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Castiel had never quite understood how humans said something hurt but had no physical distress. It didn’t make sense. Then again, he wasn’t meant to understand. It wasn’t how he was built.
The pain now, free of grace and wings, had no discernible physical source, but it was aching. Like he’d been thrown chest first into a wall, but no such event occurred. He couldn’t help feeling it was wrong. That such a feeling was incorrect, but maybe this was how it felt to be human. He wouldn’t know, would he?
He had been spared. He still lived. So, he would endure this. It wasn’t necessarily more painful than being stabbed. And it was nothing compared to having one’s entire being ripped out, so Castiel would endure.
Dean rapped on the door twice. Castiel could still tell it was him, from the distinctive shuffling and nervous exhale.
“Come in,” he called out while sitting cross legged near the head of the bed. Something about the stance
The hunter gingerly entered the room holding a plate containing a steaming burger with a variety of toppings that smelled- for lack of a better word- heavenly.
“I didn’t know if you were hungry, but I made burgers,” he murmured, looking down.
“I’m alright but thank you.”
It was difficult to discern between the pain and hunger, but he had eaten recently, so he probably wasn’t hungry again.
“You haven’t eaten since yesterday. I’ll leave it here.”
That seemed like a reasonable amount of time between meals, but he thanked him regardless.
Dean set down the plate on the table but lingered a few moments, seeming as if he had something to say, so when he made no move, Castiel prompted him.
“Did you need something else?”
“Need? Oh. No, I just wanted to tell you-” Dean took a breath and looked a bit uncomfortable, scratching absently at his eyebrow. Ah. Emotion. “I don’t know if talking might help or make it worse, but if you need someone to listen, I’m here.”
Castiel hesitated. He knew this had taken a lot of effort on Dean’s part. Was it a genuine offer or an empty platitude meant to be reassuring? Generally, the sentiment of ‘let me know if you need something’ was meant only as a kind gesture, but the nature of the situation suggested that it was meant to be taken seriously. The angel might have been lost in his thoughts for too long, because Dean coughed nervously.
“It doesn’t have to be me either, it could be Sam, or something.”
“No,” Cas interjected quickly. “It’s- If there was someone I would speak to, it would be you.”
Dean rubbed the back of his neck and leaned back onto the closed door, seemingly embarrassed by the sentiment. Surely that wasn't new information to him? Castiel held his opinion in high regard and trusted him implicitly, of course there couldn’t be anyone else he could talk to about this. No one else would come close. Knowing this, the response to his earlier offer came easily.
“I don’t know if it would help me or not, but… I could try? Does it usually help you talk about things that bother you?”
“I’m pretty much the worst person to ask that to, Cas. I’m like a walking advertisement for silent suffering. But yeah, it’s supposed to.”
“If it usually helps, why don’t you do it?” he probed.
Dean did tend to take on burdens without complaint. But it didn’t make sense to avoid something that might help alleviate issues.
“Cas… I’ve… never been good at it. It’s not always easy and for a long time I didn’t have anyone to tell. I know I have people to trust now, but our line of work, it’s a lot to put on someone. My stuff ain’t work troubles or flat tires, it’s apocalypse and heaven and hell and demons and- it’s a lot.”
“Well, it will be considerably more difficult to tell you anything my current ailments when there are many things your mind cannot comprehend.”
The hunter considered this for a beat, not arguing the point but not seeming to give up. He stepped forward and sat on the edge of the bed. Castiel sat up a little straighter, feeling like he needed to give the man more room, despite having a foot of space between them. Dean made eye contact then, for the first time since he’d stepped into the room, and the familiar sight made Castiel ease.
“Well, hit me.”
“Why would I hit you?” he asked, confusion marring his tone.
“No, just- Try anyway. It might just be good to get it off your chest.”
Oh. Yes, that made sense. “Alright.”
“So, what’s eatin- what’s bothering you. Not for nothin’, but you don’t look so good, buddy.”
Castiel knew that. The few instances he had glanced in a mirror, he had looked run down, and tired. There were deep dark marks under his eyes, cheeks devoid of color, and the look in his eyes was unpleasant. There was no question about his state of unwell, meaning this could really only help. Nothing Dean said could make him worse.
“It hurt.”
