Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Although there is no official name for what he is, Castiel is referred to as the ‘moving on’ god. He is a creation of Pothos; he is a small god, barely a blip on the radar. His role in the universe isn’t to bring fertility, water the crops, or even really give any sort of earthly benefit to the mortals. Instead, he is the mender of hearts; the silent nudge to let Time heal all wounds. When people get their hearts broken they send up a tiny prayer to forget the pain, to move on from the past, and get over their former lover or deceased loved one. That little prayer falls into Castiel’s to-do pile and he listens to every single one.

Now, as you can imagine, many heart breaks happen in one day all over the world. As such, sometimes it takes Castiel a while to answer those prayers. People go weeks, months even, before they can move on from heartbreak. They get stuck in a rut, melancholy of the “what could be’s”, and sometimes those people even run back to their former lover to fall into the trap all over again, impatient for Castiel to answer their prayers.

As long as Castiel has existed to help human heartache, he has always helped. No prayer goes unanswered, given that the human who sent it sticks to their wishes and hopes of moving on. People who return to heartbreak on purpose are beyond his control. But the ones who genuinely wish to mend their wounds and get on with their lives… they are aplenty, and Castiel always has his days filled. Prayers stack up around him, back orders grow, but he gets his work done. Some people have to wait longer than others - and it’s unfortunate - but Castiel is just one god.

In his line of work he’s seen everything. Adultery, infidelity, greed, guilt. All of the negatives of love. Castiel, while he has a vast understanding of the mortal heart and the emotions that come with it, doesn’t understand why humans constantly put their heart in peril. The amount of heartbreak the average human goes through in their short life span… Is it worth it? Castiel feels like he should know the answer to that question, but he doesn’t. Every day, under his microscope at his desk up on his cloud, he uses forceps, a needle, and thread to repair broken hearts and put them back in working order.

With each tear, with each bruise, he wonders what the difference between mortals and gods is.

He knows it’s love.

But he can’t quite comprehend it.

Castiel has finally caught up on two weeks of heartbreak, Valentine’s day sending the mortals into a rather frustrating fray. There’s quite a few heartbreaks in the queue to be tended to and he decides to dive right in, figuring he’s on a roll and shouldn’t get distracted. These people have waited long enough.

The heart he picks up is… interesting. It’s muted pink in color, the bruises fading. There are no tears or rips. In fact, aside from the yellowed bruises on the flesh, this heart is in good condition.

Unbroken. Mended. Moved on.

Frowning a bit, he adjusts his glasses on his nose before sliding the heart under the microscope. He gently prods around the edges with his forceps, his gloved hands giving it an experimental squeeze, then sits back in mild confusion. This heart is fine. Why is it in his queue?

Carefully cradling the heart in his hands, Castiel moves to the edge of his cloud where his telescope stands, white opal and marble glinting in the Heavenly sunlight. Turning the heart over, Castiel reads the name and then peers into the looking glass, setting the coordinates.

Dean Winchester is playing soccer with his friends, free spirited and lively. He does not look sad, defeated or broken. Castiel glances down at the heart again, curious. He then changes the settings on the looking glass, placing the heart inside a small crystal capsule attached to the telescope. He flips a switch; the events of the heart are now on display for him to see, images flitting across Castiel’s vision as he tries to find out why this heart is here in the first place.

He sees images of Dean confessing to a boy at his school. The boy looks utterly repulsed -- the glass blurs, and then there’s an image of Dean’s father punishing him for his attraction to the same sex. Another blur and Dean is sitting on his bed, elbows on his knees, fingers laced and knuckles pressed against his forehead as he sends up the prayer.

Please let my parents understand.

Please don’t let my best friend hate me.

Please…

Castiel pulls away from the looking glass. This doesn’t make sense. This boy is deeply wounded, and yet his heart…

His heart has mended itself.

How?

Instead of returning the heart to the boy, Castiel keeps it inside the capsule attached to his looking glass, knowing he needs to do further studies on it. No one can move on without Castiel’s nudge.

How did this boy?

Watching Dean has become habitual for Castiel, as of late. Aside from mending hearts he has no hobbies, confined to his laboratory, the only god responsible for such a big task. He has thought many times about creating an assistant so that he may get some time off to partake in pleasured pastimes, like the other gods, but every time he gets close to the final step of making an assistant, he changes his mind. These humans rely on him, and to delegate the task to someone else would be the ultimate betrayal. Castiel is the keeper of hearts, and he can’t risk someone not carrying on the task diligently.

The irony of Castiel being the mender of hearts, is that his heart is the most coveted of all.

And Dean -- Dean is an easy break to take. Five minutes of watching him is like a caffeine boost for Castiel, helping him power through the queue. Heartbreaks are healing quicker, his fingers more sure and his eyes more focused. Dean continues to grow and develop; from a high school boy, into a college student, and finally into a career. Castiel holds onto Dean’s heart this whole time, keeping it safe and guarded. Dean, as a result, stays single and unattracted to anyone he comes across, even those expressing explicit interest in him.

The heart that mends itself is an anomaly that Castiel isn’t quite ready to give up.

Ten mortal years pass and Castiel is watching Dean take a lunch break at work. The human is dressed down in jeans, a t-shirt, and flannel, reading a book as he chews on a sandwich. Castiel knows it’s wrong to keep this man’s heart for himself, but all of his tests have come back inconclusive. There is no rhyme or reason as to why this man’s heart healed itself after such a tragic event. Castiel is curious, and whenever he holds Dean’s heart in his hands, his own heart thuds a little harder.

As Castiel watches Dean, he lingers a little longer than five minutes. He’s found that when observing humans, gods shouldn’t dwell too long with their focus. Humans have an innate sixth sense and seem to notice whenever they’re being watched. Castiel has managed to escape detection successfully for thousands of years…

Until today.

Dean’s eyes lift up and, whether the human knows it or not, his gaze locks with Castiel’s.

Castiel’s heart skips a beat, the pink feathers of his fluffy wing rustling curiously.

Dean’s heart, protected in the capsule, thuds against the container wildly.

Castiel pulls away from the looking glass, cheeks hot, fingers trembling. He looks at Dean’s heart, which has since calmed, then decides in that moment that he needs to return the heart to its rightful place.

He can no longer while away observing Dean from day to day.

Releasing Dean’s heart is harder than Castiel thought it would be.

For the last time Castiel finds Dean through the looking glass. Dean’s heart is in a different capsule this time, a soluble one meant to pass through time, space, and the human body. Castiel adjusts the focus on the telescope to zoom in on Dean’s chest, preparing to fire. His finger hovers over the trigger, his wings perfectly still as he concentrates. He watches Dean stand in a floral shop, no doubt doing his weekly shopping for flowers to take to his mother..

This heart does not belong to Castiel. No matter how strange, no matter how it makes Castiel tick… This heart is not his. He needs to return it to its rightful owner.

Licking his lips, Castiel inhales slowly, making sure his aim is true.

