FIRST EVER FANFIC FOR SUPERNATURAL. Hope you enjoy!

Castiel was aware of the consequences when he was assigned to raise Dean Winchester from perdition. He was aware of the physical scar he would mar the human's body with, was aware of the questions and the infuriation that he would cause the human, was aware of the energy and Grace required to raise his soul from the fires of hell.

But he was not prepared for this feeling to grow inside him as he watched Dean fight.

It was odd, really. He expected to feel nothing but concern for the welfare of the soldier he raised. But this feeling, it was different. It made him want to come down from his perch in the sky and take Dean away, made him want to smite those vampires, made him want to do everything to keep him safe.

Castiel brushed these thoughts off; these were inappropriate thoughts for an angel of the Lord.

"Cas! Cas!" a familiar voice yelled from somewhere.

Castiel opened his eyes, not at all surprised to find himself back in his vessel. A pang of sympathy shot through his heart as he thought of Jimmy Novak and his family. He brushed it aside once more.

"Castiel!" the familiar voice—Dean—yelled again. His vision distorted around the edges as he heard footsteps near.

"Dean, my sight, it is blurring." the fallen angel managed to croak out. He felt warmth cocoon his vessel and he sighed into it. His vision continued to blur around the edges.

"Damn it, Cas," Dean said, "You'll be the death of me."

Castiel chuckled at the figure of speech. He wound a hand through his trench coat, which he realized was tattered and bloody, and laid it on one of the arms that held him. He gripped it tight.

His vision flickered to black, and he let go.

Hold on, to me as we go

As we roll down this unfamiliar road

And although this wave is stringing us along

Just know you're not alone

Cause I'm gonna make this place your home

The song played on as Castiel awoke. He was aware of the beeping monitor beside him, aware of the white blanket that was placed on his vessel, was aware of the slight pressure on his right arm. He looked down and was met with the cropped hair of the elder Winchester.

He was asleep, the soft rise and fall of his back and the small snore that erupted from his mouth made the angel smile. He noticed a scar on the back of his right forearm, and he extended a hand to heal it. But he remembered that he was now a fallen angel, and he reluctantly withdrew his hand, biting his lip.

He wanted to leave now, he wanted to fly high in the sky, feel the clouds waft by, feel the sun against his wings, and feel his Grace thrum through his body. But he could not. He was stuck on earth now. He was, as Dean would call it, "kicked out" of his home.

He suppressed a sob, but did nothing to stop the two tears that slid down his face. He wiped at them, slightly in surprise. He put one of the salty drops to lips and wrinkled his nose at the salty flavor.

Homeless. He was homeless.

Then Dean stirred, and he pushed back his dark thoughts. He was a soldier of the Lord.

Was.

Settle down, it'll all be clear

Don't pay no mind to the demons

They fill you with fear

The trouble it might drag you down

If you get lost, you can always be found

Falling did not dull his reflexes or his capabilities with a blade.

He did not do anything as the demon lunged, hands outstretched to strangle the life out of him. When it was inches away, he ducked and sidestepped, drawing out the blade he kept beneath his trench coat.

Dean had admonished him once that fighting demons were easier using guns and ranged weapons. Castiel had not objected then, but in his mind, he replied that that it was much easier to slaughter prey that let their guard down than those who did not.

The blade, which had once belonged to demon Ruby, sliced through the vessel's side. The demon screamed, but Castiel silenced her—for the vessel was feminine—with a quick stab to the chest.

He was finished here, and he wanted to leave again. He wanted "mojo" himself out of there—as Dean would call it—and come only when called. But he could not.

He left after that day in the hospital. There were no parting words, he simply vanished. Dean looked for him, Sam told him that, and was restless with worry.

Castiel still could not comprehend the loss of his Grace, still could not comprehend the loss of his divinity, and still could not grasp his humanity.

So when Dean found him, he was almost dead with hunger.

Dean nursed him back to health, of course, but not without the occasional muttering of: "Damn it, Cas," or "Stupid,"

There was no heat in the insults or the curses, though. They were filled with fondness and concern. Castiel had grasped that.

And in the time that Dean had healed him, housed him, and taught him his humanity, Castiel had come to realize that he was homeless.

But not anymore.

Castiel had also come to realize that he was a soldier of the Lord.

But not anymore.

So when Dean first held him, first whispered in his ears those three words that bound two people together, he replied:

"I love you, too, Dean."

Dean had stared at him in surprise then, his mouth agape like a newborn fish. Then he broke out into a grin, his eyes alight with happiness and love. Castiel could not help but smile in return and pull Dean's lips onto his own.

Then he hugged the hunter, clinging to him like he was a lifeline. Then he whispered:

"You are my home now, Dean."