The first time Dean distinctly remembers wanting to kiss Castiel, was when he found him by the edge of the stream in Purgatory. Long before that, there had always been some kind of magnetism between them. The times they locked eyes for too long, the deep blue exploring the bright green. The times Dean found Cas standing a little too close—gradually Dean started to sense him before actually seeing him; he could feel the shift in the air, the subtle rise in temperature like another body radiating warmth.

But there was something else too. It was like a celestial energy.

Thinking back, Dean realised that that energy had always surrounded Cas like… well, like a halo, but the years had somehow intensified the angelic power. Like the time they spent together somehow nurtured it and made the sensation grow in strength. Which was strange to Dean, since he'd thought that familiarity would only weaken it, or at least make it easier to ignore; after all, you can get used to anything if you're around it for long enough.

Weirder still, however, was the fact that Sam apparently had no idea what he was talking about when Dean eventually felt the grudging need to bring it up after one particularly long visit from Castiel. The moment the angel disappeared with a faint flutter of his wings, the pages of their lore books flipping at the sudden breeze, Dean's shoulders loosened. He hadn't even noticed them tensing. He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the muscles in his biceps relax, and he wondered, horrified, that perhaps he had been flexing them.

Hell, he near blushed at the idea.

Diverting his gaze, as if disinterested in the very subject matter he was about to bring up, he asked Sam about the energy that came and left with Castiel.

"What do you mean?" Sam questioned. Dean could practically hear Sam's brow furrowing, confused not just at the context of the question but also at why Dean was asking in the first place.

"You know what I mean, Sam. It hangs around the guy like a bad smell," Dean retorted, opting not to mention how the energy was anything but bad. In fact, as it grew, so did Dean's liking of it. Were he to be honest, he'd admit how he'd actually started to miss it when it, and Cas, were gone; which occasionally were for long, uncomfortable periods of time.

"If you're talking about bad smells, Dean, then that was probably you. I don't think angels can pass gas," Sam said, only half sarcastic.

"Hey, no, you are the gassy one," Dean can't help but be on the defence. He hadn't really wanted to have this conversation in the first place, and he regretted having it now that it was going just as badly as he'd expected. Really, he wished he hadn't brought it up at all. Dean hoped Sam would let it slide, but, like with most things, he was never that lucky.

"What does it feel like exactly? Added pressure in the atmosphere? Electrical charge?"

'Damn,' Dean thought, 'Sam's actually giving it some consideration.' And only now did Dean realise just how indescribable the feeling truly was. It was everything Sam suggested and more, whilst being nothing like those things at all. Dean couldn't focus on any one distinguishing feature.

The fact that it kept intensifying didn't help him pin down the right definition for it, either.

All he knew was that it was there and it wouldn't go away and… hell, truth be told, he didn't want it to. All he understood was that it was distracting. It turned Castiel's presence into company with powerful baggage that, yes, sometimes actually made Dean weak at the knees.

And he never felt it in the vicinity of another angel. Uriel, Zachariah, Balthazar, even the freaking archangels, were all surrounded by nothingness. Were Dean to have simply walked by them unknowingly on the street, he wouldn't have felt a thing; they could have passed for humans.

But Cas? Cas was different.

"Look, never mind. Just forget I brought it up," Dean insisted with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Dean—" Sam started.

"No. You were right, it's probably just me. All the sleep deprivation and the mass amount of burgers I eat that one stomach really shouldn't allow, it's got me all messed up. Even now I sense something radiating off you too… but it's less of an energy and more an annoying, droning noise."

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head, finally allowing the subject to drop but Dean knew that his brother was still thinking about it. Pondering what his strange older brother was on about this time. It seemed that no matter how much time passed or many times he caught glimpses of the private life inside Dean's head, Sam could never truly understand him. Not all of him, anyway.

There was just so much that Dean kept to himself.

