A/N
Oh dear, I re-watched the finale today and Cas' hopeless look was like a stab to the feels. I don't know why I didn't notice how broken he looked during the first time watching but yeah... I'm dumb and I was focused on Dean.

The next realisation was that I somehow ignored the fact that NO ONE EXCEPT CROWLEY KNOWS DEAN WOKE UP. Again, same reason: I'm dumb and live in the fanfic realm of supernatural.

Other than these major points I missed/ignored I LOVED THE FINALE. I think Demon Dean (Deamon?) will be hella kick-ass and I can't wait to see the Dean/Crowley thing unfold.
Also, are we gonna ignore the fact that CASTIEL DID IN NO WAY CORRECT METATRON? He silently admitted that his entire existence revolves around Dean.

Therefore at least Cas-sided Destiel is fucking canon alright! *squee*

To the story: it's a fix-it sorta thing (wow was I creative with the title, huh?) so there's a good ending (I hope?)

WARNING: mild thoughts of suicide and generous use of the F-word!

Read, enjoy and please leave a review!

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

Fixing Things

.

During a moment of peace Castiel took the liberty to break free and just fly for the sake of it, something he hadn't had the desire to do in eons. With what little power he had left from the grace that wasn't rightfully his, he swung himself into the air, charcoal wings struggling to support his weight. After the initial difficulty he was quickly gaining altitude and closed his eyes in a desperate attempt to not feel, busying his mind with the task at hand.

Rebuilding Heaven would require great effort. Too much had been destroyed over too long a period of time and restoring its once so glorious state was likely to take decades, if not centuries. To the angels this, of course, was merely the blink of an eye, but not to him. He was no longer one of them, as much as he sometimes yearned to be. It was true, he really wanted to just be an angel, a soldier without a mind of his own, blindly following the orders he got from above, but he also knew that he was never going to go back there. The world was different now, Earth, Heaven and Hell changed past the point of no return and strangely enough he was inevitably in the middle of it. The angels needed him, were seeking his guidance and seal of approval with every little piece of their home that they rebuilt.

But how was he to lead them, if he was so utterly lost himself?

Metatron had been right, of course. In the end, everything he had done, he'd done for Dean Winchester, The Righteous Man. And he regretted none of his actions, not if they had in any way helped this human with a soul so bright it could easily be mistaken for an angel's grace if one looked only fleetingly at it. In all of creation, past and present, Castiel had never encountered another being like the hunter. It was beyond him how someone like Dean could give everything he had for others and believe in them without a doubt while at the very same time harboring so much loathing, so much disappointment for himself. When the angel had first laid eyes upon the human back in the old Hell his heart had bled with the sorrows emanating from the shining soul in front of him. He should have realized at that moment that everything he had thought true until that day was about to change. But no, it had taken much longer for Castiel to understand just how unhappy he had been as a mere soldier, how much he wanted to matter.

With both Winchesters he had come to feel a deep connection and slowly learned that the warmth it caused was the strong bond of friendship. Angels did not have friends. They had brothers and sisters and shared an obligatory kind of love for one another, connected through the Father that had created them all, but friendship was something completely alien to them. It was a special sensation Castiel had allowed himself to feel through his vessel and he cherished it greatly, for once feeling like he had found a place where he belonged.
With passing time he had felt his entire loyalty shift from his brethren and his absent God to the two humans who made him question every single believe he had in him. Everything he'd thought true, the two of them proved wrong. They had taught him the importance of family.

From the moment that he realized how much he'd grown to depend on them, he'd known he had changed too much to ever return to being an Angel of the Lord. He'd become too human for that, wanting to feel, spending more time outside the heavenly realm than inside. And then the Fall had come and ripped his grace from him. Without his powers, being human suddenly seemed a lot less appealing. His vessel was so weak and needed constant maintenance and frankly he hated every second of his petty existence without his grace. But one thing, the most important thing of all, had happened during that time.

There had always been special moments between him and Dean, they did share a profound bond, as he had said, but angels did not feel physical desire. Humans did. And as he had first seen Dean Winchester's face, seen him instead of his soul, it had filled him with a warmth unknown to any celestial being before. In contrast to the equally alien sense of belonging that had come with the hardly identifiable feelings of friendship and family he had instantly recognized love. It was an emotion so strong and inexplicably complex that one simply couldn't mistake it for anything else, even if they had only just become human. The fallen angel had used every second with the hunter to analyze his features; green eyes, always tired but alert, freckles too large in number for his then inferior brain to count and a smile that when flashed in a rare moment of sincerity could make his heart melt.

Back then Castiel had realized he had fallen, in every sense of the word, for Dean Winchester.

A year had passed, a dreadful year of war, rebellion and loss but even when he'd gotten his angelic powers back, he still forced his eyes to see Dean's face, to read his expressions instead of his soul. It created a more intimate atmosphere. And with every moment that he as much as glimpsed at the hunter, his heart swelled more with the love he felt, stronger now that he was powerful again. Other things, he'd noticed in a moment of embarrassment, liked to swell as well at the sight of the older Winchester and Castiel came to the realization that he had become one with his vessel during his time on earth. He would forever be half-human in one way or the other.

