Disclaimer: I'm not Kripke or Gamble, I obviously do not own Supernatural, Dean or Castiel in any way, shape or form, because if I did, you would be watching this on HBO complete with swearing and sex instead. There is a great deal of canon and certain lines of dialogue referenced in my fic, used solely to establish when in the timeline of the series the scenes occur. I figure, if you're reading this, you're obviously a fan of the show, and should know exactly what I didn't come up with on my own. In addition, I reference several classic rock songs and various movies/books. A list of credits will be provided at the end. Thank you!

Warnings/Notes: An attempt to stick to canon. Spoilers, massive, massive spoilers, as this fic runs concurrent with seasons 4, 5 and 6. Destiel, straight up, although it acknowledges canon parings. Mostly schmoopiness, some hurt/comfort, some Dean/Cas/Pie, teeny bit of wingfic, eventual non-consent, but a lot of ooey-gooey romance, too, a little bit of everything, really. A lot of blasphemy. There's so much in the show that seems to just be unspoken, and as a rabid fangirl, I needed to fill the gaps. (insert joke about the boys filling my gaps here)

I wrote that stuff 3 months ago, and I have now realized that no one writes things like this because the cross-referencing for making sure one does not violate canon is exhaustive. Seasons 4-6 are now seared into my brain. Wait, that's a good thing!

The Strange Face of Love

Prologue

The Hosts of Heaven mourned the falling of two hundred angels. How could they not? There was never such a loss of family, and there wouldn't be again for almost four thousand years. Regardless, the Nephilim needed to be dealt with. The atrocity of angels and humans breeding was incomprehensible, and the Host barely understood feeling anything at all, let alone disgust and betrayal. The Archangels had to go before God. It was decided that Uriel was the best suited to speak to Noah of the coming flood, as his strength was persuasion. Raphael was tasked with dealing with Azazel, the angel with the yellow eyes who lead the Fall. Raphael, being the most aggressive, bound Azazel hand and foot and tied him to jagged rocks to await the Day of Judgment. Gabriel was the obvious choice to destroy the Nephilim themselves, as he was excellent at sowing seeds of discontent, with his oddly mischievous nature. Michael, the most beloved, the leader, was to bind the fallen angels themselves, deep in the valleys of the Earth, also until the Day of Judgment.

Castiel was an idealist. It shook him to the core that angels would willingly fall, mate with humans, the wriggling little fish barely more than animals. Their sins of the flesh disgusted him- he understood that humans procreated, the angels even formed platonic pair bonds amongst themselves, but he had never felt an interest in such things. Castiel had never encountered an angel he wished to pair with, preferring the solitude for maximum devotion to God, and he could hardly comprehend the appeal of physical intimacy.

The Flood came and went, the humans sorted out their affairs, once again complacent without the bad influence of the Nephilim. Centuries passed. Uriel and Gabriel were chosen to guide a man through heaven. Apparently, they enjoyed communicating with man. Castiel paid the human little mind. He didn't really care about the humans. The human was special to God, however, and eventually became an angel himself, called Metatron. Castiel liked Metatron. He was a writer, above all else, and Castiel talked with him at length about his times as a human. Through their talks, walking in the Garden with Metatron, Castiel began to think he had maybe been too harsh in his apathy towards his Father's most beloved creations.

This was why, when Haniel asked if he wished to walk the Earth with her, he agreed. Haniel was his favorite sister, and he followed her gladly, as she was his superior, and while he loved and trusted her as he loved and trusted all his siblings, he sought her company more often than he sought others.

"I travel to Canaan, brother," she smiled sweetly, "I am curious as to what these humans are like; I wish to see for myself what caused our brothers to fall."

Castiel did not admit it to Haniel, but he too, was curious. He simply did not understand how appeal the humans held was so great to make an angel Fall. Despite his fondness for Metatron, it was mysterious to him.

They took vessels, Castiel a woman, with dark hair and eyes like broken sapphires. Haniel took as a vessel a man with red glints to his hair and great emerald eyes. They had no real concern for gender as regards to human, but some of the angels, the ones that resembled humans cosmetically, thought of themselves as more masculine or feminine, depending on their strengths and weaknesses. This didn't matter when it came to inhabiting a physical body- no matter the outwards appearance, the Grace was the same.

They walked among men, ate and drank as men, learned of the customs humans shared. Castiel quite enjoyed some things. The stories humans invented to teach their children lessons or simply to amuse themselves fascinated him. He also took interest in Haniel's joy. She seemed more carefree, more joyous than she ever had in Heaven.