While Dean was in Purgatory, he'd hoped that the celestial energy would guide him to the missing angel, but the unfortunate truth was that Purgatory was just too big a place. Dean couldn't imagine where the monster pit started and where it ended, or whether it was just as infinite as the universe itself. In which case, he was surely walking in circles in what was quickly becoming a suicide mission to find Castiel—preferably alive.

He had noticed that time didn't pass there the same way it did on Earth. The light would filter away into an inescapable darkness unlike anything else Dean had seen before. For one thing, light was fickle; it didn't stick around long and whenever it decided to appear, it was dim at best, tainted by an ever-present layer of thick fog. In the minutes between night and day, the same fog would slowly roll downhill like an omen, signifying the onslaught of the pitch black nightfall. It would creep at Dean's ankles, concealing his way forward and evaporating the path back the way he came. Though, even it couldn't hide the eyes.

Dean swore there were eyes always watching him; not with a healthy curiosity but rather with ravenous, hostile intent. They would glow in the dark, blinking purposely and moving silently from one place to the next. They circled him constantly, biding their time, playing with their food before eating it. Whether they were vampires, werewolves, leviathans, or some other nasty creation, it simply didn't matter. They were all out for Dean's head and he knew that he was trapped there like Ripley on the ship in Alien or the research crew in Antarctica with The Thing.

They were eventually going to kill him, it was just a matter of when. Until then, he'd keep going, refusing to go down without a fight. He couldn't give up even if he wanted to; Sam depended on him. Cas depended on him. Giving in now would be like handing them over to Death himself.

Now that Earth was free of the leviathans, Sam wouldn't be in any immediate danger, and sure, he could look after himself. But Dean couldn't help but wonder: for how long?

How long before something else came along, maybe something even worse? What could Sam's search for Dean bring down on humanity? After his trip to Hell pushed Sam straight into Ruby's manipulative hands, Dean worried what his disappearance would mean for his brother this time. Because he would try anything and everything to find him, never mind the risks, just the way Dean knew he would were their roles reversed.

After all, that seemed to be where everything always went wrong. Dean selling his soul to Hell in exchange for his brother's life could arguably be where this whole mess started. Unwittingly breaking the first of the 66 seals, Lucifer being freed from the cage, Castiel's God rampage; it all seemed like dominoes falling into place, all leading him here to this hell adjacent nightmare.

Despite knowing this to be true, Dean still wouldn't change a thing. He couldn't even if he wanted to, but if changing the past meant burying Sam that night he was stabbed in the back, then Dean wouldn't even hear of it. Sam was alive, and that's all that mattered. And he knew that somehow, someway, he was going to find his way back to his little brother, and he was taking Cas with him.

That was of course, if he could even find the damn bastard in this shit storm.

The constant warfare was exhausting but Dean didn't dare rest his eyes even for a second. Though he certainly dreamed of what a couple hours sleep would feel like. He yearned for it. And it was quickly becoming a desperate situation. So finding Benny, or rather, being found by Benny, was like a godsend.

Dean didn't trust him at first, not by any means, but eventually trust didn't seem all that important anymore. He needed to rest, and Benny provided a set of eyes to keep watch so Dean could finally close his. The first time Dean woke up after a brief hour and a half of slumber and realised he was still miraculously alive, he decided this was an arrangement he could get on board with. The vampire would sit solemnly for an hour or two every couple of nights whilst Dean slept, guarding the vessel that would get him through the portal to the other side. It was a system that worked best for the both of them; the rest keeping Dean sharp and ready to fight.

Really, it kept them both alive.

If it weren't for that, then Dean may have considered battling on alone. In the time between kill or be killed, Benny felt the need to ask questions. Questions that Dean had no desire to answer. And it certainly started innocently enough: What's it like on Earth now? What has changed? What has stayed the same?

They were questions Dean allowed though he never went into much detail in his answers, as it was hard to describe what so often went by unnoticed—again, familiarity made everything very commonplace. But then when those questions ran out, Benny's curiosity focused more on Dean. More specifically: on the mysterious angel that he was dead-set on finding.

