Chapter Text
"Hey Cas?"
"Yes, Dean."
Dean knew it was an inappropriate time to ask this, but he was human and no real sense of timing really. There never really was when it came to having heart to hearts. There was really was no crisis this time, so Dean saw no problem asking Cas for a chick-flick-moment.
"I know you said my soul drew you to me, like some huge flashlight or a juicy burger." he began.
Cas chuckled catching the reference to his newfound fondness of meat.
Dean placed the book Bobby had given him on the table. It wasn't anything new, he was reading mostly to brush up on banshee lore.
"But Cas, I just gotta ask. What else man? I mean c'mon. It seems pretty superficial that my soul of all things drew you in."
Cas regarded the man with crystal blue eyes. Dean knew that Cas could look into his mind with ease, hell he was probably projecting his insecurities now. The sad need of affirmations that constantly pleagues him but he would never really voice. Dean puts this feeling down to being human and having John Winchester for a dad.
"You're love Dean." he spoke.
"Whah?" he asked in response, confusion clear on his face.
Castiel chucked at his puzzling features.
"You may not love all of Gods' creation as I have or even seen them, but you love with the abundance of my Father."
Dean's eyes snapped open to a dimly lit room. He heard the faint humming of the rooms fridge and the buzz of the neon sign just out of the room. The sign had cast a red glow in the space from the sliver of an opening in the blinds. With the light he could see Sam's bed was empty. It didn't alarm him like it would have when he was younger and had to make sure Sam was kept safe. Besides he'd done it himself on multiple occasions, just leaving without a word. Put it down to hunters instinct or being paranoid, but something was in the room with him. He quietly slipped his hand under his pillow and kept his breathing purposefully heavy as he was taught. He took hold the solid worn grip of his gun. That was another thing John Winchester made use to infuse in him, being by words or a physical responce. He slept with a gun under his pillow since he could shoot at the age of seven, and now it was so ingrained in him from all those years that it was the only way he would ever find himself able to sleep. He turned the safety off and was glad he had the gun cocked and ready to fire. No longer feigning sleep, he sat up quickly and aimed the gun into the darkest corner of the room. Before he could fire the shadow spoke.
"We need to talk Dean." the masculine voice spoke.
"Dammit Cas!" Dean shouted immediately recognizing the voice. He quickly pulled his finger from the trigger. He knew the bullets wouldn't harm the man, but there was no point in wasting ammunition. He put the safety back on and placed the gun next to his blanket covered hip.
"We need to talk." he said again and stepped out into red light and sat at the chair by the bed Sam vacated.
Dean turned and turn on the bedside lamp and bathed the room in the soft yellow light.
"I heard you man. What's up?" he asked sighing.
"I thought I told you to stop him Dean!" Castiel demanded.
"What are you talking about?" Dean asked back.
"I told you he was on a slippery slope if he kept this up. I showed you what he was becoming Dean."
Dean was speechless. He knew exactly who Cas was talking about. He hoped to God it wasn't true.
"What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded swinging his legs out of the bed and putting his boots on. Even if Cas hadn't said who it was yet, this also became an engrained habit. He tucked the gun into the back of his pants and rose from the bed.
"Samuel, Dean. I'm talking about Samuel."