Perception

Four More Hours

"Crowley?" called Castiel from the back of the Impala. The Winchesters had departed to a gas station, summoned by the Twinkies. Castiel elected to stay in the car, to call upon his sorta-friend-sorta-not. 

Crowley appeared in the seat next to him. His suit was darkened around the collar with blood, and Castiel had half a mind to ask him what he was doing, but decided against it when his mind wandered to dangerous places. "Yes, Feathers?"

"Why are we hunting this demon?" he asked, eyes horribly earnest and huge. "Why aren't the other hunters taking care of it?" He sounded pitifully desperate. 

"Now," sighed Crowley, rubbing his stubble, "that's a problem. I shouldn't tell you. I am a demon, after all. I'm supposed to be all for the end of the world." Castiel's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Oh, you didn't know that much, did you? Oh well, I might as well tell you everything."

Castiel knew Crowley was just looking for a reason to tell him. He probably didn't want to end of the world just as much as the Winchesters didn't. "Okay."

Crowley was still rubbing his stubble as he spoke. It almost drowned out his voice. "Lucifer - you know, Lucifer, your brother, fallen angel - is in the Cage. Since he can't bring The End of Days himself, he's got his son doing the dirty work. He's no better than God, in that aspect." Crowley shook his head sadly. "You poor sods. Anyway, Salpsan is up in Anchorage, wreaking havoc and making everyone's lives generally more miserable. Since he's there, there's more demon activity, which means more souls in Hell. More souls in Hell means more demons. It's all a very vicious cycle, you see.

"The demons will probably run away if you get rid of Salpsan, but until then, they'll be more confident in themselves. Demons are like preteen girls wearing makeup for the first time; brave when they have a cover. But to get rid of Salpsan, you'll need an angel." Crowley made eyebrows at Castiel. 

"Can't we get Gabriel to do it?" Castiel's hands were wringing themselves. He had the sad eyebrows on, the ones that made him look like a wounded puppy.

Crowley patted his knee. "Shorty will only do so much for humanity," he said. "But he'll do anything for his favorite brother." Castiel opened his mouth to argue, but Crowley glared. "Just let Angel Cake do his thing and stop your whining."

Crowley popped away before the brothers returned. Castiel didn't say anything when Dean asked about his expression.

...

Castiel was up on the hotel roof at dusk (although, in reality, it was two AM and the end of the four hours of light Alaska permitted itself every day). He was watching the horizon, where he imagined Heaven met the Earth. The colors reminded him of one of the paintings in the group therapy room at the hospital, with lots of warm colors that gave him warm feelings. 

Dean was standing in the hotel parking lot, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. Castiel looked like a crazy guy on the roof. In fact, Castiel was a crazy guy on the roof. This needed to stop before Castiel froze and/or got the cops called on himself. 

"Cas!" he yelled, squinting against the sunset. He heard a distant grunt. It sounded like Castiel was only half there. "Come down from there! We need to sleep!"

"I'll be down soon!" Castiel yelled back. He reclined on the roof and smiled. The sky above him was a pretty dark purple. 

There was a thump to his left, but Castiel didn't turn. He couldn't find it in himself to care that whatever was on the roof with him could kill him, even if he was pretty certain it was Dean. The firgure settled on his left side. He could feel it staring at him. 

"Are you okay?" asked Dean, frowning at Castiel, who looked blank as could be. He didn;t like that look anytime he had seen it, and he especially didn't like it on Castiel.

Castiel ignored him. "Where's Sam?"

"Inside, where you should be. Don't avoid the question."

Castiel laughed, and it was a cracked, hollow sound that pulled at Dean's very soul. "I don't know what I am, anymore," he said, turning his head to look at Dean. "I don't know if I'm an angel or a human or what. I'm...I'm nothing. I'm empty space. What the Hell am I?"

They were silent for a long time. Castiel's fingers were numb by the time Dean spoke. "You're my friend. My Castiel."

Castiel looked up at Dean, eyes wide and so, so blue, lips parted in surprise, and Dean couldn't do it anymore. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Castiel's lips. They sat there idly before moving tentatively. Castiel took several moments to react, but he did, and Dean couldn't remember a time when he was happier. 

When they pulled away, they were silent for a while, just staring, breath coming out in puffs. Castiel finally laughed, a much brighter sound than it was before. "See," he huffed, humor coloring his tone, "this is what happens when I think about the important things." He sat up and shuffled closer to Dean, who grinned and wrapped an arm around him. "I should stick to the simple thing."

"Nah," said Dean, still grinning in a way that sent sparks through Castiel. "I like it when you get all philosophical."

Inside, they shed their winter coats and shimmied out of everything else until they were in their boxers. Castiel was shivering violently, but was still smiling like mad. Dean kissed him again, and once again, before climbing into bed. Castiel curled up to Dean, resting his head in the crook of his neck. His hair got in Dean's face, but Dean just snuffed around for a bit before finding a comfortably flat plane of hair to rest his cheek on.

Sam watched from the other bed, a smirk on his face. He knew his gaydar wasn't broken. He frowned, after a moment. Staring at his brother and his new boytoy while they were in their boxers was weird, wasn't it? Sam turned over onto his other side and closed his eyes, praying (metaphorically) for more that four hours of sleep.