Dean wouldn't even give him the benefit of a response, which only fuelled Benny's intrigue and he would ask more and more questions, trying to wear the hunter down. And Dean honestly managed to hold his tongue for the longest time, eventually giving an actual answer entirely by accident rather than by choice.

"Look, I admit, I don't know a whole lot 'bout angels, but from what I've heard they ain't the most friendly of people," Benny contributed to their very one sided conversation, almost like he was talking to a brick wall.

"Yeah, well, Cas is different," Dean muttered, noncommittally.

"Cas, huh? What's that short for? Cassius? Casper? Cassie? Casey?"

Dean knew Benny would find a way to keep the list going on forever if he didn't give a straight answer. "Castiel. His name is Castiel."

"Or was," Benny pointed out with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "We've been looking for months, Dean. Perhaps your angel is long gone."

"Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you?" Dean bit back and gripped the handle of his blade tighter.

"Well, it would certainly get us out of this pit a whole lot quicker."

"You knew exactly what you signed up for," Dean said stiffly, "the angel comes with us or we don't go at all. If you have a problem with that, feel free to leave. I certainly won't try and stop you."

Benny held up his hands in surrender. "You're the boss. I just think you gotta face facts here, Dean…"

"No, you've got to shut your freaking pie hole before I shut it for you. Rather permanently, in a way I don't think you'd like. It would involve this blade separating your head from your shoulders. Understand?"

"I hear you, chief."

After that Benny never brought it up again, but it was clear that his patience was wearing thinner the further they went. To him each step felt like movement in the wrong direction, and every interrogation, he knew, was tedious. But he never complained. Not because of Dean's threat, but rather because he could see the utter desperation in the hunter's eyes, though Dean often tried to hide it.

Benny would stand aside as Dean would cut and tear into a werewolf or vampire, and he'd wait without argument until it was all done and dusted, and the creature's head was lying at Dean's feet, bleeding onto his shoes.

Without the answers he wanted to hear, Dean was obviously distraught, storming onward with a rage fuelled determination that quickly wavered and then he walked like an empty shell, hope abandoned. It was evident mostly in his shoulders that slumped forward, and in his hands that he compulsively clenched and unclenched, and Benny was starting to see the signs more and more often. He started to worry that maybe Dean would simply give up. After all, Dean had clearly said countless times that he wasn't leaving without Castiel, and he obviously meant it. Which could only mean one thing: Dean would die here.

Benny had survived just fine on his own, which was a strange thought since technically he was already dead. He didn't need Dean in order to live, not since he'd grown accustomed to the wild planes and the raw purity Purgatory maintained. Were Dean to die, Benny would continue on just as he had before, which really seemed like worse a fate than death. Sure it was pure, but Benny couldn't not resent it. There were things up top he needed to see, people he had unfinished business with, history he needed to bury. And he would be damned if Dean kept him from that. He was going to keep the hunter alive if it took everything he had, just as long as he got out. And if that meant finding the angel, well, then he'd find the angel.

"Dean, we can't be far off," Benny tried to sound optimistic, but it came across forced even to his own ears. "We'd know it if your angel were dead."

"I can't feel him," Dean admitted in a quiet, broken voice. "It's been months and I still can't feel him anywhere."

Benny didn't know what he meant, but he decided not to impose on whatever this breakdown was. "We'll find him."

"You don't get it, man. My brother's out there, back on Earth, and he needs me. The longer we're here in this shit stink, the closer he'll be to getting himself into some real nasty crap. But I can't leave without Cas, I owe him too much."

"There ain't nothin' your brother can do to crack into this locked box, Dean. He can't get himself into any trouble." Benny knew how much Dean worried about his brother, he'd heard the nightmares passing Dean's lips while he slept. "Look, we're getting outa here, one way or another. You've gotta get a grip."

Dean squared his shoulders and tensed his jaw, the dimness of his eyes bursting again with light. If he had to go down, he'd go down swinging. Like with most things, Dean pushed it all down; the inner turmoil he felt, the guilt, the anxiety. He suppressed it all and threw himself into the fight, actually seeking out something to kill rather than waiting for it to find him. And it helped. He didn't have to have any restraint here, he could just go, and feel better for it when it was done. It gave him something else to think about.