“What he did?”
“Yes. Metatron ripped out my grace, burnt off my wings. It was painful. More than anything I have ever experienced,” he said with a catch in his voice. “I am still in pain.”
“What?”
“Not that kind of pain.”
“Oh.” The man nodded, seeming to understand very well what he meant. Perhaps it was something humans learned early, a trait developed to help in troublesome upbringings.
“I never understood how that worked, non-physical pain and now I fear I will never be rid of it. It’s constant. Everything reminds me of what I lost and of what I did. Every breath I have to take, every time I lose consciousness in sleep, every time I get a hunger pain, every itch and bruise and... the pain. I ruined my home. I decimated it. I condemned my brothers and sisters to a terrible fate. And I now have to live like this.”
“It’s not all bad you know? There’s good stuff,” he attempted. His voice was soft, as he tried to walk the line between not invalidating his grief, but trying to lift his spirits.
“I know. There is food and sunlight and love… but...”
“This isn’t exactly what you had in mind.”
“It’s that it was taken from me. I had already chosen. Don’t misunderstand me, Dean. I will never regret choosing you or deciding to do what was right. But to have something so important ripped away and used in this way… it’s vile.
“I rebelled. That was my choice. And as flawed as my siblings are, they did not deserve this. And I condemned them to this without their choice. I took their choice away. The very thing I fought for.”
“That wasn’t all on you. Metatron did that.”
“Still.”
“I’m sorry about your grace.”
“Thank you, but it’s more than something stolen. It’s the only thing that’s ever been mine in my whole existence. Given to me from God. I remember fighting alongside my brothers in the garrison. The first vessel I ever took those hundreds of years ago when I did reconnaissance. The fight down to hell. When I held you against my grace.” He closed his eyes and remembered the feeling for a moment. Like a phantom limb, he could almost feel echoes of sensations connected to his grace. A complicated thing that was, to still feel the remnants of such a complex energy bouncing through him, now that he was hollow inside.
“My grace, my wings, they are me, my being. It was all I was, once, without this vess- this body. I was only my true form. In heaven. Now that it’s all gone… what am I? Who am I? I am not an angel of the lord. I’m not… I'm not anything. Not even fully human. I am of no use to anyone. Why am I even here?
“You’re Cas. Not Castiel Angel of the lord. Not a holy tool. You’re my best friend. You don’t need to be of use. You just need to be. Besides, you’re still the one who ‘gripped me right and raised me from perdition’” Dean did a deep voice to quote him, that was clearly meant to be an impression of his voice in their first meeting. Cas couldn’t resist a smile.
“I still remember it,” he said almost wistfully.
“When you dragged me out?”
“Yes. It was amazing. You wouldn’t remember it. The image of my true form would not survive in your memory. I could have tried to show you if I was still-” Cas cut himself off before he could devolve into another unfortunate route.
The hunter nodded sharply and seemed to make a decision. “Well, we’ll have to do it my way then.” Dean scooted to sit cross legged as well and sat close enough to be straight across from the other man. Once he was situated, he closed his eyes. “Paint me a picture. With your words. Describe it to me. I’ll try to imagine it.”
“Okay,” Castiel said simply. He couldnt help the tiny quirk of his lips that Dean seemed to inspire so often. “We’ll pretend.”
The new human held up fingers to Dean’s temples in a move that was purposefully reminiscent of the past, then let palms cup the hunter’s face. It was an indulgent move that he might not have entertained at another time, but it seemed his traitorous human body had a mind of its own and didn’t always listen. To be dissected later. He tried to keep it less intimate by not leaning in too close.
“I am sure I do not have to remind you what hell looked like. We had no need of vessels, so we were in our true forms. Two of my brothers accompanied me. It took longer than I’d thought. I remember wondering how I would find you amongst all the souls. They all looked largely the same to me. Most, dimmed by the allure of hell. Some completely obscured and well on their way to becoming demons. Even fewer seemed still bright enough that I could tell it was new for them. And then I saw you. I knew it was you. The brightest soul there. Even with Forty years, your soul had not darkened.”
“I find that hard to believe.” He chuckled lightly, as if the very notion were foreign and ridiculous.
