Disclaimer: I don't own SPN.

I don't know what I expected, really. I hear Destiel in pretty much every song and when I heard 'Fly' by Sleeping With Sirens…it started off that way but then took a sharp turn to 'Better Off Dead', so that's what I'm going with. I'll do 'Fly' soon.

I also tried to portray Mary as more than the 'glowing saint' that we've heard Dean and John describe her as, more than the 'perfect housewife' that she seemed to be after escaping hunting and as more than 'just another hunter'; because at the end of the day, she's human and she's made her mistakes like the rest of them. Heck, it was her selfish mistake with Azazel that set off the whole show. It's a little difficult to find a balance with what little we know of her but I tried.

(Help me I'm hooked on SWS now I don't need another bandom)

Despite the fact that his attention is engaged with the heavens above, Castiel is immediately aware of the moment that Dean sits down on the grassy hill next to him. How can he not notice? He's an angel; he's witnessed all of the events and locations that humans would be quick to class as 'most beautiful' and would, as Dean so eloquently puts it, 'kill' to see. But every beautiful thing that Castiel has ever experienced in his millennia of existence pales in comparison to the soul of the human beside him.

It physically pains Castiel, having to endure Dean's crippling lack of self-confidence and his vehement beliefs that he is not as important as everybody else and that he's worthless and broken. The angel's sure that if Dean could only get a mere glimpse of his own soul for even a second, the human would never doubt himself again. And this is what pains Castiel so much. Even dead, Dean will never be able to see his soul as the angel does. He'll never see just what Castiel sees; and he'll never be able to understand just how deep Castiel's love for him is. Castiel isn't sure that he's ever loved one being as much as he loves Dean – as blasphemous as that statement is, it's the truest thing he's ever thought.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Dean finally says. Castiel blinks, his trance broken.

"I don't have a penny. Though I'm sure I can procure one if –"

"I don't actually want a penny, Cas." The fond smile on Dean's face makes warmth bubble in Castiel's midriff. He's still not sure exactly why he has this reaction whenever he's around Dean – or whenever he so much as thinks of the hunter – but it's been happening for years, so he's largely used to it. In fact, he suspects that it's because of his feelings towards Dean that this reaction occurs. And it's not as though it's unpleasant, so he elects to simply revel in it rather than worry unnecessarily. There's enough happening in his life without creating more problems.

"Oh. It's a human saying."

"Yeah." They lapse into a moment of silence. "Just wondering what's goin' through that head of yours. You're staring at me again."

"Oh. My apologies, Dean."

"Don't sweat it. I'm used to it now. 'S actually kinda cute."

Dean's face reddens and he quickly looks away, as though unable to believe that something so 'girly' (as he would say) has crossed his lips. Castiel, however, finds that a small smile is crossing across his face without his permission and he looks away as the heat in his abdomen seems to spread through his whole body. He doesn't even hesitate in thinking of this vessel as his now; after all, Jimmy Novak has been gone for years.

"Thank you," is all he says. He may not have a good grasp on human social cues – Metatron had only downloaded pop culture into his head, after all – but he knows his Dean well enough to know that the hunter loathes overly emotional speeches and displays of affection.

"So…whatcha doing out here?"

Castiel points up at the dark sky overhead, the thousands of balls of light dotting it appearing, to Castiel's celestial eyes, as the flaming balls of gas they are, but as only pinpricks to Dean.

"When Metatron took my grace, I was overwhelmed. I didn't know what to do with myself. Humans…their senses are so pathetically dull compared to angels, and yet everything that they feel and experience is so much more intense. It's an interesting paradox, you know."

Dean appears to be clinging to his every word. Castiel risks reaching out and taking Dean's hand in his and though Dean jumps in surprise, he doesn't pull away. Castiel takes a moment to soak in the heat that seems to be emanating from his point of contact with Dean's skin before continuing his tale.

"The first time I looked up and saw the stars…Dean, it was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. As an angel, I only see stars for what they are: giant balls of gas in the vacuum of space. But I looked up and I finally saw them as humans see them: small dots of light, so close yet so far. I – I finally understood why humans regard the night sky as a sight of hope, peace, wonder."

