"I know how to work a gun, Dean." Castiel murmurs, a breath of frustration breaking free of his usual gruff monotone. His eyes flicker from the gun to the broad-shouldered hunter looming in the dusk light from the window in Bobby's kitchen, his arms crossed stubbornly over his chest. Dean met his gaze squarely.

"Disassemble and re-assemble that gun and then I'll let you go do whatever you want." Dean instructed, cautiously meeting Sam's disapproving gaze from across the room. Where Dean had enforced teaching the now-human Castiel how to use weapons first, Sam had opted to teach the ex-angel how to look after himself – learn simple things, like cooking, how to work the shower.

Dean had won that argument.

Castiel sucked in a breath and let it out steadily as he reached for the pistol, breaking it apart and slipping the pieces back together with ease; he'd observed Dean do the exact same movements with the same pistol. The man had a habit of disassembling and reassembling the guns in his spare time whilst Sam did solo research on a case – not that he'd ever noticed this himself…Or registered Castiel being in the same room for that matter.

"Alright," Dean huffed in approval, giving Cas a hefty pat on the back as he shifted around him towards the fridge. "At least we're sure you can work your way around a gun."

"Dean, this is ridiculous." Sam sighed. "Just because he's h-"

"Human. Yeah. He's human, Sam - He can't magic his way out of a risky situation anymore," Cas gave Dean an inquisitive look – he couldn't recount a single incident where he'd ran from a fight. Dean ignored it, "I just needed to see that our little post-apocalypse Pinocchio here can look after himself."

"Pinocchio?" Castiel repeated questioningly, gaze travelling to Sam for answers, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Pinocchio, uh, he's the main character of a story where a puppet becomes a real boy." Sam offered, one hand motioning through the air the other hovering over the mouse pad of his laptop. Castiel winced at the implications and sat down, suddenly feeling a wave of what must be tiredness crash over him. As he scanned the night-darkened room, illuminated by a dull glow from the lamp in the corner on the counter, Castiel wanted nothing more for the first time than to sleep.

The notion was anything but welcome.

The apocalypse had been averted and Sam was sitting with them, safe and the same as ever inside Bobby's home, but the only negative outcome had affected him - Castiel, the Angel of the Lord. He was completely drained, his batteries completely dried out.

He was human.

As far as Castiel was concerned he considered himself useless, too, but Dean had disagreed and forced these military-like training operations on him; constantly telling him "You are not useless." Like a drill sergeant would a new recruit. Castiel appreciated the effort Dean had put in to soften the blow of sudden human limitations but it hadn't taken away from the fact that none of them could understand the implications and effects this ailment entailed.

He was fallen, therefore he was hunted no doubt.

Sam and Dean watched intently from their posts on either side of the room as the strange sight of the once-angel fighting off the bouts of sleep encroaching on his untrained consciousness caused his head to lull forward and then snap back upright, sidetracking them as they went about their business. Dean held his bottle of beer hovering absentmindedly about his lips and Sam peered up from his laptop, intrigued. The only time the two had seen Castiel sleep was when he was comatose, his vessel's body completely worn out beyond conscious repair, so seeing the man who never slept to dream slowly succumb to the human need of rest was like watching a gorilla sing "Barbie Girl" in your local pub – disturbing, confusing, strangely amusing and extraordinary.

The moment of silent study passed quickly, however, when Castiel slumped gracelessly to the floor accompanied by a loud and painful thud. The sound brought the brothers back to their senses and they hurriedly exchanged panicked expressions that seemed to say: "You pick him up." "No, you."

"Don' just stand there lookin' pretty," Bobby groaned from his seat at the desk in the living room, the scene reminding him of a very bad stage play. "Dean, pick him up and drag his ass to a bed. The poor sonuvabitch is out cold."

Dean sighed and laid his half-empty beer on the counter, moving reluctantly towards the heap of tan, black and white fabric sprawled out by the leg of the chair in front of him. Bending down over his friend, his hands hovered cautiously around the man as he pondered how he was going to lift him up without having to shake him for fear of waking him. A few awkward seconds of silence passed and Dean, with no other ideas, caved in to the most humiliating option. Manoeuvring so that he was stationed behind Castiel's sleeping form, Dean hooked his arms underneath the crook of his knees and curled his other arm around his back, spanning his shoulders, proceeding to lift the man with a grunt of effort so he stood like a husband cradling his newly-wed spouse.