Killing just came naturally to him, and eventually his fight turned into something almost manic. He was unstoppable. And it showed in his face each time he held the blade to a monster's throat, his eyes crazed with real, severe menace. He didn't have to say anything and the monsters just knew that he'd kill them, but not without making them hurt first. For most it would be a pain too intense to bear, and it hardly seemed worth the suffering when there was nothing actually worth living for.

"I don't think he knows, man," Benny muttered, loud enough for the werewolf to overhear. Sure, he could weasel the information out of the creature, but Dean could do it a lot quicker.

"Oh, he knows." Dean knelt down in front of the wolf, purposely placing the blade at the crook of his neck. The sharp edge served a very clear warning. "Where's the angel?"

Dean could recognise the fear in the mutt, could see as his chest started to rise and fall with much shorter breaths, and his lip quivered faintly. But there was something else there too. His eyes darted back and forth and then quickly diverted to peer just beyond Dean's face. The wolf knew something.

When he refused to meet Dean's piercing gaze, and his mouth didn't open to speak, Dean pressed the blade down harder against his skin.

"Hey!" Dean snapped, bringing the monster back to attention, forcing him into submission.

"There's a stream," the wolf finally divulged, hesitant in his answer. The blade was still cutting into his flesh.

"Go on."

"It runs through a clearing not far from here. I'll show you." He just needed time. Purgatory was an unforgiving place with flesh-tearing evils at every turn; which meant there was a chance, however slim, that he could escape their capture. Or better still, there was a chance that he could gain the upper hand and slaughter them both. And he would take his time with the hunter. After all, it was a hunter that got him there in the first place.

"How about you just tell me?" Dean suggested, bringing the demon-killing knife right to the underside of the wolf's chin.

The wolf swallowed hard and felt the sharp tip of the knife on his skin. As he tilted his head up, the blade followed. There wasn't a chance of him getting out of this alive. The hunter knew all the tricks in the book, knew what risks lied in trusting a werewolf. "Three days' journey. Follow the stream… There's a clearing. You'll find your angel there."

Dean was actually startled to be given an answer so easily, and pretended only momentarily to mull it over and purposely gave the creature the first glimmer of hope: he let the blade droop a little, the threat slowly retreating. Dean glanced back at Benny who raised an eyebrow, not willing to offer an argument for or against the oncoming slaughter. The vampire had become well-adjusted to Dean's gratuitously violent antics after spending the better half of a year with him. There was nothing Dean could do to surprise him anymore.

Dean turned his attention back to the werewolf, offering up a sadistic smile, "You know what, Mutt? ... I believe you."

He pierced upwards into the wolf's skull, the knife carving right through his tongue and into the roof of his mouth. The werewolf's eyes widened in shock, his mouth agape and blood filled the back of his throat, thin lines of red trickled down his chin. Benny saw his claws grasp handfuls of soil before, as he choked and gagged on his blood, his hands fell slack and the dirt slipped through his fingers.

The vampire silently dipped his head, shifting from one foot to the other. He wasn't opposed to killing, certainly couldn't afford to be around here, but he didn't exactly take pleasure in it either.

But Dean wasn't bothered. In fact, he looked pleased. The hunter stood upright and tugged the knife from the lifeless corpse, pausing to wipe the blade clean on the werewolf's filthy clothes.

"Let's get going then," he said, almost cheerily, and walked ahead. Benny stood back for only a moment before taking it in his stride, and following in the hunter's footsteps.

Dean's optimism grew exponentially after that, as if the very idea of seeing Castiel again renewed something within him that had become lost since first waking up in Purgatory. He was refreshed, his eyes alight with a new life and he walked eagerly ahead. The monsters kept coming but they hardly seemed a concern anymore, and Dean didn't find himself so desperate for the distraction. Killing them was work, nothing more; and Dean was still on his game: determined not to be delayed more than he needed to be.

