The room was silent, but for the humming of a clock, and the soft snores of two men. Even the distant noise of traffic seemed to be hushed, while Castiel sat silently on the edge of one bed.

Through one of these creatures, one of these humans, whom his brothers and sisters so looked down upon, Castiel learned the reason that his father was so enamored of them.

In the depths of Hell itself, the man writhed in agony, calling for help- though he knew no help would come- and even when he finally broke...

There was a reason that he was sent to watch, sent to bring this tortured soul back, to mend body and soul so that they would be able to serve one another- a reason why he said 'Yes', beyond duty, beyond the scope of what he knew that his purpose was.

It was the way that this soul had remained untainted for so long within the fire and blood of the pit. The way that he simply did not struggle, when Castiel's hand grasped his shoulder, instead leaning into what must have been an agonizing burn that went through the soul and manifested upon the body.

God was fascinated by his creation, the angel knew, as he had once commanded his legions of angels to watch over them, and put them above his first-created beings.

Even now, as Castiel watched the peaceful rise and fall of Dean's chest, the slumbering twitches of a physical form set for action, he could see the same thing that he saw every time he peered into the man's green eyes. A soul dirtied by sin, by the things that he had done both on earth and in Hell. A soul twisted by the things that it had seen, and the things that had been done to it. Most angels would pass this man by, seeing the stains, seeing the wretched pain that didn't allow for the owner to see himself clearly.

Looking as his Father would, looking deeper, Castiel had caught a glimpse of it once, and now... now he couldn't not see it. He might have sin on his soul, but it wasn't staining him- the twists and turns were starting to ease in those eyes the color of the forests. He had wondered why at first, and realized what it was that gave a broken soul, Hell's instrument, the title of 'A Righteous Man'.

Love.

Love of the purest kind- as deep as a parent's, a friend, and a brother's all combined into one. It made his soul resist the evil that should have overtaken him long ago. The love underneath it all, the pure desire to save others-

Castiel couldn't look away, once he'd seen it. It made his friend- and he had been hesitant to use that word at first- uncomfortable to be watched so closely. The angel had tried to curb himself. But now he watched Dean sleep.

When he awakened, Castiel knew to give him a soft greeting- rather than the rough awakenings that the human had endured for years, still endured on occasion. Sam would usually greet the morning with a grunt, until he could obtain coffee- but normally it was Dean who awakened his brother.

But a quiet word would do. A calm and quiet good morning, the likes of which Dean probably hadn't had since he was four years old. He usually protested, however Castiel could see that he wasn't nearly as disturbed as he'd claimed. He was just unsure.

Castiel wasn't sure himself, but he did know that he wanted to preserve that good soul, that beautiful spirit as much as he could. It was a long and difficult road that they were all on, and love would be the only thing that he could think of that would keep them together.

Sam was still sleeping, as Dean's restless slumber ended with the morning's first golden rays. Dark eyelashes fluttered open, taking in the gilded room, and the soft sigh didn't even disturb the other occupant.

"Hello, Dean."