At last they were called upon to return home. On their last night, they walked in the desert, covered by a sparkling night sky. Castiel could see the stars reflected in Haniel's eyes, and they embraced. Castiel felt something stirring inside his chest, something insane, and in a moment of madness, he reached up, and pressed his lips to Haniel's as he had seen the humans do. She returned the kiss, and it was sweet and warm, and over far too soon. She looked back at him, eyes sparkling, and then ran across the sands, laughing. He chased her, and they finally fell, laughing on the ground.

"I am glad you shared this with me, Castiel," she smiled at him.

"And I, you," he smiled in return.

Too soon, it was over and they returned to Heaven. It would be over three thousand years before Castiel walked the Earth again.

Chapter One: Our Shadows Taller Than Our Soul

Castiel was an Angel of Thursdays. Angels only answered prayers when they received orders from the Seraphim, but they constantly heard the mutterings of those who prayed. With the abundance of humanity, the angels had grown accustomed to tuning out the vast majority of the clamor. That was why Castiel was surprised when loud and clear, overriding ever other prayer, he began to hear the prayers of a four-year-old named Dean Winchester- his family was in danger, and he had prayed to God to save his mother and his baby brother. The orders from Heaven had come an instant later- to get the child and his brother out of the burning house. The mother was irrelevant. Castiel obeyed, sweeping the flames away from the children, guiding and speeding Dean's panicked footsteps.

Over the next two decades, the prayers from Dean came less and less, but Castiel always heard them when they did come. He only answered when Heaven commanded it so, but he never tuned them out. He kept a watchful eye on Dean as often as he could, intervening several times during the human's childhood when a stray demon or force of nature threatened his life. Heaven approved of this guardianship, because Dean was special. Eventually, both Dean and his little brother, Sam, died unnatural deaths, and it was Castiel that returned them to their bodies and wiped their memories. He didn't know what their purpose on Earth was, but he knew that trouble was brewing, and that the Winchesters would play important roles in the Apocalypse.

Dean traded his soul to a demon for his brother's life, and Castiel's garrison was called to duty. If Castiel had been the type to question his superiors, he might have wondered why Dean was allowed to make it to Hell in the first place, but he wasn't, so he only obeyed when told to rescue the Righteous Man.

Angels and demons fought at the gates of Hell, seven angelic warriors and vicious black smoke locked in battle. Castiel darted through the carnage. He was fast, one of the fastest angels, and his task was to get to Dean Winchester. He dived through the yawning, toothed mouth, avoiding the flames licking out at him, down into the massive spiral of Hell. Down, down, he flew into the Seventh Circle. He could sense the soul he was after, white hot, singing out as purer than anything else in the abysmal pit. In a wet, dark hole, he saw what appeared to his angelic vision to be a pure, shining, orb surrounded by choking, strangling black smoke. He laid hand on the soul and he was off, hoping that his garrison had cleared the way back up.

"Don't look back, don't look back…" he whispered to the soul. He broke through the Gate, tumbled down and was grateful to see the other six angels of his garrison. They surrounded him and then they were up, out, flying clear. He was at the front of the formation, and he glimpsed Uriel ahead when suddenly he was propelled forward by an enormous explosion. He tumbled, and saw behind him, his brothers consumed in the flames of the Leviathan. Then Uriel was by his side, offering support, but Castiel refused. He felt horrific pain at the loss of his entire garrison, the angels he had been stationed with for over two thousand years, but he was not about to show this weakness to Uriel. After a lifetime of war, he was used to soldiering on, and while considered an exceptionally funny angel, Uriel was not what one would term sympathetic. He was matter of fact, honest, eloquent, but not sympathetic.

"Were you in time?" Uriel asked him.

"No."

"Our brothers died in vain, then. " Castiel had no response. They flew on in silence, Castiel holding the soul close against himself until they were safe at the base. They could hear the host crying out that Dean Winchester was saved.

"I can resurrect him, if you are tired," Uriel offered.

"No. I will do it." Castiel did not want to let go of the soul, although he couldn't define why. He did not trust Uriel, perhaps, to handle it with the proper reverence.

"As you wish. I shall go seek Revelation. Now that the Seals are broken…" Uriel vanished, sentence unfinished, and Castiel made the angelic equivalent of rolling his eyes. Uriel and his Revelation, he sighed to himself, and set about the task of resembling the body of the soul he cradled. Atom by atom, he found every cell that had been Dean Winchester, and assembled it anew. He laid heavenly kisses on each part, bestowing his Father's love upon every cell. When at last the tiny body lay cradled in his palms, he was surprised to see that the print of his hand where he had clutched the soul tight was visible on the shoulder. He breathed life back into the body, and it was gone.

Dean Winchester woke to pitch black, stifling and hot in a tiny, tiny place. It was lovely, marvelous; it didn't hurt- that was a fuckin' shock. It was so much better than where he had been for the last forty years, but breathing was becoming an issue. He flicked his Zippo, saw a wooden wall in front of him. He punched it as hard as he could in the confined space. The wood cracked and dirt poured over him. He dug upwards and as his fingers broke the surface, realization dawned.