And in those three days, Dean talked more than he had in months. Benny actually appreciated the light banter; it helped make the time pass quicker and helped him see the hunter more clearly. He'd known for a while that there was a whole lot of good in Dean, more than there was bad, but he hadn't realised just how free spirited he truly was. He had both the most immature and most mature sense of humour at the same time; laughing like an eight year old but usually at the dirtiest of jokes. And he was loyal. It was loyalty unlike anything Benny had ever encountered before.

Loyal through thick and thin and all the heartache and pain that came with it.

Benny finally got a sense of Dean's history with the mysterious angel, and whatever Dean didn't say in words, Benny understood in context. Even as he eased up, Dean seemed especially careful of what he said about Castiel. As if he was afraid Benny would think poorly of him before they actually got the chance to meet. And Benny noticed how Dean specifically darted around the topic of what exactly he thought or felt about Cas. His words were very on the nose recollections of how Cas gripped him tight and raised him from perdition, and how the angel had turned against heaven for Dean and the greater good, and how he stuck by the Winchester's through the apocalypse that the brother's, together, had started.

After that, Dean's tone noticeably dipped, and he grudgingly recalled Castiel's partnership with a demon named Crowley, and how he tried to become God, and how he released the leviathan into the world.

There was obviously a lot of bad blood buried there, but Dean had buried it deep. The truth was that he wanted, needed, Cas. The angel had come into his life and there was just no taking him out of it. There was just so much good that couldn't be undone. Castiel's constant readiness to bleed for the Winchesters couldn't be overlooked—could never be tainted.

And to be honest, Dean felt a lot of the bad was his fault. Looking back on the whole life he had lived so far, he always dwelled on all that he felt he should have prevented or should have fixed: always thinking he should have said this or should have done that. Always: should've, would've, could've.

He had never had the chance to thank Castiel the way he wanted. Or to apologise as profusely as he knew he should. He tried so hard to remember in hindsight that while it was right in the ethical sense to fight against the God squad rather than alongside or for them, Cas was still fighting his family. Family. Dean didn't want to imagine what moral duress having to do that put Cas under.

Dean didn't want to remember how he had faced a fragmented-minded Castiel and told him: "Nobody cares that you're broken."

Nothing he said subsequently could ever take that back, and it too was something he wished he'd never said aloud. He realised only in retrospect that he often expected too much, grudged for too long, forgave too late, and yes, he selfishly took Castiel under his metaphorical wing and broke him.

And selfishly, he would do it again. Because he needed Cas. For more than his power; now he needed him. Dean needed that stupid trench coat and tie, he needed that familiar puzzled expression Cas often wore, and he needed that gruff voice and those striking blue eyes. He needed the way Cas made him feel.

All the months he spent searching for his angel, was time Dean spent hoping he'd never again be without him.

And as he drew nearer, he finally felt that energy in the air, the very celestial warmth Cas emitted, and Dean didn't even need to follow the stream anymore. He just followed his heart.

The longing to kiss Castiel came first when Dean saw him at the water's edge. The sensation was strong, the allure of Castiel's lips stunning Dean and his heart started to hammer in his chest. He just needed to be near Cas, touch Cas, hold Cas. He needed to embrace him and feel that he was really real.

"Cas!" Dean called out, his eyes locked on the angel that was crouched down by the water. Cas stood upright, his coat dirty and tattered, his chin coated with the beginnings of a beard. It was clear in the way he carried himself that Cas had gone through hell to get here alive.

Dean pulled the startled angel into a tight embrace, though he wanted more than anything to hold Castiel's face in his hands and kiss him long and hard on the lips. He wanted to tangle his fingers in Castiel's hair and pull him in close. He wanted to feel the angel's chest against his and have that energy as close as possible.

"Damn, it's good to see you," Dean breathed out, his hand clasping the back of Cas' coat.

He wanted to be with him every way he knew how.

But Purgatory wasn't the place. This wasn't the time. It was a boundary he had never crossed. And Benny was watching.