Sam let out a splutter of laughter at the sight, which was met with a swift "Can it, Sam." from a very disgruntled Dean who sidled past him into the living room, fighting the urge to swing Castiel's body so that his limp feet made contact with his little brother's smug face on the way by.

"Damn, Cas, you're heavier than I thought." Dean muttered to the unconscious body in his arms as he padded his way up the stairs, reaching the landing with steady determination as he made his way into what had been renovated into his room and lay the body of his friend as softly as he could manage onto the mattress, breathing a sigh of relief at the lifted strain on his arms and legs.

He plonked himself down on the edge of the bed and dedicated a few moments to listening into the silence, hearing the soft hum of the intake and dismissal of breath from the sleeping man behind him. It was a clear, crisp sound overlapping the distant buzz of the television downstairs and the warmth emitting from Castiel's hip which rested against the small of Dean's back was comforting.

Dean could get used to Cas sleeping, he thought, but the predominant fact was that it'd take Cas a while to accept that he needed to sleep at all, or eat for that matter, or strictly need to do anything human. He looked over his shoulder at the form behind him, dead to the world, and allowed himself a smile when he gazed upon Castiel's peaceful expression.

Like it or not, he was going to be stuck human for the foreseeable future and both Dean and Sam had decided they weren't going to have him battle it out alone.

Raising himself from the bed and stealthily making his way out of the room, blind in the darkness, Dean shuffled his way down the stairs and onto the living room couch, feeling considerably tired himself. A click sounded as Sam closed his laptop and announced his departure to bed. Dean was silent. If he wasn't already asleep then he chose not to acknowledge his little brother as payback for the giggle fit at his expense before.

A few hours passed before everyone in the house was asleep.

Or so they thought.

"Dean," Dean flinched, eyes still closed. He was not getting up on a day off, especially after successfully thwarting the apocalypse and throwing bloody Satan back into his pit. Nope. No way. "Dean!" The voice came again, more earnest than before. "Dean, wake up."

"Fuck off, Sammy." He growled into one of the pillows, squishing the fabric to his ear as he shuffled over to face the back of the chair, turning his back to who he suspected was his brother.

"I'm not Sam, Dean." Came the rough reply, barely more than a whisper. Dean swivelled round, one eye open curiously as he scanned the dark in search of a face. By the edge of the sofa stood Castiel, hair sticking out at odd angles and clothes creased, looking shaken. What was he doing awake?

"Cas, go back to sleep you look awful." Dean breathed, pulling himself upright groggily, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm.

"I don't want to, Dean." Castiel replied stubbornly, his wide blue eyes focused solely on the man on the couch in front of him. "I had a nightmare." He spoke the words as if they caused him physical pain.

Dean was momentarily taken aback, realisation cutting his Angels don't dream thought short when the recollection of Cas's sudden human infliction dawned on his drowsy mind. "Cas, you need to sleep," Dean started sympathetically, seeing the hurt in the blue eyes that shone down on him in the dark. Castiel's eyebrows knotted in frustration.

"I don't like it. I don't like sleep, Dean. It doesn't feel right." Castiel's voice came as a shaky whisper.

"Sit down, maybe you'll drift o-"

"I'm an Angel, Dean, I-" Castiel's voice hitched in his throat. Dean looked up at him expectantly but the expression soon shifted to sympathy as the unfinished sentence pieced itself together in the heavy air – I'm an Angel, Dean, I don't need to sleep.

Castiel sat down dejectedly next to the hunter who was slowly waking up, much to his dismay. It was starting to look like a good night's rest wasn't an option, unfortunately. Just his luck.

Worn out and lost for words, Dean trailed a hand down his face and sucked in a breath, slowly pushing it out and looking around the room for a distraction from the moping man beside him who had lain back and tilted his head to look up at the ceiling thoughtfully. Finally looking over to him, the steady rise and fall of the man's chest was the only movement visible in the dull midnight glow. He couldn't speak. Sam was the one who was good at pep talks, not him.