Dean had given him humanity, had given him a life.

Now Dean was dead.

Castiel dropped mid-flight as he allowed himself to think these words for the first time but managed to regain control before crash-landing. He hadn't yet had the courage to see Sam, tell him how sorry he was that he couldn't do anything to help, that he had failed them again. He would have gladly returned the reigns to Metatron if it meant his friend got to live. But there was nothing to be done, no way to bargain, no soul to rise from Perdition.

The grief he felt was very un-angelic. Raw, human mourning that threw him off-balance and was the reason he had fled the heavenly construction site in the first place. The other angels wouldn't understand. Couldn't understand. They hadn't changed enough to feel human emotions in depth.

He felt his wings lose strength and although he knew he should not be this wasteful with the remnants of grace inside him, he couldn't bring himself to care. If he just kept on flying, it couldn't take much longer until it was burnt out. It took a moment until Castiel grasped how dark this thought actually was.

Indeed, it would be very easy to just keep on flapping his wings until it was all over, until there was nothing more to be felt, neither physically nor emotionally. And really, what point was there to exist in a world where he was completely alone?

He was too human for Heaven and too angelic for Earth. The only place where he might have belonged was the Men of Letters bunker, which was now a place haunted with images of the few happy moments he had gotten to share with Sam and Dean during the few hours he'd spent there after his rescue. Without Dean Winchester to guide him, he was too lost to carry on.

Castiel wasn't going to fly himself to death, though. That had just been a daft idea born from sorrow and stubbornness. He was, however, not going to restore his own grace. This way he would just burn from the inside out sooner or later and that was good. He had caused enough damage already, no need to risk more destruction. Of course his siblings would be disappointed, maybe Sam would be sad- or not, considering the unimportance of his death compared to that of his brother- but ultimately it would certainly be for the best.

Without thinking he went from flying to zapping, suddenly finding himself just outside the well-hidden bunker. The sleek black Impala was parked next to him and he couldn't stop himself from running his fingers over the shiny surface as he had seen the eldest Winchester do countless times. It was almost like a caress and quite a few times he had felt an infantile bolt of jealousy at the way the hunter had looked at his Baby.

With heavy steps he walked up to the door but then hesitated, suddenly terrified of Sam's reaction. Maybe he didn't wish to see him again. Heavy-heartedly he zapped himself into Dean's room, knowing his brother would have brought him there.

The strong smell of sulfur threw him off-guard.

Three pairs of eyes were on him, one red-rimmed, one tired… and one utterly black. Also he hadn't expected the presence of a soul but the utter lack of it was even more unnerving as he looked at the demonic grimace staring back at him from below the blood-smeared face of his hunter.

"Impeccable timing." It was Crowley who spoke, lacking his usual mocking enthusiasm. The tired eyes belonged to him and it gave the King of Hell an almost human appearance, even to the angel who again concentrated hard to really see people and not just feel their shape.

The angel took a tentative step forward. "Dean…?"

He got no verbal answer, just two guilty looks from Crowley and the younger Winchester. His eyes wandered to the second demon in the room who was absentmindedly clutching his arm. That's when he connected the dots. Oh. Of course. How could he have forgotten about the Mark!

"Dean." He tried again, staring intently at the black orbs belonging to the resurrected Winchester. "It's okay."

"No! It's not!" That was Sam yelling, but the angel couldn't tear his eyes off the Dean-shaped demon. No, wait. It… he wasn't just shaped like the hunter he loved. It was still him. If he concentrated he could still count his freckles, still see his handsome face. He wasn't gone.

He wasn't gone.

"Cas, I swear if you don't stop looking at me with that much disgust… I don't know, man."

Castiel was sure his features weren't showing disgust but he averted his gaze anyway. "I thought you were dead."

"Welcome to the club," the Winchester chuckled without humor and ran a hand over his face. The remark earned him an incredulous glare from Sam.

"I know it's not my place to ask," the angel said softly, turning to the other two people in the room, "but would it be possible to talk to Dean alone for a moment?" Sam looked skeptically to his brother but was eventually shoved out the room by Crowley who muttered something about 'having to explain the details to him anyway'.

Once they were alone Castiel relaxed while Dean's posture went even more rigid. They didn't talk straight away, the situation too insane to acknowledge. Dean broke the silence first.

"How's Heaven? I heard Metatron's your bitch now…"

"Who told-"

"Crowley."

Another silence followed but didn't last long because Castiel couldn't stand it anymore and crossed the distance between them in a few steps until he could wrap his arms around the demon. The embrace was one-sided at first but soon enough Dean hugged back. He smelt mainly of sulfur and blood… but Castiel still caught his individual scent. Yes, this was definitely still his hunter. "I'm so glad you're still here."

The words were out before he could stop them and he felt his cheeks redden at the intimacy of his whispered confession. Dean pulled back and stared intently at him, his soulless eyes showing no emotion, but the rest of his face evidently confused. "But I'm a demon."

"I don't care." The truth hadn't driven Dean away after the first statement, so Castiel decided to stick with it.

