He wasn't sure when it happened. One day, Dean was going about his life like he had before the angel arrived, and then the next day he's praying. He hadn't meant to. Castiel's name came out before he could stop himself and then everything he wanted to say in that moment just started playing follow the leader with the angel's name.

Dr. Sexy was on when he said it. He remembered how invested Castiel had gotten with the show and decided that he needed to know what was going on in the most recent episode since he couldn't watch it himself. Because, well, that's what friends are for.

"Cas," he had started. "Get this. Dr. Sexy just got dumped by that chick, Nurse Sultry." He shook his head. "But it doesn't really matter because he's totally about to get it on with Dr. Steamy. Meanwhile, Nurse Blue-Eyes and Nurse Naughty are betting on who can diagnose the most patients within a month."

Then Dean stopped himself. Saying those things out loud to someone who wasn't physically there was probably one of the most pathetic things he's done. He swallowed a lump in his throat, reaching over and fumbled with the remote a little before successfully shutting off the TV. He rubbed his hands over his face, internally groaning about how feminine was being.

That was over two months ago. Since then, Dean had made a habit out of praying to Castiel every other night. He never once asked the angel to come back. Castiel was fighting a war, he didn't need the stress of being cooped up in a boring house wondering if his brothers were okay or not. All Dean could do was try to give the angel bits and pieces of the domestic life without fully distracting him.

Everything changed on a Thursday.

Dean was so exhausted from work that he was having a lot of trouble unlocking his front door. Realizing he was putting in the wrong key, he searched for the right one, only to accidentally jam another key that didn't fit into the lock. He had, of course, forgotten to turn on his porch light that day. He couldn't see which goddamn key was which.

"What the Hell," he mumbled. "I use two out of five keys. What the hell are all these keys for?"

Finally able to get the damn door open, he stomped inside and slammed it shut. All he wanted to do was get out of his work clothes and sleep. As he passed the dining room, he tossed his keys to the table. They landed with a loud 'clink!' and then slid all the way off the edge. He glared at them, deciding he was too tired to even bend down and pick them up.

Dean trudged up to his room. Entering the bedroom, he ripped his shirt off, turned on the light, and then froze.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean swallowed a lump in his throat. He licked his lips. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He pressed his lips together. Castiel was looking at him with that confused expression he always had. Furrowed eyebrows, tilted head, squinted eyes. The familiarity of it all brought a grin to Dean's lips. He walked across the room to where Castiel stood by his mattress and pulled him into a hug.

"It's good to hear your voice, buddy," he said, patting the angel on the back. Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean, which only made his smile grow.

They pulled away, and when their eyes met, Castiel smiled. "I missed you, too," he said.

Dean couldn't breathe for a moment. He was too concentrated on that smile to do anything but stare. It was the first time he ever witnessed Castiel make that expression. It was radiant. Dean wanted to kiss him.

Instead he licked his lips, forcing his eyes back up to meet Castiel's. If he looked at that smile any longer he wasn't sure he could hold himself back.

"What are you doing here?"

Castiel's smile faltered. He was back to the serious, straight to business angel that Dean had always known. "Once my presence was no longer needed," he said, "I was kicked back out. Heaven is more stable now. The war rages on, but my assistance is no longer required."

Dean frowned. "So, what? They just throw you away after they're done with you?"

"Not exactly. I have not yet finished my task on Earth. Had I completed my mission they would have allowed me the option to stay."

Dean clenched his jaw. He had forgotten in all that time why Castiel had really stayed with him. Why he was his first priority. Why Castiel was in front of him. Dean was a job. As soon as he granted Dean his stupid wish, the angel was out of there. They'd never see each other again. Castiel didn't want to see Dean again. He crossed his arms over his chest, nodding and refusing to look directly at the angel.

"They had no right to kick you out, man," he said. But he sounded strained, even to himself.

Castiel frowned. "You are not just a job, Dean."

"Get outta my head, Cas."

Castiel paused. "That's another thing..." he said. Dean looked back at him. "I don't possess the power to read minds anymore."

"What? Then, how-"

"I know you, Dean."

Dean swallowed a lump in his throat. He uncrossed his arms and went over to his closet, suddenly feeling too exposed. "So why can't you stalk people's thoughts anymore?" He grabbed a black T-shirt and slipped it on over his head.

"I am more human than I've ever been before."

Frowning, Dean turned to look at him. Castiel had lowered himself down to sit on the mattress, his eyes downcast.

"Get up, Cas," he said. "We're going out."