"Yeah," Dean agrees quietly. "Sammy always loved lookin' at the stars when he was a kid. I never got it but it made him happy, so I went along with it. We'd try and find constellations. Little bitch was always so damn proud when he found 'em…"

He squeezes Castiel's hand, though this gesture feels largely unconscious to the angel.

"It also made me feel…small," Castiel admits quietly. "A rather uncommon feeling for an angel, as you can imagine. But that is one moment in which I felt so close to humanity. Even in my efforts to defend your kind before the fall, I was still an outside; an alien, essentially. Having my grace stripped from me forced me onto your level. And you humans never cease to amaze me, Dean."

Castiel shakes his head.

"It also made me feel infinite. I was so small. I was hardly worth anything compared to every other human. But in the eyes of the universe, this entire planet is but a speck of dust. I may have been human, and felt like one, but…in that moment, I knew I was still an angel. I was still a wavelength of celestial energy, even if I had been trapped inside my body and forced to survive."

"I get that," Dean says. "I s'pose that's why people loves stars so much. You look up at 'em and you feel tiny but you also feel…I dunno, like there's so much more out there for you if you keep goin'. If you get me."

"I get you." Castiel sighs and looks up at the night sky again, wishing that he could once again see it as humans do. "I wish I could go back, Dean. Before I discovered the wonders of Earth and humanity, I would…I would fly among the stars, free and unencumbered by a vessel. My true form would stretch between the stars and I would admire my Father's creations and…it filled me with peace. With joy. Emotions that are not common for angels. But then again, I was always the defective model."

"Hey," Dean snaps. "You're not defective, Cas. You're freaking awesome."

"Defective: imperfect or faulty," Castiel rattles off, these linguistics coming to him almost unconsciously. "Flawed. Not functioning. Broken. Cracked. Deformed. It all means the same thing, Dean. And all of it applies to me. I don't expect to be perfect. Father is the only being capable of achieving perfection. And I don't mind so much being flawed. We all are. But I'm everything else. I'm broken. I'm deformed. I have a crack in my chassis."

He draws his knees to his chest and hides his face, trying desperately to stem the tears that are pricking his eyes and threatening to escape. He still keeps hold of Dean's hand.

"Dean, you don't know how hated I am," he continues, his voice muffled by his legs. The material of his pants smells crisp and fresh, feels properly cared for; such a stark contrast to him. "If I return to Heaven, I would be killed on the spot. The other angels regard me with contempt; even with revulsion. And rightly so, after everything I've done. They would be well within their rights to kill me, the broken angel. Dean, if I'm forced to face what I've done…all of the devastation I've wreaked, the sins I've committed, especially in allowing Lucifer to possess me…"

Castiel takes a deep breath and repeats the words he said many years ago to Dean, in what feels like another lifetime, where nobody had ever heard him and his cries for help.

"I'm afraid I might kill myself."

There's dead silence. Castiel wishes that Sam would burst in and interrupt them like he did last time the angel confessed this, or even Mary; then, at least, he would not have to feel Dean's intense scrutiny and almost certain sympathy.

"Don't."

This one word is whispered, yet Dean might have yelled it. Castiel finally raises his head to look at Dean.

"Why not?" he says, his eyes stinging. "You don't understand, Dean. You and Sam have always righted your wrongs. You started the Apocalypse, so you ended it. You ended the Leviathan problem, when it was my arrogance and hubris that saw them released in the first place. You inadvertently aided Abaddon in her rise to power, so you saw to it that she was ended; then Sam took care of the Mark of Cain, and you neutralised Amara after allowing her to escape."

Castiel can't stand the shame that spreads through him when his tears finally do fall. As a human, he might not have thought twice about it; but as an angel, he should have better control over his emotions and his body and he can't stand the fact that this is not something he can help. Perhaps Lucifer forcefully dissociating him from his body has caused more damage than he'd thought.

"You and Sam have fixed everything, Dean," he sobs. His stomach drops when the hunter releases his hand, only to then burst into 'butterflies' (an odd but apt description of this sensation) when his Dean's arms wrap around him tightly and hold the angel snugly to him.

"Shh," Dean soothes. Castiel buries his face in Dean's shirt, making a mental promise to apologise to Dean for dampening the fabric with his shameful tears. "You're okay, Cas. Just let it out."

