Castiel beat his wings and a grubby bedroom appeared around him. Undoubtedly another motel, though the angel didn't have a clue where. After his argument with Hannah he hadn't stopped to think about his destination, he had just winged his way down from heaven, toward the radiating light that was the soul of Dean Winchester. He staggered, and steadied himself against the wall. He hated arguments.

Dean was sleeping. Cas had never seen him look so peaceful. When Dean was awake, you could always see the marks of pain and hardship written on his face, letters of sorrow that the past had etched into Dean's soul and that didn't leave him even when he was laughing.

Cas often came to Dean when he had trouble in heaven. He never showed himself, he just watched. The man had been through so much, and yet he always kept going. He knew perfectly well that all that waited for him was more pain, but he went on and sacrificed himself again and again. Castiel admired him for that. How could a human, who would die anyway, who had nothing to gain really, work up the strength to take on one burden after another? How could a human live with the weight of the world upon his shoulders?

It was Dean's toil, Dean's strength, that kept Cas going. Dean was his inspiration when once more all of heaven seemed to disagree with him, he was his encouragement when he felt like giving up, he was the reason Castiel couldn't stop fighting for a better world – a world where Dean could be happy. And Dean was his solace when Cas had quarrelled with Hannah.

The angel sighed and leaned his head against the wall. Why was she always so cold? Why didn't she understand? She had been human for a while too, after all…

The worst thing was that she was the only one who even tried to understand. The other angels still had no emotions, no feelings. It had taken Castiel a while to realise that angels weren't only indifferent towards humans, they didn't even like each other. How could they, without emotions? Heaven was a lonely place.

As he looked at Dean, with Sam sleeping just as peacefully next to him, Cas felt a hot liquid well up in his eyes. He was sick of being surrounded by emotionless angels, sick of brainless obedience and pitiless dominance. No angel would ever give up their soul to save another, like Dean had done for Sam. No angel would ever stop his comrade from closing hell's gates to save him, the way Dean had done for Sam. No angel would ever care about Cas, the way Dean cared about Sam. Castiel sat down on the shabby sofa and buried his face in his hands.

Dean awoke in the middle of the night with the feeling of a familiar presence in the room. He groaned quietly. He'd been having good dreams for once. Annoyed, he turned around without opening his eyes and listened to Sammy's breathing, trying to go back to sleep. Maybe if he fell asleep quickly he could jump right back into his dream.

But the feeling didn't go away. Dean buried his face in his pillow. Years of hunting had sharpened his instincts to the point that they distinguished between a menacing presence and a mere presence – after all, he couldn't jump up every time Sam got up for a pee. In this case, he was pretty sure there was no danger. It was probably just Sammy he was feeling. So why couldn't he go back to sleep? Grudgingly he opened his eyes – and jumped when he saw Castiel sitting on the couch.

"Cas?" he said inquiringly. "What the heck are you doing h-" Then he saw that the angel was crying. He hadn't known angels could cry. "Cas," he said and hurried over to him. "Cas, what happened?"

Cas had flinched when he had heard Dean speak. Now he lowered his hands and looked up into Dean's eyes. The sight of him looking so lost, curled up on the sofa with hunched shoulders and his tie hanging loosely around his neck, looking up at him with tears in those large puppy-dog eyes, the normally clear blue now clouded with pain, drove a knife right into Dean's heart. His Cas was an angel, he wasn't supposed to cry. He was supposed to dance through the flowerbeds and watch the bees. He was supposed to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He was Dean's awkward, innocent Cas.

And now he was crying.

Automatically, Dean reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. "What is it, Cas?" he asked gently.

Castiel looked at Dean's hand on his shoulder, then back into his eyes. "Nobody cares about me, Dean," he whispered hoarsely. "Nobody cares."

A wave of emotion flooded through Dean. He threw a short glance at Sammy to make sure he was still sleeping, then threw his arms around the angel. "I care," he whispered as tears welled up in his eyes, too. "I care, Cas."