"I'll just…"

Castiel heard a click in his ear as Dean hung up on him. Lowering the phone, he fought down a tiny wave of emotion. What was it? Anger? Hurt? Insult? These emotions were so new to him that he still had trouble differentiating.

But he still felt them. And that was because of Dean.

The days of emotionless obedience were still all too fresh in his mind. The level of corruption that had risen in Heaven… When he thought about it he felt a chill run up his vessel's spine. How many times had he altered the course of human existence in those years his Father had been absent? And how many of those times had actually been God's will, and not that of Zacharia?

He attempted to banish those thoughts from his head. Dean. He was what mattered. Whether God was absent or not, Dean had started the Apocalypse. Since no help seemed forthcoming – in fact, quite the opposite – he must now end it. Cas had no doubt in his mind, however, that if left to his own devices the human would spend the remainder of his time inebriated, seeking the company of females with loose morals and substances he labeled food, which were likely to kill him even before the end of the world came about.

No, he needed guidance.

Yes, others might be able to guide Dean better than him, but he wanted to be the one the human looked to. He wanted to be the one he could rely on. He wanted—

—to belong.

Cas couldn't quite stop himself before his mind finished that thought. He berated himself for it. He didn't belong. Not here on Earth, not in Heaven. Not amongst humans or Angels. He had rebelled, and thus sentenced himself to a life of exile.

But he wasn't alone. There was still Dean.

Dean, who was the only one who had not condemned him when he rebelled. Dean, who had accepted him as a fellow soldier. Dean, who had taught him many human ways: how to lie, personal space. All right, so he may be having some difficulty learning that last one, but he was attempting.

More that any of those, though, Dean had taught him about emotions. No, that human would never have openly discussed emotions, but his actions spoke far more than he ever did, and much more significantly. They spoke of basic animal instincts. Of anger, hurt, and betrayal. Of familial love and caring.

Castiel was a soldier. He had never had anyone take time to teach him anything; he simply obeyed. He had never been accepted or respected for disobedience. He had never been given a nickname.

He had never known emotions.

"…wait here, then."

What was four hours when you were immortal?