Dean cleared his throat, "Wanna watch some TV?" he asked, reaching for the remote in the dark and flipping the switch on the set. When there was no acknowledgement to the question. Dean looked over to his companion. At first glance it looked as if Castiel had fallen prey to sleep yet again, but the flutter of his eyelashes now and again signalled otherwise. Taking the silence as a yes Dean turned on the TV and the room was filled with low chattering voices, the light emitting from the screen dancing across the room. The two sat in silence as Dean surfed through many bad late-night shows and finally settled on old cartoons upon finding nothing else promising. He soon sank down into the couch to get comfortable, lying on his back, legs in an arch, head turned towards the screen and feet rested centimetres away from where Castiel sat upright and unmoving, eyes glued to the scenes playing out before him. Dean mentally braced himself for a long and uneventful night.

Coming to terms with being human was going to be harder for Cas than he'd first thought.

Time passed quietly and unaware he was slowly falling back to sleep, Dean was shocked awake by a sudden pressure on his lower leg. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, his gaze was met with the messy mop of brown unruly hair rested against his knee, the remainder of Castiel's body weighing relentlessly as he succumbed to a human slumber. He'd passed out. Again.

In the short moment that passed, Dean thought of several things he could do: leave the man to sleep here and risk waking him to go up to bed, wake him up and make him go to bed (which he would probably stubbornly refuse to do) or let him sleep, stay here and put up with his self-pitying mood swings in a few hours. Dean chose the latest option and dropped his head back onto the pillow, turning off the TV, the images simmering away with a smooth buzz and steadily shifted into a more comfortable position, careful not to move his legs and disturb the fallen angel snoozing softly.

Sam is going to have his jollies in the morning, Dean thought bitterly. "Stop freakin' passing out, you dope." He whispered viciously. He scrunched up his face in discontent with the oncoming ridicule, breathing a sigh and eventually faded pleasantly into welcome oblivion.

He'd fallen asleep again, he knew it - Damn the human body. This time, however, the dream didn't seem so bad. He was flying, like he'd been able to only weeks before; Rocketing among the clouds, reaching the Winchesters in a second flat, called by their poorly worded prayers then skyrocketing back to Heaven in the blink of an eye, feeling nothing but the wind on his face – no fatigue, no hunger, no craving for anything, not one thing. The baby blue skies stretched, limitless around him, his outstretched wings tousled by the weak breeze in the empty expanse.

He was free.

He was content.

And suddenly he was falling.

He cascaded through the layers of water vapour that encircled the borders of the sky, deep blue being replaced by bleak white and then sinking into blues again as if he were drowning. The comforting touch of the wind on his face became violent and it clawed and tore at his body threatening to rip him to shreds as the Earth raced up to meet him. The mountains upheld like sharpened pikes ready to impale him and the land and seas seemed equal in their concrete nature as he jetted towards them, reaching for somewhere he could find solace, where he could stop this – stop him falling. The feeling of feeling nothing at all was replaced by the notion of pure fear, panic, helplessness, the need to scream out for someone to save him – who would save him? He opened his mouth as the seas came towards him but the salt air ripped the words from his lungs and left him mute as he tore through the surface of the water. He felt his body shatter like glass, his angelic form detonate and spray like rain in front of him as he looked back through the eyes of Jimmy Novak, falling deeper and deeper and deeper into the black abyss as every human emotion swam in to consume him.

"CAS!"

Castiel's eyes snapped open in an instant and he jerked his body upright. He'd broken out in a cold sweat and his eyes were wild and coloured with terror when he locked eyes with Sam Winchester: the younger brother, the boy with the demon blood, the kind brother with a big heart, and suddenly he didn't feel so frantic. When he saw the worry, the blind concern for someone who Sam supposedly considered his friend, his fears subsided slightly and Castiel let the tension seep from his shoulders as he dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his eyes free of any lasting tell-tale signs of horror from that nightmare. When he straightened up again he became aware of the strong grip on his shoulder. Dean, in a flurry of alarm, had reached out to him and seized his shoulder in an attempt to wake him from his dreams and now sat parallel, bolt upright with a panic in his eyes that matched Cas's own.

Castiel couldn't help but feel admiration for these two brothers who seemed to care so much.