"You t-two h-have always repaired the d-damage you h-have done!" Castiel cries. "But I – I always m-make things worse!"

"You took Metatron down," Dean points out. "You got him to broadcast his plans to all the other angels. Pretty damn genius, Cas."

Castiel lets out a hysterical shriek of laughter.

"Genius? I sat there as he informed me of – of your death! The angels are the ones who took him into custody, while I sat bound to a chair – and then I broke him out, only for him to betray me as I should have expected! How can you possibly justify my actions, Dean?"

Castiel isn't even crying now so much as howling. The only thing that stops him from totally losing his mind is the fact that Dean is stroking his hair, grounding him just enough to stop a total meltdown.

"I'm nothing, Dean! Useless! Expendable! I break everything I touch! I said yes to Lucifer so that I might finally be useful and all I did was cause you unimaginable pain and guilt, along with the deaths of several angels! The only reason I was not killed on sight was because Lucifer was inside me! And it's even a miracle that they listened to me when Lucifer allowed me to speak to them!"

Castiel's sobs are now dying down to choked hiccups. He's grateful for the fact that Dean doesn't stop stroking his hair or offering him this physical comfort – not that he deserves it, after all he's done. He knows he's better off dead – why will nobody hear him?

"Why couldn't I just stay dead?" he whispers. "I'm far better off that way. Why must I continue to burden everybody around me? I'm so unworthy that even my own Father would not talk to me. Why is Lucifer worthy of forgiveness but not me? Am I truly that much of an abomination? Am I a defect even in my Father's eyes?"

"Will you shut up?" Dean says angrily. Castiel flinches, afraid that he's pushed his human too far – though Dean's right to be mad at him. "You fucked up, okay? So did we! And you're not broken, or expendable, or any of that shit! Sam and I – we just didn't freaking tell you how important you are enough."

Castiel snorts.

"I appreciate your effort in comforting me, Dean."

Dean lets out a frustrated growl.

"For the love of – Cas, you're so fucking important to me! I wasn't even mad that you said yes to Lucifer – okay, maybe at first. But I – all I wanted was to get you back. I wanted to wrap you in a blanket again and binge on Netflix with you and just – I'm so fucking bad at this."

Castiel gives a watery laugh.

"I'm glad you've got your mother back," he murmurs. "You deserve it. You deserve to be rewarded for your efforts."

"And so do you!" Dean insists but Castiel ignores him.

"At least you've got a home now," the angel continues, his voice so quiet that he knows Dean must be struggling to pick it up. "The bunker…Sam…Mary. I'm glad that your home at least accepts you. Mine would put me to death and I would let them. In fact, I would save them the effort. I'm better off dead. Perhaps it would finally be enough to silence the never ending voices of all the people I've wronged…all of the friends and family I have betrayed. You…Sam…Balthazar…Rachel…Anna…Hannah…and that is only several out of hundreds. No, of thousands."

"No." Castiel is surprised at how Dean's voice cracks. "Cas, you can't – you can't say that. You – I – no!"

Castiel is suddenly dragged into Dean's lap, forcing a surprised huff out of him. This new position allows Dean to hug him even tighter and, though he's certain that this is more than he deserves, Castiel melts into the embrace.

"You can't fucking kill yourself," Dean orders into Castiel's hair. "Please. Don't do that to me, Cas. Don't do that to yourself."

"Dean –"

"You do have a home. A proper one, y'know – not with those winged dicks. They don't appreciate you, Cas. They don't deserve you. You've been through so much shit and they don't give a fuck because of the massive angel blades up their asses."

"They haven't broken the world, Dean!"

"And? You're the one who took down Raphael! Okay, so the way you did it was totally shit and we tried to warn you but – you're the one who made those sacrifices! And I should've at least extended you that same trust. I mean, you were wrong but…you deserved better than having me yell at you, when honestly I've fucked up way more because I didn't listen to people."

Castiel snorts darkly.

"Fuck, I'm crap at this comforting stuff. Look, Cas…I can tell you that you're not a fuck up till I'm blue in the face and you won't listen. But we're your home. We're your family. Me, Sammy, Mom…you're always gonna have a home with us."

