Disclaimer, timeframe, summary: see first chapter.

This is the final chapter of Angels and I'm not entirely sure what to do with myself now! I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I might want to continue writing in this universe, at least until the new season starts and renders it AU, so if anyone has any ideas for stories they would like to see, suggest away! I will of course fully credit any ideas I use. So without further ado, please enjoy the last chapter of Angels.

In the Wake of Angels: Part XIII

Dean let Sam shower first, not even complaining when the hot water was all but gone by the time his brother finally emerged. Then he shivered under the low-pressure stream for as long as he could take its icy bite, scrubbing the blood from his body and then just standing, tempted to cry-- but for whom, he didn't know. There were just too many options. Jimmy was dead; Jeanette was dead; and while Dean tried to make a rule of never crying strictly for himself, God, just this once he wanted to. If Cas was mad at him, or done with emotions again, or just done with him, he really didn't know what he would do: how he would-- if he could-- take it.

Too damn many options, and so Dean set his jaw and forced the tears to recede. At long last his teeth began to chatter and he shut the water off, then dried and dressed himself mechanically.

Sam was sitting on the side of Jimmy's bed, back to the bathroom door, and said nothing when Dean entered the room. Tentatively, Dean circled the bed and plopped down beside him. He could feel the unnaturally thick silence surrounding Sam, and a sideways glance confirmed what he already knew: his brother was crying, his breathing still even but his eyes already painfully red and feverishly swollen.

In the moment that Jimmy had suggested his suicide, Dean hadn't thought of it, hadn't let it cross his mind, just how much time Sam had spent with Jimmy. Although he liked the guy, to Dean, Jimmy had always been just a shadow of Cas, a strange empty shell that could never be a complete person in its own right. All he had thought about was Cas, being pushed from Jeanette's body, and what to do to save him. To Sam, though, Jimmy Novak had been a friend.

Dean reached over and rubbed Sam's back, up and down, stiffly at first, then with more obvious affection. Sam leaned forward to hide his face in his hands, accepting the comfort, tears beginning to choke off his breathing now. It had been a long, long time since Dean had last seen his brother cry like this-- openly, audibly. For a moment they were children again; for a moment, Sammy was shorter than Dean and young enough that four years was a hell of a gap; for a moment none of the betrayal of the past year and a half had happened yet. Desperate to be comforted as well, Dean itched to pull Sam to him, huddle together like they'd done before John Winchester had taught them about the stoicism that came with manhood. Some things, though, were just too deeply ingrained. Still, he left his hand on Sam's back much longer than their father would have deemed acceptable, and even after he retracted it he didn't leave brother's side. After what seemed like a long time but was probably only a minute or so, Sam got himself under control.

"I'm sorry he had to do that," Dean said at last.

"No." Sam shook his head, his voice still croaky and wet. "He wanted to be let go. I'm just glad he waited long enough to be able to save Cas." Looking like a twenty-years-younger version of himself, Sam curled his hands into fists and dragged the bottoms across his cheeks.

"You gonna be okay, Sammy?" Dean asked gently, and Sam nodded, sniffing one last time.

"Yeah. You?"

"I don't know," Dean admitted, and then clamped his mouth shut in surprise, because he'd been planning to say yes, of course he was.

"Why aren't you with Cas?" Sam asked, annoyingly deducing exactly what Dean meant.

"Because I'm with you," Dean answered, trying to sound like Sam was an idiot for asking. But Sam didn't buy it.

"I'm okay now… so why aren't you with him now?"

Dean felt his voice shrink inside his throat, and he sat up straighter and spoke louder, trying not to let it be obvious. "I don't really think he wants me to be, Sammy."

"What makes you think that?"

"He's… bein' weird. Since leaving Jeanette."

"He's been weird in the last six hours?" Sam clarified, his eyebrows lifting. "He's been weird since he nearly got booted back upstairs, switched bodies, killed a bunch of demons single-handed and then buried his vessel? Yeah, Dean. It's clearly over between you two."

"Do you think you could trust me to know Cas a little better than you do?" Dean growled. "He's not actin' right. I don't think he wants to see me right now."

"Or maybe you don't wanna see him," Sam suggested flatly.

"What makes you say that?"

"Because you can be an idiot sometimes."

"Thanks," Dean replied sullenly. "Thanks, Sammy."

"No," Sammy snapped, suddenly looking angry. "You can be a real idiot, Dean."

"You got a point?" Dean demanded, recoiling, defensive.

"You found someone who makes you happy," Sam spat, emphasizing the last word. "Happier than I've ever seen you. Someone you don't just wanna bang and toss, someone who can come with us, and help you through this. You found someone perfect for you and you're gonna throw that away because now he's a man?"