Dean laughs lightly at something someone says and Castiel’s heart squeezes - Dean’s heart thumps against the walls of the bullet capsule - and when Castiel exhales, he pulls the trigger.

Light returns to Dean’s eyes, while the light fades from Castiel’s.

“Hey, hey-! Are you ok? Can you hear me?”

Castiel’s eyes blink open, blurry. The sun is bright and hot on his face, warmer than he’s ever felt it, and when he shifts, he realizes that he’s sprawled out on something that isn’t his fluffy, white cloud up in the sky.

It’s concrete.

Sitting up, Castiel groans. He’s never felt physical pain before, but he has what he can quickly decipher as a splitting headache and a sore bum. Reaching up to touch his temple, he then sits with his legs folded, a frown on his face. A woman shrieks and it makes his headache worse, a little groan leaving his lips.

Something falls over his lap, and when he opens his eyes to look down, he sees a flannel shirt draped over his legs and hips. Funny, this flannel looks a lot like…

“Hey man, can you hear me?”

That voice. Castiel has heard it before. His gaze lifts from his lap to the person crouching next to him, feeling his heart slam up into his throat.

“Dean?” Castiel croaks.

Dean looks absolutely shocked that Castiel knows his name, and Castiel could slap himself. How did he end up in the mortal realm? A glance down at himself again informs him that he’s totally nude, save for Dean’s flannel artfully draped over him. Blushing hotly, Castiel is acutely aware of all of the stares from the people crowded around him.

Instead of asking how Castiel knows who he is, Dean instead starts asking the crowd if anyone has anything they can give up to help cover Castiel’s modesty. Another jacket is given up, one that gets draped over Castiel’s shoulders, and when Dean helps the god to stand, his hands work to tie his blazer around Castiel’s hips a bit sideways, so that his front and backside are covered with only one of his thighs peeking through.

Castiel feels ridiculous and... wobbly on his feet. Gravity. Weight. That’s a thing, down here on Earth. It’s been too long since Castiel has walked among mortals.

“What’s your name?” Dean asks, an arm around Castiel’s shoulders to help keep him steady, his gaze concerned.

“… Castiel,” Castiel replies, looking up at the human he’s spent the last ten years observing.

“Do you know where you live?” Dean presses.

Shaking his head, Castiel stays quiet. ‘On Cloud 10’ would probably get him admitted to a psychiatric hospital. Dean, with his unique, unbreakable heart, kindly informs Castiel that he’ll be taking the god home with him, until the other can get himself sorted, or perhaps remember a phone number to call. He kindly reassures strangers that Castiel will be ok, all while leveraging the god up by putting one arm across his taller shoulders, holding his wrist and his waist as they move along.

Internally, Castiel panics.

Externally, he keeps his eyes on the sidewalk as Dean takes him to where Castiel knows his apartment is. Two blocks away from the florist, three blocks away from work. Castiel knows relative terms and generic information about the mortals and what they do and how they do it, but since his main focus is more… microscopic, he still knows he’ll suffer a sort of ‘culture shock’, as Balthazar once firmly called it. So for now he keeps his eyes on the ground to avoid getting overstimulated.

They enter Dean’s apartment complex and get in the moving box that Castiel had to ask around about before learning that it’s called an ‘elevator’. He’ll forever be amazed by humankind’s propensity to name things after their function. The digital display on the left side of the box stops on ‘six’, the doors slide open, then Dean leads them down the hallway to a door that has a brass stamp of ‘607’ on it.

Dean keeps Castiel’s arm over his shoulders but removes the other from his waist to feel around in his pocket for his keys. Once the door is unlocked he and Castiel move into the quaint, homey space. He wastes no time in guiding the god to the couch, where he sits him down and then straightens, putting his hands on his hips and exhaling extensively.

“Do you hurt anywhere?” Dean asks.

“Everywhere,” Castiel replies automatically. When he looks down at his vessel he sees a few scrapes and blossoming bruises, letting out a little sigh. “Though I suppose it is natural that I will heal within a few days.”

“You really came outta nowhere,” Dean says, folding his arms over his chest and giving the god a curious, but scrutinizing look. “D’you make it a habit of falling out of the sky buckass naked?”

Castiel bristles. If his wings weren’t stuck in the ether his feathers would ruffle. “No. This is my first time…” he lifts both hands to quote with his fingers, “‘falling out of the sky’. It wasn’t meant to happen.” He frowns, looking down at his knees. “This is the first time, and I’m unsure as to how I can return.”

Dean’s quiet for a moment, then gives an exaggerated nod. “Right. So uh… Cas. There someone you can call to get you?”

Suddenly Castiel realizes how weird he’s talking- at least, to a mortal that has no idea that he even exists. He thinks about how he can speak, what he can say, and unfortunately comes up blank. Dean will think him weird, but he knows Dean- knows he’s good at heart and… well, Castiel fingers the flannel wrapped around his waist. Dean would give anyone the shirt off his back. If he tells him he’s a god, it might shake him up a bit, but Castiel has a feeling that’d be the worst of it.

“I have a brother,” Castiel says at length. He has no idea how to call a god from the mortal realm without jumping through all of the ritualistic hoops. Society has grown and advanced so much, not to mention he’s in America; he’s unlikely to find a Greek temple in the neighborhood. Balthazar would probably laugh his ass off if Castiel called him for help, and he’s probably not strong enough to bring him back up into the clouds, anyway. It’ll have to be Gabriel.

“Right,” Dean replies, also at length. After an awkward silence of Castiel fingering the flannel and resolutely not looking at Dean, the mortal sighs. “I’m gonna get you some clothes.”

Alone in the living room, Castiel tries sending up a prayer. If anyone is listening… I’ve fallen off my cloud and have transformed into a mortal vessel. Gabriel… Please hear my prayer. Save me from this situation before things get out of hand.

“Alright,” Dean’s voice enters the living room before he does. He’s holding a few different items in his hands, holding them out towards Castiel. “Not sure if these’ll fit. You’re, uh,” his gaze darts over Castiel’s chest where the blazer he’d been given is open, exposing his torso and his… well, Greek god body. “Anyway. Bathroom’s over there.”

Castiel stands, accepting the clothes and frowning at them. “I would much prefer to make my own clothes.”

“Look buddy, you weren’t even wearing clothes when you fell from wherever. Not sure I trust your uh… ability to make your own clothes.”

Turning up his nose, Castiel sniffs and makes his way to the bathroom. He shuts the door, knowing that bathrooms are meant for privacy, then carefully unwinds the clothing he’d been given by both Dean and strangers. Dean has given him regular mortal clothes; soft, stretchy pants with a drawstring, socks, and a t-shirt. Glaring at the items, Castiel begrudgingly gets dressed. The clothes sit weird on his body, though he’s never worn clothing like this, so he has no reference as to how they’re supposed to fit on his body. He eyes the flannel on the counter, picking it up and donning it properly, the sleeves a little long, the shoulders a little tight, but Dean’s scent saturated in the fabric. He stares at the toilet, knowing its function but unsure about using it, then turns to leave.

Exiting the bathroom, he doesn’t see Dean right away. His nose picks up a scent so he follows it into the kitchen, seeing Dean over a device emanating heat. As he walks into the kitchen his socks slip over the floor, causing him to scowl; he stops, bends to take off the socks, then sets them on the counter.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asks, because that’s a better question than ‘where does the heat come from if there’s no fire?’.

“Oh,” Dean turns and glances over his shoulder with a small smile. “You didn’t say if you were hungry so I’m just makin’ lunch. Grilled cheese sandwiches.”

Castiel shuffles closer, much rather preferring his bare feet on the tile. He hovers close to Dean’s shoulder, peering around his arm to stare at the bread and cheese sandwich in the pan. It smells delicious- eating is something he is familiar with. He’s no glutton, but he does enjoy the fruits that he and the other gods tend to eat and snack on.

Dean stiffens slightly, turning his head towards Castiel. “Uh… hey, bud. Per...sonal space?”

Castiel turns to look at Dean, their noses almost brushing. “Oh.” Pulling away, Castiel still stays close, watching Dean diligently. He’s never had warm food before. He’s put cheese on bread, sure, but he’s never thought to heat it up. He can see the cheese melting and bubbling, can see the bread browning. “Is this difficult to make?”

Flipping the sandwiches over, Dean sends Castiel another curious, scrutinizing look. “No. You never made grilled cheese?”

“I don’t cook,” Castiel says, taking a bigger step back so he can lean against the opposite counter next to where he set his socks down.

“Ah, the bachelor life of takeout and leftovers,” Dean says sagely with a knowing nod.

Castiel tilts his head. “I suppose I could be considered a ‘bachelor’, but what is ‘takeout’?”

Now Dean turns bodily to stare at Castiel. “Are you seri-” his eyes drop to the counter where the socks are, his nose wrinkling. “Aw, c’mon man! Don’t put your socks on the counter.”

Castile wrinkles his nose. “I do not like ‘socks’.”

Sighing, Dean reaches over to grab the socks, balling them up and throwing them out towards the living room. “Jesus, man, where did you come from?”

“The sky,” Castiel deadpans.

Dean rolls his eyes and turns back to the sandwiches. “Get in the cupboards and find some plates, wouldja? Put ‘em on the table.”

Castiel can feel the mortal’s eyes on him as he leisurely peruses the cupboards. For one man, Dean sure does have a lot of dishes and serving items. Though if Castiel really thinks about it, he knows that Dean enjoys hosting his friends and feeding them. As he finds two plates and puts them on the table, Castiel wonders if that’s why Dean is cooking for him; he’s been put in an awkward situation and has reverted to doing something that he both knows and brings him comfort.

Taking a seat at the four-person table, Castiel laces his fingers on the surface and waits patiently. Dean serves the sandwiches directly from the pan before putting it in the sink, running cold water over it. He grabs two dark bottles from the fridge, sets one in front of Castiel, then sits on the other side of the table.

Chewing his lip, Castiel reads the label of the bottle. Beer? He picks up the bottle, reading more. Made from hops and… He carefully pops the top off for a sniff. Yeast?

From across the table, Dean is staring at Castiel wide-eyed. Bristling at the look, Castiel sets the bottle down.

“What.”

“You-” Dean’s left hand has an item in it. He waves it around uselessly for a moment, then laughs at himself and shakes his head, using the tool to pop the top off of his bottle. “Fell from the sky, has super strength, and seems to be generally concerned about existence in general. You an alien?” he asks, taking a swig of his beer.

Castiel puffs his chest out, straightening in his chair. “They often request entry to this world, but they are denied every time. Like toddlers with a magnifying glass, all they want to do is burn the ants. I assure you, I am not an alien. I have respect for the mortals.”

Carefully, Dean sets his beer down on the table, his mouth slightly open. “You’re… serious.”

Blinking coolly, Castiel picks up his sandwich with both hands, examining it on all ends. At this point it would cut a lot of tension for him to admit who he is to Dean but… sneaking a glance at the mortal, Castiel is unsure about telling Dean that he’s held onto his heart for so long. Would Dean be mad? Would he be understanding? A partial truth couldn’t hurt, right? After all… Castiel had shot Dean’s heart back into him directly, so it’s not like he still has it. He returned it.

Maybe a few decades later than he should have.

“I am,” Castiel finally says, taking a bite of the sandwich. He immediately groans, flavor and texture bursting over his tongue in a manner that has his eyes drifting shut. He chews, swallows, then immediately takes another bite. Opening his eyes, he gestures to the sandwich, the food in his mouth still only half-chewed as he says, “This is delicious.”

Dean very warily picks up his sandwich. “...Thanks.” He takes a bite, chews, swallows, then: “So… what are you?”

“Mmm,” Castiel takes a napkin from the little metal holder in the middle of the table, wiping crumbs from his mouth as he sets his sandwich down. “You’ve heard of Eros?”

Dean’s eyes widen. “You’re Cupid?”

He’s impressed by Dean’s conclusion, even if it is a little off. “I come from Greek mythology, so I am actually talking about Eros, though Cupid has been grossly popularized over the past few centuries.” He picks up his sandwich for another bite. “Cupid is…” he thinks about all the naked hugs he’s gotten over the past millennia, giving a soft shudder. “I do my best to avoid him. In any case, my brother is technically Eros, and much more tolerable.”

Dean squints. “Didn’t know Eros had a brother.”

“It’s rather complicated,” Castiel says with a shoulder shrug. “I won’t bore you with the family tree. Technically my creator, Pothos, is Eros’ brother. Ergo the vast generalization would lead me to simply tell you that Eros is my brother and leave it at that.”

“You were created,” Dean repeats.

“Yes,” Castiel says. He takes a sip of his beer, wrinkles his nose, then sets the bottle down and pushes it slightly away from himself. “Do you have wine?”

Dean puts his elbows on the table, massaging his temples. “You’re a god.”

“More or less. Another easy generality to make without causing complications.” Castiel finishes off his sandwich, wiping his hands clean with his napkin. “Wine?”

“No wine,” Dean says, suddenly sounding tired.

“No matter,” Castiel says, picking up his beer bottle. He waves his hand over the top, infuses a little magic in his fingertips, then turns the hoppy beverage into a rich, red wine. He brings it in for a sniff, then hums in satisfaction as he takes a drink.

Dean blinks a few times, then stands. “I’m all god-ed out for the day. You know what Netflix is?”

Castiel shakes his head.

“Then allow me to wow you,” Dean says, moving away from the kitchen.

Castiel stares at the dishes on the table, wondering if Dean intends to clean them up, then decides it’s not his business as he picks up his wine and follows Dean back to the living room. Dean is standing between the coffee table and the couch, a small handheld device in his hand that he points at the… “Oh! A television.” Castiel says as he sits down on the couch. “I’ve heard of these.”

