Pain. That was the one thing he was conscious of. There was so much pain and it was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was as though something was tearing him apart – piece by piece. Everything hurt. He felt it down to his core.

Then everything went quiet and it was pitch-black. He could feel himself falling; down, down, down – felt his stomach doing somersaults. He felt nauseous and the pain was tearing through him, ripping out every shred of strength he had left.

The screaming started. Heart-wrenching, bone-chilling screams. Then, nothing.

The man awoke, screaming to the high heavens, before he opened his bright blue eyes and found himself on the creaky old bed of some Midwestern motel in the middle of nowhere.

It took him a while to realize the pained cries that clawed at his eardrums, the ones giving him the migraine from Hell, were coming from his lungs.

He sat up slowly, feeling the room spin, and looked around, taking notice of his still-spinning surroundings. He patted his hands down his wrinkled trenchcoat, hoping to find his cell-phone.

He had to call for help.

He pulled out the small electronic and pushed SEND, knowing it would get him the help he needed.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Click.

"Cas?"

His heart clenched at the sound of the deep voice on the other end of the line. He opened his mouth to speak, but found that his voice came out barely above a strained whisper. "Dean."

The hunter's voice came through, loud and clear and full of worry, "You okay?" Then he started to sound downright angry, "We've been callin' you for four days! Where the Hell are you?"

The man in the motel room looked down at nothing in particular, ashamed, and he apologized, "My apologies, Dean. I've – I've been unwell. I – I can't fly." He paused there, waiting for a response.

Dean's snippy reply came after a tense silence, "Where are you? I'll come get you."

He looked around the motel room and said, "I'm in a motel… in Fairview, South Dakota."

"We're up at Bobby's. I'll be there in about an hour." Click.

000

Turning to Sam, who was sitting in Bobby's office, Dean let out a huffy breath, "Cas is sick or hurt or something – he landed in Fairview. I'm gonna swing by and pick him up, be back in a couple hours."

The taller Winchester watched as his brother grabbed his car keys and headed out the door to the Impala, the door slamming behind him. His face scrunched up as he wondered aloud, "Sick?"

Did Angels even get sick?

Meanwhile, the Impala rumbled down the road towards Fairview, clocking in at well over any safe speed limits outside of NASA. Dean's knuckles were white and his hands were cramping from holding the steering wheel so tight, but he was going to make it to help the Angel in record time.

The silence was killing him, so he punched the cassette sticking out of the tape-deck. Motörhead. Much better.

000

Castiel was sitting on a curb somewhere in Fairview, waiting for Dean, when his phone rang. He answered it blindly, hoping Dean was close, "Dean?"

Much to his disappointment, the voice in his ear was not Dean Winchester – but Sam, "Cas, – it's Sam."

The other man frowned, running a hand through his hair, "Where's Dean?"

Sam snapped, avoiding the question altogether, "Enough with the bull, Cas. What's wrong?" Castiel opened his mouth to speak, but Sam just kept talking, "And don't give me some sob-story about being sick – Angels can't get sick."

Castiel just sighed, rather upset that he was having this conversation – over the phone – with Sam, "You're right. They don't."

Sam started to speak, ready to read Castiel the Riot Act, when he realized what he had just heard. "Wait – what? You just said 'they don't'." There was a pregnant pause. "God. Cas. You didn't –"

The other man nodded, shifting awkwardly in his over-sized trenchcoat, and let out an exasperated sigh, "Fall? What do you think, Sam?"

"Cas, why would you? I mean… what the Hell." More nonsense syllables followed, but neither man could be bothered to try and figure out what they meant.

Castiel took in a deep breath and confessed, "I'm tired, Sam. There's no real chance of me beating Raphael, and he would kill me the moment he came to power – even if I could beat him – I would be in charge of Heaven, Sam. I'd be up there all the time when, in fact, I would much rather stay down here with –"

He stopped there. He was unsure how that sentence was supposed to end.