"I didn't say--"

"You didn't have to," Sam growled. "That look on your face, the first time Cas spoke from inside Jimmy again… anyone could see it."

Dean's stomach was beginning to ache. "You think Cas saw it?"

"I'm sure he did."

"You think he's avoiding me because of it?"

"I'd bet on it." Sam paused, his breathing slightly heavy. When he continued, his voice was slightly softer. "So?"

"So what?"

"So, does it matter? Are you really that shallow that you care?" Sam didn't sound angry now; if anything he sounded hurt.

"It's not that shallow, Sammy," Dean said slowly, softly. "I'm straight, and I like chicks. That's never been up for debate. I don't know… what to do now. I don't know how to feel."

"You've never felt about any girl the way you feel about Cas. I know that. Even Cassie. Never." Dean said nothing. "How do you think I'd feel?" Sam went on, his voice barely audible. "If I could have Jessica back, if I had to take her back different… if it was still Jess, don't you think that I would?" His stomach practically on fire now, Dean hung his head.

"I'm not trying to write it off," Sam promised. "I'm not saying it won't be weird for a while. But God help me, Dean, if you walk away over this, I'll…." He trailed off, but Dean filled in a few endings of his own.

"I'm lost, Sammy," he muttered finally. "I don't know if I can do it. I don't know how this works."

"You think he does? Dean." Sam smiled. "He's an angel. He's got a lot less of a clue than you. And he's still willing."

"You think he is?" Dean's voice sounded hopeful to his own ears, but inside he was still cold and dizzy with doubt.

"I think you need to talk to him about that," Sam said gently, and pushed Dean off the bed, towards the door.

Cas was across the parking lot, on the same bench where they'd sat together before, after the last time the angel had switched vessels. The setting moon provided just enough light for an outline, and Dean could see that Cas's head was thrown back, staring up at the sky. Praying? Dean couldn't be sure. He approached him slowly, still absurdly terrified.

"Dean," Jimmy's voice said as Dean came within hearing range.

"Hey, Cas," he called back quietly, taking a seat on the opposite end of the bench.

"How's Sam?" Cas asked, turning to Dean.

"He's fine. He'll be fine. How are you?"

"Fine." He turned away again.

In that moment, it was all Dean could do not to launch himself sideways and collect the angel up in his arms. Instead he kicked at the ground with the toes of his bare feet. "Don't say that, Cas. Please don't say that when you're not. That's a rule about feelings you're gonna have to learn."

"Really."

Dean's lips curled upwards at the undeniable sarcasm in the angel's voice. "No, not really. But it should be." He looked over at Cas's face for the first time. Even in the dim lighting, its handsome angles were still defined, its blue eyes intense.

"I'm not fine," Cas admitted, and to see that face alive, in motion, was too much for Dean. He turned away.

"I know," he murmured.

"Then why ask?"

"To see what you'd say." They lapsed into a brief silence. Dean's hair was still wet, and when the breeze blew he struggled not to shiver.

"The Lord's work," Cas murmured after a moment, "has often required me to kill, when it was necessary." He drew a breath too sharply, too shakily. "But tonight two people died because of me, and there was no reason for it. It is unforgiveable what we… what I have left in my wake."

"It wasn't because of you," Dean promised. "It was because of this… frickin' war." He exhaled unintentionally on the last word, and it came out like a gust of wind. "Jimmy and Jeanette both signed up to fight, and they both gave their lives to save other people. It wasn't your fault, Cas," he murmured, and reached over, but Cas moved away. Dean's arm fell like a cannonball, his hand hitting the bench, his insides folding in on themselves like he'd been punched in the gut.

"What's wrong?" Dean pleaded, hating how his voice sounded, hating how every inch of him felt, numb and sick. "What'd I do?"

"Nothing, Dean. I did what I had to do."

"You went back into Jimmy."

"Back into a man."

"Yeah," Dean said quietly. "You had to do it."

"No matter what the consequences," Cas finished dully.

"Cas," Dean said slowly, closing his eyes and swallowing his pride. It went down like the last shot of the night, burning, fighting, ready to reappear the moment he let it. "You don't think I care, do you?"

Cas blinked, not looking at Dean. "Don't you?"

His bottom lip was practically shaking with the urge to say he didn't, but Dean bit down on it and told the truth. "I'm tryin' not to."

"I understand. Truly, Dean. I should never have become involved with you in the first place. It wasn't proper."

"Well, it's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

Cas exhaled slowly. "It still is."

"Then fuck what's proper," Dean snapped. "I don't give a damn what's proper."

