Chapter 10

A fortnight passed with no news of Castiel. In the meantime, the Winchester had been involved in a massive vampire attack at the British Men of Letters' temporary headquarters. Dawn was creeping on the horizon when the two men reached the bunker. Sam had fallen asleep in the front seat; Dean decided to leave him there. He closed the door as quietly as possible and made for his room. He was knackered and probably should've taken a shower but he just couldn't be bothered. He took of his dirty clothes, washed his face in the small sink and slipped on an old t-shirt. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He started awake. He'd been dreaming, something unpleasant. He rubbed his eyes. He'd left the lights on. He shifted to his back, extending his arm to get the switch. He started again.

"Hello, Dean."

"Son of a bitch! You almost gave me a heart attack."

Castiel frowned.

"Your heart appears to be functioning normally."

Dean shook his head. He couldn't help but feel relieved that Castiel was alright.

"Why are you so dusty?"

Castiel patted his trench coat: a cloud of dust floated in the air. Suddenly, the grief of the past month hit Dean like a brick. He sat up.

"Where were you, anyway?" he asked, trying to hide the hurt in his voice.

Castiel didn't register it. Or if he did, he pretended not to.

"The Vatican's Secret Archives. I mean, the secret, secret archives, not the ones you humans have access to."

"Would it have hurt to tell me where you were going? A lot of crap went on here; we could have used your help." I could've used your help.

Castiel scrutinized Dean for a moment, his brow creased, his head cocked.

"You resent me."

Dean would normally have rolled his eyes. Instead, he felt the heavy weight in his stomach grow in size. He averted his eyes.

"I needed to find out more about the orb. I had to. I'm sorry, Dean. I needed to find the truth so I would not give you false hope."

Dean's heart sank. This was it. This was Castiel dumping him. He fought hard to keep his anger at bay.

"And you think it was better hearing explanations from Sam, from a book he nicked from the British Men of Letters?"

Castiel cocked his head the other side.

"Their knowledge is limited to anecdotal evidence of the effects of the orb on humans. I wanted to get accurate information."

"So that thing about losing whatever ability made you get what you want, it's all bull?"

Castiel shook his head.

"No, that is accurate."

Dean clenched his fists on his lap and stared at them. He waited, not trusting himself to speak.

"The orb functions the same way on humans as on angels in this regard. But its interaction with the grace is very different."

Dean looked up.

"In humans, once the desire is obtained, every trace of that want is erased along with whatever skills were temporarily bestowed by the orb. That way, in theory, the human can feel content. That book Sam got probably already told you that. In angels, the orb creates something akin to a fever, enhancing human traits to help obtain the object of one's desire. Once obtained, the fever subsides, but the desire remains, even if fulfilled."

Dean stared at Castiel.

"What does that even mean?"

Castiel looked away and scratched his neck.

"I means my desire was to have your… your love. And now, even without the orb, I still have feelings for you."

He met Dean's gaze.

"After the orb went off, I left because I was afraid. After all that passion, I felt… empty. But now that time has passed, I realise that my feelings haven't changed. I don't need a divine device to feel or get what I want. Nothing has changed. I still love you."

Dean jumped to his feet. His body shook. He walked past Castiel and out of the room. Castiel followed him with his eyes. He jumped when the door shut. He waited a moment. Maybe Dean would come back. He had tried to picture every possible outcome. He hadn't come up with this one. And it hurt. More than he thought it would.

After a while, it became obvious that Dean wasn't coming back. Castiel went out after him. His stepped echoed in the darkness of the tiled corridor. After a cursory look at the different bedroom, the angel finally found the Winchester standing in the reading room, his back to him. Castiel stopped a few paces away from the man. He didn't need to get much closer to see Dean's body trembled, his fingers tightly wrapped on the back of the chair. Anger. It was to be expected.

Castiel pinched his lips, unsure if he should let the man be. That probably was what Dean wanted. And it is exactly why the angel decided against it.

"Dean?"

Dean started and turned around before he could even think to stop himself. Castiel's jaw dropped. His lovers face was contorted in a grimace and tears ran abundantly on his cheeks. The angel frowned. To add to his confusion, Dean tried to smile despite his trembling chin.

"I… I was so afraid…" he sobbed. He took a few tentative steps towards Castiel. "I thought…" He took a deep breath, wiped his face. "I thought you'd never come back." He laughed through his tears.

Castiel couldn't read Dean's mixed signals. He'd never seen him like that.

"Dean… I…. Are you alright? I can't tell."

The look of genuine concern on his lover's face brought forth more tears, a few sobs, and, eventually, laughter. None of this helped Castiel. Dean tried to calm himself down long enough to talk.

"I'm relieved. That's all."

"This is what relief looks like?"

"I guess I've been carrying a lot of emotional stuff lately."

"But why did you get out of the room?" asked Castiel.

Dean shrugged. Tears still rolled on his cheeks but he was calmer.

"I thought I was going to explode."

Castiel cocked his head sideways and frowned.

"That seems unlikely."

Dean chuckled and shook his head. Castiel's frown deepened, as if he was focusing on a complicated algebra problem. Or pooping. Either or. Dean smiled.

"Is it ok if I touch you?" asked the angel.

Dean nodded and wiped his face anew.

"Close your eyes." said Castiel.

He did.

The soft golden light seeped through his closed eyelids. He felt Castiels hands gently pulling him against his chest. A small tremor was soon followed by the feeling of wings cradling him. Dean rested his head against Castiel's shoulder, his nose picking up the faint smell of the angel's vessel hidden in the musty smell of long forgotten books. He pulled Castiel closer, his hands finding the stems of his wings.

This was good.

This was enough.