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Castiel stepped towards Dean, the heavy raindrops spattering against his dark hair, and flowing in rivulets down his trench coat. He was standing here, on this muddy, godforsaken side road, to help Dean. He was stepping towards Dean to pacify him, to stop him from harming himself. Dean’s eyes gleamed black in the glare of the Impala's headlights.
When Sam had first called Castiel, Cas had felt…stunned. He’d never even entertained the notion that Dean – strong, unbreakable Dean – could ever possibly become possessed. He’d seen him beaten, bloody and wounded; he’d seen him hurt beyond imagination. Yet Dean had always stayed strong, had never succumbed to evil. Until now.
And yet...although Dean looked murderous, insane and impossibly powerful, Castiel thought he looked…vulnerable.
So Castiel took another step, and was surprised when Dean – he couldn’t call him anything else, not while he had that face – mirrored his action with a step of his own.
Cas took another step, and so did Dean.
They took another step forwards.
And another step.
And another.
And another.
Now there was scarcely a hands breadth between them, and Cas’s skin pricked at the feel of Dean’s hot breath on his face.
Castiel looked up into Dean’s ebony eyes, as the man he raised from Perdition. He looked up into that perfect face. The face that he knew and loved.
And that’s when he knew that he could never hurt that body. Not while it had that face stretched over its skull.
So maybe that’s why Castiel didn’t flinch when Dean circled his ice-cold arms around his waist, and pulled him closer.
Maybe that’s why he let his eyes flutter shut as those chapped lips brushed against his own.
Maybe that’s why he didn’t protest as he felt his Angel Blade tugged from his coat pocket.
And maybe that’s why, as the blade met his side, Castiel forgave Dean.