A/N

Destiel (two)shot ANGST

Hey all. Geminalupus. So this is a continuation of Frosteddragonheart's Platonically Kills You. Apparently the first part wasn't enough angst for my masochistic self and I thought about what was Cas' point of view and oops my hand slipped

So yeah I'm totally to blame. Sorry.

Hope you enjoy! Reviews are cookies! Love!

Dean was having one of his nights. One of his get-drunk-and-have-fun nights. One of his man-I-don't-want-to-think-about-monsters-or-demons-or-angels nights. Sam had declined to come this time, preferring to relax in a bed, rather than a bar, after this last hunt, which left Castiel to watch over Dean and get him home safe. He was the "DD" as Dean put it, although Castiel's method of travel did not involve driving.

Castiel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He and Dean had arrived a few hours ago and in that time Dean had partaken in three shots of whiskey and four beers. It was nowhere near what Dean could handle—nowhere near what he imbued when he was drinking to forget, rather than have fun—but it was enough that Castiel could notice a difference. Dean started smiling brighter, laughing louder, and dancing—not as an excuse to slide up to girls—but for fun. His aura, that bright, beautiful thing that reflected his soul, something so totally, completely, and uniquely Dean, was starting to blur a bit around the normally sharp edges. Not enough to where Dean would be impaired, although that's what Cas was there for, but enough to allow for a few little slips—the smiles, the laughter.

And what those slips did to Cas. Dean's soul was breathtaking, and as an angel, it was the soul—rarely the package—that Castiel saw at when looking at humans. But when Dean smiled like that….he saw the package. And he understood why so many had fallen head over heels for Dean Winchester, even without the benefit of seeing the shining supernova that was his soul. And while Castiel the Angel was immune to physical attraction, Cas—or rather, Clarence—the Human was just as subject to physical desires as anyone else. Although he had his Grace back, there was still a lot more of Cas left in him than Castiel cared to admit.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat once more as Dean walked back from the dance floor, hair ruffled, a slight sheen of sweat glossed across his skin, and a bright shining smile directed straight at him. Cas looked away as his heart started thumping faster, swallowing hard as he tried to calm his body's reaction to both the body and soul approaching him.

Cas knew that he normally had a staring problem. Dean had called him out on it multiple times, although he would never know the reason would be because the undulations and complexities in Dean's soul called to him, drawing him in, begging him to solve the puzzle put in front of him the moment he was first told by his older brothers to lead his legion into Hell to rescue the Righteous Man. Instead, he would either ignore the teasing or brush it off by saying the need of a vessel to blink was unusual to him (which was also true). How do you explain to a human that eighty years—their entire lifetime—was but a brief moment passing through to the timeline of an angel? A celestial being who had been there from just after Creation? And Cas wanted to spend several lifetimes just staring into Dean's soul. Possibly several more getting to know his body…..NO.

Cas shook clear those thoughts, clenching his jaw and firmly staring anywhere what wasn't Dean's gorgeous, drunk smile. He would not do this. He would not take advantage of Dean. He had already screwed up so many times, bringing Sam back soulless, not telling anyone, working with Crowley behind his (their) back(s), lying to his (their) faces over and over, tearing down the wall in Sam's head, releasing the Leviathans, making the angels fall, constantly screwing up and failing them (him) over and over and over. No. It had taken too long for him to scrape back the little trust he had now to throw it all away. So he avoided Dean's gaze.

And avoided.

And avoided.

And avoided.

And all the while Dean, Mr. Stop-staring-all-the-damn-time!, continued to stare straight at him with that smile as bright as the Alaskan sun. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

"Are you ready to go, Dean?" Cas finally asked, hoping that was the reason Dean had stared at him for the past five minutes. Dean jumped a little, as if startled Cas had spoken, before replying.

"Yeah. Yeah, let's go." His rough voice, deepened from the alcohol and the dancing, were already enough to test Cas' willpower, but then Dean had the audacity to lean in closer to Cas as their eyes met. Those fierce emerald orbs burned into his, a healing fire so unique from the pits of Hell that tried to destroy it and the sterile light of Heaven that tried to tame it. As quickly as he could, Cas broke their eye contact by reaching over and placing two fingers on Dean's forehead, establishing the contact needed to link Dean to him during flight.