"Dean, haven't you heard a word I said? This isn't where I belong!"

Dean closes his eyes, counting to ten under his breath.

"Look, if you're not gonna live for yourself then…live for us?"

"Whatever you want, Dean," Castiel mumbles, too drained to argue properly. A shock of surprise jolts his stomach when Dean abruptly stands, the angel still in his arms, and Castiel has to quickly wrap his arms around Dean's neck in a death grip to stop himself from falling. "What are you doing?"

"Taking you inside. You're staying with me tonight, Cas."

"Because you don't trust me not to kill myself?" Castiel says mockingly as Dean carries him back to the entrance of the bunker and opens the door after a moment of struggling around the angel in his arms.

"Don't," Dean says quietly. Castiel immediately feels awful for being so cruel to his Dean when the hunter is only trying to help. "No, because I wanna stay with you tonight. I reckon some company will do you good."

"You have been keeping me company, Dean. We rescued your brother from Antonia Bevell together."

"Yeah and I've hardly seen you since. You're staying with me even if I have to cuff you to me."

Castiel mumbles some choice Enochian curses under his breath but otherwise falls silent. Thankfully, Sam appears to already be in his bedroom, though they do encounter Mary cleaning and sharpening machetes from their last vampire hunt. Castiel reluctantly finds himself impressed by somebody who can go from loving mother and housekeeper to a deadly warrior in mere seconds, though he supposes he shouldn't be surprised after having known Dean for so long. Dean and his mother do share many qualities, after all.

"You off to bed, sweetie?" Mary says softly, almost as if she's keeping her voice down so as not to wake Castiel, though the angel knows she can see that he's not asleep. Dean nods in response.

"Sorry to dump all the work on you, Mom," he says, nodding again at the pile of weapons. The word 'mom' comes out as an almost foreign word, though Castiel can't blame Dean for this.

"Don't be silly," Mary says, waving a dismissive hand. "Your friend needed you. And besides, it's about time I got back into the swing of things. My skills are a bit rusty."

'Ten years of being a housewife and thirty three of being dead does that to you' goes unspoken, though is heard loud and clear by the two men.

"Right. Night…Mom."

"Goodnight, sweetheart." Mary stands up to carefully hug and kiss Dean (and Castiel can feel Dean stiffen automatically before relaxing into his mother's touch) and then, to Castiel's surprise, she does the same to him. He's grateful that she doesn't say anything about it but sits back down to complete her task, allowing Dean to carry him all the way to the bedroom.

"I got a TV here, so we can watch movies," Dean says once he's deposited Castiel on his bed. "Don't ditch ass if I fall asleep, okay?"

Castiel mutters a halfhearted agreement before he finds himself being forced under the covers by Dean, who then climbs in next to him without even undressing. The hunter snatches the TV remote from his bedside table and within minutes, the Star Wars movie (Castiel hadn't paid enough attention to see which one) is playing.

As predicted, Dean drifts off near the end of this movie. Castiel hadn't even been in the mood for movies, so he chooses to turn the TV off rather than put another movie on and he stares up at the dark ceiling, his mind racing. Dean had told him that he was family. Had the hunter been lying? Telling Castiel this simply to stop him from killing himself? Or had Dean sincerely meant it?

Castiel is about to slide out of Dean's bed, despite the man's orders otherwise, when Dean lets out a snuffle and rolls over. Castiel immediately finds himself trapped, as Dean's limbs fling themselves over him and unconsciously keep him pinned to the bed. He stiffens for a moment, afraid that Dean will wake up and stammer out excuses to cover up his own discomfort at hugging another man in his sleep, but Dean simply lets out what sounds like a content sigh and continues to slumber on. Castiel forces himself to relax into the bed, glowering at the ceiling. It seems that he's stuck here for the night.

Castiel times his escape the next morning carefully; after Dean has awoken to see that the angel has kept his word and remained in bed for the whole night, but before the hunter returns from his morning bathroom visit. While he would love nothing more than to continue lying next to Dean, he knows that Dean is firmly attracted to women and there is no point in allowing himself to get his hopes up and torture himself by remaining in Dean's company when he knows that Dean does not feel that attraction to him. And besides, he simply doesn't deserve to be in the presence of someone with such a pure soul – not after all of the horrific deeds he has committed.