So instead of all that, he let the angel go and brushed his knuckles against Castiel's facial hair. "Nice peach fuzz."

"Thank you," Cas glanced back and forth between Benny and Dean, his posture stiff and he took tentative steps back as though contemplating making a run for it. Dean didn't seem to notice.

"You should meet somebody. This is Benny. Benny, this is Cas." Dean gestured to the vampire.

"Hola," Benny, however, did notice Castiel's body language and he wondered if the angel would actually dare zap away again, leaving Dean. Benny was wary of Cas and was carefully sizing him up, trying to find what made this angel worthy of saviour.

Cas turned his gaze back on the hunter, "How did you find me?" It almost sounded as if he meant; 'why did you find me?'

"The bloody way," Dean allowed Cas to interpret that any way he wanted. "You feeling okay?"

"You mean am I still? ..." Cas twirled his finger in a circular motion at his ear, his expression serious.

"Yeah, if you want to be on the nose about it, sure," Dean chuckled lightly, appraising Castiel to try and see for himself what condition he was really in. From the outside he seemed more himself. He stood taller, looked sterner, and didn't so easily lose focus. He wasn't off chasing the bees. Dean took that to be a good sign.

"No, I'm perfectly sane. But then, 94% of psychotics think they're perfectly sane, so I guess we'd have to ask ourselves 'what is sane?'"

There it was. There was the man Dean knew. There was Castiel who so often said the strangest things at the best of times. There was Castiel who took into consideration everything that Dean too easily forgot or didn't think held any significance. There was Castiel, just the way Dean had always liked him.

"That's a good question," Dean granted.

"Why'd you bail on Dean?" Benny questioned, stepping forward to interrogate the angel. If Castiel was willing to fly off, then there was no time like the present.

"Dude…" Dean warned, not wanting to scare Castiel away.

"The way I hear it, you two hit monster land and hot wings here took off. I figure he owes you some backstory."

"Look, we were surrounded, okay? Some freak jumped Cas. Obviously, he kicked its ass, right?" Dean waited for Cas to back his story, but the faint fear he'd repressed came to the surface when the confirmation never came.

Castiel's eyes dipped with guilt, "No."

Dean's heart sank, but the need to kiss Castiel didn't fade. Instead the desperation became less that of a heated desire and more that of sadness. Now he wanted to hold onto the collar of Castiel's trench coat and never let go. He wanted to bury his face in the crook of Castiel's neck and close his eyes, hoping the angel wouldn't suddenly disappear beneath his hands. He wanted his lips to linger tenderly on Castiel's, a kiss that silently begged; 'please don't go'.

But Purgatory wasn't the place. This wasn't the time. It was a boundary he had never crossed. And Benny was watching. That, and his angel just admitted to leaving Dean to fend for himself in the land inhabited exclusively by monsters. Dean didn't know what to do with this harsh truth.

"What?" Dean asked in disbelief.

"I ran away," Castiel locked eyes with Dean but there a quiet grief lingering in that intense blue gaze. His confession came from a heavy heart.

"You ran away?"

This was Castiel; the man that had, only months prior, looked at Dean and said; "Well, I'll go with you. And I'll do my best", though knowing he was risking his own life in order to kill Dick Roman. Though it meant sacrificing the pacifism he had worked so hard to maintain. Though it meant facing all the mistakes he had made and the destruction he had caused. He had stood there, essentially staring into the barrel of a gun, and offered up his life. Because Dean had asked him to.

Dean couldn't believe that the man who had done that, could really be standing here now saying he had jumped ship and left Dean to sink alone.

"I had to," Castiel so clearly wanted Dean to understand. But Dean was struggling. Everything was starting to too closely resemble being betrayed the first time. And while he didn't want to believe it, it didn't put a stop to the voice in his head that said; 'what if it's true?'

"That's your excuse for leaving me with those gorilla-wolves?"

"Dean—"

"You bailed out and, what, went camping? I prayed to you, Cas, every night," Dean was distraught.

