid of it in the future? If the sea of holiness hurt so much, why would it be so bad to drown if it gave him such peace once he stopped struggling and the sin filled his lungs with bliss?

“You’re perfect, Cas..”

The sound of Dean’s voice was all it took for Castiel to give himself over, letting himself get lost in sin and be taken in the backseat of the righteous man’s impala.

————

Castiel, before, wanted nothing but to think that the corruption of sin that had taken him over had come from something else, from Anna or the doubt Uriel might have instilled in him.

“Dean…” his voice was a pleasureful whisper, piercing through the otherwise almost-silent room.

Every kiss sent sparks across Castiel’s skin, Dean’s lips praising every part of his body and ensuring the message was given across that he was loved.

Each touch was care-filled, gentle and loving as Dean’s lips and hands brushed over every stretch of Castiel’s skin, the calluses on his hands comforting as his hands were touching places they hadn’t had the patience or time to touch last time.

Before, Castiel had wanted to imagine that his temptation to sin had begun for some other reason, that something else had provoked it.

“You’re amazing, Cas,” Dean praised, pressing kisses across the angel’s hips as his hands brushed gently across Castiel’s thighs.

Gripping onto the hotel bed’s sheets under him, Castiel did his best not to squirm under the other’s gaze as each part of him was held and kissed and treated like it was worth some sort of sinful worship, worth the praise that sounded almost holy coming from Dean’s lips.

Every touch was punctuated with some kind of noise, Castiel’s sounds turning to near sobs the longer it went on; whether it was the result of what felt like a tease, or the feeling of being undeserving for such kindness in this moment, he wasn’t sure, but still Dean continued his kind of worship as he pressed kisses over the most sensitive parts of the angel’s body that wouldn’t otherwise dare be touched.

“You’re perfect,” Dean would praise, pressing kisses down Castiel’s stomach, setting skin alight at each brush of lips against him.

“Absolutely gorgeous,” he’d say, tracing his fingers over a scar on the angel’s hip before pressing soothing kisses to that area, finding another scar to do the same to.

“The prettiest angel I’ve ever seen, Cas,” he’d whisper, and Castiel would cry and let tears run down his face at the notion of feeling so loved.

At first, Castiel had wanted to believe that the corruption came from something else; he didn’t want to think of the possibility that he’d lose all his glory as God’s perfect soldier within days of knowing Dean Winchester.

And yet, here he was; sprawled out over a hotel bed, body entirely bare as Dean took care to worship each part of his body, touching in intimate places and giving nothing but pure pleasure and bliss to an angel who had before known heaven. Heaven had been perfect, calm, welcoming and loving: heaven was meant to be eternal paradise, to give nothing but good feelings to its inhabitants.

The only thing that seemed to be different now from what Castiel had once known was that, rather than a place offering the solace that would typically be unimaginable to have anywhere else, this piece of heaven was a person.

Dean’s hands were rough, callused, deadly: these hands were violent, relentless, dangerous and were able to hurt someone with ease– but these hands were also loving, caring, tender and gentle as they treated Castiel as more than just an angel, as if he were a god himself that deserved the worship and devotion that came with the title.

Dean’s voice was low, rough, each word that fell almost snapped out unless they were said to his brother or Bobby; at the same time, Dean’s voice was soft, calm, easy as he spoke each word of praise to Castiel, his words thought through, and even the ones that weren’t were still loving.

Dean’s body was scarred, proof of battles fought before, and even with the lack of scars that had been there before hell, there were almost enough there once again to make up for the years that had been wiped away. His body was proof he was a soldier, molded to be hard and uncaring, cold and calculated in his hunts; despite that, Dean was able to be soft, to be kind and offer comfort. His eyes weren’t soulless as his father and hell might have tried to make them; they were instead alight with life that was visible in anything he did, joy radiant within them whenever he smiled. His lips were soft, smiles easy despite the torture he’d gone through. His body was hard, molded to be fit for hunts, but his hold was gentle and touch soft.

