The next day passed by rather uneventfully in the eyes of most people, with the world turning and the sun shining and everything as it should be. But for Dean and Castiel, the Saturday was anything but uneventful; because it was the day the results of Dean's test for Huntington's came back.

So when Dean showed up at Castiel's apartment later that night holding an envelope, Castiel merely stepped aside and let him in without a word.

They joined each other on the couch in the living room, both tense and unsure, and Castiel could see that Dean's hands were shaking as he went to open the envelope. Wanting to calm his friend, Castiel put a comforting hand on his shoulder. It seemed to help, thankfully, for Dean's hands stilled and he tore open the letter.

They both held their breath as they skimmed over the words, and it didn't take them long to find the answer to the question they'd been waiting for over the last few days. When they finally did find it, though, they both froze.

NEGATIVE.

The words seemed to glare up at them from the paper, blinding them both, and for a moment neither said anything.

"It . . . it's negative." Dean gasped, "Cas, the test was negative. I'm clean!"

Dean whooped in delight and embraced Castiel, who was relieved beyond words, and they both couldn't help but laugh softly as all the stress and worry of the last few days drained out of them.

"Hey, Cas . . ." Dean murmured when they finally pulled away, his voice going soft.

Castiel blinked, "Yes?"

"Thank you . . . for helping me through this," Dean put a hand on Castiel's thigh and the older man blushed, a bit embarrassed by the intimate gesture, "I don't know what I would've done without you."

"O-of course," Castiel stammered, averting his eyes for fear of Dean seeing the heat creeping up his cheeks. I'd do anything for you, Dean. He thought, but he didn't say it out loud. No, he wasn't that bold.

"Cas . . ." Dean's voice had gone to a whisper now, and when Castiel looked back up at him he froze, his eyes widening as he saw how close the taller man was to him. Their noses were nearly touching, and Castiel could feel Dean's breath ghosting along his skin.

"D-Dean, wh-what are you -?"

"Ssh," Dean interrupted, "You trust me, don't you, Cas?"

"Of course I do -"

Castiel was cut off as Dean interrupted him again, but this time it was by different means. This time he'd leaned forward, closing the tiny distance between them in seconds so their lips touched and before Castiel could react they were kissing.

They were kissing.

A gasp escaped from Castiel's throat, and Dean used that to his advantage, slipping his tongue into the elder's mouth and pushing him back onto the couch. Then Dean was hovering over him, and Castiel's brain had shorted out, and he didn't know what to do but lay there and let Dean kiss him.

And, though he was still unsure, Castiel couldn't deny that he liked it.

Dean pulled back after a few moments, licking his lips, and stared down at Castiel with dark eyes. "Cas . . ."

"Wh-what are we doing?" Castiel gasped.

"Something we should've done a long time ago." Dean replied, a hunger in his voice as he leaned back down and kissed him again, harder this time; passionate in his eagerness to explore every inch of Castiel's mouth. And Castiel complied easily, wrapping his arms around Dean's torso and pulling him closer, because even though he'd been too dense to realize it earlier, he understood now that he'd wanted this almost ever since he'd first met the younger man.

But in his head, as always, the angels whispered to him.

Just one more day . . .

X X X

When Castiel woke up that Sunday, groggy and a bit sore, he had a near panic attack as he rolled over in bed to find Dean there with him, naked save for the sheets around his lower half. After giving himself a few moments to calm down, though, Castiel remembered the events of the night previous and he blushed, suddenly realizing why he was so sore.

"Cas . . . are you up?" Dean grunted, his voice muffled by the pillow he'd buried his face in.

"Mm, yeah," Castiel shifted slightly as Dean rolled over to face him.

"Good morning." Dean said, his green eyes twinkling.

"G-good morning," Castiel replied, a bit embarrassed.

Dean's smile faltered slightly, "Hey, are you alright?" He moved a bit closer, "Are you . . . are you regretting it? I mean . . . what we did last night?"

"No!" Castiel shook his head emphatically, "No, no that's not it at all. Sorry, I'm just – I'm just a bit overwhelmed." He swallowed hard, cheeks burning again, "It's been a while."

Dean chuckled, looking relieved, "Oh, I see." He grinned and moved closer, pulling Castiel into his chest, "Are you sure that's it?"

Castiel nodded, "I'm sure, Dean." He murmured.

It wasn't a complete lie.

After all, he was sure about this. What he and Dean were doing, he was absolutely sure about it. He wanted it; he'd wanted it for a long time. So no, it wasn't a complete lie.

He just wasn't telling the whole truth.