Sam's jaw went slack with the realization of what this implied. He supplied the rest of Castiel's answer, "Dean. You Fell for Dean."

000

The roar of a familiar Chevy engine alerted Castiel to Dean's arrival and he whispered into the receiver of his cell-phone, "Dean's here." Click.

He approached the Impala as it tore around the corner, skidding to a halt beside him. Dean got out of the black muscle-car and made his way to Castiel, looking him over with worried green eyes, "What happened to you?"

Castiel shoved a hand into his pocket, fumbling around for a bit, before he pulled the hand out and handed something to Dean. "Before I say anything else – I thought you should have this."

Dean looked at his hand and saw his amulet, the one Sam had given him years ago – the one he had thrown away in the middle of the Apocalypse. Back in his possession. "Cas, where did you find this?"

There was no answer, just a stern gaze.

Dean shrugged, slipping the necklace on, and Castiel followed him. They both slid into the Impala and drove off, back towards Sioux Falls. The silent tension gnawed at them for miles, Dean's eyes on the pavement in front of them and Castiel with his forehead against the cool glass window.

Neither one of them spoke for a good half-hour.

Finally –

"So, uh, what is this – some Angelic flu or something?"

Castiel froze. The moment of truth was upon him and damned if he missed the ability to fly away from all of this. He felt cold inside and jaw clenched. He shut his eyes and rubbed his temple, knowing this was it.

"Angels don't get sick, Dean. There is no Angelic flu…"

Dean scoffed, looking at the man in the passenger's seat from the corner of his eye, "Hah, last time you were grounded…" His words trailed off, realizing what the end of that sentence meant. He stopped the car, putting it into 'park' right there in the middle of the road, "You were losing your Grace. You Fell, didn't you?" The last part sounded bitter and clipped – angry.

He remained quiet, his lips pursed tightly. He just stared at the dashboard and hoped Dean would not throttle him right then and there.

Dean's voice got louder, "Castiel." There was a cringe at the mention of his full name, but Dean ignored him and continued, "You fucking Fell. Didn't you?" Louder. "Didn't you?"

No reason to hide things now. Castiel nodded, still not daring to look at Dean and instead focusing on the dashboard.

After what seemed like ages, Castiel nodded again and spoke, "Yes."

They sat there, in the Impala, in the middle of some road. Silent. Tense. Angry. Scared.

Finally, Castiel gathered up enough nerve to face Dean. He blinked, his eyes finally torn from the dashboard that he had been staring at for eons. He turned his head and saw Dean, staring at the steering wheel – his jaw tensed, his brows knitted together, and he was silent as the grave.

"Dean…" His gravelly voice sounded so weak, so pathetic, so scared. So human.

Dean shifted out of 'park' and revved the engine, "Get out."

Castiel blinked in disbelief, reaching for Dean's arm, "D–"

But the hunter yelled this time, "Get out! Get out of my car!"

Castiel felt the sting of tears filling his eyes and blurring his vision as he fumbled for the door handle, practically falling out of the Impala and onto the shoulder as Dean sped off.

000

Dean stormed into Bobby's house, made a beeline for the kitchen, and helped himself to a beer from the ice-box. Sam watched all of this from his place at the dining table, peeking from the corner of his eyes so as not to draw suspicion to himself.

That beer was followed by two more before Sam finally asked, "So… Where's Cas?" He tensed, bracing himself for the big blowout that he knew was bubbling just under the surface.

Dean threw the beer bottle across the kitchen, watching it shatter against the wall. That was when Bobby decided to walk in, having heard the commotion in his kitchen.

"The Hell is wrong with you, Dean?" He bent down, picking up the larger bits of glass on the floor, his eyes trained on Dean with an anger neither Winchester had ever seen.

Dean wiped his face with his hands and groaned, "I'm sorry, Bobby. I really am." He walked over and helped the old man clean up the mess.