The hunter's answer was choked- "Sam does."
Absentmindedly the angel placed a hand on the other man's cheek in a gesture so unfamiliarly intimate it sent a spark through his entire being. Another spark followed when Dean leaned into the palm of his hand.

"I'm sure he'll get over it, eventually, Dean. It's just a shock for him…." For all of us.

"You don't seem so shocked, Cas. Don't I look like an abomination to you? I mean I can't even control the damn black eye thing yet."

"I can still see your human face. You look bruised and dirty… but you're alive. That's beautiful."

The hunter growled and fiercely turned away. "Fuck you, Castiel, don't fucking lie to me."

Castiel didn't know what to do to soothe his friend, how to show the man he loved that he was just that- loved. No matter what.
In a moment of insanity and desperation he grabbed Dean's shoulder and spun him around, crashing him into the nearest wall and covering the hunter's lips with his own. He tried to communicate his feelings to Dean and fervently hoped he was doing the right thing.

The very next moment his doubts evaporated into thin air because Dean Winchester was kissing him back.

It wasn't a sweet, loving gesture, no, it was all teeth and tongues and sloppiness, every ounce of anxiety, hope, disbelief, wonder and desire bundled into that one kiss. Castiel found his heart pounding madly and his brain clouded, though not from lack of oxygen. Dean was intoxicating, like a drug he hadn't known he was addicted to until the moment their mouths had collided. They broke apart, panting heavily, noses barely touching.

"Cas," Dean breathed.

"You're still yourself." It was a weird response, but definitely the one Dean needed to hear.

"I guess, sort of." Pause. "Why did you come here?"

Now that was a question the angel didn't want to answer. Lying would be easy. To see how Sam was doing. "To say goodbye," he said instead.

"Where were you going?" Dean asked stupidly.

"You were dead."

"Yeah. So?"

This was difficult. Castiel stepped away, debating with himself whether or not the hunter needed to know the truth. He had enough troubles as it was, no need to know about the angel's suicidal tendencies.

"I wanted to die, too."

There, the words were out, now he couldn't hide behind the pretense that he'd only been thinking about not restoring his grace. His mind had been irrevocably set on that idea… until he had seen that Dean was still breathing.

"You fucking dickhead." Dean was next to him in a heartbeat, his fist connecting with the side of the angel's face violently. "You were gonna leave Sammy on his own?"

From that perspective he hadn't considered the situation. Actually he hadn't considered the situation that much at all, steered by human emotions clouding his judgment. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"You better be, asshole. What's your excuse? You got, like, a billion angels up there ready to mojo your own grace right back into you, right?"

He was going to argue, say that it wasn't that easy when, in fact, the hunter-gone-demon had a fair point. His situation wasn't hopeless. Just without Dean… he hadn't seen the purpose in anything. He knew by now his eyes were yelling the answer at the man in front of him. An answer he was sure the Winchester didn't wish to hear.

I love you.

"Goddamnit, Cas…" For the second time they exchanged a heated kiss, neither capable of turning their thoughts into coherent sentences. Dean was rough, biting down on the angel's bottom lip in a way that should definitely not feel this good. Involuntary moans escaped both parties. The demon broke away, holding his companion at arm's length.
"You don't get to fucking die, understood? This ain't some fucked up, real-life version of, I dunno, Romeo and Juliet."

A shiver went down the angel's spine. Dean had just casually compared their deaths to the most iconic romantic tragedy in the history of theatre and seemed fine with it. He had always guessed that the hunter, in some way, reciprocated his feelings… but for him to admit them this bluntly was pleasantly unexpected.

"I have done terrible things," he argued half-heartedly in a poor attempt to justify his stupid decision.

"So what? We've all done shit we're not proud of, things that can't be undone, and yet here we are. News update, Cas: we're major screw-ups. Live with it."

"I will," the angel promised solemnly.

"Good. So will I." Black eyes bore into his blue ones and he suppressed the desire to lean in for another kiss, seeing the impropriety of the urge. "Go get your grace back, before I jump you," the hunter growled, obviously struggling with similar longing.

"Dean, you will need to let go of me." Castiel sent his hunter a small smile and for a millisecond he thought he saw a hint of green in his eyes.

"Right." Dean released his trench-coated arm. "When you get back here we'll deal with our issues together. Yours, mine, Sam's… Hell, Crowley can join for all I care. Just come back. I'll fix you."

Instead of answering Castiel leaned in and kissed Dean after all. This time it was the soft, butterfly-evoking sort of kiss that the angel had only ever read about. No book had appropriately described it, however. He tried to be reassuring, tell Dean that he wasn't going anywhere, that they would somehow get through this, like they had gone through everything else together.

When the angel released the hunter's lips he knew if he didn't leave right away he would never do it and his power was running dangerously low, exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster he had been through. Before he disappeared with a fluttering gush of wind he whispered, "I'll fix you, too."

"Damn it, Cas," the hunter mumbled to himself as he caught a glimpse of his reflection and saw a pair of pale green eyes staring back at him, "I think you already have."