Because honestly, he was scared; he had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it nagged at him, and suddenly the whispers of the angels in the back of his head seemed ominous and not at all as soothing as they normally were. And, if he listened hard enough, Castiel could pick out the words the angels were saying; and then he'd realize that it wasn't the normal nonsensical gibberish he was used to hearing them utter, no. It was the same phrase, repeated over and over and over again, until it all but blended into the background.

Today is the day . . . Today is the day . . . Today is the day . . .

And it scared him. Because what could it possibly mean?

He brushed it off, though, and hid his fear beneath layers of a steel façade. He was good at hiding, remember? So he kept it to himself as he got dressed and ready for the day, all the while hoping that Dean didn't see right through him like he always did. But thankfully, Dean didn't seem to notice.

They ate breakfast together, Dean chattering away about how they should go out drinking that night, and Castiel promised that they would only on one condition.

"What's that?" Dean wondered, his mouth full of cereal.

"Church," Castiel said, "I want you to come to church with me this morning."

Dean stared at him, "What?"

Castiel nodded, "All I want is for you try it at least once, Dean. Please?" He gave Dean his best puppy-dog-eyed look, and if he'd been begging any harder he would've been on his hands and knees.

And Dean gave in, albeit with a reluctant mutter of 'the things I do for love' underneath his breath, and Castiel grinned.

In fact, even with the ominous message the angels continued to repeat in the back of his head, Castiel kept that stupid grin plastered to his face the rest of that morning as they both got ready for church.

"Your tie is crooked," Castiel said when they finally got there, leaning over to adjust it for him.

Dean all but pouted, "Why am I doing this again?"

Feeling bold, Castiel kissed him on the cheek, "Because you love me."

Dean spluttered a bit and Castiel grinned, feeling victorious as they entered the church and took their places in the pews. The sermon wasn't long that morning, not as long as Castiel was used to, and afterwards Dean admitted that it hadn't been that bad, and maybe he'd even come back the next week, if Castiel was a good boy.

Castiel laughed at this.

"Oh, wait, I forgot!" He exclaimed suddenly.

Dean paused, "What?"

"I wanted to ask Father Christopher something," Castiel look back at the church, "I won't be long, okay? Just wait for me in the car."

"Alright," Dean agreed, "But make it quick! I'm hungry!"

Castiel nodded his acknowledgement, turning and hurrying back into the church. It was empty now since all the worshippers had left already to return to their homes, save for the priest who stood before the altar, eyes closed and hands folded in prayer.

"Father Christopher?" Castiel asked softly.

Christopher turned, smiling warmly at his old friend, "Hello, Castiel."

Castiel smiled back, "Hello, Father."

"I saw a new face sitting with you today." Christopher said as he rearranged some things on the altar, "Someone I should know about?"

"That's Dean Winchester," Castiel said, "He's a friend of mine I convinced to come today. He enjoyed your sermon."

"Good, good." Father Christopher nodded, "But that's not the real reason you came to see me, is it?"

Castiel shook his head, "No . . . Father, it's – it's something else. Something I've only told a few others before. And I need your counsel."

"I'm listening," Christopher said.

So Castiel swallowed hard and began, telling him everything; the angels that spoke to him, his dark childhood, and how now the angels were frightening him with their repeated phrase of today is the day when before they'd always offered such comfort. And through it all Father Christopher merely listened, nodding in some places and urging him on occasionally, and when Castiel was finally done he flinched, afraid of the disapproval he'd see in the priest's eyes.

But instead of disapproval, there was acceptance.

"My child, you should've told me this long ago." Father Christopher said.

Castiel nodded, "I know . . . I was just afraid . . ."

"Afraid I'd treat you as others had?"

Castiel nodded again, feeling ashamed, and Christopher put a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Castiel, I would never. You are my friend, and my brother in Christ. You can tell me anything." Christopher said, "And about these angel whispers . . . how long have they been repeating this phrase?"

"It just started up today," Castiel said, "And it's strange, because it's like they've been counting down over the past week. They kept saying 'just five more days' or 'just three more days' or what not. And then today it's just 'today is the day' over and over again. It's driving me a little insane, to be frank."

Christopher nodded, "And are you sure there's no importance to today's date?"

Castiel paused, thinking over it a bit before he answered, "No, not that I can think of."

"I can't think of any reason why, either." Christopher smiled, "I'm sorry I couldn't be more helpful, but in all honesty this probably has nothing to do with you, Castiel."

Castiel nodded, feeling a bit better, "You're probably right, Father."

Christopher smiled, "If it's still bothering you, pray about it. But for now, I have errands to attend to. Good day."

"Thank you, Father." Castiel called as Christopher walked off, leaving him standing alone by the altar.

