Title: Now I Lay Me…

Summary: He didn't believe in God, but maybe the angel- his angel- could change his mind. After all, Something had to love him an awful lot to save him. And that was all he ever really wanted.

Parings: Dean/Castiel, mention of Sam/Ruby

Rating: T

Warnings: Spoilers for 4.02, so beware!

Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are not mine, so please don't sue!

Now I Lay Me...

Maybe he didn't believe in God. Maybe he didn't want to believe. Maybe it was easier not to.

See, if there was no God, then there was nobody for Dean to let down. Nobody more powerful than his own father, that is. Nobody bigger than John Winchester. Because Dean? He always hurt the ones he loved. He hurt his mom and he hurt his dad and he hurt his brother. He hurt his brother a lot.

And Meg. And Hendrickson. And Ronald.

But mostly his family.

So there was no God.

But then an angel appeared to him- an actual angel of the Lord- and told him that they- they- had work for him. They. Like, the angel and Someone else. Someone. With a capital S. Like, Someone big.

And Dean had a hard time believing that because, well, there couldn't be a God. If there was a God, it just meant that he'd only been saved to get sent right on back to Hell. That was where he'd always been going, anyway.

He knew he couldn't do it, whatever they had planned. He always failed. Like he failed mom and dad and Sammy. Like he'd fail this angel with the deep blue eyes and the smartly cocked head and the questioning stare. Like he'd fail the non-existent God.

Dean had been gripped tight and raised from perdition, and if that wasn't the kinkiest thing he'd ever heard, well… well, he hadn't quite been able to come up with a snarky comeback at the time. He'd been a little overwhelmed. And the more he thought about it, the more overwhelmed he became.

He'd been saved. Saved by something that had braved the fires of Hell for him. Something (or Someone) that had wanted him out. Something that loved him enough to bring him back from a brink that he couldn't even- thankfully- remember.

Something like that took courage. It took desperation. It took- he shuddered at the very thought of it- love. Something loved him enough to send an angel to get him. Something loved him enough to send him a guardian.

And wasn't that what he'd always secretly wanted? Someone to watch over him and chase all the bad things away? A constant companion and protector? Someone to bear the weight of the world, just for a little while, so that he could relax? Someone to grip him tight and raise him from perdition?

He had looked into the angel's eyes and he had known, for all his lack of faith and belief in God, that it was telling the truth. It was what it said it was. No false advertisement. An angel of the Lord. And it had saved him. It had loved him.

He was excited.

He still questioned, of course. A leopard doesn't change it's spots overnight, and Dean Winchester could put the most stubborn big cat to shame, but he was willing to listen. If there was even the slightest possibility that something out there was willing to give him the second chance that no one else had, he would take it. He would make good use of it, even if he did ruin everything he touched, even if he did decimate all good in his world with a glance.

He questioned what little faith he had, questioned his new guardian. Maybe it wasn't a guardian. Maybe he was still alone, still unloved. There was never an unconditional for Dean, never a no-matter-what. He couldn't do anything right, so why should now be any different?

He'd let innocent people die at the hands of monsters. And that girl, with the chopped-off hair and slutty clothes… he'd given Sam the orders.

When his angel did show up, Dean had questions, and he wanted answers. He wanted that same curious look, the wide eyes, the sideways slant of the head. The almost-pity that came with the realization that he didn't think he was worthy. He wanted his angel to prove otherwise, to show him somehow that he was.

Instead, it was angry, and he didn't understand. He didn't understand, and the earth shook and his heart raced and his palms sweated and he felt fear and adrenalin rush through his body. It wasn't happy with him. It didn't love him. It didn't love him because nothing could. Nothing could ever love a monster.

They both saw this now, at the exact same moment, and the words left the angel's mouth and Dean cowered in fear. He couldn't remember, but he didn't want to go back. His head filled with screams and with his body ached with half-buried torture and I dragged you out of Hell, I can throw you back.