Looking up, Castiel gave him a questioning look. "Where are we going?"

"The bar. You look like you need a drink, and God knows I do."

The angel – half angel? Man? – frowned. "I don't see the appeal."

"It'll be fun. Maybe we'll even pick up a couple of chicks or somethin'." Dean grabbed a jacket and slipped it on. Looking back up, he saw that Castiel had his eyes narrowed at him. "Or guys, whatever you're into man."

It seemed impossible, but the ex-angel seemed to glare harder. "I thought we've been over this. I am utterly indifferent to sexual orientation."

"Is that a yes?"

Castiel's expression softened up. He sighed, rising to his feet. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

⛥⛥⛥⛥⛥

Dean tapped his fingers against an empty beer bottle. Beside him, Castiel had been staring at his untouched drink for fifteen minutes.

"You gonna drink any of that?" Dean finally asked.

Castiel glanced to Dean. He moved his gaze to stare back at the bottle, his eyes following a water droplet as it slid down the side of the glass. It collected in a small puddle on the counter top. He said nothing.

With the bar nearly empty, it was way too quiet for Dean's liking. "Alright," he said, turning to look at Castiel. "Did you want to talk about it? You've been moping around like-like some sort of Dementor since we got here. I'm losing what little joy I have left just looking at you."

"I don't understand that reference."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You look depressed, Cas."

"My grace is dwindling. Anyone would feel like this."

"It's something more than that. You said you knew me, Cas? Well guess what. I know you, too."

Castiel looked at him, staring into his eyes as if challenging him. Dean challenged right back. It wasn't long until the ex-angel sighed, turning to his bottle. He brought it to his lips, taking a tentative sip. He scrunched his nose and set it back down.

"I tried getting answers," he finally admitted. "I tried... communicating with God." He took another drink. "I never got a response. I'm thinking perhaps you were right."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "I was right?"

"Maybe God really has died."

Dean stared at him. "Dude," he said. "This is God we're talking about. The ultimate ruler. That immortal douchebag that sits on some high throne and stares down at people. The creator of everything. You think he's dead?"

Castiel looked at Dean. "Maybe he never existed in the first place."

"Cas..." Dean swallowed a lump in his throat. "Are you losing faith?"

Castiel didn't say anything. Instead he started chugging the beer, despite the slight burning sensation in his throat.

"That's insane, man. You're an angel."

"No, Dean." He coughed, setting his mostly finished drink back down. "I'm not. The part of me that's still an angel... I won't have that for long."

Dean looked away. For a long time he just sat there in his own thoughts while Castiel finished his drink. Then, hesitantly, he said; "I don't get it."

"What?"

"Why don't you just kill me and get it over with?"

Castiel watched him. "Dean, you can't mean that."

"I do." He looked at the ex-angel. "Isn't that what rogue angels do? Kill the worthless humans they're in charge of? That'll get you off the hook. It's the easiest way to go."

Squinting, Castiel tilted his head. "You are not worthless, Dean."

Dean looked away. "All I'm saying is if I were you, I'd kill me."

"No you wouldn't."

Stubbornly, Dean didn't move. He just stared at the counter. This conversation was over in his mind. It wasn't worth talking about.

Castiel didn't have the same point of view. He reached out and put a hand on Dean's shoulder. The man tensed under his touch but neither of them pulled away.

"Your soul has been batted around, toyed with, and darkened by experience. With all that you've been through, you're still so pure." He took his hand away to rest it back on the counter. "I trust you, Dean."

Huffing out a humorless laugh, Dean shook his head. "You shouldn't."

Castiel glanced around the room. Satisfied by its emptiness, he produced a very fancy, very shiny knife seemingly out of nowhere. He took his hand, hiding it under the table, and gently closed Dean's fingers around the handle.

Dean stared down at it, recognition flashing before his eyes, then looked back at Castiel. He felt like he was about to cry. "Cas..." his voice broke. "You can't just give this to me."

"I trust you."

They stared at each other, Dean gripping the knife like a lifeline and Castiel looking at him with that soft smile, and through those blue eyes Dean realized all he needed to know. Slowly, carefully, he concealed the knife into the inside pocket of his coat. Then he called the bartender over, and they spent the next two hours sitting together like that.

Dean only figured out that it was a bad idea after having to help Castiel to the car. The ex-angel had abandoned beer after the second bottle and instead took on vodka shots. Dean didn't stop him, figured he'd want to be out of it for the night. Instead he decided to act as the designated driver and only drank water from then on.