“Great,” Dean mumbles. The screen changes a few times before Dean hands Castiel the remote, pointing at a few buttons. “Use these arrows to scroll through the shows and movies. If you hover over one, it’ll play the trailer or give you a description. Hit the button in the center to select it.”

The god stares at the remote with wonder, then looks back up at Dean. “You wish me to choose something?”

“Go for it,” Dean says as he turns around, heading back to the kitchen.

“What if I choose something you do not like?”

“Nothing will be worse than a god turning my beer into wine,” Dean calls back.

Squinting at Dean’s back for a second, Castiel settles back into the couch, facing the television. He studies the remote for a few moments before deciding to play it safe by only hitting the buttons Dean told him about. Scrolling through Netflix is… very interesting. Castiel is very aware of the human’s adaptations of tales-to-television, the next natural step from books, but being able to actually see it is… incredible. He watches a few trailers, judging the plot and story very conservatively through the minute-long snippets, before finally settling on a movie called ‘Big Hero 6’.

Ten minutes later Dean joins him on the couch, seating himself about a foot away from the god, placing his socked feet on the coffee table. Castiel scowls at the offensive footwear, bristling when Dean laughs a little.

“Don’t knock the socks, man,” he pulls up the hem of his pant leg to show off the pattern. Argyle, Castiel believes it’s called. “Sometimes wood floors get too cold.”

For some reason seeing Dean’s socks pings information in Castiel’s head. He looks towards the human, “Weren’t you on your way to see your mother?”

Dean’s expression immediately shutters. Castiel hadn’t noticed until this very moment, but Dean’s eyes are… well. He could write poems about his eyes, their verdant color and shimmering depths. Absolutely gorgeous up close, whereas through his opal and marble telescope the distance had muted them slightly. Though right now they’re darkened with suspicion, shadowed by his brows pulled together.

“How do you know that?”

Fumbling internally to think of something, Castiel is rather proud when he replies, “I am a god, Dean.”

Apparently that’s a good enough answer. Dean relaxes minutely, but eventually nods, pulling another device out of his pocket. “I’ll call her and tell her something came up.”

Castiel leans towards him, “That is a phone?”, staring at the rectangular piece of plastic in Dean’s palm.

“Buddy,” Dean’s other hand comes up to push gently on Castiel’s chest, “personal space.”

Castiel barely budges. “It’s so small. How does it work? There are no buttons. What about the speaker? The receiver? Is it true you can access data on it? Gabriel told me that they can take photographs-”

“Woah, woah,” Dean manages to laugh a little. “One thing at a time, man. First: Netflix. Later: Phone. Hey-” the phone lights up all over. “Speaking of phones… how can you connect with uh… your brother? To let him know you’re down here. Can't imagine gods have an operator.”

“Ah,” Castiel finally returns to his seat, frowning as he stares at the television screen. “I sent up a prayer, but no one has answered it. Or Balthazar is purposely ignoring me for a laugh.”

Dean is quiet for a few moments, but unmoving. Castiel’s head tilts towards him, a bit surprised to see Dean’s gaze intensely focused on him.

“...Yes?”

“I just-” Dean laughs a little bit sheepishly, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “S’really weird. I feel… I kinda feel like I know you, I guess? Like the instant we met I felt this… connection.”

Oh, no.

Good job, Castiel. You held onto a man’s heart for so long you imprinted on it.

“Is it ‘cause you’re a god or whatever? So that I’m not scared of you?”

“You have nothing to be scared of,” comes Castiel’s automatic reply, and that’s what he leaves it at.

Dean seems happy to accept it, as well. He presses something on his phone then brings it up to his ear, Castiel’s sensitive hearing able to hear the other line ringing before a melodious voice answers.

“Hey ma. No- actually I was on my way over when I met someone.” A blush heats Dean’s cheeks, his voice dropping to a hushed register. “No- not like that, ma, you know I’m not- yeah. I mean I just met someone. Like a person. And I helped them out a bit- I’m talking in gender neutral terms ‘cause you’ll make a big deal out of it! Then you’ll call Sam and Sam’ll call me and when I ignore him he’ll come over and barge in.”

Dean suddenly stands, speed-walking into the kitchen where he probably thinks Castiel can’t hear him. “Ma, I know you’ve got good intentions, ok? But I’m on the asexual spectrum which means- yep, which means finding a romantic partner ain’t a priority for me. No, I do not have any ‘special friends’.” The pitch of his voice raises slightly. “I’m really happy you’re supportive ma but I don’t need ‘The Talk’! I’m thirty years old and ace, not a thirty year old with no game- Well I’m gonna keep tellin’ you what it all means if you keep askin’-” he quiets down, the voice on the other end of the line sounding a lot louder and a lot more stern. “Yes, ma. I’m sorry, ma. Look, I just won’t be able to make it today, ok? My new friend is uh… having a hard time adjusting to something new that happened in their life. No, I’m-” he lets out a long, slow sigh. “Yes, they’re good looking. No, I will not set them up with Sam. I’ll see you next week ma, ok? Yeah. Love you, too. Bye.”

When Dean returns to the living room, Castiel pretends not to have heard that entire conversation, but the fact of the matter is… he feels guilty.

He’s coveted this man’s heart for so long he’s resigned himself to the fact that he may not find romantic love. He’s coveted this man’s heart for so long, the heart that can mend and repair itself, he hadn’t realized what damage he’d been causing. Dean’s heart is beautiful and unlike anything Castiel has seen in thousands of years, and because Castiel had been greedy, Dean won’t be able to share it with anyone.

Although it sounds like Dean has come to peace with his asexuality, Castiel still feels guilty for the fact that since Dean had confessed to a boy when he was a teen… he just simply hasn’t had a choice to love someone because he hasn’t had his heart.

Castiel has had it this whole time. Whether or not Dean may have actually found someone to share his life with… he wouldn’t know. That person may have passed him by. Were Dean to be in possession of his heart, he’d at least have the free will to find his soulmate, if that is something he would be interested in.

Honestly the god is surprised that the Moirai haven’t interfered.

Or the god of love himself.

The more time Castiel spends in the mortal realm the more he realizes he has probably put himself in quite a predicament.

Can’t wait to report this to Gabriel, Castiel muses sardonically.

“So uh,” Dean’s sitting a bit straight on the couch, observing Castiel quietly. “I get that you can’t go back to cloud nine or whatever-”

“Ten.”

Dean blinks. “Huh?”

“Cloud ten,” Castiel says. “I am the step after love.”

Dean squints. “Which is…”

“Heartbreak, and the means to get over it,” the god replies, doing his best not to fidget.

“Huh.” Dean thinks about it for a moment, then shrugs and nods. “That makes stupidly good sense. Anyway, since you can’t get back up to your cloud right away, you can… stay here. With me.”

“I assure you I would be able to find accommodations-”

“No,” Dean says resolutely. “I got you out of that awkward crowd, I brought you home, and I know the truth about you. Probably safer for everyone if it stays between us, right?”

