Destiel One-Shots

Heya Cas.

Castiel had no intention of going back to Earth, not now. The mere idea of being there without him there too, somewhere, was enough to rip him apart. All the human traits he'd picked up along his journeys with the Winchester's now only served as reminders of what once had been.
So when Sam had prayed to him, he'd been hesitant. It was selfish, he knew it was. Another human trait he'd developed. Sam was his friend, and was probably grieving the loss of his brother just as Castiel was, if not worse. But nevertheless, he'd tried his best to ignore the younger Winchester's prayers, hoping he'd forgive him, hoping he'd understand. Words still slithered through though, bits and pieces of desperate and angry prayers. He never tried to decipher them until he heard the words "Dean needs your help"
It was confusing at first, the sound of his name in his ears bringing back every emotion he'd tried to block out over the past few weeks. The sentence itself not making sense in his mind. Dean was dead, Castiel could no longer help him. He had failed him. He'd risked Dean's life, let him go to Metatron, and he died. Because Castiel had been foolish, because he hadn't been quick enough. Despite every urge to ignore the prayer once more, to forget about it and continue on, he listened.

"Cas, please. I don't know what's going on up there, but please. Dean's... He's... He needs your help. Dean needs your help, Cas. I don't know what to do."

After much inner debate, Castiel found himself willingly entering the bunker.
He saw Sam first, turning around to see who had invaded their home, defence stance at the ready. As soon as his eyes met Castiel's, he seemed to relax slightly, though not a second after he tensed again, shoulders back and expecting. His expression quickly changed from surprise to something Castiel couldn't read. 
Frowning, he scanned the rest of the room, the one that held too many memories.
And he most certainly had not been anticipating what he saw.
"Dean."
It was the first time his name had left his lips since they had locked up Metatron, but whatever was standing in front of him was not Dean. It couldn't have been. It's face was dark, and twisted. A soul mangled so much it was barely recognizable. A soul that used to be so bright, so beautiful. A soul that had changed him, and surprised him over and over again even when he thought he knew it so well. Even when he was sure he'd studied it to the tee, and examined the face behind it so well he could remember every freckle and every scar.
A fluid movement of emotions ran through him as he stared at the man he thought dead, sitting on a chair by the table. 
Regret, sorrow, guilt, relief, anger, happiness...
Heartbreak.

Before he could register it, he was making his way across the room. Both brothers seemed to be holding their breath, tense, waiting for something, anything. As soon as he was near enough, his hands cupped Dean's face, and he pressed his lips to his. He didn't know why, he didn't understand it. It wasn't for pleasure, as it had been with the reaper, and it wasn't for curiosity, as it had been with Meg. It was something completely different, something that Castiel couldn't categorize or explain. It was rough, and chaste, and Castiel could feel Dean's hands on his forearms as he squeezed his eyes shut. Begging that when he opened them, he would see Dean's precious soul again, instead of the gnarled thing it had become. He tried to kiss it all away, his own guilt and fear and grief, Dean's pain and darkness, chased it away as his lips moved to Dean's nose to his cheek and his jaw until they finally ceased. He rested his forehead against the others, before sinking down to his knees. He hadn't even realized Dean had been holding him up, supporting him.
Sam had apparently left the room, and as his own actions dawned on him he quickly searched Dean's face for a reaction. But instead of disgust, or rage, his expression softened.

"Heya Cas."