A/N: All right it's been decided. This is officially the last chapter. Thank you so much for all the support while writing this! I hope you enjoyed my little story. c:

Soundtrack: Home by Gabrielle Aplin

The Day I Fly Away

Chapter XVII

Castiel's hands were tarnished colors his eyes would not see; with eyes dull, he sat as a crumbled tower on the floor of Dean's apartment when the door opened, letting in a stream of light from the streetlights littered like cans on the street. He blinked. There were sounds. Of Dean shrugging off his coat, maybe calling to Castiel that he was home, and then footsteps. Growing louder and louder. Lights flickered on and Dean's silhouette fell over Castiel's back. It was quiet for a few seconds, as if Dean was trying to decide whether or not to speak.

"Cas?" and it was evident he decided to speak. He spoke hesitantly, as if he fully expected Castiel not to reply telling by the state he was in. Had it been anyone else, he would have been upset there was paint splattered all over the floor.

But Castiel said, "Yes?"

More footsteps. Dean walked closer. "You all right?"

Castiel blinked rapidly before he slowly nodded. "I'm.. Fine."

Dean huffed in attempted laughter. "I think we have different definitions of 'fine.'" Castiel almost flinched when he felt Dean's hand drop on his shoulder. "Let's get you cleaned up, Come on," Dean told him and Castiel flew.

If Castiel had ever been drunk, he might be able to relate the haziness, the blurriness and ungroundedness, he may have been able to relate this moment to being drunk. Drugs were different, they provided the pretense of flight while yanking you into another dimension. Being drunk was being buried under the soil you're supposed to walk on. Castiel could not see the sky.

Another light flipped on and Castiel squinted for a few minutes. They were in the bathroom. Water was running, Castiel couldn't remember when it started. Dean may have been talking. Castiel vaguely recognized it, obeyed his commands when he asked him if the temperature was okay (it was), if he needed help with his clothes (he didn't), and if he could take it from here (he didn't want to.)

"Can you stay with me?" Castiel requested, eyes still gazing at nothing. Not the nothing he was so fond of before. He didn't see what he did before. He had woken up from the dream he locked himself in, and, honestly… He wasn't sure if he liked this new reality. Dean was the anchor, the pillow that kept him from falling asleep again and waking up in the other universe with Meg and Balthazar and Gabriel and Samandriel and- the universe with angels. With demons.

Somewhere along the way, Dean had gotten a stool and was sitting by the tub and Castiel was staring at the water running between his fingers, washing him clean of the blood, the paint that coated his sins. He could see them clearly. The water was warm, rising just above his midriff. His knees were dry, legs pulled up not quite to his chest, but almost. Dean asked if he wanted him to wash his hair, and Castiel didn't reply. He felt water over his head and assumed Dean had gone ahead anyways. He liked that about Dean. He was kind, or could read minds, or both.

He closed his eyes and water fell over his eyelids, soapy bubbles following after them. He felt the water trailing down the curves of his face, down his cheekbones and along the bridge of his nose, in the cracks between his lips, and then down his chin. Dean's hands felt firm and comforting tangled in his hair. His eyelids lifted in the slightest and watched the dirty water swirl around him. Castiel mumbled "Thank you," to Dean, and he could hear the smile in his voice when Dean replied, "No problem, man."

The water ripped the tension from his muscles and Castiel fell limp against the tile of the bathroom wall. He didn't want Dean to move away, but he did and the groaning of the drain filled the otherwise silent room. The water drained away and Castiel's flesh yearned for Dean, his head rolled back and he blinked through the water that found itself in his eyelashes. Dean was so much bigger where he stood, holding Castiel's forearm and helping him stand. He wrapped a towel around Castiel's shoulders.

Castiel didn't want Dean to leave to go back to his own room, but he did anyways. Castiel almost laughed. He thought Dean could read minds. He pulled on his clothes and stood motionless, darkness of the room wrapping around his body, hair dripping over his straight face. His hands rose slowly and squeezed the water from his hair, getting droplets of water on his shirt. The desire to be with Dean was burning through him. It was not a want it was a need. He needed him.

The floorboards did not squeak when Castiel walked across them because this was not a dramatic movie that played on Fridays back at the hospital- as a matter of fact, this was not the hospital at all. Castiel knocked softly on Dean's door, the haze lifting each passing second. Anxiety settled uncomfortably in Castiel's throat; he didn't wait for Dean to answer, and instead opened the door. Dean was on his bed, a queen sized like the one in Castiel's room, and he was typing on his laptop. It looked like the same one in Dean's office at the hospital, and Castiel realized he probably brought it back and forth. Why wouldn't he?

"Cas?" Dean looked up from over the top of the screen, eyebrows pinched together in concern. "Anything wrong?"

Castiel's lips parted and then drew back together again. "I- Could I sleep with you?"

Something flashed over Dean's face so quickly Castiel might have thought he imagined it, but Dean nodded and moved to one side. Castiel's hair was still damp but drying quickly; he got into the bed, sliding next to the eyes that were the sun in his seemingly eternal dark sky. The blankets felt warmer, better. The aching that teared away inside his chest dulled and his hands moved at their own volition, draping an arm over Dean's chest and Castiel laid his head on Dean's shoulder.