Sending Dean a curious glance, Castiel nods slowly. “You are… correct.”

“Alright.” The human settles back into the couch, getting comfortable. “Now: behold the wonders of Baymax and stop staring at me. It’s creepy.”

Rolling his eyes, Castiel settles into the couch as well to watch the movie play.

He has returned the mortal’s heart to his body. It only makes sense if he sticks around to make sure everything is in working order… right?

Over the next few weeks Castiel integrates rather seamlessly into mortal life and society. While Dean is gone at work Castiel wanders around the neighborhood getting to know the shops and the locals. He has no human currency so he uses a little mojo to sort of… barter things away from the mortals. Nothing too crazy. Once, a bouquet of flowers; once, an arrangement of fresh fruit; once, some vegetable starters and a small planter so Dean can grow fresh produce on the windowsill in his kitchen that is bathed in sunlight all day. All in all the mortals seem taken with Castiel, and he them, every night a wonder in his head as to why he’s waited so long to come back to earth.

He doesn’t sleep, so he spends his time stargazing from Dean’s balcony, wrapped up in one of the soft, worn blankets from the couch. He prays, but he doesn't put all of his heart in it. He’s gaining a blessed appreciation of how the heavens look from this side of the clouds and how utterly… quiet it is. No wonder humans stopped actively worshiping the gods. How could they put faith in something that seemed so vast? So far away? So… deaf?

When Dean is home and awake, they fall into a symbiosis. Dean teaches Castiel about the few things that still confuse him ("Why do you need 'hair gel'?" and Dean's least favorite repetitive complaint "Why must I wear socks with shoes?"), and Castiel in turn answers questions Dean has about the cloud dwellers.

It’s simple. It’s easy.

He thinks he understands what Dean meant when he said it felt like they already knew each other.

“Dean,” Castiel pokes his head out of the bathroom door, dripping went and letting a cloud of steam out.

“What?” Dean calls from his bedroom.

Castiel holds out a towel, “This feels like straw. Do you use…” he struggles to remember the item for a second, before shaking the towel. “Fabric softener?”

He can hear Dean’s eye roll. The human comes out of his bedroom, slapping a hand over his eyes and recoiling as he gets full view of Castiel’s wet, naked body. He flushes from head to toe, spluttering a few times. “Jesus Joseph and Mary, Cas!”

"That's very blasphemous to me. Dean." Castiel scowls. “I will be getting fabric softener in the morning. All your linens are like parchment.”

“Jeez, ok! Wrap up!”

“Why is it called ‘fast food’ when it doesn’t immediately appear after ordering?” Castiel asks, sitting across from Dean in the human’s favorite diner.

Dean shrugs, “Dunno, ‘cause it’s faster than makin’ it yourself?”

“I’ve seen you cook,” Castiel says primly. “I am sure if you had all the ingredients you would be able to cook it just as quickly.”

“The appeal,” Dean says with a huff, “is that you don’t gotta cook it yourself.”

“Your food is delicious. Will this food be as good? I can smell the grease from here. I don’t know if I have arteries to clog-”

“Shaddup,” Dean shoots a foot out to kick against Castiel’s, though there’s a small grin on his features. The setting sun shines through the blinds covering the window next to their booth, tiger striping his freckles. “Give it a shot.”

The god gives a dramatic shrug. Dean leaves his foot against his.

When the food comes, he appreciates it, but he thinks Dean’s wholesome reaction to the food and their minimal physical contact is much tastier.

Dean joins Castiel out on the deck, bundled up with the comforter from his bed. He takes the seat next to Castiel, tipping his head back to look at the stars.

“D’you got a constellation?”

Castiel shakes his head, not taking his eyes off the wispy clouds floating by. “No human knows I exist. Pothos created many beings to split up his workload. Some say it was a display of power. I know it was because he was lazy.” If Balthazar could get away with never doing anything ever again, he’d go happily.

“Sucks,” Dean says. “Your job is kinda cool, though. Not like-” he backs up a little with a sheepish chuckle. “Not that it’s cool that people’s hearts gotta be mended but… you’ve got a big part in healing people. I mean, I’m sure there’s folks who can get on all on their own, but for those who can’t… you’re a good guy to have on our side.”

A little flash of guilt slices through Castiel. He stays quiet, observing a shooting star.

“You really met Cupid?”

“Mmm.”

“What’s he like?”

“Naked. And…” Castiel wrinkles his nose. “Huggy.”

Dean barks out a laugh, a sound unmatched even by the prettiest harps in the clouds.

"Jesus, Cas!" Dean hisses under his breath. They're in the park, ice cream bowls in hand, walking away from the little shoppe.

"What?" Castiel asks, affronted that Dean is so offended. "Her boyfriend was texting his," he adjusts his hands so he can quote, "'side piece' right in front of her." He readjusts his hands so he can hold his paper bowl properly. "I can See these things, Dean."

"Yeah but you don't just-" Dean presses the fingers of his free hand to his brow, massaging. "You don't just tell people those things."

"Why not?" The god asks, genuinely confused. "Is it not best for her to learn this so she can leave him and move on?" He takes a bite of his ice cream. The edible spoon is sweeter than the treat he ordered.

"She dumped him right there!" Dean exclaims, his voice a little shrill.

Castiel rolls his eyes. "And good for her." He takes another bite. "I enjoyed watching her put her ice cream down his pants and say she hopes his penis develops frostbite."

Letting out a delirious chuckle, Dean doesn't say anything for a few moments as he takes some bites of his own treat. Then, he says, "You're kind of an ass, Cas."

"I've been told," he replies dryly.

"How's a guy like you in charge of the delicate task of mending people's hearts?"

"It has nothing to do with my personality," Castiel says, licking his cookie spoon clean and shrugging. "It's all very fascinating. I consider myself more of a scientist than an empath."

Dean snorts. "Suddenly I'm not so sure about my heart bein' in your hands."

Castiel puffs his chest, "Your heart would be safer nowhere else."

The human laughs, tucking into his snack once more. With the attention off of Castiel the god looks away, that odd sensation of guilt creeping up within him. The longer he stays with Dean, it seems, the more human emotions he starts to feel.

Guilt and anxiety, specifically.

What will Dean think when Castiel tells him his heart has been safely in his hands all this time…?

"One… One more time."

"Epidiorthotís."

Dean stares at Castiel, then shakes his head and settles back in his chair. They're sitting outside a cafe-slash-bookstore, Castiel having begged Dean for a stop inside. He's gotten quite attached to tea and "trashy romance novels" as Dean calls them.

"Most call me Dior," Castiel says. He picks up his delicate teacup, careful of his large hands as he takes a sip.

"That's nice n' bourgeois."

Castiel furrows his brow. "Boo-jee?"

Dean chuckles. "Expensive, man. There's a designer brand here on earth called Dior. Purses, clothes, perfume."

Castiel squints. "These things are expensive? How expensive do material items need to be?"

