“Remember when you showed me how to make tea?”

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Colors morph and the flowers sing,
The trees pray and the bees sting.
The sun breathes and the moon cries,
And sooner or later, everyone you love,

Dies.

Castiel doesn’t expect this happen.

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He wakes with a fire burning in his chest, his voice caught in his throat, thrashing on the small cot in Castiel’s cabin. There’s arms around him in an instant, the fire in his chest extinguished, and he presses closer to the body beside him, buries his head under Castiel’s chin. Castiel whispers softly, holds him close, and runs a hand through his hair, trying to comfort him. He can still feel the small remnants of Castiel’s grace, hear the soft hum of it in his being, but it’s dull; it’s dying away.

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The moment that Castiel walks into the house, Dean knows that something’s wrong. He watches through the kitchen doorway as Cas storms by, hears him take the stairs quickly, and then he hears a door slam upstairs not too long after. He immediately moves around the kitchen, digging through cabinets for Cas’ favorite tea, and putting the kettle on the stove. He never makes tea, well, hardly makes tea, because he’s more a coffee drinker. But Cas is upstairs, in a bad mood, so Dean might as well be the nice boyfriend that he is and make him some tea.

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Dean smiles against the skin of Castiel’s ankle, and Castiel squirms in his grasp, attempting to tug away from Dean as he peppers kisses along the inside of his ankle. Castiel laughs softly, and Dean holds him still as Castiel protests above him.

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Your grip was firm,
Strong, your fingers tight
Around my ankle. Fingers
digging into bone.

But I laughed, and you
laughed, we laughed
When you tickled the arch
Of my foot.

I held my hand across my mouth,
Tried to stifle my laughter,
Grinned behind my fingers,
But the laughter only grew louder.

And then you stopped,
Your grip softened,
And your fingers moved,
Replaced by lips.

Your lips were soft
Against the knob of my ankle,
The tender skin
of my ankle.

And you smiled,
And I grinned,
And then you nipped me
And we laughed again.

That week you were sick
You gave up on writing
That paper for your class

The one that was supposed to be
Finished the week before, but
You said, “Fuck it”
And instead, watched your favorite movie.

You stayed in bed for days,
Made me make you breakfast,
Lunch,
And dinner,
But I never complained

Because when you smiled,
Despite feeling ill,
It made my chest flutter,
My heart race

And I swear,
I fell in love all over again.

“Dean! Why did we get a house with such high cabinets?”

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He’s so afraid and so alone
and the weight on his shoulders,
and the pain in his chest
are much too much to bear.

But it’s a burden that he must
attest to, because this is what he chose
when he rebelled against his brothers
to save the family that he never had.

Two brothers, an old drunk,
and a fallen angel who has fallen
farther than he thought possible,
averted the apocalypse,
saved the world.

But his body aches, and his eyes,
they burn and itch
and if this is what he gave up his grace for
he doesn’t want it anymore.

His chest burns like fire
and the bones in his fingers,
they hurt and they crack
and his back, he can’t even
begin to describe the pain.

So instead of thinking,
of focusing on the aches and pains of
his newly human body, he sits,
and he watches the blue jays
outside of his cracked and dirty window.

Because they fly,
and they screech, talk,
and they’re free.

And Castiel,
He is not.

There’s an empty space
a void that can’t be filled
and it burns, like fire,
a never ending fire.

It grows, and grows
and grows
And burns, and burns
and burns.

And I can’t extinguish it
no matter how many times I try
because every time I get close
you’re there, pulling me back
pulling me away from relief.

You tell me,
One of these days,
You’re going to get yourself killed
but if that means
that the fire will stop.

Then please,
Please
That’s all I want.

There’s a window in the guest room at Bobby’s house, and it overlooks the backyard with the large oak tree in it; the same tree that many years ago, Dean and Sam carved their initials into with Dean’s pocket knife. The same tree that Sam had fallen out of when he was seven years old, and had broken his arm; Dean never heard the end of it from John, because Sam was needed, he was useful, but with a broken arm, he was useless. Castiel feels useless, he is useless. He can’t hunt - he’s too weak - he can’t even figure out how to make himself something to eat. He has to rely on everyone to do everything for him, and he hates it.

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“It’s only for one night, Dean, so please, calm down. She’ll be fine.”

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Dean’s favorite shirt is missing. His favorite shirt is missing.

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The rain soaks the earth, the dirt turning into mud, and it sticks and clings to Castiel’s shoes as he walks through it. He has his hood pulled over his head, his coat zipped up to his neck, but the cold still manages to find its way in, chilling him straight down to the bone, and it doesn’t help that the water soaks his shoes, soaking them to the sock. He breathes softly, and it comes out as a small cloud, hovering in front of his face for a moment before disappearing, immediately being replaced by another small cloud. He kicks at a rock, manages to miss, and steps straight into a large puddle, splashing it up and soaking his jeans. He groans, moves onto the sidewalk, and shoves his hands into his pockets.

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