“There were a couple of spots, but it was the most beautiful, despite them. Because of. Like a thousand sunrises layered on top of each other. Bright and seemingly impossible, but the most amazing thing I’d ever seen.”
“You’ve seen a lot of things,” Dean spoke in a hoarse whisper.
“And yet…” Cas smiled lightly, wistful. His fingers tapped the side of the hunter’s face playfully, hoping it would draw at least a little humor out of him.
“You must have seen me, because you didn’t seem surprised by my presence, only confused. You’d stopped what you were doing. I spoke to you. I said ‘I am an Angel of the Lord. You are saved.’ If you had been in your body, you’d have told me to ‘shove it where the sun don’t shine,’ but your soul yearned to be free. I told you that you didn’t need to do this anymore. That you could stop. At first, you didn’t want to. You thought it was what you deserved. On some level, I’m sure you think you still do.”
Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably, clearly feeling the truth in the statement.
“I cleansed you and something changed. You took small steps, then completely stumbled into me. Once there, you bucked, maybe it was overwhelming. I imagine it would be. Still, I held on tighter, gripped you. Once you were secure, I spread my wings. I proclaimed to my brothers and sisters that we were successful. "Dean Winchester is saved.” I flew with you cradled in my grace, up towards the surface. The woods that housed your body were decimated, unfortunately, but it was a rather powerful ordinance. Putting a soul back into a body, especially from Hell was unheard of.”
As he spoke, the memory kept bringing that warmth. Warmth that spread from his center towards his limbs, making him feel fuzzy and light. He was sure the expression on his face reflected the contentment he felt.
“You gave me the handprint.”
“Yes. It is not physical, of course.”
“What do you mean? Felt pretty physical when I touched it,” he sassed. It surely hurt like a burn for a while.
Castiel opened his eyes to look at him. He relished being able to look at him without being scrutinized for it. He was able to look at the fanning of his eyelashes against his cheeks, the miniscule scars from odd scratches and scrapes on his face, and even the curve of his lips.
“You were not in your body in hell. It could not have been physical. After we were out of hell, I reconstructed your body. I put everything back in place as perfectly as I could and made sure it was in the best condition possible. I obviously restored the state of your torso from the hellhounds as well as all other lacerations gained in the altercation. I fixed the damage to your liver from drinking, I restored your eyesight to 20/20, the minor injury to your knee that you never rested long enough to heal was mended, and I fixed the deterioration to your other bones that would have caused fractures in the next 8 years.”
“Made me squeaky clean huh?”
“I also made sure to put the normal things in place. Those took a little longer, as I couldn’t snap them into place as quickly. The shade of your eyes, your freckles in the right spots, the musculature of your hands. If there had been a physical discomfort, I would have rectified it. No, the handprint- my mark- was on your soul. The physical one was simply a reflection of what was seared onto you when I gripped you in hell.”
“So, why is it gone?”
Cas hesitated until Dean peeked his eyes open. He removed his hands, reluctantly, from Dean’s face and seeing the movement, the hunter opened his green eyes wider as well, furrowing his eyebrows a bit at the change.
The ex-angel fumbled with the best way to phrase it. “I hit it from sight after the apocalypse. I thought it would be best.”
“Hid it from sight?” he repeated.
“Yes.”
Dean squinted at him and angled his face in confusion. Castiel could feel himself sweating, but he kept his face as impassive as ever.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I hid it from sight,” Cas deadpanned.
“Smartass. No, that’s your ‘I’m lying by omission’ face.”
Castiel’s eyes widened. Did he really have a face?
The hunter rolled his eyes playfully, “Oh, now I know you’re hiding something.”
“I’m not hiding anything; I just don’t know if you might not like it.”
“Now I gotta know.”
A quick calculation of the possible outcomes, led to an honest truth. Worst case, Dean would be cranky about it, but he might be relieved or even thankful for the kindness. It was certainly intended as a kindness; then again, many things he’d done had been for a good reason, for kindness, though that didn’t do much in the actual effect. That popular saying “the road to hell is paved with good intentions” never did apply so much to anyone as much as Castiel, he thought.
“I only hid it. It still exists, just not on your shoulder. It is visible on your soul, even now. Well... I suppose I am assuming, since I can no longer see it.”
