Behind Closed Doors

[S4] On My Own (FILLER)

❝  I don't want to fight alone anymore,
Bring me out
from the prison of my own pride,
My God, I need a hope I can't deny,
In the end, I'm realizing
I was never meant to fight
On my own.⠀❞

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3RD PERSON POV
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{S4 E18: "Oh I know how you ripped Alistair apart like it was nothing, like you were swatting a fly. Cass told me, okay?"}
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—CASTIEL POV—

"Dean, we need to talk." A handsome angel begins as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. After a moment's hesitation, he cocks his head in the direction of his hunter, Dean. As he stands a few feet in front of the celestial, his shoulders roll smoothly in thought as his back guards the emotions he wears on his face.

It's been a week since the angel's mistake; the one which caused him to feel for the first time. Off and on the hunter and his angel run into another, but their visits haven't been very frequent. In the midst of their struggle with the seals, Castiel had tried to work out the relationship between himself and the brothers. Sam is friendly towards him, but Dean is complicated. Frankly, the angel isn't convinced the hunter trusts him as much as he trusts him. Although smart, the angel's naivety fails to pick up Dean's true faults: his trust issues and Philophobia, and he mistakes this as skepticism. But even despite his lack of faith, the angel realized he would trust Dean with his life. This is why Cass had no choice but to disguise his voice as the Winchester's surrogate father a few days prior. The angel was afraid of the potential rejection due to said mistrust, and the mission was much too important for failure.

These feelings are strange to the celestial and they only become weirder as he begins to discover more of these human feelings. He's spent some time pondering why he's able to feel such things, but nothing sticks out in his mind. Perhaps slaughtered angels and ones deployed unto Earth contribute to this: his power does come from the angels within heaven. The fewer angels upstairs, the less his power. Possibly, this could allow a slice of humanity to penetrate through the cold, unfeeling shell of his celestial essence: This is the only theory that makes sense.

Presently, both man and angel stand in a modern hotel room. There are two queen beds draped with blue sheets: one is made whilst the other is thrown haphazardly together. The walls are washed with baby blue and finished with white trim bordering the walls like clouds in the sky. Looking around briefly, Castiel notices Sam had forgotten his morning coffee upon the wooden countertop. The young brother had gone on a food run before Castiel teleported into the room; this was before the angel scared the other brother half to death upon arrival. The melodramatic adult had hissed angerly at his angel under his breath as a result, since Cass hasn't been in touch as recently as Dean wants him to be. This is where they are now:

"What? What is possibly more important than the damn apocalypse?" Dean enthuses, sarcasm and frustration oozing from every word that slips his mouth. He paces the plush carpet hurridly as he tries to think. But just as Castiel opens his mouth to reply, Dean cuts in again: "Talking about the apocalypse: bang-up job stopping those seals by the way. How many have you stopped now? 1, 2? Great job: maybe we could've saved more if you would answer my damn prayers." Dean Winchester, spitting with rage, grumbles in the face of the trench-coat angel after he turns on his heel and exposes his flush face. His cheeks are crimson with misunderstanding, but the angel stays calm. Never before has he gotten angry over a misunderstanding, nor can he bring himself to stay mad at Dean. Castiel only sighs softly in response, leaving the air still and uncomfortably silent. Dean huffs with satisfaction into calm blue eyes that dazzle like the sun does upon a lake. But when the hunter turns away, Cass' rough voice breaks the air like sandpaper on a piece of wood: