Being a human was a very confusing experience for Castiel. Falling had been agonising, both physically and emotionally, and the consequences of his misdirected quest to save the angels had backfired in the most horrific way imaginable.

All his brothers and sisters had fallen with him, their fiery decent to earth shattering the world as they knew it, doing untold levels of damage to the earth and the garrison as a whole.

And they were pissed.

Castiel had spent the first few weeks after falling learning the basics. He had to learned to deal with all the new requirements of his human body. He ate, he drank... then he found out what happened after humans eat and drink, a particularly traumatic experience for the broken angel.

He learned of his need to sleep... especially his need to get a whole lot more of it than he ever managed to on the road with Sam and Dean.

"Aren't we meant to get a minimum of eight hours?" He had asked grumpily from the back seat of The Impala in the small hours of the morning, a few days into his human life.

"Maybe if we didn't have all off heaven's biggest and baddest on our asses day and night we'd have more time for sleep." Dean had replied bluntly.

Cas didn't complain of tiredness again. Dean had a point.

There wasn't a single angel, well... would-be-angel, that wasn't out to get them. Cas was to blame for the fall, and no one was going to pause long enough to hear him out before shoving a blade into his now horribly fragile body.

He didn't want this. He didn't mean for this to happen. All his brethren had plummeted, shrieking to earth in torturous flames. No one cared how noble his intentions had been. No one cared that it was a mistake.

Cas had lost count of the amount of times they had been caught out by angels. On their own, in pairs or in groups of three, and once even a motley group of seven angels. They had attacked the three of them whilst they were making a brief pit stop. Dean had been leaning against The Impala, filling up the gas tank, and Sam had gone inside the small shop with Cas to get some supplies.

Five of the seven had entered the shop to take on Cas and Sam. Luckily for them, these particular angels had yet to arm themselves. They'd both gotten a nasty beating, but Dean dealt with them in a matter of seconds, after storming in brandishing his gun, with nothing to show of his struggle but a cut lip and grazed knuckles.

It was at this moment, for the first time, that Cas started to experience a new, very human, and very profound emotion.

At the time he hadn't known what it meant, the way his stomach felt as though it were full of agitated butterflies as he stared at Dean, his baggy plaid shirt doing very little in the way of hiding his well defined body, his shoulders rising and falling heavily from the adrenaline rush.

Cas' heart had swelled with affection, as Dean had laid eyes on him, slumped in a heap up against the far wall, his face bruised and bloody. The way Dean's eyes had widened with concern, the way he had rushed to him like nothing else in the world could ever matter as much as it did for him to be by Cas' side, it had filled Castiel with a deep and inexplicable joy.

Of course, at the time Cas had been unaware of what he was feeling. It was, of course, attraction. It was desire. Lust. All of it for Dean.

Cas had initially felt excruciating confusion and shame at the way he was feeling, (not to mention the physical reactions that he could not, try as he might, prevent his human body from undergoing). However, gradually, he had realised, and eventually, accepted his feelings.

Back on the day of the big attack, Dean had dropped to his knees at Cas' side. He'd tenderly cupped the fallen angel's face in his hands, ran gentle fingers through his dark, fluffy mop of hair. He'd helped Cas to stand, (ignoring the disgruntled grumbles from his affronted younger brother), half carried him out to the car and laid him lovingly down across the back seats, promising him that he'd fix him up right away, don't you worry kiddo.

They'd stopped at the first motel they came to, and Dean had helped Cas inside, then tenderly cleaned his face, washing away all the blood. Sam had gone into the bathroom to sort himself out, leaving Dean to fix Cas up in the small kitchen.

When he was done, Dean had taken a quick glance at the firmly closed bathroom door, then ducked his head forward, leaning in and planting a single, light kiss to Cas' forehead.

Cas didn't know what to say. His stomach was doing flips, a light flush creeping up his neck. He had stared shyly at his knees for what felt like an eternity.

Dean had taken a step back, and Cas felt his gaze lingering on him.

Finally, Dean had spoken.

"Goodnight Cas." Cas smiled fondly as he remembered the soft, warm tone of Dean's voice, before he had turned away and climbed straight into bed.

Cas had remained in the kitchen for a while, trying to work out what it meant... what he was supposed to do. He wanted to believe that his feelings towards Dean were reciprocated, but he didn't know how to find out without risking their friendship. Finally, he too had gone to bed, calming his agitated thoughts with the sound of Dean's soft snores.

He'd fallen asleep to the slow rhythm of Dean's sleep-weighted breathing.

On reflection, Cas thought to himself, once more in the back of The Impala, now three months on from The Great Fall, being a human was confusing.

But small moments like that night in the motel, made it all seem so much more bearable.