Dean seemed to grow tense, but then forced himself to relax. It should have been enough to shock Castiel off, it would have been normally, but Castiel was selfish and took everything Dean left out for the world to see. The clacking on Dean's keyboard resumed and Castiel listened to it like a ballad, watch Dean's hands dance over keys like Swan Lake.

"Am I her replacement?" Dean spoke up after a while, hands stilling.

"Who?" Castiel mumbled, liking the way he could feel Dean's words shake through his body.

"Anna or- Meg- All this affection- I'm replacing them."

"Maybe," Castiel muttered, eyes downcast and fingers running in small patterns over Dean's shirt. "I mean- the hole they left in me- it seems like it's disappearing… In that sense… I suppose you're replacing them," Castiel's words drifted off and heavy silence hung over their heads like sheets of rain. "But you're not her. You're not Anna, you're not Meg either, you never will be, just like they can never compare to you. I- I don't know what this is, what I feel for you, it's different- You can't just love someone the same way you love someone else. Friend to friend, lover to lover, you may love them, you may like them, but you can't just feel the same way about everyone. That isn't what it is to be human. All these imperfections, these blemishes, inconsistencies, we wouldn't be ourselves without them. I loved Meg. I loved Anna. I love you, but it's just- It's different. And I don't know what it is."

Dean felt tense under Castiel's tender fingers and Castiel felt regret that he had said something wrong. Dean's hand slid off the keyboard and down to the hand that had stilled over his chest.

"Really?" Dean said softly. "You mean all that?"

"Yes," Castiel's voice was above a whisper. Each return of words would get softer and softer.

"I do, too, you know."

Castiel looked up at Dean through his eyelashes, gaze falling from Dean's eyes to his lips. Castiel's hand moved from Dean's chest to the bed to push himself up farther. His breath ghosted over Dean's lips before their lips touched tentatively.

"Do what?" Castiel whispered and kissed him.

"Love you," Dean breathed, lips parting and moving against Castiel's.

The kiss was innocent, but so much more intimate than the last. They were hidden from anything that might distract them, they were one. The laptop on Dean's lap slid off when Castiel's hip bumped into it, but Dean didn't notice. The breath of Castiel's lungs was pulled away and into Dean's and then back into Castiel's. It was an art, it was a dance, it was intoxicating. Castiel's hands fisted in the sheets, teeth biting Dean's lower lip, he couldn't help the desire that burned away inside him, a spark grown to flame grown to fire.

"Tell me to stop," Dean gasped.

Saliva dripped off Castiel's lower lip as he pulled away. "Why would I do that?"

Castiel's eyes moved down Dean's face; he swallowed. He leaned down and kissed the corner of Dean's mouth, kissing down his jawline and then nipping at the skin just under it. Dean gasped, chest heaving as if he were running.

"Because if I don't stop now I don't think I'll ever be able to," he said, voice wavering.

Castiel's eyes flashed up at him, eyes seeming darker than they were before. "Don't stop," he murmured against Dean's neck and kissed him again.

Waking in Dean's room felt so different. There was a window by the bed so he woke with the sun. Dean appeared used to it and slept under him. Their legs were tangled together and his skin radiated with warmth. Castiel's eyes fell onto him and never wanted to leave, the beauty raw on his face, unfiltered. The clock by the bed read 5:23, and Castiel didn't know exactly what time Dean woke up, but knew it was sometime before eight. He was always gone when Castiel woke up.

Castiel's hands ran down Dean's side, and he smiled to himself. He placed a kiss under Dean's jaw, then by his ear, and pressed his lips along his neck and shoulder. Dean rolled onto his back and mumbled something intelligibly, eyes fluttering open. His eyes were half-lidded, gazing sleepily down at the man littering his body with kisses.

"Mm," he mumbled, "What'cha doin'?"

"Kissing you."

Laughter rumbled through Dean's body and into Castiel's. "I see that."

Castiel smiled up at him, hand spreading over his bare chest. "What time do you leave?"

Dean groaned and his head leaned back to gaze at the clock. Castiel's eyes watched his adam's apple move up and down as he swallowed.

"Twenty minutes," he groaned as Castiel crawled up his body to lick his throat. "C'mon I already don't want to go, you gonna make me take a sick day?"

"Do you feel sick?" Castiel asked, voice quiet, the kind of quiet he always used when it was just he and Dean. His hand moved up and down his chest, kissing his neck slowly and then down to his collarbones.

Dean let out another groan, whether it was in protest or not, Castiel wasn't sure. His nails dragged down his skin softly and he heard Dean groan again, and this time Castiel felt confident it wasn't in protest.

"I think I have a cold," he teased and his hands dragged through Castiel's hair. "C'mere you."

Dean pulled Castiel up and kissed him softly, smiling against his lips. Dean did end up calling in sick after a few minutes while Castiel watched him from the bed, sitting cross legged, he never really grew out of that habit. The sheets pooled around his legs, pulled up over his crotch. They made breakfast despite Dean's attempts to coax Castiel into another make out session, but he couldn't deny he wasn't hungry either.

They had oatmeal. It was homely.