Heyyy i rewrote this chapter a little while ago, and i finally found the comic thing that inspired this, so i'll link it here in teh next chapter.

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He stumbles from the building, bleeding and worn; he's not sure he has ever been so tired. Cradling his arm closer to his chest, he pushes forward, one foot in front of the other, and stomps down on the well of emotion that thickens his throat and beats in his chest.

Castiel regrets. Oh, how does he regret.

He has given everything for this damned planet; he has seen it razed and regrown so many times , and the one fucking time he decides that he'll care, sacrifice himself for the humans, what does he get? A knife to the back. Stabbed in the back as the humans say. It's almost a physical pain. His wings are gone and the phantom flutters will never go away.

Maybe it's been a folly on his part. A more profound bond. What. A. Joke. Hysterical laughter bites at the back of his throat as he tips onto the side of the building, legs all but numb. Had he always been something so... expendable to Dean? He wants to say no, but who was he fucking kidding? His brothers and sisters have abandoned him, his Father long since, and the world is no longer a creation but a demonstration.

God no longer cares.

"Ah—"

It hits harder than he thought it would, and he loses his breath. It's all that he can do to keep himself upright as his stomach flips. He inhales deeply. The back clearing is empty, not that he had expected there to be anyone else. At least, that's what he thinks at first glance.

He finds it occupied with the dead when he trips.

Castiel growls as he pushes himself up, and his stomach rolls. He's sick across the scraggly grass, and his last bit of willpower leaves him. He crashes heavily onto his left arm, and lays there, gasping. It takes what seems an eternity before he manages to roll over, putting himself under some low-lying foliage. The low hanging leaves of the bush tickle his ears.

Dean's milky green eyes stare back at him.