"Boys, everything okay?" Asked Bobby, his tone laced with unease as he made his way down the stairs and into the living room where the three were in close proximity to each other, Dean sitting clutching onto Castiel's shoulder for dear life and Sam kneeling in front of him, each of them wearing a similar expression.

"It was just a nightmare." Cas told them, recollecting that stoic look he wore so well. Bobby gave him a look that blatantly said he was not convinced whereas Dean released his grip on his friend, breathing a sigh and muttering "I thought you were having a heart attack or something," as Sam slowly got to his feet, searching Castiel's face, the concern still chiselled into his features even as he turned to follow Bobby into the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Sam and Bobby exchanged some quiet words while in the next room Cas sat still gathering his thoughts as Dean lay back down on the couch, his initial concern with Cas replaced by the pleasant fact that Sam hadn't been able to bring up the subject of "Why were you two asleep like that last night?" and smiled to himself.

Perturbed by his situation and considerably uncomfortable, Castiel wished he could just zap himself away from here and try as he might, pray as he might, he just couldn't do it. Hence he took the human option: "I'm going for a walk." He announced and marched straight out of the room without warning, bolting right out of the house, past the yard and starting off down the road. As the door clicked closed and Castiel's tan trench coat slid out of sight the words hung in the air as the three men left in the confines of the house processed the words.

Where the hell was he going?

Bobby practically lived in the middle of nowhere.

Sam looked to Dean immediately and the oldest of the brothers huffed a frustrated sigh and followed right after him, out the door muttering "For God's sake, you'd think he'd stop being able to disappear like this…"

"Hey! Where are you going?" Dean asked, voiced raised as he caught up, walking along a few paces behind Castiel who marched aimlessly down the road. He even walked like how Dean would imagine a Soldier of God would walk. "This road doesn't go anywhere for miles, Cas."

"I'm just walking, Dean, leave me alone and I'll be back soon."The man answered, unsure of how long he would be able to walk on being completely human, but curious to find out the various limitations this body held. He walked to "clear his head" - that was what "fresh air" was supposed to do, right?

His thoughts wandered. Damn, that nightmare had really put him off. He had to get his Grace back, but how?

"Hey I got an idea. How 'bout you and me turn around and walk the other way?" Dean jogged forward and caught Cas by the shoulder to turn him around, "There's a diner two or three miles or so past Bobby's." He suggested, unhappy with the concept of following Castiel down the road with no end in sight. Cas turned to look at him and for the first time in the morning sun, Dean realised how spent the Angel actually looked. Tie hanging loosely – looser than normal, anyway – his white shirt was unbuttoned to his collarbone which jutted out sharply and the tone of skin overlaying it didn't provide much contrast to the whiteness of the fabric. His trademark tan trench coat hung scruffily over one shoulder as the other side slid to beneath his shoulder blade and his hair stood on end in a manner which made him look both in need of a comb and charismatic at the same time. He looked tired.

His eyes, however, had not lost that curious tinge.

The reverie was cut short by the sudden change of surroundings that caught both Dean and Castiel off guard as they were transported to the diner Dean had intended to take them to, the chattering of customers and waiters filling their ears as if they'd just been submerged into water. The shift in atmospheric pressure was a tell-tale sign an Angel was at work here. "Dean, I think I understand why you didn't like that now." Castiel said queasily from across the table, looking pale in the face and clutching his stomach.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean growled.

Balthazar sat coolly beside Castiel, waiting for his brother to regain his composure. Dean was just about to complain about how sick to death he was of Angels moving him about the place when Balthazar spoke.

"Hey, Dean. Just needed to drop in for a second to see how little Cassie was doing." He told them, although the underlying tone lacing his words wasn't quite so cheery. He studied his brother as if he were a doctor trying to figure out what was making someone ill, or in Castiel's case, human. His gaze trailed along Castiel's face and ended when they made eye contact. Balthazar's features immediately softened. "I was hoping they were pulling my strings, but looks like you really have lost your Grace, there, Brother." He said apologetically.

"Thanks for the update." Came the bitter reply.

"Well, this should be just wonderful." Dean muttered, reaching for a menu.

Author's note: This is my first fan fiction! This story's gonna be pretty long so I hope you guys enjoy the oncoming chapters. Feel free to leave a review - it'd really help.