Sam waited until Bobby walked out of the room, grumbling to himself about inconsiderate punks squatting in his house. Then he reiterated his earlier question. "Dean. Where's Cas?"

Dean full lips pursed and his nose wrinkled. He plopped down onto the chair beside Sam and stared at his hands, "I kicked him out somewhere off 182."

This was met with Sam's complete surprise, "What is wrong with you? I mean, that's gotta be like 30 miles from here!" His brows furrowed and he shook his head.

Dean slammed his fist down on the table, "He Fell, Sam! He freakin' Fell… Lost his mojo, gave up the club membership, got his wings clipped… whatever you wanna call it – he did it."

The younger Winchester let out a deep breath and nodded, "I knew."

More anger erupted from the volatile Dean Winchester, "What do you mean you knew? He told you he was going to do this? And you didn't stop him?"

Sam shook his head, explaining himself, "No. No. I called him, after you left earlier." He paused there, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat like a silly second-grader. "I asked him what is deal was… He said he went mortal because he was tired, Dean. Because he was tired of all the fighting when it's not like he has any real chance of winning. He didn't want to die by Raphael's hands; he didn't wanna be tied up by heavenly bureaucracy. He just wants a life."

Hearing this explanation, Dean felt the stinging pain of guilt strike him in the chest. He had kicked Castiel out of the car in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere for what? Because the guy had taken initiative and told the rulebook to stick it?

He fished his cell-phone out of his pocket and hit SEND. Ring. Ring. Ring.

000

Castiel wandered the highway – somewhere off Iowa Highway 182 – his hands in his pockets and his teary gaze focused on the ground at his feet. He should not have assumed that Dean would take this news lightly. He should have thought things through.

His cell-phone rang –

"Shorty, you're my Angel,

You're my darling Angel"

"Hello?" he said, tentatively.

Dean's deep voice greeted him, "Cas. Where are you?"

He looked around, not really seeing anything that could tell him where he was, "I'm still on that same road you left me on. Dean, I –"

Dean cut him off, his voice kind of rushed and it almost sounded like he was running or maybe just finished running. "No, Cas. I was being an asshole. Listen – you stick tight right there and me and Sam'll swing by and get you. You and I need to talk."

Castiel felt his heart swell with the prospect of Dean's forgiveness and he smiled so hard his cheeks hurt, "Of course, Dean. I'll just… wait here, then."

By the tone of his voice, Castiel knew that Dean was smiling as he said, "Right. Be there soon."

000

Dean was driving like a bat out of Hell when Sam finally turned to him and said, "Would you like to slow down and possibly drive something resembling a speed limit before we skid off the road and die in a fiery crash?" Bitchface was out at full power.

The Impala slowed – though she was still flying down the open highway at speeds not safe for cars – and Dean grumbled, shifting in his seat. "Happy, Mom?"

Sam just rolled his eyes, slouching in the passenger's seat, "Don't blame me – I thought you would want to live to see your boyfriend again. But, if not, by all means – continue speeding."

The elder Winchester scoffed, "Boyfriend? Seriously, Sammy? What are you, twelve? Cas is not my boyfriend… I don't have a boyfriend. I'm a guy!"

Sam nodded, his voice raising a few octaves as he lied his ass off, "Oh yeah, of course Cas isn't your boyfriend. Uh-huh. Yeah. You totally aren't overcompensating or anything. Nope, not at all."

Dean let the Impala idle for a moment as he stopped to glare at his brother, "Come on, Sam. Usually when you have some bitchy remark, you just say it. What's holding you back now?"

The other man just smiled and said, "When were you going to tell me you have a crush on Cas?"

The driver paled and clenched the steering wheel, white-knuckle tight, driving off down the highway without another word. Sam just laughed quietly to himself.

000

"Dean. You Fell for Dean."

"Dean and I do share a more profound bond, Sam. I meant that."