He wasn't really one for prayer; it never sat right with him, always felt very false on his tongue. He avoided it where he could. But since losing Cas in Purgatory… well, truthfully, since long before that, back when Castiel descended into the lake never to emerge, Dean had prayed to him, for him, about him. He'd never told anyone about it, least of all Sam, knowing just how pathetic it really was. But he had been lonely. He had been without someone that mattered so dearly to him in a way no one else had. And prayer seemed like the last option he had to keep himself going, when even booze couldn't numb the pain.

"I know," Cas admitted quietly.

Now it all seemed foolish. Since apparently Castiel wouldn't go to him even when he was able to hear him. He'd listen to the begging and the suffering and do nothing.

"You knew, and you didn't—what the hell's wrong with you?" Dean couldn't keep the hurt out of his voice. He'd long ago worked up a narrative to explain Castiel's disappearance, and now that the truth didn't fit, he found it jarring. Upsetting. Like finding out Santa wasn't real, but worse.

Worse because this was Cas.

"I am an angel in a land of abominations. There have been things hunting me since the moment we arrived," Castiel explained.

"Join the club!" Dean fumed.

"These are not just monsters, Dean. They're leviathan. I have a price on my head, and I've been trying to stay one step ahead of them to… to keep them away from you. That's why I ran."

Dean lingered on the pause in Castiel's words, the second his voice softened and laid his emotions bare. He'd once again offered his life for Dean.

A dense silence hung between them, the only sound now that of the running stream, and the three of them tried to find the right words. Benny could see that Castiel was being sincere, but he believed the angel to be misguided, believed him to be someone that had a tendency to repeat history; recreate the same mistakes they had made many times before. Castiel, in his eyes, wasn't reliable.

"Just… leave me. Please," Castiel insisted, turning his gaze out to the horizon, but his attention was restless. He was forcing himself to turn away from Dean, knowing it was best for the hunter to continue on without him, but it would hurt him to watch Dean go all the same.

"Sounds like a plan," Benny jeered, happy to leave the angel behind, "let's roll."

"Hold on, hold on," Dean gestured for Benny to stop, and the vampire did so grudgingly. "Cas, we're getting out of here. We're going home." Dean wanted to step forward and caress Castiel's cheek, wanted him to look into his eyes and see just how desperately he wanted him. How much he needed him.

"Dean, I can't," Cas stared forlornly at the ground. If he were to look up, he'd give in. He always did in the end.

"You can. Benny, tell him."

"Purgatory has an escape hatch, but I got no idea if its angel friendly," Benny explained honestly, but he was hoping to convince the angel to stay behind. Castiel was dangerous cargo to carry, his grace shining like a beacon to all of Purgatory's monsters. He'd slow them down. Hell, they might not even make it with the angel attracting enemies like a magnet.

"We'll figure it out," Dean dismissed. The details didn't matter. "Cas, buddy, I need you."

"Dean…" Cas looked to Dean, unable to express in words everything he wanted to say.

"And if leviathan want to take a shot at us, let them. We ganked those bitches once before, we can do it again."

Cas shook his head faintly, "It's too dangerous."

"Let me bottom line it for you. I'm not leaving here without you. Understand?" Dean emphasized.

"I understand."

Dean wished he had seen it then. Wished he had heard it in Castiel's voice. The way he said it like a soldier taking on a duty. Cas understood perfectly. He knew that Dean wouldn't ever leave him behind, so he had no choice but to lead Dean to the portal to ensure the hunter's freedom.

Dean wished he had recognised the way Cas straightened his spine and broadened his chest, the way his eyes flickered with purpose. Maybe then Dean could have held on tighter and never allowed Cas to let go. He could have, should have, dragged the angel through the eye of the needle, and held him forever in his arms.

Thanks for reading, guys! I hoped you enjoyed the first of five chapters. I have never written Destiel before so I found writing in and around scenes direct from the show to be a good way to start. And I think in a way having this inner monologue helps justify the ship without taking away from canon. Please let me know what you thought :)