It took Castiel a lot of shots to actually get drunk. Apparently angels have an inhuman tolerance to that kind of thing. Castiel had said that if he hadn't been part angel, he'd have less of a tolerance than Dean. Which is damn right, because Dean's been working up his tolerance for years.

Halfway home, Castiel reached over and turned the volume down. "Dean." His voice was a low rumble in the car.

"Yeah?"

"I remember when you were younger." Castiel closed his eyes, letting his head fall backward.

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. "Sorry, come again?"

The ex-angel rolled his head to the side so that he could open his eyes and watch Dean. "I've been watching over you since the day you were born."

Dean looked over at him. "That's a topic I've been trying to avoid, buddy. Kinda weird."

"It's my job," he said, lifting himself out of the slacked position. He turned to look more fully at him. "Not weird... work."

Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He clenched and unclenched his jaw. "Right."

"It's not my job anymore," Castiel told him. "It's more than that. I want to take care of you, Dean." He moved to stare out the window. "I want to be by your side through everything. If there was one thing I could change about the way I've handled being your guardian angel... I'd actually protect you. Instead of abandoning you in your teenage years to follow orders from a God who doesn't even exist."

"I think you've had way too much to drink, Cas."

"I'm serious, Dean."

Staying silent, Dean continued down the road until they pulled up to his house. He parked on the curb and stepped out, walking around to the passenger side door. When he opened it, Castiel was just taking off his seat belt.

"C'mon," Dean said, bending down to help Castiel stand. "Let's get you inside."

"I feel lightheaded," he stated, letting Dean support the majority of his weight. "I think... I think I need sleep." He frowned. "I've never slept before."

"There's a first time for everything." Dean tried getting the door open, but it took a few tries and several curse words to do so. Once they were inside, the door shut and locked, making their way upstairs, Dean said; "You can sleep in my room tonight."

Castiel furrowed his eyebrows. "Where will you sleep?" He shook his head, trying to pull away from Dean and almost falling down the stairs in the process. Dean pulled him back. Giving up, Castiel just rested his head on his shoulder. "This isn't how this is supposed to go, Dean. I'm supposed to take care of you."

"It's okay, Cas."

"It's not okay."

Dean rolled his eyes, nudging his bedroom door open the rest of his way with his foot. Dean sat the ex-angel down at the edge of his bed. Castiel fell onto his back, looking ready to pass out right then and there.

Dean shook his head. "You can't sleep in that." He reached over and slowly helped Castiel sit back up.

"Is there something about my attire that displeases you?"

"Most people change into pajamas or something when they go to sleep. It's more comfortable like that."

"I don't own pajamas, Dean."

"Strip down to your boxers. You'll thank me in the morning."

Castiel stared at him. "Are you suggesting..."

"No! No – Cas – God, no! You'll just sleep better, okay?"

Castiel frowned, but complied and started shedding his layers. His fingers couldn't quite grip the buttons of his dress shirt tight enough. Dean reached over, unbuttoning it for him and pulling it off.

"I'm not touching anywhere near your junk, so take your pants off by yourself," Dean said, crossing his arms.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of," the ex-angel stated, standing up. He stumbled, catching himself on Dean's shoulders. "The human body isn't anything to be ashamed of," he said again. He looked down, unbuttoning his pants and yanking his fly down. He tried to take them off all the way but he still had his shoes on and they were too big for his pant legs to go over. Soon he lost his balance again and fell backwards onto the bed.

Dean rolled his eyes, squatting down to rid him of his shoes and socks. He pulled his pants off, dropping them to the floor with all of his other clothes.

"There," he said, standing up. "You'll be comfortable like that."

Castiel watched him through half lidded eyes. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean smiled. "Anytime, Cas." He grabbed the chair from his desk and pulled it over to the bed. "Move to your side and try not to sleep on your back."

Castiel nodded, switching his position so that he was facing Dean. "Where will you sleep?"

Dean grabbed a blanket from his closet and threw it over Castiel, deciding it would be too much work for the wasted ex-angel to get under the covers himself. He sat down on the chair, leaning against the backrest. "I'm gonna stay here and make sure you don't puke on yourself. It's gross, but it's what humans do."

"Thank you. I trust you will watch over me." He closed his eyes, pulling the blanket closer to him. "You should keep talking," he said. "I find your voice euphonious."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "What do you want me to do, Cas? Read you a bedtime story?"

"If it keeps you talking, yes."

"Just go to sleep."

Castiel smiled. "Good night, Dean."