I am crawling out of my fucking grave. It's over. I'm back. Am I a zombie? he wondered, Do I want brains? No, want a bacon cheeseburger. Probably not a zombie. He looked around, considered the devastation he stood in the middle of, trees flattened circling his gravesite. Time to be a good solider. Gotta move, gotta find cover. Gotta find Sammy. He absently rubbed at his left shoulder. It ached, which was odd, being that the last thing he remembered in Hell did not involve his shoulder in the least. The way her soul quivered under my blade, Alistair laughing, stroking- fuck. No. Gotta focus.

He found a gas station, stopped for supplies. He took a moment to examine his face, his torso in the mirror. There were no scars, no sign of anything he had been through in Hell, no marks where he clearly remembered knives and claws shredding him. He rolled up his sleeve to discover the source of the ache was a handprint, raised in a welt across his shoulder.

He grabbed only the most essential supplies, beer and porn. He grinned a little at the Asian beauty- God, I missed Earth, he thought, and then started a little as static blared on the TV. Trouble.

Once he got out of the shattered station, he tried Sammy and Bobby on the phone. Sam's line was dead, and Bobby didn't believe him. Dean couldn't blame him. As he headed to Sioux Falls, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching him.

Alone in the bathroom, Dean looked back at himself from the mirror. His eyes looked changed, although the rest of him was almost better than new. It was too painful to try and tell Bobby and Sam that he could remember every horrible cut, every single thing Alistair had done to him, everything Dean had done after he got off the rack.

The handprint was still aching. He gingerly laid his hand over it, and a wave of inexplicable peace washed over him. He felt like he was finally complete, his time in Hell absent from his brain for a few blessed seconds. Then, he felt a presence, someone else's consciousness brushing at the edges of his own. It was calm, serene, and full of acceptance, reassurance and love. As he considered this, the consciousness turned its focus on to him, and he felt it radiate concern, and confusion. Suddenly afraid, he yanked his hand away from his shoulder, and shuddered.

Sam called to him to get his ass in gear. Dean glanced at his reflection one more time, trying to banish the horror from his eyes and regain the sense of calm the consciousness had had for him. He couldn't find it, so he sighed, and left.

After bitchslapping the diner demons, they got a room. Dean was more exhausted than he thought, and fell asleep researching. He dreamed of Hell.

Alistair, crouched over him, his strange catlike eyes glowing with lust and glee, about to sink into him, because of course it wasn't over just because he was off the rack. Alistair's lizard tail lashed back and forth, ready to pounce on Dean. The pain was over, but not the mind fucking, or even the actual fucking, Alistair never tired of making Dean want him. Or maybe Dean really did want it, at this point; he didn't know anymore where the line between Dean Winchester and the Pit's buttboy was. He had to push the tiny fragment of himself to the bottom of his soul every second, and the more he let himself go in the torture and rape, the more he found himself genuinely enjoying it.

A blinding white light engulfed the room, and Dean looked up at the most indescribably beautiful, terrifying creature he had ever seen, and it reached out to him, gripped him tight, and they were flying.

"Don't look back, don't look back…" it whispered to him, and Dean woke suddenly to the TV blaring static. He was filled with the sudden knowledge that Sam was gone, and something was not right about Sam at all, and then the windows shattered.

"Dean!" he heard Bobby's voice, and they were on the move again.

It was difficult attempting to contact Dean Winchester without killing him, Castiel discovered. He regretted very much burning out the eyes of the psychic, but he had tried to warn her, tried to get her to turn back. He was reluctant to take another human vessel, but these were desperate times. If he was being entirely honest with himself, he was not displeased with the opportunity to get away from his new garrison. Uriel was not a soothing angel to be around, these days. He had not always been so intense- once, Castiel had considered him a friend, but now, he preferred to avoid extended contact.

Convincing the vessel was easy enough- Jimmy's bloodline had predisposed him to worship, and what devout man would resist the offer of a direct connection to the Host of Heaven? It was odd to Castiel though, that the necessary deception involved in taking Jimmy, in the promises that everything would be okay in the end, created a vague sense of unease inside of Castiel's heart. This unease manifested as a churning in the stomach of the vessel, as Castiel strode away from the tiny human crying on the porch of Jimmy's house. He ignored the outrage and pain of the vessel, pushing its consciousness down into a state of unawareness. He didn't have time to cope with babying Jimmy Novak as well as Dean.

Just in time- he could feel the call of a summoning spell. Not that he had to answer it, if he didn't want to, but now was when he was ready to meet Dean Winchester face-to-face.