He finds himself back on that hill, lying in the damp grass and watching the brilliant sunrise that paints the sky with hues of reds and oranges and pinks. It's almost as if the sky is a canvas and his Father is the artist, painting a masterpiece on this blank slate. A masterpiece, he darkly thinks, he has no business in being in. He breaks everything he touches; why would anybody include him in a brilliant work of art?

He knows that Dean will eventually find him, so he's not surprised when he hears footsteps as the last of the pink fades from the sky and is replaced by bright blue.

"Thought you might be here," Dean says. "Just knew that you might want some space for a bit."

He doesn't wait for Castiel to invite him to sit down. Castiel regrets lying down, because now he can't look away from Dean when the man is right above him. At the same time, though, he doesn't know why he would ever want to look away from the beautiful, exquisite soul next to him; far more brilliant than any sunrise his Father might have created.

Perhaps that is the reason he's broken. Perhaps the fact that he loves this one soul, this one being, more than anything else – even his own Father – is the reason he's defective. Deep down, he knows that Hester's words, spoken so many years ago, are true: that he was lost the minute he laid a hand on Dean in Hell.

"Look…" Dean sighs. "I get it, okay? You think I don't but I really do. All I ever do is break shit. And I mean…I haven't been possessed, so it's not like I can go all 'I know what you're going through' about that Lucifer crap, but…Sam has. Sam knows. And I've had to haul Sam's ass through that, so I'm damn well gonna do the same with you."

"Your assistance is appreciated," Castiel says, far more sarcastically than intended. Dean makes an exasperated sound.

"I'm trying to help you! Why are you being such an ass?"

"I told you, Dean. I don't deserve it. I'm better off dead, where I can't hurt anybody or break anything! I see now why Father keeps bringing me back. This is my punishment: my inability to remain at peace and stop destroying the world."

Dean actually lets out a long, loud groan and covers his face.

"You," he hisses, "are the most infuriating fucking person I've ever had to deal with!"

"But I'm not a person. I suppose I can't even be classed as an angel."

The sound that escapes Dean is akin to that of a wounded animal.

"Will you just stop?" he snaps. "Seriously! None of us blame you! The only people who do blame you don't even deserve the time of day!"

Castiel opens his mouth to protest. Dean actually growls at this and, before Castiel can speak, Dean has rolled over to straddle him and is pressing their lips together forcefully. Time seems to freeze for Castiel. His awareness, spread over all his surroundings, now narrows down to just the man on top of him and the mouth that is attacking his and after a moment to get over his stunned surprise, he tentatively raises his hands to cup Dean's face and kiss back. Is this happening? Is he really kissing Dean Winchester? Never, in his wildest dreams, had he ever thought that this would happen; that Dean would ever find him desirable.

"Finally shut you up," Dean says triumphantly when he pulls back. Castiel just blinks at him in shock. "Now fucking stay quiet and listen to me. You capiche?"

"I – I capiche."

"Good." Dean lowers himself so that he is pressed flush to Castiel's body, pinning him to the ground. They both know that Castiel could easily throw him off; that it's only the angel's profound trust that allows Dean to do this. "Here's the thing, Cas. Yeah, you fucked up. But you did your damn hardest to fix it. You came with me to take down Dick Roman, even after I ditched you in a psych ward with a demon bitch for company. Even after I treated you like shit for doing what you thought was right to kill Teenage Mutant Ninja Angel."

"What I thought was right turned out to be very wrong."

Dean laughs darkly at this.

"Story of my fucking life, Cas. Nobody's perfect, okay? Those dicks with wings might think that they're perfection incarnate but they're not. You're the best out of the lot."

"I don't deserve to even be classed as an angel, Dean!"

"Y'know what? You're right."

Castiel can't deny that this is like a punch to the chest. He opens his mouth but Dean beats him to the punch.

"You don't deserve to be classed as an angel with that lot 'cause you're way better. First sign of trouble, they go running back to Heaven. But not you, Cas. You try and fix whatever shit's going down. They all hid behind the pearly gates while you helped us gank Dick Roman and the Leviathans; heck, all they did was try and snatch Kevin."