"Then let me ask you," Cas said quietly, the steadiness in his voice sounding forced. "If you don't give a damn that an angel and a human is improper, why do you care that…?" He trailed off, then inhaled sharply and tried again, his voice weaker now. The angel's pain was overwhelming Dean, palpating in his chest, cutting off his own heartbeat. "I could take another vessel, if I had to-- I could find another woman…."

"Jimmy gave his life so you could have his meatsuit," Dean said quietly. "Don't you dare make that mean nothing.

"I know," Cas murmured. "I apologize. I didn't mean that, Dean. I'll stop… I'll go away."

The moment he stood, sheer panic flooded through Dean like nothing he'd ever felt before. The hand that shot out and pulled Cas back down acted practically on its own.

"Don't go. I don't care, Cas," he pleaded, his voice gravelly.

"You don't see the problem with it?" Cas snapped, taking his hand back. "My being a man? My being an angel?"

"'course I do," Dean whispered. "But it makin' me feel weird… that's what I don't care about. I get it now. I can live with it being a little weird. But I can't live… I can't let you go," Dean finished, praying that Cas could fill in the real words for himself.

Cas was silent for a moment. Then, carefully, quietly he asked, "Is this how you honestly feel, Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean promised, a smile flashing over his face like lighting, genuine but gone in an instant. "Cas. I wanna be with you, no matter what meatsuit you're in. And if I never woulda seen that without you bein' a girl for a while, then I am so sorry. And so glad we'll never have to know." The ferocity of his voice startled even himself, and Cas too, from the look of it. There was an odd look on the angel's face, surprised and alarmed, like maybe he'd stepped into a puddle much more deep that he'd guessed it to be.

"I'm sorry about everything," Dean continued quietly. "That you ever had to feel hurt… that I did that to you. Everything. I'm sorry about Jimmy and Jeanette. But you don't have to tell me you're fine, and you don't have to go through any of this alone, I swear. Okay?"

"Okay," Cas murmured, the word sounding strangely casual on his lips. And then his face crumpled, and he bowed his head and wept.

Dean's chest clenched at the sight of the angel's tears, air suddenly blocked from entering his lungs. This time he didn't hold back, sliding down the bench, snaking his arms around Cas's neck and pulling him close, as close as he wanted. One leg had gone under his thighs to allow him to sit sideways, and the bare toes of his other foot curled against the cool ground as he pressed their bodies together, his chest to the angel's side.

"Dean," Cas murmured, letting his head fall sideways to rest against Dean's, and it was hard to classify the sound as anything less than heartbreaking. "Dean, Dean," he said again, but his words gave way to sobbing then, weak and unsure.

"I'm here, Cas," Dean whispered roughly. "I've gotcha." Like he'd done for Sam just minutes before, he ran his hand in curving lines across Cas's back, but the difference was almost absurdly noticeable. Beneath his fingers, Cas's back felt to him like a lover's back, his skin and muscle a mere extension of Dean's skin and muscle, and the contact of their bodies less like separate entities joining up and more like two broken halves reuniting at last.

Stiltedly, gently, Cas put his arms up and pulled them chest-to-chest, and the sound of Dean's grief joined that of Cas's before he had a chance to stop it. But oddly, he realized, he wouldn't have: wouldn't have prevented himself from crying even if it were possible. Dean could feel the angel's tears wetting his shirt just as he could feel his own tears soaking into the fabric beneath his cheek, and both of those things felt unbelievably good. He held Cas tighter, lost but safe in the warmth of his body and the rhythm of his teary breathing.

Cas's tears tapered off first but he didn't move, still hunched up in Dean's arms and sniffing sporadically, seeming small and scared and far more human than Dean could ever remember him being before. Blinking away the remaining wetness from his own eyes, Dean sat back slightly and pulled Cas down further, low enough that he could press a kiss against his tangle of dark hair. He inhaled without taking his lips away, tasting smoke left there from the funeral pyre hours before. Cas reacted, curling himself more tightly again Dean, who could think of nothing better to do than to kiss him again. And again.

Cas raised his face then, still wet with tears, and intercepted Dean's mouth as he moved to kiss his hair once more. Dean's eyes flew open with surprise but Cas closed his and soon Dean did too, leaning into the kiss, deepening it. Cas's chapped lips stayed shut, and Dean made no attempt to break the barrier, instead enjoying for once the purity of it, the strange newness of a closed-mouth kiss.

It didn't once cross his mind that he was kissing a man, or that he was kissing an angel. Even Jimmy had now been removed from the equation. It was just Cas now-- just him and Cas.

And really, what could be simpler than that?

End.