When humans thought of flight, they pictured birds flying through the sky. Although Castiel had wings, angel flight was much different. Castiel's wings parted space and time, creating a pocket of space to move through, bringing him from one location to another faster than most humans could blink. As Castiel moved through this pocket of space with Dean, he felt his wings brush up against the man ever so gently, as they did every time he flew with Dean, although Castiel never consciously chose to do so. His wings shivered with warm delight from the heat of Dean's body as they retracted, depositing them in the motel room Dean and Sam were staying in, and leaving Cas wanting to do nothing more than wrap Dean in his wings and never let him go.

When Dean opened his eyes—he always shut them for "angel flight"—Castiel was sitting on Sam's bed while Dean sat on his own, the two facing each other much the same as they had across the table at the bar. Castiel could see Dean's panic the moment he realized Sam wasn't in the room as he quickly pulled out his phone. Before Cas could reassure him, Dean let out a quick sigh of relief.

"Sam's going to bring some pie." He read, smiling.

Castiel could feel his brows pull together in confusion. "Of course. He thinks of you when he makes these runs." Perhaps Dean didn't see it, but—perhaps because of his own attempts at penance—Cas noticed all the gestures Sam made to make Dean happy, to try to apologize for the myriad of wrongs done over the past decade or so. Of course, Cas was also aware of Dean's low opinion of his self-worth.

"Yeah. I'm awesome." Dean agreed as he placed the phone back in his pocket, relaxing on the bed. However, the nonchalant brushing off of the comment only served to further Cas' theory that Dean didn't notice these things because of a doubt that he was worth them. He narrowed his eyes, wishing he knew the words to say to kill the weed of self-doubt that had threatened to choke the beautiful garden that was Dean's soul for far too long.

Silence reigned once again as Dean's eyes perused Cas' features. Castiel wasn't sure what to do. This was normally when Dean would either grab another beer or switch to water, and turn on the TV until Sam came back. But instead, he stayed sitting, not two feet from Cas, head slightly tilted as if trying to figure out the solution to a problem, that damn soft smile still on his face. Cas shifted on the bed as he tried not to react to the warm weight of Dean's gaze.

"Dean—"

"I love you." With those three words Cas' world came to a stop. Immediately, he both saw and felt Dean's face blush and his soul start pulsing, pushing in and out in discomfort. Cas stared deep into those emerald green eyes, trying to dissect what just happened. How long had Cas hoped to hear something like that come out of Dean's mouth? He knew he was needed by Dean, by both of the brothers. He was their transport, their healer, their secret weapon when they needed angel mojo. Sam had told him he was a true friend. But to hear "I love you" come out of Dean's mouth? For an actual acknowledgement of the bond he and Dean had forged as Castiel fought to get Dean out of Hell, as he poured his own grace into the soul that was being blackened, washing away the stains Hell had ground in and revealing the shining, pure soul sitting in front of him currently? How long had he imagined such a thing? And to have it be true?

But how could he be sure if it was? He remembered asking Sam once, why he never got mad during Dean's angry rants, after he had had enough beers or whiskey to loosen his tongue.

"He doesn't mean it, Cas. What he says when he's drunk. It's not real." With that thought on his mind, he structured his next words very carefully.

"Dean," he said, soft and careful, but sure. Sure that Dean didn't mean what Cas had desperately hoped he meant, not when Dean was red-faced and drawing inwards, when his soul started pulsing in discomfort the moment the words were said, the way it only ever did when he said something he wanted to take back but was afraid he couldn't. "There are many types of love. There is the love a child feels for its mother and father. There is the kind of love that is between couples. There is the….guaranteed…unfailing and…all forgiving love that can only be shared with God. That love is called agape…." Cas paused for a moment, making a decision before plowing ahead, raising his crystal blue eyes to Dean's soulful green ones. "But then, there is the love that is shared between siblings. That is what humans have come to call platonic." Cas took a deep breath, bracing himself and pulling on too many months—years—of experience. "I know that you have had many drinks tonight that have, as the expression goes, 'loosened your tongue'. I know that you mean platonically when you tell me this, for that's how I feel for you." With those words he broke all of his promises to himself and to the Winchesters—to Dean—to never lie to them again. As the blush left Dean's face in a rush and his soul stilled, Castiel told himself a broken heart was a small burden to heal a broken man.