His face cleared and he looked stared thoughtfully, making direct eye contact, that would be unnerving if Castiel were an average human, but now just made his stomach clench with anticipation.
Eventually, he responded carefully. “If I wanted it back, would it be easy to do that?”
“It would have been, if I was- Yes.” Cas tilted his head, confused by the response. “I thought it would bother you. That, pardon the comparison, you might see it as animal-like. A brand. Like... livestock.”
“It kinda did at first, to be honest. Before, when you were still bein’ jerked around by his holy dickness, but it was still proof that I was alive, that I got out, that even if it was for asshole reasons, I was worthy of being saved. And then you were different, and it felt different too. Like... I don’t know,” he finished sheepishly.
It made sense that the mark would serve as a physical anchor to his reality, something to keep him tethered to his worth after being in hell. It was a large responsibility. He had once been charged to entire garrisons, tasked with large cosmic missions, never once phased, but having the obligation to one, beautiful human’s worth was humbling.
“If I could, would you want it back?”
“Yeah... I think I would.”
The two smiled apprehensively at each other, strangely pleased with the outcome of the admission. Though he couldn’t put the mark back, would not have the power required, the grace that could coax it out from its concealment, it still made him feel content that, given the opportunity, Dean would choose to bear his mark happily once again.
“That’s one of the things I miss most. Seeing it, your soul. I could still see the mark on it.”
“Seriously, Cas. My soul cannot be that nice to look at.”
“It is,” Cas laughed. “I wish you knew. That you could believe me. The love you carry in your heart for everyone important to you is written plainly for anyone to see. Your courage, strength, resilience, but mainly your love. It is contagious. I always admired humans, but I loved humanity because of you. If it were not for you, I might have been in heaven still. Following orders. Or maybe I’d be dead.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too.”
“I’m sorry. If you hadn’t followed me this far, maybe you’d still be an angel, you wouldn't be slumming it with us mud monkeys.” He was joking, but the apology was sincere. Of course, Dean would feel remorse for this as well.
“You are God’s most wonderful creation.”
It was unclear to Castiel whether he was talking about Dean or humanity in general. He supposed both were applicable.
“I would do it again. Rebel. When I laid a hand on you in hell, I was not lost, but I was changed. For good, I think.”
Overcome with a need to reach out, to touch, he took a hesitant hand and brought it to the older Winchester’s shoulder, stopping just short of the spot. The spot he knew so well. Dean took a hand and pushed back his sleeve.
“I believe I am feeling anticipation.”
Dean gave him a toothy grin that made Castiel want to freeze them just like this for as long as possible.
“Well, it’s catching on because I think I am too.”
He lined up his hand and slowly pressed it to the skin. Immediately, it was like a phantom surge of grace. A shock at the base of his spine surprised him. It wasn’t clear, though, if the shock was because of the hidden mark, or just the touching of his skin. Once the jolt wore off, he smiled sadly, more than a bit disappointed at the difference.
“I can’t feel it. Your soul.”
“But can you feel me?” Dean asked.
He didn’t understand the question and gave a questioning gesture.
“The warmth of my skin. The texture of it. My pulse against yours.”
He did. He could feel all of the things he would once have considered base and unimportant. Physical touch and warmth and the smallest amount of friction that came from skin against skin.
“Yes.”
“Will that be enough, one day?”
“I think it might be enough right now.”
Dean cupped the hand not attached to the arm Castiel was holding, to the back of the ex-angel's neck. He made intentional eye contact, wanting to convince him of something. The familiar shade of green was calming to look at and kept Cas grounded.
“I am sorry. I really am. If I could do anything to fix this-”
“It’s okay. You’re right, there are many aspects of this that are good. I am adjusting. I will learn. And, maybe I can move past this.”
Without thinking, the action had made them move closer to each other until their foreheads were nearly touching. How Castiel yearned to close the space and have them lean on each other, to support their own weight against the other, to feel closer and closer until their bodies felt intertwined in the closest approximation to what it felt like to connect to Dean’s soul. That alone, lessened the ache building up in his chest each hour, replaced with a different, fluttery sort of feeling, like his heart pounding against his throat instead of his chest- even though that was completely impossible as far as he was aware in his knowledge of human anatomy.
“I’ll be right here when you do. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Thank you, Dean.”