My second Supernatural story! A very, very heavy Dean/Cas friendship. Could be more if that's how you see it! Please enjoy, and please leave a review telling me what you think!

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

The bar was nearly empty. The bartender stood at the end of the bar, cleaning glasses with a raggedy cloth. An older man and woman, both with gruff voices and heavily tattooed, sat at a small table in the corner of the bar. Dull Christmas lights were strung around the place, lighting up the window, where snow could be seen falling gently outside. And at the bar sat two young men—one in a beige trench coat and a blue tie, and the other in an old leather jacket and dark jeans. One with a beer and the other just playing with his hands. From an outsider's point of view, they looked like old friends. Leaning close when they talked, an occasional bark of laughter that echoed through the dusty, deserted bar. Friends.

"Let me get you a drink. Come on." Dean grinned as Cas cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. Sam was at the motel—he had come down with the flu, as he did every winter, and was probably sleeping for the second day in a row. Dean whisked Cas to the bar, distancing himself from his brother's coughing fits. Cas protested at first, but Dean could swear that he saw a hint of a smile as he dragged Cas to the car and sped away from the crappy motel.

"I don't drink."

"Bull."

Cas met Dean's eyes, which crinkled as he grinned. Dean held up two fingers to the bartender, and seconds later, two large beers sat in front of the two. Cas turned the glass around in his hands and cleared his throat. Dean watched him thoughtfully. Cas had barely spoken for the last two days. A slow saxophone piece played around them—some Christmas song, probably, done a million different ways. Dean liked this way, though. Slow. Sad. Not all Christmases were happy, after all. Not every song should be upbeat and jolly and praising the Lord.

"Dean." Cas's gruff voice interrupted Dean's thoughts. "Dean, I have a question for you."

"Shoot."

"Is Sam in pain right now?" Dean met his friend's gaze and bit his lip to keep from laughing. Cas's face was traced with concern, his eyes narrow and his forehead crinkled.

"No," Dean snorted. "I mean, yeah, he's sick, and it sucks, but he'll be fine. He's fine."

"Oh." A pause. "Does it last very long?"

"Depends. When Sam was little, he had pneumonia for a month. He stayed in bed all day long. Dad was gone for most of the time, so I took care of him. I knew—" Dean paused. "I knew he was gonna be okay, but I was young, you know? About three weeks in, he wasn't eating anything. Pale white. Cold as death. I was pretty damn scared. And I didn't want to bother Dad, so I just kept it to myself. I thought—well, I thought he might die. Can't remember being that scared in a long time." Dean smirked to himself. "Stupid, huh?"

"It's not stupid, Dean," Cas said with such genuine sincerity. When Dean looked back at his friend, his beer was gone.

"Jesus, Cas!" Dean laughed. "You really downed that one, didn't you?" Dean imitated Cas's rough voice. "'I don't drink.' Yeah, right. Can we get another?" Dean asked the bartender, who nodded curtly. He slammed two more beers down in front of the two. His hands were scarred badly—they looked burned, even. His baseball hat was pulled down, nearly covering his eyes, but Dean could still see how dull they were, lined with dark bags and wrinkles. He looked…sad.

"Another, please." Cas once again interrupted Dean's thoughts. His beer was gone. Dean snorted.

"Cas!"

"What?" Cas asked, alarmed.

"Slow down, cowboy. We've got time."

"Oh. Okay."

Dean watched Castiel watching him. They stayed like that for a while, talking and drinking. Over time, the last people in the bar left, and they were alone. Dean and Cas started talking louder, and Dean's bursts of laughter got loud as well. Beer after beer. The glasses emptied and then were filled by the sad, tired old bartender. The beers stopped coming after even longer, and the man disappeared in the back room. Dean and Cas were left alone, surrounded by snow and Christmas lights and rickety wooden tables.

"Dean," Cas asked over Dean's laughter. He didn't even know what they were laughing about anymore. It seemed like years since their conversation had been like this—light, filled with nothing but empty words and stupid jokes. Like friends talk. In fact, Cas didn't know if they had ever talked like this.

"Dean!"

"What!"

"I have to ask you something."

"What?"

Cas took a deep breath and turned to face Dean completely, staring at him the way he always did—deep and serious, eyes boring into Dean's, as if everything else disappeared except for Dean's green eyes and smattering of freckles across his nose.

"Do you think of me as…human?" Cas asked. If Dean knew any better, he would have said that Cas looked embarrassed. Ashamed, almost. Dean leaned against the bar, eyes travelling over the angel's face. Forehead creased in concern. Ocean blue eyes narrowed, chapped lips parted in anticipation. The same look the angel always held, from the moment Dean met him. The look held a sort of comfort—unchanging. Stable. Home.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked gruffly.

"Do you…would you…would you miss me? If something were to happen to me?"

"Cas, what are you saying?" Dean asked, his eyes darkening.

"I just—" Cas scoffed to himself, looking down at his hands. Dean had never seen him like this. So vulnerable. "Your story about Sam, when he was sick. And you were scared for him. I've never…I've never had that. The way you protect him, the way you give yourself completely to saving him. You love him. In all my time, I don't think I've ever seen love like that. Love that can damage someone."

"Damage?" Dean asked, but Cas still did not meet his eyes.

"You're willing to do anything for him. Even if it breaks you." They both paused, Dean's chest tightening. When Cas spoke again, his voice was much softer.

"And I haven't had that. I'm not sure I'm even capable of it. So why would I have it, if I can't even give it?"

When Cas looked back up at Dean, his eyes were glassy. Dean opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Hell, he had no idea what to say. Here was an angel, his angel, usually so steady and sure of himself, now asking Dean why no one loved him.

Love. Jesus Christ.

It was the next three words that escaped Cas's lips that had Dean unable to breathe, confused and worried and just a little bit scared.

"I don't deserve it."

"Don't say that." Dean's response came immediately as the words were out, low and gruff and angry. "Don't you dare say that."

"I don't have a place," Cas continued. His voice was hoarse and almost inaudible. "I don't belong up there. I rebelled. I deserved to be outcast, to leave it forever. I don't see myself ever going back. I don't think I can." Cas's lower lip quivered, so slightly Dean almost didn't catch it, as he looked back up at his friend. "And here—here I'm just even more lost. I feel things that angels aren't supposed to feel, so I try to stop myself, but—I don't know what's happening to me, Dean," Cas whispered. "What's happening to me?"

And then silence fell over the two, as heavily as the snow fell outside. The silence wrapped itself around Dean and squeezed, leaving him sitting on the barstool with his mouth open and no words coming out. What the hell was he supposed to say? Yeah, he loved Sam. Of course he loved Sam. That wasn't the question. But Cas—Cas was something else. Cas was—confusing. He was funny, in a really dumb, ignorant way. He was strong when he needed to be. He was logical. He was smart. He made Dean laugh, really—he made Dean happy when they were together. So Dean said just that.

"I like being with you, Cas," Dean said, smiling slightly. "Why do you think we always keep coming back? After all this shit," Dean gestured, his smile widening. "We're still together, two nights before Christmas, drinking at a bar. Like friends do. Yes, friends. How does it feel?"

Cas smirked, looking down at his hands as he turned towards the bar again and began to play with his glass. Dean scoffed.

"You don't know what's happening, but I do. You like me. You're my friend. And you're scared of that, but you don't have to be. Okay?"

Cas was still quiet, squirming in his seat. Dean cleared his throat and slid off his seat.

"Want to be human?"

"I want to feel like a human. I want to have those feelings you have. You're terrified sometimes, and you're happy, and you're devastated. I want—that," Cas laughed to himself, stifling his smile. "It's a silly notion."

"Well. Let's make you look like a human. Not…this." Dean gestured to Cas, and then gripped his beige trench coat and slipped it off his shoulders.

"Dean," Cas said warningly. Dean shrugged and then pulled off Cas's suit coat.

"You look creepy sometimes. See, look at you now. You look like a handsome young man who stopped here on his way home from his nice, normal job in a nice, normal cubicle. Good, huh?"

Cas smirked at Dean, mouth twisted as he hid his smile. Dean studied Cas for a second, and then reached for his tie.

"Perfect. Normal guy, here you come." Dean loosened his tie with one finger, and Cas's face broke into a grin. Not a tight-lipped smirk, not a sarcastic half-assed smile. It was probably the alcohol—no, it was definitely the alcohol—but something about that grin made Dean catch his breath. Cas was fucking glowing. In his loose white dress shirt and blue tie, and messy hair and actual smile, Cas looked like a happy, normal human being. Human. Dean smiled back after a second, eyes finally meeting Cas's. And they were happy, too.

They stayed quiet for a long time. Sirens wailed outside, flashing lights passing the bar. It wasn't the best neighborhood they were staying in, but it'd have to do until they left the next morning, bright and early. Dean didn't really want to leave this place now, though. He wasn't sure why. Crappy bar, crappy beer. But he was pretty okay staying there.

"Cas, you know something?" Dean asked. Cas looked at him, glow dulling but still prominent. Dean held up Cas's trench coat, smiling to himself slightly as he played with the sleeve. "I kept this. When you walked into that lake and we thought you were dead, I kept this. Stayed in the trunk of the Impala the whole time. Funny, huh."

"I've been watching a few movies, Dean," Cas said, mouth curving into a smile. "In these movies, men take something that reminds them of women that they have lost. And they look at it often, and use it to remember them. Are you becoming one of these men?"

One look at Cas and Dean knew he was kidding. Fuck, Cas was joking.

"Sorry, but I'm not allowing us any chick-flick moments," Dean laughed, clapping Cas on the back. "It stayed in the trunk. Never looked at it."

"Why?"

"It hurt."

Once again, Dean's response burst out of his mouth before he could stop it. Damn, he wished he could take it back. Talk about a chick-flick moment. Cas was still staring at him, eyes burning holes into the side of his head.

"I guess…I guess I missed you." Pause. "Damn it, Cas. You've already gotten me drunk. What are you planning to do to me next?"

But when Dean turned to Cas, he saw that his friend was smiling to himself. A small, proud, genuinely happy smile. And Dean let it go. He could keep at it, making Cas swear to never tell anyone—God, he couldn't imagine what Sam would say if he knew about this—but he let it go. Because that smile was probably the best thing Dean had seen all night.

They waited until their smiles disappeared, and then Dean clapped Cas on the back.

"Ready to go, champ?" He asked, tucking Cas's trench coat and suit jacket under his arm and jumping off the stool and stumbling a bit. Cas followed suit, a bit more elegant than Dean. The cold air bit their cheeks the moment they stepped outside. The snow was falling lightly now, and the sky was clear, hundreds of stars stretching overhead. It wasn't until Cas cleared his throat when Dean turned around, and watched as Cas crossed his arms tightly. His breath came out in clouds.

"My coats, please."

Dean tossed the coats over his shoulder to Cas and walked ahead to the car, pulling out his keys. Cas began talking again, but Dean didn't hear.

Because that's when it happened.

A single gunshot.

A single gunshot, coming from a single car that turned the corner, rolling down a single window, and shooting a single man who was stopped at his Impala.

A single gunshot, and the car was gone, and Dean was down.

He didn't really comprehend it at first. He sunk to his knees, and then fell back, clawing at his chest, eyes darting all around him. Sidewalk. Snow. Blood. His blood? No. No, it couldn't be. Yes. His blood.

More snow. A shoe. Two shoes. Two feet. Cas? Cas. More blood. Cas.

"Dean."

Dean. Yes, that was his name. Dean felt his hands being pushed away from his own chest, replaced by two strong, burning hot hands lying flat on his chest. And then they were gone.

"Dean, Dean, I can't fix this. Dean—"

"I'm—I'm okay," Dean finally gasped. He tried to prop himself up on his elbow, but collapsed to the ground. The next thing he knew he was being heaved up so that he was lying against Cas's chest, broad and flat and once again, scorching hot.

"You're not."

Dean had to laugh. Leave it to Cas.

"I know. I know." Dean tried to touch his chest again, but his hands were pushed away again.

"I can't heal this, Dean. I—I don't know why—"

"It's okay, Cas."

"Dean—" Dean could swear he heard Cas's voice crack. "You're not okay, you're…"

Dean gasped at the sky again, watching the clear black sky covered with glowing white dots. He was going to die. Because of a gunshot. After all the shit he saw, he was going to die from a gun. It was complete bull.

He wasn't dying in a hunt, or by his brother's side. Shit. Sam.

"Cas, you've got to tell Sam—"

"I'll tell him," Cas nodded. When Dean protested, Cas just shook his head. "I know. And I will."

He was dying in a fallen angel's arms. How poetic. An angel who wasn't really an angel, but not really a human either. It made sense, Dean supposed. Two men who really had no idea who they were. It didn't really matter for one of the men, though. Not soon, anyways.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," Cas said with such genuine sincerity that Dean felt his eyes burn.

"Hey. It's gotta happen sometime, right?" Dean said, but it didn't come out quite as strong or confident as he would have hoped. "Just—just stay with me for now, all right? An ambulance should be coming soon."

"An ambulance?"

"Yeah. Our friend back in there saw the whole thing."

Sure enough, when Cas turned around, he saw the sad bartender standing at the window. Still cleaning shot glasses with that raggedy towel.

"Think he's seen a lot of these?" Dean asked. Cas looked back down at Dean.

"I'll stay with you. They might be able to help. We don't know yet."

"Cas…"

"I can't heal you, but my powers are—"

"Cas…"

"Don't just give up, Dean!"

"I'm not giving up!"

They shouted over one another until Dean coughed, blood spewing from his mouth onto Cas's white shirt. Dean shook his head, clutching Cas, using his thumb to try to wipe away the blood in a feeble attempt.

"Sorry."

"No apologies are necessary. But thank you."

Dean smiled. And then he snorted. And then he laughed, so much that he hurt everywhere and soon tears were running down his face. Cas watched him in panic, eyes flitting everywhere from Dean's eyes, to tears, to chest, and back to his eyes. Green eyes. Freckles across the nose. Same as always.

Soon, sirens wailed and flashing red and blue lights lit up the two men. EMTs burst out of the back of the ambulance, arms reaching for Dean.

"They'll save you."

Cas's hands instinctively curling in Dean's hair, holding him tighter, not wanting to let him go.

"You'll be fine, I'll get Sam. We'll see you there."

EMTs tearing Dean away. Dean looking at Cas one last time, the ghost of a smile still carved into his face. As if telling Cas that everything would be all right.

"Dean, I'll see you soon!"

The ambulance speeding down the grimy road, leaving nothing but Cas and the bloody snow.

Emptiness.

The pure fear and confusion that Cas felt rising up through his body, into his chest and filling his lungs.

Terror.

The bloodcurdling scream that Cas let out, heard by nothing and no one.

Hopelessness.

Red snow and a blood-smeared dress shirt.

Love.

It was only as Cas turned, no longer feeling the bitter cold bite his cheeks, and looked back into the window of the bar—looked deep into the dead eyes of the bartender—when Cas realized how human he truly was.

Character death? Up to you. Make up your own ending if you're not a fan of this one, or let it rest here! Some things are best left unknown :)