"Well – what about your Grace? Where's that? I mean, Uriel was wearing Anna's around like it was the hottest piece of Angel-bling, where's yours?"

"I may be mortal now, but I still don't understand that reference, Sam. My Grace is in Dean's amulet. I sought it out and shall return it to him."

Heavy silence.

"Do not tell Dean. Promise me, Sam, that you will not tell Dean about the amulet."

More silence.

"Promise me, Sam."

"I… I promise, Cas."

"Dean's here." Click.

Sam wondered, as he thought back on the conversation with Castiel, if Dean would ever forgive him for keeping another secret from him.

000

Castiel stood on the edge of the highway, a few feet from where he had been when Dean called him. He shuffled around in circles – watching the sun make its way across the sky, turning the blue to a pink-orange. His heart drummed in his chest and he felt the pounding all over his body. His skin vibrated in anticipation. His hands fidgeted in his pockets.

A smile crept across his face. Maybe Dean could forgive him. Maybe Dean would understand why he did this. He knew the solutions would not be immediate and that there would be a lot of work needed to salvage the broken bond with the elder Winchester, but he swore to himself that he would see it done.

A flutter of wings behind him broke the peaceful silence. "Hello, traitor."

He slowly turned to face his brother and, with a look of utter bliss plastered to his face, he smiled, "Hello, Raphael."

000

Raphael, back in the form of Donnie Finnerman, raised an eyebrow at the scrawny man in the trenchcoat. "Castiel."

Castiel tilted his head, his blue eyes travelling up and down the body in front of him, "You fixed your vessel."

The Archangel shrugged, shivering slightly – as though he was disgusted at the mere mention of taking a vessel. "I fashioned this body myself. Respectably powerful for the form of a measly mud-monkey. But I'm not here to discuss meat-suits with you, Castiel. Word among The Host is that you've Fallen."

It was here that Castiel did something surprising. He laughed. "Good news travels fast, I guess." He crossed his arms over his chest.

Raphael frowned, taking smooth even strides to approach his brother, a cool anger rising from his vessel like steam, "Don't play games with me, boy. Angel or Human, I'm more powerful than you ever were."

Castiel was sick of it. He cocked his head and snapped, "Fine. Go off and play God, then, Raphael. I don't care anymore." He let his hands fall to his sides, illustrating just how much he was fed up with celestial politics. "I don't care."

His brother tilted his head, straightening his posture and rolling his shoulders, "You don't expect me to believe this, do you, brother? That you would Fall and relinquish your power to live out the pitiful existence of a hairless ape?" His voice was cold as steel and his eyes like a hungry shark.

Castiel smiled; his eyes faraway and his gaze dreamy. It was an odd sight on the usually stern face, but it also suited him. He sighed contently and shrugged with such joie de vivre as he stepped closer to Raphael – almost taunting him. He felt so free, like nothing would ever touch this moment.

He took a deep breath and, looking his brother in the eyes, he confessed, "I'm in love. I'm in love with Dean Winchester. I'm giving up all of Heaven for him – to be with him and–"

But the love-drunk man's words were cut off by the sharp icy burn of Raphael's blade slicing through his abdomen. He felt the searing pain of cool metal inside his core and he shivered at the discomfort.

The Archangel let out an unbelievably villainous chuckle –most likely was oblivious to how horribly clichéd he sounded. "Angel or not, I know that the mud-monkeys can be very fragile and they tend to die when they're run through," he hissed into Castiel's ear, driving the blade further into his core.

He left the blade there and disappeared, happy to know that his one true competition in the war for control of Heaven was dealt with.

Castiel, meanwhile, felt to the ground – choking on the thick, syrupy blood that gurgled up into his mouth from the internal bleeding. He felt the tears spring to his eyes, stinging. He would die here, on the side of a highway, all alone.

The sun was setting, the pink-orange sky turning a dark purple as night fell. Night was so cold – or was that what it felt like to bleed out? Castiel's teeth chattered. He hoped the Winchesters would get here soon.