"Trust me buddy, you don't wanna know," Dean chuckles, picking up his coffee for a drink. "So then: why the angel names?"

The god sends Dean a curious look. "You know they are angel names?"

"Mom used to take us to church a lot before dad died," Dean shrugs, then leans in. "Seriously though. Gabriel? Balthazar? Anael? Castiel?"

"Zeus thought it'd be funny," Castiel says with an eye roll. "He cas himself Chuck, though, and breaks the "angel" thing. All of our ancient names got 'boring'. When God became trendy - I will tell you now, there is no God and Jesus was actually Dolos - Zeus thought it would be good for the gods to have a refresher. "Shake things up a bit" I recall him saying. We were all to choose our names from the Holy book and all the scripture surrounding it. I, personally, like my name." Castiel takes another sip of tea, then licks his lips. "Though the name Castiel didn't appear often and… it was simple. Pretty."

Dean smiles softly, shrugging as his feet move under the table to tangle with Castiel's. "It is pretty."

Never having experienced a blush before, Castiel is a little confused when his cheeks heat up and his eyes automatically dart towards his cup. Dean just chuckles under his breath, relaxing in his seat to people watch as Castiel opens up his new book.

Oh, but isn't this nice.

During a movie, Dean sits closer than usual. Castiel pays no mind. Dean’s fingers twitch, his arm moves, and then…

Oh.

Dean shyly reaches for Castiel’s hand, their fingers automatically lacing. Castiel looks down at where they’re joined, his tan hand against Dean’s freckled one, and while there are some warning bells going off in his head, he feels… good? Calm? All his anxieties about not being able to be up on his cloud mending hearts, his paranoia about having kept Dean’s heart all this time… they just sort of disappear.

Not sensing rejection, Dean shifts closer, their shoulders pressing together. Castiel feels his cheeks and body heat pleasantly. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dean’s lips curl up into a satisfied, small smile.

Castiel’s heart, the most coveted at all… thumps in time with Dean’s.

Three weeks after Castiel fell, he and Dean are watching The Lion King while eating yogurt bowls with fruit and oats. A few days ago Castiel fashioned one of Dean's old white bed sheets into a toga, a little mojo embroidering the edges metallic blue and green, the whole thing held together with a rope spun from pure gold. It leaves his shoulders and the left side of his chest exposed, hemmed to stop just above his knees. He likes it, but Dean frequently complains about his nipple- though his complaints are usually overshadowed by his fond grin.

A knock sounds on the door; Castiel perks, and Dean groans.

"I know you're in there Dean," comes a male voice Castiel recognizes as Sam from the phone.

"Open up sweetie," Mary cajoles. "I brought pie!"

Dean grumbles as he stands, setting his bowl on the table. He's wearing boxers and a t-shirt, which Castiel has learned is comfort wear for home, but has also learned is inappropriate for guests. So when Dean moves to the door in a huff to answer it, Castiel knows he's annoyed enough to not care about the silly mortal rules he’s been trying to teach the god all this time.

"You guys ever heard of callin' before barging in?"

"Then it wouldn't be barging in," comes Sam's smart reply.

There's a bit of commotion in the entryway before someone comes into the living room. Castiel stands up to greet Dean's brother, unaffected by the wide-eyed look Sam gives him (and his outfit). Mary comes in next, colliding with Sam's back, peering around his shoulders and gasping.

"Oh! Dean, honey, is this your friend?"

Castiel can see the panic on Dean's face as he realizes what's happening.

"He’s- uh-"

Stepping forward, Castiel holds out his hand towards Mary. "Hello, Mrs. Winchester. I'm afraid I'm the reason Dean has missed your dates recently."

She blushes, smiling and taking Castiel's hand. She talks out of the corner of her mouth to Dean, "Don't know why you would want to keep this a secret." She turns her attention back to the god with a brighter smile. "Have you been here all this time?"

Castiel lets go of her hand, offering a polite smile. "I recently… fell on hard times."

Dean snorts, covering it up with a cough.

"He is helping me get back on my feet."

"Oh, Dean," Mary turns towards her son with bright eyes. "Always taking care of others, my baby."

"How about that pie huh?" Dean asks, wrapping his arm around his mother's shoulders and guiding her towards the kitchen. “Let’s heat it up. Pecan, right?”

Left alone with Sam, Castiel turns his gaze towards the younger brother who is leveling him with a fairly scrutinizing expression. He looks both similar and dissimilar to Dean; Dean is shorter in stature but broader and thicker in places, whereas Sam is very tall and lean, his hair long enough to brush his brow.

Their eyes, though. Not exactly the same in color, but definitely twins in intensity.

Sam's don't make Castiel's spine shiver like Dean's do.

"So. Castiel. Are you and my brother dating?"

Unfazed, Castiel shakes his head. "As far as your customs go, no, we are not dating."

Sam squints. "Our customs?"

Dean swoops in, putting an arm over Castiel's shoulders and laughing nervously. "He's from out of town. Uh. From Greece!"

Castiel bites back a sigh. Dean is a terrible liar and Sam doesn't seem convinced; Mary, however, comes back into the fray with a noise of delight.

"Greece! With a tan like that I should have known you were born with it,” she says pleasantly. She’s a beautiful woman with fair hair and skin, the light in her eyes just like her two sons’. “How has my boy been treating you? He loves playing host but he does get cranky when he feels like he can’t get alone time.”

Dean’s still holding onto Castiel, his free hand coming up to cover his eyes as his skin heats with embarrassment.

“Where in Greece are you from? And how long have you been stateside?” Mary continues, still smiling brightly. She sits down on the couch, patting the space next to her; Dean finally lets go of Castiel and sinks into the spot, Castiel sitting on the other side of him. Sam takes the recliner, still looking at Castiel with a bit of suspicion.

“Technically Thespiae,” Castiel says after a moment’s thought. “Though I do not know what it is called now.” He flicks his gaze to Dean, then says, “I have been here for… a few weeks.”

Mary looks fascinated. “You have no accent! Did you learn English at a really young age?”

“Yeah,” Sam finally pipes up, eyes narrowed. “Kinda weird you don’t have even a little accent. How come you don’t have one?”

Castiel sends him a steady look, “Because I don’t.”

Stalemate. The tension building between him and Sam grows thicker and thicker until Dean reaches out to gently pat Castiel’s exposed knee, offering up what can pass as a warm chuckle. “Well-”

“You say ‘technically Thespiae’,” Sam starts again, “but you do realize that’s a dead ancient city, right? Are you from rural Greece? Or did you grow up in Thebes? To speak English that well you probably come from a modern city.”

Now Castiel’s eyes narrow, his body tensing. “I come from the Boeotia region, although I am quite unsure as to why an American who has never left the country feels the need to interrogate me about my roots.”

“Maybe because some strange dude claiming to be from overseas has been crashing on my brother’s couch for three weeks and we know nothing about him-”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Dean suddenly barks, glaring at his brother. “Quit it with the third degree! Cas ain’t hurtin’ nothin’ and it ain’t like he don’t earn his keep. He’s a weird dude but I like havin’ him around so knock it off.”