A ripple of pain passes over Dean's face at this, though Castiel is glad to see that Dean has largely managed to move past Kevin's death after the boy's spirit had appeared with God to reassure him. While Castiel hadn't seen this, Dean had been quick to tell him when filling him in with any details he may have missed while possessed.

"And you stayed behind in Purgatory just 'cause you felt like you needed to pay. Cas, do you really think any other angel would've done that? Those selfish pricks would've jumped at the chance to get out – heck, they'd've left me behind if they'd had to."

"If I recall correctly, you were less than thrilled with my decision."

Dean snorts and leans down to kiss Castiel again. Those green eyes, hovering so closely above him, are doing strange things to Castiel; they're crumbling any resistance he might have, leaving him utterly powerless to Dean and his rough charms and firm words. Is this love? Is this what love does?

"Damn right I was. Still am. But I get it, Cas. You were beating yourself up. God knows how many times I've done that to myself. But see, that makes you better than those other winged douches. You saw you were wrong and you tried to punish yourself. Granted, it all went sideways, but doesn't everything in our lives?"

Castiel just shrugs.

"Then with that Naomi bitch and the angel tablet. Yeah, it freaking hurt that you didn't trust me enough to help with the tablet, but it was fucking with your mind. And I know that's no excuse – that you could've resisted if you really wanted to – but that bitch had been controlling you and torturing you. I get it, Cas."

Castiel is starting to see a pattern in Dean's words.

"So you disapprove of my actions," he says slowly, "but you understand my warped reasoning?"

This earns him a wide smile and another kiss.

"Now you're gettin' it," Dean says proudly. Castiel hums when Dean begins to brush the hair back from his forehead, wondering just what he's done to deserve this amazing man's love and forgiveness. "You see, Cas? All that shit you did isn't okay but you did it because you thought you were doing the right thing. Opening Purgatory, killing all those angels, staying behind, letting the tablet fuck with you, trusting Metatron with the Heaven trials and then breaking him out, helping Sam free Amara, saying yes to Lucifer…dammit, Cas! Yeah, you've done bad shit, but don't you get it? You did it for the right reasons! Doesn't make it right, but it makes you way better than those assholes. Everything they do is for themselves and screw the rest of us."

Castiel's glad that it's Dean who's talking to him. Dean has had plenty of experience with self-loathing to know not to try and absolve Castiel of any blame, but rather to accept that his decisions were abhorrent and focus on his reasoning behind them. To Castiel's surprise, it does make dealing with the horrific decisions he's made slightly easier because he's not simply brushing off his responsibility in making them.

"You're not expendable," Dean says firmly, still stroking Castiel's hair. "You're not useless. You're Castiel, badass angel of the Lord. You're family. And we need you. I need you."

Castiel remembers the last time these words were said to him, though this is a much more pleasant scenario than the crypt.

"But why?" he can't help but ask. "Why do you need me?"

Dean's response is to kiss him again, though this time he doesn't pull back after a few moments. Instead, he deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue across the seam of Castiel's lips as though seeking access. Though thinking this a strange request, Castiel obliges and Dean's tongue slips into his mouth, causing a shiver to run down his whole body as their tongues twist and battle for dominance.

This is quite possibly the best moment in Castiel's existence; the one he would replay over and over again if he had his own Heaven. Dean is just everywhere; his tongue in Castiel's mouth, his body firmly settled on Castiel's, one hand running through Castiel's hair and the other cupping his cheek, his soul shining so brightly that Castiel is almost blinded by it. While he's felt Dean's soul resonate happily before, he's never felt it radiate such joy and peace, and especially not because of him.

"Mmm," Dean hums when he pulls back to take a gulp of air. "Could do this all day, Cas."

Castiel is thrilled when Dean returns to kissing him. Needing to feel more of the man on top of him, he rests his hands on Dean's waist and then, reluctant to travel further down and start something that he isn't quite ready to finish, settles for slipping them underneath Dean's shirt and stroking up his hunter's back. Dean groans happily at that, so Castiel allows his hands to roam all over Dean's back, as though he is starved for touch – which, he supposes, he is when it comes to Dean. They've touched each other in friendship and in enmity, but never as lovers. If Castiel has his way, every touch towards each other from now on will be the latter.