He hadn't even realized that he had fallen, that he was on the floor, his back to the wall, with the angel staring down at him with concern in its eyes. He couldn't go back, couldn't go back, couldn't go back. Not there. Not now. Not so soon. Not after he'd thought…

He had to stop making assumptions. Assumptions like the ones that had formed in a four-year-old mind, telling him that his mommy would always be there to tuck him in and kiss him good night, like the ones that had told him Sammy wouldn't last five minutes in college, the ones that had said dad would be hopelessly lost without and would come back soon. The ones that said he was loved enough to be ripped from Hell. The ones that said he had his own angel, to watch over him for all of eternity, to keep him safe and warm and loved and give him all of the things that he had always secretly wanted but had been too afraid to ask for.

It crossed the room and bent down, crouched before him, leaning over him, face mere inches from his own. His heart was pounding in his chest. It cocked its stolen head, as if listening to the beat, trying to decide whether or not to make it stop again.

"You want me to love you?"

Dean didn't answer, just stared up into blue eyes that had seemed so angry mere seconds before. Now they were clouded with confusion, but he wasn't fooled. It was a trick, always a trick. There was no love, no peace, no constant companion. Only hate and anger and fear and hostility and lonely motel rooms late at night. Only him against the world. Forever.

The angel blinked. "It is a sin."

He didn't say a word, didn't understand, just knew that sin usually equaled Hell, and wasn't that the kicker? Out of the fire and right back in. Dean Winchester, the Incredible Dying Man.

It reached out toward his shaking body with a hand that was far too steady for what he knew it was about to do, and Dean hated it. He hated it for leading him on, for making him think for even three days that he might have been worth something to someone- anyone- in the wide universe. He hated it for leaving him alone to fight off the ghosts of those he couldn't save. He hated it for coming back and threatening him so soon after saving him. He hated it for everything it had done.

It touched his forehead, as it had Bobby's, and Dean woke up.

-.-

He stood outside the motel room, looking in through the window, hands shoved in his pockets, and watched. It had been nearly a week since the Raising of the Witnesses. It had been nearly a week since he'd last visited his charge.

And what a strange meeting that had been. He'd sensed the fear coming off the man, the jumbled thoughts, but he hadn't realized what was wrong. They were in war. He was preoccupied.

It had taken him nearly a week to realize his mistake, his misstep. He should have checked his anger, held his tongue. He should have shown more restraint.

He watched through the window as Dean slept, the hunter unaware that his brother had snuck off yet again to bed his demon mistress. That was a surprise best saved for later, for the end days of the war, for the time when it was necessary to turn one against the other. Now, he didn't need the stress.

He unlocked the door without the key, without the need for such things, and walked in, stepping over the carefully laid salt lines. He perched himself on the edge of the bed and waited for the hunter to wake and acknowledge his presence.

Dean stirred, rolling over and moaning low in his throat. His eyelids fluttered. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from hazel orbs that widened when they spotted the angel sitting near his feet. He was pressed back against the headboard in an instant, body shaking against his will, mind and heart racing. Sam!

"Do not be afraid."

"Right," he said, voice wavering. "You tell that to everyone you smite?" There are angels watching over you.

Castiel shook his head, scooting closer across the rumpled sheets. "Last week… I need to explain." He reached out toward the trembling man, shocked when he shied away.

"I'm not going back. I don't owe you anything. I didn't ask you for anything." Somebody help me!

"I was not angry with you. You must understand. This is a war, and there was a battle…"

"I understand perfectly." Now I lay me down to sleep…

"Your work here isn't finished yet."

"And when it is?" I pray the Lord my soul to keep. Please, God, just this once.

Castiel cocked his head. "You really think I would send you back?"

"You said you could. You said…" I helped bring you into this world, and so help me, boy, I will take you out of it.

He backed up, brow furrowing in confusion. He'd heard that voice before, the one ringing in Dean's head as clear as a bell. It had belonged to the man's father, sloppy and slurred with drink after a long day of hunting. "I would never hurt you."

Love? Dean looked at him, eyes wide, body achingly still, pressed firmly against the headboard. He looked around the room, as if realizing where he was for the first time. "Where's Sam?" And please bless mommy up in Heaven, and grandma and grandpa, and especially, especially watch over daddy and Uncle Bobby this weekend, and please watch over Sammy and help him not to have any bad dreams. Amen.