Dean’s reputation said that he was dangerous, a weapon of destruction: the reputation the preluded him said that he was an important piece in the apocalypse, the vessel and sword of the Archangel Michael, the righteous man who had shed blood in hell and pushed over the first domino of many. Dean was known as a man to have one-night stands that never amounted to anything, sex with a person once or twice before throwing them to the side.

Despite it all, though, Dean was perfect, was heaven; Dean’s hands were loving and his touch was reassuring, his voice calming, his body soft and his love tender. Dean didn’t treat Castiel as a quick excuse for sex, didn’t intend on hurting him, didn’t snap at him and hurt him with hurt words; Dean treated each intimate moment with Castiel as if it were precious, holding the moment in his hands like glass. Dean protected Castiel, despite knowing that as an angel he could protect himself, and refused to let him get hurt. No matter how angry, Dean was always toned down in his frustration with the angel, treating him with annoyance and irritation, but never wrath. Dean’s words were sweet, his touch nothing but kind.

Before, Castiel had wanted to believe that his corruption came from something other than Dean.

He couldn’t say the same, now.

Now, he could say that he was thankful Dean treated him with care and patience he did, could say he was thankful that Dean freed him from the guilt of his sin and going against God.

Now, Castiel could say that he loved Dean with every ounce of him, could say that every touch and word filled him with a happiness that was unmatched.

Dean didn’t have to say it for Castiel to know that the feelings were returned; the fact that Dean would treat him this gently, would care for him beyond anything and make sure that every worry of the angel’s was eased said it for him.

“I love you,” he whispered, saying it anyway, even though his gentle touches were words enough.

Smiling, Castiel let more tears slide down his face, looking down to meet those green eyes he’d come to love.

“I love you, too,” he whispered back, voice cracking around his happiness, and Castiel knew he was in it for the long run. There would be no more qualms about his sin, no more breakdowns and fear of doing something against God. Castiel would do anything for Dean, would fall from grace and lose his title as God’s soldier in an instant and still smile, still love Dean with all he had.

Once upon a time, Castiel had wanted to deny more than anything that he had begun to sin and lose himself as what he had been the moment he met Dean Winchester. Now, that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Now, Castiel was happy to love Dean, was happy to sin for him, to experience every ounce of pleasure that human’s error brought him, no matter how angry he would make God in turn.

It was impossible not to fall for a man that looked at him like he was worth the world, to not fall for a man who treated him like the highest being in existence.

It was impossible for even an angel of the highest order not to fall for Dean Winchester.

————

BONUS:

“DEAN, CLOSE YOUR EYES–” Castiel yelled out in a panic, his eyes wide as he watched Sam creep up behind Dean.

“What, why–?” Dean spoke, looking at Castiel with a confused expression.

“SAM HAS–”

The warning didn’t come out soon enough, Sam taking the bucket of soapy water and dumping it on Dean’s head, drenching Dean to the bone.

“I win,” Sam grinned, tossing the bucket to the side and staring down at his brother in victory.

Because Dean was facing away from Sam, Castiel was able to see the look of defeat for all of three seconds before a plan formed in his head.

Sam had begun dancing around, happy in his “victory” and not paying enough attention to notice as Castiel quietly handed Dean the hose.

After a few moments of silence, Sam looked at Dean’s back, not noticing the hose.

“What, are you speechless now?” his tone was teasing, and Dean made no move to respond.

The silence had begun to scare Sam a little, and Castiel watched as a slight look of concern crossed his face.

“Why aren’t you saying anything–”

The question had only just made it out when Dean grinned, turning around and holding the nozzle up to Sam’s face.

“Dramatic effect,” came the response, immediately followed by a large spray to the face.

Sam could only stand there, too surprised to do anything, and Castiel couldn’t help the wave of laughter from rushing over him, falling onto the ground and laughing hard enough to lose his breath.

It was almost a pathetic sight; Castiel rolling on the ground laughing, dust and dirt clinging to him from how soaked he was, Dean drenched and still dripping with soapy water, and Sam standing there in shock as he was continuously drenched by the hose, hair soaked and sticking to his face.

In a way, they were almost akin to wet rats– if wet rats could laugh hysterically as they rolled on the ground and smile evilly as they sprayed their brother with a hose.