Castiel shoved the doors open ahead of him, and strode unaware through the sparks and bullets, his attention on the man in front of him. All he cared to see was Dean. He could finally see Dean as humans saw each other, and he was amazed. The soul was shining just as brightly, in the eyes and life of the man before him. He was baffled that Dean didn't recognize how lucky he was, how deserving he was of resurrection because of the lives he saved. He tried to explain, but human language wasn't adequate for Castiel to convey his faith in God, and God's love of Dean, to Dean.

Dean looked at the figure strolling obliviously through gunfire and stab wounds, and who was now speaking to him in an incredible voice, deep and resonant. Dean could almost hear the bass line of Dazed and Confused playing when the man spoke. The face that regarded him was simultaneously childlike and ancient, refusing to display joy or anger, only calm. There was something else in his eyes, and Dean recognized this as the consciousness he had felt when he touched the handprint. This was Castiel, beyond a doubt.

As the angel spoke, his amazing voice sparked something in Dean, something hot, something that was building into an indescribable feeling. He was sure this was a trick, somehow, because there was no reason for the so-called angel to provoke this sense of peace inside of Dean, this feeling of completeness. Naturally, Dean reacted to this with sarcasm, anger and mistrust.

Good things don't happen to people like me, he thought bitterly.

The eyes regarding him narrowed.

"You don't think you deserve to be saved." Castiel looked as though he was incapable of comprehending what Dean was feeling, his eyes filling with pity. Dean fucking hated pity.

The next day, Bobby confirmed what Dean already felt in his gut, and didn't want to accept. Castiel was an angel. God had work for Dean to do.

Castiel. Dean didn't want to think much about the angel, didn't want to focus on the weird cocktail of calm and faith that looking into the blue eyes had awoken in him. It has to be a trap, he thought.

The angel wasn't the only issue pressing on Dean's mind. There was something was off about Sam, something had fundamentally changed about his little brother. The womanizing was the first hint, although it had been pretty fucking funny that the guy who usually remembered the names of Dean's one night stands couldn't remember Crystal's name. That was the most badass Sam had been in years, actually, but it wasn't right, it wasn't Sammy. Sammy never was a good liar, and the line of being out for a burger in the Impala, well, that's all sorts of not true. And he forgot my goddamn pie. That's a sign of serious trouble, Dean shuddered, Something extremely not good is up when there isn't pie.

Castiel's reflexes were off in the vessel, and it created a new sensation inside of him, something bubbling and unpleasant, a lack of control that made Castiel twitchy. His garrison had gone up against the Witnesses, and they had failed because of him.

They had found the ritual well underway, Lilith sacrificing two prophets tied to two enormous olive trees. Castiel was too slow to stop her from slitting their throats. The earth began to shake and he felt their souls slip free. Lilith laughed at him, and vanished.

He went to Dean in his dreams, after the Winchesters fought the Witnesses, and Dean evoked something in Castiel that he thought might be close to feeling anger. Dean is an arrogant child, refusing to consider the bigger picture. My brothers had died for this brat? This is the Righteous Man? I tried so hard to make Dean understand, and be patient, but the impetuousness of this child pushed me into harshness, he thought.

When he had mulled over the encounter thoroughly, he regretted threatening Dean Winchester. He thought maybe he had been overly harsh due to his own failure. After all, Dean would never have had to fight the Witnesses if I hadn't failed to stop the breaking of the seal, he thought. Castiel had felt a bizarre twisting inside his stomach when he spoke to Dean and omitted certain details, the same twisting he felt when he deceived Jimmy. He hadn't the words to show Dean the severity of their situation. He only wanted to make Dean understand the need for faith- well, that wasn't entirely the truth. He wanted to reach out, lay hands on the print he had left on Dean, pull the human close, and- Castiel didn't know what, but it made his vessel tight and uncomfortable that he could not make these things happen. Perhaps that is the source of my irritation with Dean. It is unsettling that I am experiencing irritation, he realized. Obviously the vessel is affecting me much more this time than the last time I walked the earth.

Dean thought perhaps the angel was hiding something, from the halting way he stammered out that he was made aware of the Witnesses.

It had probably been a mistake to threaten to kick the ass of an angel, and as soon as he said it, Dean felt a bolt of fear run through him. Of course, he continued to push it. Dean was nobody's bitch, not Hell's anymore, and he was not about to become Heaven's.

But then Castiel leaned close to him, and Dean caught scent of something musky and enticing. When the deep voice told him, "I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back," Dean knew the appropriate response was fear and respect, but instead he felt the stirrings of something in a place lower than his stomach. He understood absolutely that the angel could do what he threatened and worse.

But god, that voice, those eyes, the smell… His brain didn't trust Castiel, but his gut clamored at him that he should. He wanted to ignore his gut, which he thought might be taking its orders from his traitorous manly parts, but in the end, he couldn't.

That voice stayed with him for weeks, turning his mind over and over.

I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition.