Stay, Please

It takes hours to get back to the bunker. Sam sleeps the whole way, a distressed look plastered on his dirtied face, and hands curling into fists multiple times. Dean's tense—his entire body still, and eyes straight on the road—he's trying to not think about anything, everything, he tries to just focus on the stretch of road in front of him, but it's hard.

He's beyond worried sick about Sammy, he has no clue where to start with curing him. All he knows is he has to. There's nothing without Sam.

Then of course there's Cas. They had just witnessed every angel in heaven fall—literally—to a fiery doom and he can't get the image out of his mind of his angel friend falling, surrounded by flames and a deathly peaceful look on his face.

Dean rubs his stubbled chin as he lets out a heavy sigh and keeps driving.

The Impala rolls up in front of the bunker covered in a deep darkness, and even the chore of finally making it home makes Dean feel a little calmer. It takes effort to manhandle Sam inside and to his bed, his long limbs like dead weight, but Dean gets it done. He cleans Sammy up the best he can, removing the blood and dirt from his young face, pulling off his dirtied shirt, then removing his shoes and pants as well. Sam looks comfortable in his own bed, laying still, his head being caressed by a pillow and clean sheets under him; finally Dean breathes out. He knows that it's going to take a lot to make Sam better, how do they fix what the trials have done to him? Sam will still be sick until they figure it out, but he's got Dean, and for now tonight, he's sleeping soundly in his bed. Dean pulls the blanket up over his brother to his chest then proceeds to leave the room.

Dean walks through the bunker, it's dark and quiet, peaceful, yet feels wrong at the same time. Kevin has gone to bed; he had admitted to Dean he was going to leave before the angels fell then he figured it'd be best to stay. Dean didn't drill him, didn't bother being mad about Kevin wanting to leave, he understood and let the kid go back to the room he took up a few nights ago.

One bottle of beer goes down as if it was water, cool and refreshing, then Dean pauses when he reaches to open the fridge for another. There it is again, knocking, someone is at the door. His brow is furrowed as he slowly walks through the space to the door; he stands in front if it for a moment and only opens it when it is banged on again. When he opens it however, he's frozen in his spot at the sight of Castiel standing there.

"Cas." He speaks, eyes wide on the angel who looks beat. "Cas, what, what happened? I thought, no I saw, the angels fall. How are you here?" He notices how Cas' face changes through emotions, but then settle on distress.

"I," Cas meets his eyes, "may I come in?" Dean curses at his stupidity and ushers Cas in and they sit at a large table across from each other.

"Talk to me, Cas." It's plain there's something going on.

He watches Cas closely as he starts to talk, the angel's eyes are restless, unable to find a place to focus on, his hands together in his lap, and lips opening and closing multiple times. "Naomi was right. As you may, already know, the angels were flushed from heaven, by Metatron. All of them, gone." He pauses and Dean takes this moment to speak up.

"How did he do it though? What was the last step?" Dean focuses on Cas.

"An angel's grace." Castiel speaks, quietly, sadly, and it's then he looks up to meet Dean's eyes. "Metatron took my grace to complete the spell." Dean has no worthy response. "My grace is what made me an angel, it was what connected me with all of heaven. Now it's gone, and I,"

"You're human." Dean interrupts staring down Cas.

With a heavy sigh, the angel—man—replies, "Yes."

Dean feels tense all over again. It makes sense now; why they angels all fell, and why Cas looks so lost right now. But he has no response, how does he reply to an angel loosing his grace, the thing that made him everything he was and lived for? Nevertheless, Cas won't look away from Dean, and he doesn't bother breaking the stare either.

"I, I'm sorry, Cas." Cas blinks and seems to nod softly. "Are you okay? Has it affected you, or, is there anything I can do to help you?"

Castiel finally looks away. "I do not think so. Metatron used my grace, there's no going back." A pause. "And I, I will have to adapt I suppose. I don't," he looks back up to Dean wearing dawn together brows, "I don't know how to be human. It doesn't feel right."

Dean can't help but feel sorry for Cas. He can't imagine what it must be like for him, to have everything he knew taken away and thrust into a strictly human life; Dean, if anybody, knows how sucky life can be and now Cas has to live one. A simple 'I'm sorry' seems so weak and pointless in this situation, yet he says it anyway. "I'm sorry, Cas, I really am." The man across from him nods. "I'm not the one to preach to anyone about life and how it should be lived, but you're not alone, Cas. You have me an' Sam, you know that right? You don't have to do this on your own. In fact, I don't want you to do this on your own, alright, I'm not going to let you-" the image of a very different human Castiel fills Dean's mind, one who immerses himself in drugs, sex, and alcohol, and who just isn't Cas. He shakes his head and breathes, "You're more than welcome to stay here, you know. With me and Sam, the bunker's safe you said it yourself, and then you won't have to be alone with this." Castiel is looking at him with such large, blue eyes, if Dean weren't used to the intense staring he'd look away. Not now though, not when this is Cas and Cas needs him now. Dean's not letting this break. "Stay." He says finally, ultimately, and waits for Cas to reply.

"I, don't-" the man's voice is quiet as he looks down at his hands once again, but this time Dean splits.

"Dammit, Cas." He stands from his seat, rounds the table and stands at Cas' side staring down at him with a strict expression. "Don't you even think about leaving. Where would you go? Without your mojo things are a lot harder, everything will be harder, Cas, don't you understand that?" the man only glances up at him once. "Stay. Stay with us here, it'll be easier on all of us, it-" Dean sighs, finally letting the words out, "it'll be easier on me." Castiel looked up at him confused. "I hate not knowing where you are, whether you're alive or dead, or when you don't check in with us for weeks. So stay for me, Cas, please." Those large blue eyes are nowhere but on Dean now that he's let the truth out. He watches Cas with a weary eye.

Castiel rises slowly from his chair, the trench coat swaying around his form and then he looks Dean face to face. "I apologize for causing you concern before." Dean can't catch the scoff before it slips out. "But I, would like to stay. For you, Sam, and myself; you are the only family I know anymore." The ball of stress in Dean's shoulders starts to unravel out of sympathy and relief.

He's reaching out without thinking, grabbing Cas by his shoulders and pulling the man into his arms. Dean embraces Cas with his arms wrapped around the man's shoulders to hold him close. "It'll be okay, Cas. We'll make it through this together, I promise."

Arms rise up on either side of Dean to wrap around his body as Cas hugs him back. The embrace is strong, yet Dean feels how much Cas relaxes into it, like it's released the stress of the world from his shoulders. "Thank you, Dean." The voice comes out dulled by the fact Cas is speaking into his shoulder, but Dean just hugs him tighter sensing Cas needs all the support he can get right now.