"That's why," Dean says breathlessly when they separate again. Castiel can't help feeling annoyed at human limitations; if Dean didn't need to breathe then they could still be kissing, though he supposes he shouldn't complain. He knows that nobody else will get to have his Dean after this and the thought fills him with uncharacteristic smugness, which he can't bring himself to care about. "That's why I need you."

"But I'm in a male body," Castiel says. Though he's irritated with himself for raising this issue, he knows that he has to; he needs to be sure that Dean truly wants to be his lover, and isn't simply trying to comfort him.

"So?" Dean says uncaringly. "Yeah, that mighta got to me when I first started feelin' this way, but I really don't give a fuck now. You're Cas. I know I'm not gay, 'cause the thought of being with any other guy makes me feel weird. And I still like boobs and curves and butts and girl bodies. I just really like you. I'm past the point of caring which body you're in."

"Even if I was still in the body of a twelve year old Claire?" Castiel can't help but tease with a small smile. Dean pretends to glare at him.

"Dude, that's pushing it. I could get away with kissing a guy but not a little girl."

As if to prove his point, he presses his lips to the angel's again. Castiel is growing to love the warm rush that shoots through him whenever his Dean kisses him and he's mildly surprised at how quickly he's becoming addicted to the man's kisses. However, he supposes he really shouldn't be. They've always shared a profound bond and even if they had never become lovers, Castiel knows that they will always share a unique relationship with each other.

"You starting to get it?" Dean says. "Or did I just waste my breath?"

"I think I require further persuasion," Castiel says slyly. Pride blossoms inside him when Dean ducks his head, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

"You little shit," Dean grins, though he still gives Castiel a kiss. "But seriously, Cas. Am I getting through to you?"

His hands still up Dean's shirt, Castiel starts to stroke the man's back again.

"Yes, Dean. I don't think that I fully believe you just yet but…I cannot thank you enough for choosing to help me when you didn't have to involve yourself in my troubles."

Dean rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, 'cause I was really gonna leave your suicidal ass alone." His demeanour immediately shifts to deadly serious. "Cas…you'll tell me if you feel like that again, right? You won't…try and off yourself or anything? 'Cause I was serious when I said I don't know what I'd do if you killed yourself."

Castiel's eyes sting for the second time in such a short period. This assertion that Dean cares this much for him is almost overwhelming; in fact, he can't remember the last time he's ever felt so loved. In that moment, he knows that he honestly wants to live – and not just so that he doesn't hurt Dean, but so that he can prove himself worthy of living. He's made his mistakes and Dean has forgiven him. Now it's time to atone for them and he can't do that if he's dead; nor can he truly begin to enjoy his life. Now he can, and not as somebody's pawn but for himself.

"I won't, Dean," he swears. "I promise."

"And you'll come to me if you ever get that urge? Seriously, Cas. Even if you're still holding your blade and I'm just there watching you."

Castiel nods and is rewarded with another kiss. He's beginning to see the merits of Pavlov's conditioning theory because if his Dean's kisses are his reward for good behaviour, he may never sin again.

"Good." Dean rests his chin on Castiel's chest, watching the angel with sparkling green eyes and a wide smile. "'M sorry, Cas. I shoulda listened to you the first time you said you'd kill yourself. If Sam said that…I'd've tied him down and not let him go for the next fifty years."

"Then why did you not think anything of me saying it?"

"Because you're an angel? I know, shitty excuse, but…Cas, you've always been so freaking strong. Even when you were batshit crazy. So I thought…maybe you were just being dramatic. Or even if you weren't, I didn't think you were human enough to actually do it. I'm an idiot."

"Idiot may be too strong a word," Castiel says, removing one hand from underneath the hunter's shirt in order to stroke his Dean's short, spiky hair. He revels in this simple touch, satisfied with the knowledge that only he (and Mary, and maybe Sam, if Dean is in an accommodating mood) can get away with this. "Perhaps assbutt would work better."

Dean narrows his eyes, though not with any malice.

"You're beautiful," he says suddenly. Castiel blinks, taken aback by this sudden change in subject. "I know that's a chick word but if I don't give a fuck about making out with a guy angel, I can't give a fuck about calling him beautiful."