“Sammy, honey,” Mary says, “Castiel is Dean’s special friend, so we should get to know him instead of being defensive, hmm?”

Dean groans, flopping against the back of the couch. “He’s not my special friend, ma.”

Mary’s eyes drop to where Dean’s palm is still resting over the curve of Castiel’s knee. “Oh?”

Glancing down, Dean glowers and snatches his hand away. Castiel rolls his eyes. Sam sniffs.

“Who wants pie?” Mary says, standing up. “Castiel, dear, come help?”

Standing up, Castiel is grateful for the reprieve. Humans might be a general mystery to him, but he recognizes Sam’s posturing and defensiveness for his brother. He’s not in the wrong. But he’s also interrogating a god, which automatically has Castiel miffed, even though Sam has no idea. In the kitchen Mary is busy pulling the now warm pie out of the oven, setting it on a pot holder on the counter and sending Castiel a rueful smile.

“Please excuse my idiot boys.” She pulls a knife out of a drawer, sighing lightly. “Dean just… doesn’t really open himself up to people like this, especially strangers, so Sammy’s just a little… suspicious, I suppose. Whether or not you and Dean have a romantic relationship, I’m sure Sam is just concerned for his brother.”

“I understand,” Castiel says honestly. He opens the cupboard that holds the small dessert plates and bowls.

“It’s just,” Mary smiles as she starts cutting up the pie, “Dean looks really happy, doesn’t he? Even though we’ve only been here fifteen minutes and he and Sam are probably going to wrestle at any minute… Dean has this glow about him.” She looks over at Castiel, laughing sheepishly. “Well- maybe you don’t know what Dean was like before you came into the picture. But I just know…” she takes one of the plates from Castiel. “I know you were meant to cross paths with him.”

Resisting a sigh, Castiel bites back the ‘yes, because I had to eventually give him his heart back’. Instead he offers Mary a small, reserved smile, holding two plates with pie slices and forks. “I’m doing my best to not be a burden.”

She sends him a bright smile, holding two plates and forks as well. “I’m sure you’re doing amazing sweetie. Now: have you ever had pecan pie?”

Dean declares his family's visit a disaster, but Castiel finds himself oddly energized from it. They're cleaning up dishes from pie and the impromptu spaghetti Mary made when she realized it was dinner time, Dean washing while Castiel dries and puts the dishes away. Castiel feels a mix of emotions in himself, and on the surface is a buzz but when he digs deeper he thinks… he might feel a little anxious. Great.

It must be palpable to Dean because as he hands Castiel the fourth clean plate, he tilts his head and asks, "What's up?"

Not one to beat around the bush, Castiel decides to answer with a partial truth. "I am wondering who is doing my job while I am down here. Someone has definitely noticed my absence, as I am the only one who mends hearts." He dries the plate thoughtfully as something occurs to him. "Someone has noticed I am gone and is choosing to not come get me."

"Huh," Dean shrugs, working on the big pan. "Maybe they think you need a break? From what you've told me, Cas, sounds like you're all work and no play."

Castiel doesn't even argue. "That is correct, but given the fact I was created to do one job and one job only…" he puts the dish in the cupboard so his hands are empty for whenever Dean finishes washing the pot. Chewing his lip, Castiel wrings the dish towel. The past three weeks have been so lovely, but they can’t last. Dean has his heart back, and he should be able to share it with someone truly deserving; not waste his time catering to a cranky god. Now or never.

"Dean, I have a confession to make. It's the only thing I can think of that would cause my brother to force an extended stay on earth, not for leisure but perhaps… for punishment."

That gets Dean's attention. He slows in washing the pan until he completely stops, leaving it submerged in soapy water so he can rest his palms on the counter and turn an arched brow towards the god.

"I've had your heart," Castiel says, "since the day your father found out you liked a boy when you were a teen." He can see Dean's hackles raise, but he presses on, the guilt and anxiety - two very human emotions, indeed - rattling him. "I think it was a mistake that your heart got sent to me because it was already mended when I looked at it under the microscope. I couldn't understand how a heart could mend itself without my help, so I held on to it to study it further." His gaze drops go the dish towel wrinkled between his fingers. "I became fascinated with it. With you. And I," he peeks up at Dean, then averts his gaze when he sees the man's flushed cheeks, "I gave it back to you, but my gun backfired and sent me down to earth as well."

Silence stretches between them so heavy Castiel finds it difficult to breathe. He continues to wring the towel. After a few beats, Dean uses controlled movements to pick up the pan again.

"S'that why I never fell in love?"

Castiel's own heart twists. "I didn't know that would happen-"

"You didn't know what would happen at all, Cas, you just wanted my heart as a science experiment? To poke and prod til it made sense?" Dean abandons the pan in the sink, snatching the towel from the god's hands to dry his own. He turns his eyes to Castiel and oh, even in anger they're so beautiful. "Sometimes hearts do their own thing, Dior, and sometimes they do the unthinkable or unexplainable. That's the beauty of being human man, sometimes things just happen!" He throws the towel at Castiel's chest, then stalks out of the kitchen.

Castiel holds the damp rag against his chest, feeling it soak through his toga and chill his skin. Letting out a little sigh, he winces when the front door slams. When Dean doesn’t come back after ten minutes, he makes his way over to the balcony. Still wringing the towel, once outside he looks up at the beautiful, cloudless sky, sending up another prayer.

If this is punishment, brother, I believe I've learned my lesson.

He knew that one day he would have to "come clean" to Dean. Of all the hearts he's come across and been intrigued by Dean's stands out, the golden glow of his soul a siren call. The past few weeks, however… Castiel has never known such happiness. Such contentment. He truly never has taken a break longer than an hour from work, has never been interested in the goings-on outside his ivory tower.

But Dean…

Castiel sighs, folding the towel in his hands and putting it on one of the lounge chairs.

Dean showed him that being mortal isn't all bad. He showed him love and acceptance without blinking an eye. He showed him that people are fallible but people are forgivable. He showed him that family can be annoying but they also can have your best interests at heart. He showed him that even a prickly, grumpy god… is worth more than his job.

Is worth loving.

Yes, Castiel thinks. All the pain and heartbreak is worth even the most fleeting glimpses of love and happiness.

A single cloud floats over the horizon. Castiel feels his vessel tingle in reply, a beacon for the search light. When the cloud closes the distance sparkles rain softly over his skin. Cupping his hands to catch the glittery rainfall, Castiel closes his eyes as a beam of Heavenly light washes over him.

"Goodbye, Dean."

All that's left behind on the balcony floor is a pair of footprints outlined in stardust.

What happens when the mender of hearts needs his heart tended to?

“Woah, what happened in here?”