"What about you?"

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "What about me?"

"What do you want for yourself?"

The response was trained, automatic. "Nothing." I want us to be together again. I want us to be a family. Just, please, come back to me. Don't make me beg. "Where's my brother?"

"Out. He's fine. He's safe. You're the one I'm worried about."

Dean shook his head. "What are you doing here?" Maybe, someday, if I'm good enough, they'll all come back for me. And I won't even have to ask. They'll just always be there. They'll just know.

"I came to apologize. You must understand. I was coming from-"

"A battle, yeah. I know." One year. "Don't worry about it."

"But I do. You were scared."

He slid from his place by the headboard, a confident smirk on his face, though his heart still hammered in his chest. "I wasn't scared." You should show me some respect.

"You were shaking. You were cowering." He almost wanted to add 'before the might of God,' but thought it a little too soon, a tad too tasteless. All good things in time.

"You were seeing things." Perch on your shoulder. Constantly. Follow you around. "So, see? It's fine. You can go on back to Heaven, or, wherever now." Never alone. Forever.

Castiel scooted closer, taking his former spot. "No."

Dean pushed himself back up against the headboard. "Ok, you and I need to have a talk about personal space. Because this? This is, like, make-out distance right here." Love 'em and leave 'em. Break them before they break you. Cassie just laughed.

"You keep thinking about love."

The hunter's eyes bugged. "Whoa. All right, forget the personal space. Let's have a little chat about mental barriers, huh?" Not now, not again, never again. Please, God, not again.

"Why do you keep thinking about it?"

"Why do you keep digging around in my brain?" Worse than Sam, I swear.

"It's right on the surface."

"Get out of my head."

"Why is it so important to you?"

Dean narrowed his eyes. "That's my business. Stay out of it."

"You know," Castiel grinned, "I really don't even have to ask. I could just see for myself."

The hunter glared at him. I wish, just once, I wasn't alone. Someone, anyone. Anywhere. More than one night, more than something casual. Please, if there is a God, just throw me a bone. Just once. Haven't I done enough?

"Dean?"

Green eyes bored into him, challenging him, threatening him. Everything I touch dies. Everyone I touch leaves.

"Touch me."

Dean blinked. "I'm sorry?" Not alone. Not again.

"I will prove I'm different."

Slowly, the hunter scooted forward, his hand reaching out, still shaking, fingers splayed. His touch was tentative, soft against the angel's borrowed skin, warm through the thin white work shirt he wore. Still here?

"See? You are worthy."

Dean shook his head, drawing his hand away, taking that slight warmth with it. Castiel missed it. "Prove it." You can't make me stay here, Dean. He can't control me anymore. I'm going, and that's final.

"I saved you, didn't I?"

"And you're gonna send me back as soon as I set one toe outta line." Marked, branded, claimed, owned, unconditional. It don't mean nothing if it's reversible, kid.

"It means everything."

"Get out of my head."

The angel leaned in farther. "Not until you see what I see. I've been watching you for a long time now, Dean. Far longer than you realize. I know you better than anyone else."

"How long?" Now I lay me…

"I've always watched over you."

Dean slumped from his spot by the headboard, letting his body relax onto the pillows. "Really?" Down to sleep…

"Who did you think led you out of the fire?"

Dean shook his head, leaning forward, looking, he knew, for signs of falsehood in his eyes. "Why didn't you save my mom?" I pray the Lord…

"You were my charge." He leaned closer, invading Dean's 'bubble,' and not really caring. Personal space was not important. Getting his point across was. "She was not."

"I still am?" My soul to keep.

He smiled. "You always will be."

Dean leaned closer. "But…" Thy angels watch me…

"I love you."

His eyes went wide. Through the night…

"That will never change."

He leaned closer. And keep me safe…

"Not for all of eternity."

They kissed. Till morning's light.

"And please bless Dean Winchester."

Amen.

The End.

All right. So, I was kinda trying something new with this one, and I'd love to know what people think. Thanks for reading!