Castiel's mouth is open as he blinks rapidly, trying to quell the tears threatening to make another appearance.

"Son of a bitch," Dean says quietly. "No one's ever told you that you're beautiful?"

Castiel mutely shakes his head.

"Handsome? Awesome? Smart? Brave? Nothing?"

"Nobody has ever had occasion to," the angel mumbles. "Several humans have complimented me on my looks but their words are meaningless. They do not know my true self; all they see is Jimmy Novak's face."

Dean's face falls.

"You are beautiful," he insists. "Not just 'cause of your body. Just…all of you. I dunno why all the other angels think you're a broken freak, or why no one else snapped you up before, but I ain't complaining. Just means I get to have you. 'Cause you're more than enough for me."

Castiel doesn't think he'll ever be able to describe the emotions that are wreaking havoc inside him at the moment. All he knows is that he can't remember the last time that somebody called him anything close to beautiful, or said that he was enough just as he is. He doesn't feel beautiful or worthy of Dean's praises but he's certain now that Dean wouldn't just shower him with idle words – not unless they were words he truly means.

Thankfully, he's saved from having to reply to Dean (and possibly breaking down) by the sound of footsteps. Both of them look up but Dean makes no move to slide off Castiel when Sam and Mary appear at the crest of the hill, a fact that makes heat pool in Castiel's stomach.

"You two've been out here for hours," Sam says. Castiel is grateful that Sam doesn't comment on their position or appearances and he knows that this is Dean's brother's way of expressing his approval without Dean threatening him with physical violence for initiating a 'chick flick moment'. "Thought we'd come and bring some lunch."

"What happened to not being a proper little housewife?" Dean teases Mary as she kneels down and opens a picnic basket. Castiel is disappointed when Dean climbs off him, though this is quickly quashed when he is pulled into a tight embrace on the checkered blanket that Sam lays down, and he chuckles when Mary playfully swats Dean around the head.

"I'll have you know that this proper little housewife nearly broke the arm of the last person to call her that," she says. Sam's eyebrows fly up, while Dean grins widely.

"I'm curious about the story behind that," Castiel says as he helps her unpack the food. Mary smirks at him.

"Dean was only two," she says, handing out sandwiches. "John and I took him to a birthday party for one of his friends and we were talking to the other adults while the children played outside. One of the men there thought it very funny that I'd 'been taught self-defence since I was a kid' and decided to make a remark about how I was 'nothing more than a pretty little housewife' and that I should 'get back in the kitchen like a woman's supposed to'."

Sam's covering his mouth to hide his laughter but Dean isn't having any such trouble; he's laughing loudly through his mouthful of sandwich. Castiel also finds Mary's story extremely entertaining, mostly because of the fact that anybody had even dared to think that Mary Winchester née Campbell is anything less than a force to be reckoned with. Even Castiel would hesitate to cross her, despite the fact that she had retired from hunting for ten years and then been dead for thirty – although he thinks this is largely due to the fact that she's Dean's mother, and he won't intentionally hurt any more of Dean's family if he can help it.

"What'd he do?" Sam says, his voice muffled by his hands. Mary shrugs nonchalantly.

"He apologised. What else could he do? None of the other wives there were very impressed with him either – not even his own."

The rest of the afternoon is spent telling amusing stories to each other as they consume their feast – with Mary finding Castiel's first meeting with Dean highly amusing and asking if 'he'd been showing off for Dean'.

"I did no such thing," Castiel says haughtily. "I was merely showing him who he was dealing with, as a warning not to cross me. It was not for his benefit."

But he shoots Dean a quick smile while Sam and Mary are laughing to let him know that this is a lie. In fact, Mary has it right; he had been showing off just a little but, considering that he had battled through Hell for thirty years for this man and then spent the next ten rescuing him, he thinks he was quite justified.

"Showoff," Dean hisses to him, though the swift kiss he presses to Castiel's lips removes any venom from his barb. When Mary simply smiles widely at Castiel and ruffles his hair like she has taken to doing with Sam and Dean, Castiel feels his heart begin to swell. If even Dean's mother has accepted him and thinks him worthy of his son…maybe this really is his family.

Maybe this really is where he belongs.