The rumble of the Impala greeted him, the headlights flashing past him as it came to a stop several yards away. He craned his neck, trying to see if he could alert the Winchesters to his presence. He heard Dean calling out into the darkness, "Cas? Hey – where are you?"

The wounded man's heart throbbed painfully at the sound of the worry in Dean Winchester's deep voice.

It was Sam who found him. He knelt at Castiel's side and held his head up to prevent him from drowning in the blood that pooled at the back of his throat, "Dean! Dean! He's here."

There was a pain in his voice that was so unbearably heartbreaking that Castiel felt the unshed tears fall from his eyes and stream down his cheeks. It was odd – hot streaks burning his skin, only to be cooled almost immediately by the night air.

Dean ran to his side and propped the wounded man up against his shoulder, trying to keep him in a seated position. His fingertips grazed the stubbly skin of Castiel's cheeks, over the trying tear-tracks.

"Who did this to you?"

The reply came out gurgled and barely intelligible. "Raphael."

Sam felt his cheeks and ears burn with his blush and he snapped, shaking his brother's shoulder, "Dean – your amulet. Cas's Grace is in your amulet!"

He immediately hated himself for breaking his earlier promise to Castiel – but this was life and death, dammit!

But Castiel's hand gripped Dean's forearm as he reached for the amulet, the grip not exactly as strong as the hunter would have expected.

"Dean. Don't," he managed to say.

The green eyes that looked down at him were filled with tears, his strong voice breaking – almost whining like a child, "But, if I don't, you'll die, Cas."

He let out a pathetic chuckle – his pitiful attempt to lighten the mood with levity. "Who's gonna nag me if you're not around?"

Castiel smiled sadly, caressing the other man's cheek with his thumb as he choked on the thick dark blood that bubbled up his gullet, "Dean." His voice was still so gravelly, even now, "If you give me my Grace back, I'll die anyways – I was stabbed with an Angelic blade."

Dean pounded the ground with a fist like an upset toddler, "Dammit, Cas. Why are you so stupid? Why couldn't you have stayed an Angel? Why did you have to go piss off some st–"

The dying man cleared his throat, "We don't have much time." Dean immediately shut up, allowing Castiel to continue, "I want you to know that I Fell … I Fell because I love you, Dean." His hand gave Dean's arm a light squeeze, the best he could do in his weakened state.

The hunter smiled sadly, tears running down his reddened cheeks, "You dumb bastard. Why do you think I was so pissed off when you told me you Fell? I just…"

Sam was feeling uncomfortable bearing witness to this tragically intimate moment. He stood up and gave his brother and the dying Castiel some space – allowing them their time for proper goodbyes.

Castiel frowned, brushing the tears from the man's freckled cheek as their faces drew closer, his voice barely above a rumbling whisper, "I Fell for you, Dean. I would rather have this one brief life with you than an eternity alone."

Dean chuckled softly and muttered, his breath hot on the other man's face, "I'm gonna throttle Sam for letting you watch Lord of the Rings, I swear I am." He reached up and ran his fingers over the messy black hair, feeling its softness.

Castiel looked up at him, tilting his head bemusedly.

Dean sighed – this was awkward – and he leaned in to kiss Castiel on the lips; desperately, passionately and totally in front of Sam. He grabbed the other man on either side of his face and brought their lips together, savoring the feel and taste of those chapped lips.

When he pulled back, the mortally wounded Castiel let out a final ragged breath before he stilled. The hunter whimpered, "Cas? … Cas?"

Nothing.

Sam walked up behind his mourning brother and gently laid a hand on his shoulder. He let out a sigh, trying not to cry, "Dean, I'm–"

But his brother bucked off the large hand that threatened to crush his shoulder and he growled, "I am going to destroy that sick bastard. If it's the last thing I do, I am gonna kill me a Teenage Mutant Ninja Angel with my bare hands."