After he'd left, though, Castiel's smile fell. For despite the tiny ounce of relief he'd felt earlier, he still couldn't get rid of the nagging sensation that something was off. He was missing something, something that was right in front of him, and he could feel it – he just didn't know what it was.

Today is the day . . . today is the day . . . today is the day . . .

Castiel turned back to the altar, staring at it a moment and wondering. Was he just getting himself worked up over nothing? Father Christopher had been right – it had nothing to do with him. He should just go back home with Dean and forget all about it, for it had nothing to do with him. Nothing at all, he was sure of it.

It is time.

Castiel gasped.

There was a rushing noise, like wind through a door, and it was as if Castiel was the door, and the wind was coming home; filling him, rushing into him, being filled. There was no sound anymore, no purpose, nothing but light – light and salt and awareness, for he'd been blind, all this time. Perfectly, inexorably blind.

The wind settled. The door closed. It was as simple as that.

He was whole again.

X X X

Dean tapped on the steering wheel impatiently, humming Def Leppard's Rock of Ages under his breath as he waited for Castiel to emerge from the church. He was starving, and he needed food, and damn it why was Cas taking so long?

Finally, unable to take it anymore, Dean got out of the car, twirling the keys through his fingers as he ascended the steps back into the church.

"Cas?" He called.

His voice echoed back at him, thrown around the room by the ceiling that soared high above. Light streamed in through the stained glass windows, each one depicting a different biblical scene that made twisting shadows and colored light dance across the walls. And, at the end of the aisle that led to the pulpit was Castiel, on his knees before the altar with his head bowed.

Dean paused, not wanting to disturb him if he was praying, but something felt off. Every instinct was screaming at him to go to Castiel, to make sure he was alright, and despite the fact that it was probably nothing, Dean listened.

He hurried down the aisle, a sense of manic urgency pushing him onward. But the moment his foot touched the first step leading up to the altar a bright light burst forth from Castiel, and Dean had to avert his eyes rather than be blinded. When the light had finally died down enough for him to see without blinking spots from his vision, he couldn't believe what he was looking at.

Castiel, only . . . he was different.

Light seemed to pour from him, and if Dean looked close enough he could see something flickering in and out of existence above his head . . . something golden. And behind him, outlined by the light he emanated, two great wings spread from his back, dwarfing Dean in their shadow.

He was beautiful, and yet terrifying at the same time.

"C-Cas?" Dean gasped, unsure. He didn't know what to do.

Castiel smiled then, his blue eyes dancing with light, and nodded, "I'm still me, Dean. In fact, I'm more me than I've ever been."

Dean stared, "I don't understand."

"Neither did I, until now." Castiel walked down the steps, joining Dean at the bottom, "Those angels that whispered to me, the rough childhood I'd gone through, even my name; it wasn't an accident, Dean." He reached out, but Dean reared back.

"Don't touch me," Dean breathed.

Castiel's blue eyes looked hurt, "Dean, I swear. It's still me."

"Dude, you have wings and . . . and I swear there's a halo over your head."

Castiel nodded, "I'm an angel, Dean. I am Castiel; the angel of Thursday." He reached out again, this time slowly, "I promise, it's me. I'm still Cas. I'm still here. And I passed the test."

"What test?"

"The reason I was sent here to Earth." Castiel smiled, "To convince my brothers that such a thing as love existed."

Dean blinked. "What?"

Castiel's smile faltered, "I know this is a lot to comprehend –"

"No, no . . . the angel thing, I got that." Dean said honestly, "But what do you mean you came here to convince your brothers that love existed?"

"I told you before that everything was for a reason; the angels whispering in my head, my hard childhood, even my name," Castiel murmured, "It was to show them that love precedes all. And you proved it, Dean. You proved me right."

Dean swallowed hard. "So, now what? You go back to Heaven or something and that's it? It's like I never knew you or something?"

"No, Dean." Castiel smiled, "I've made my choice." He closed his eyes and Dean watched in wonder as his halo flickered out of existence and his wings faded into shadow, only to disappear entirely moments later.

"What just happened?"

Castiel's eyes opened then, the light from before still making them shine, and his smile returned, soft and hesitant and soothing just like Dean remembered it. "I choose you, Dean. Humanity is a small price to pay for love."

Dean's mouth fell open. "You . . . you just gave up your feathers or whatever to stay here with me?"

Castiel nodded, "Love precedes all, Dean. Even eternity."

Dean stared a moment longer, but then slowly – ever so slowly – a warm smile spread over his face, lighting up his eyes, and he laughed; the sound loud and clear. Castiel soon joined in, and their laughter echoed through the church as they walked out the front doors hand-in-hand, the prospect of the rest of their lives before them.

Because love truly does precede all.