Gabriel’s voice pushes Castiel’s feathers in every wrong direction. Ignoring him, Castiel continues to look at the heart under his microscope, very carefully moving his forceps around so he can finish sewing up the tear. He can hear Gabriel looking at papers, walking through stacks of files and hearts on back order, Castiel doing his best to focus on his task even with all of Gabriel’s noisy existence. Thankfully Gabriel waits until he’s finished before he darts forward with a grin, hands out in a ‘gimme’ motion.

“Can I shoot it?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. The last thing he wants is for Gabriel to have anything to do with mending the hearts that he sometimes sets up for failure, but now that Castiel has done all the difficult detail worth, it should be fine for the other god to give it back. “The coordinates are on the container.” He hands over the capsule, watching Gabriel with narrowed eyes and puffed wings.

Gabriel loads up the gun, looks through the telescope, then cheers after pulling the trigger. He fist pumps, does a twirl, then smiles so big he rivals the Heavenly sun. “Man, that’s so cool. You’ve developed a really neat system, little bro.” He turns towards Castiel, his smile dropping a bit when he sees the glower on his features and the way his feathers are ruffled. “Man, you ever gonna pull yourself together?”

Turning towards his microscope, Castiel adjusts himself on his stool. He’s still wearing the toga he’d made at Dean’s, here in Heaven the embroidery and gold even shinier and prettier than ever. He doesn’t shake his wings out, instead lifting the pastel pink appendages to shroud him slightly.

“Hey,” Gabriel steps closer, putting his hand on Castiel’s shoulder and ignoring the way he tenses and his feathers quiver. “You know I didn’t leave you down there as a punishment, right?”

“So you’ve said,” Castiel replies, shrugging the hand off of his shoulder. The sound of his wings shaking out resembles a hummingbird’s; it should be a warning sign to the other god, but he presses on either because he’s an idiot, or he really has something important to say. Usually it’s because he’s an idiot. Castiel thinks that today it’s a different story.

“But you know I left you down there for a reason, right?”

Sighing heavily, Castiel rolls his eyes and turns on his stool to look up at his annoying ‘brother’, spine straight and wings pulled back primly. “Yes, Eros. You thought that Dean and I would make a good match, according to all your calculations. But your calculations failed to include the fact that I am a god, and he is a human.” He turns back to his microscope, putting his eye to it so he doesn’t have to look at Gabriel’s puppy eyes. He brings his wings up again, now on the defensive. “You also neglected to insert into your equation that I literally kept Dean’s heart hostage for a decade.”

“Because you loved it.”

“What?” Castiel freezes, his fingers trembling slightly as he sets the next slide under the microscope.

“You kept his heart because you loved it,” Gabriel says simply.

Castiel stays hunched over, turning his head and shifting his wing slightly so he can look at the other god. “I kept his heart because it was fascinating.”

“If it was just fascinating, then you woulda just looked at it every day,” Gabriel says, shrugging. “No need to actually check in on Dean and follow his life, right? Know when he graduated high school, went to college, opened his business... If you were just interested in studying his heart, why were you so busy watching his soul?”

Unable to think of a reply, Castiel feels some tension bleed from his body. He doesn’t have much fight in him, and he’s kept all of this to himself since returning to the clouds. “I am a mender, Gabriel. I am not capable of love.”

“We’re all capable of some pretty badass things,” Gabriel says with a shrug and a crooked, all-knowing grin. “Even if we don’t know it.”

“I was created for one purpose-”

Gabriel waves a hand, wrinkling his nose, his own golden wings shaking out with irritation. “Phooey. You were made by Pothos who is an extension of me, so you are technically my bloodline- therefore you, too, are capable of love, you idiot.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “How could I have fallen in love with someone with no heart?”

Gabriel looks like he might tear his hair out. “Because you saw his soul!”

“I can’t-” Castiel shakes his head, trying to sort his thoughts. “Dean’s feelings for me are not real. I imprinted on his heart and then gave it back to him and hung around like an idiot. It was only natural that he would develop… feelings for me.” His heart grows heavy. “They aren’t real. Eventually my imprint will fade and he will be able to find another.”

“Is that why his heart is back in your pile?” Gabriel asks, pointing to an intricate, small gold box in the ‘newly arrived’ to-do pile.

“What?” Castiel asks, turning towards the stack.

Gabriel walks over to the box, opening it up and examining the contents. “Yep- this is Dean-o’s heart.” He reaches inside the box, stopping only when Castiel shouts out “Don’t!” in a panicked voice. Arching a brow, Gabriel shifts his motions to grab the box as a whole, walking it over towards Castiel and lowering it so he can see.

Sure enough, inside the box is Dean Winchester’s beautiful heart. And this time…

It hasn’t mended itself.

Castiel lets out a wounded noise, taking the box in his hands and cradling it to his chest. As per his powers Dean’s grief flashes across his mind’s eye like a short film, at the center of it all Castiel himself. The pair of them sharing meals, taking walks together, watching movies, laughing and smiling and acting grumpy.

Those things are so tightly compacted in the tear of Dean’s beautiful and unique heart, it rips something within Castiel, too.

Gabriel’s hand rests gently on Castiel’s shoulder this time, familial and warm as he sends a sympathetic look down to messy dark hair and wet blue eyes.

“All those unfinished projects you got?” Gabriel nods his head towards the corner of Castiel’s ivory tower where the prototypes for assistants lay lifeless, waiting for a god to breathe magic into them so they can diligently do whatever task is assigned for them. “Finish ‘em. And when they’re up and going,” he gently pries the box out of Castiel’s hands, putting the lid back on it and treating it with the care that Castiel desperately wants for it, “then you can take care of this.”

“But-” Castiel reaches out uselessly as Gabriel dances away from him. His eyes burn, his heart aches.

“You do realize that as, like, technically your grandpa, if I can allow you to be created, I can also uncreate you, right?” Gabriel says, and while the words sound menacing, he has a playful grin on his face that has Castiel slightly confused. “I want you to think about that. When you awaken your last assistant… come find me,” he pats the box, “and Dean, and we’ll talk.”

Gabriel flits out of the tower and off of Castiel’s cloud, leaving the god alone with stacks and stacks of broken hearts around him.

As Castiel turns tiredly towards his microscope, shoulders slumped and wings drooped, he realizes… his heart might be a little broken, too.

He looks over at his unfinished projects in the corner of the room. He hasn’t finished them because he’s been caught up with thinking he’s the only one who can do his job; but in reality, if he creates something to do it for him, builds a creature with his own hands and hardwires it to do exactly as he asks… Given Castiel’s type A personality and propensity to make sure things are perfect before he declares them complete, it shouldn’t be too difficult to think that he can create something that can do his job, right?

Sighing, he rubs his hands together and moves towards the corner of the room. The hearts can wait for now.

His own needs a little bit of work.

It takes Castiel ten days to complete his assistants and make sure they’re in perfect working order. They’re basically mini-Castiel’s, which means they’ll be impossible to distract and incredibly diligent at their job. They’re nearly golems- though, they are a lot cuter, looking more like cherubs than, well… golems. Castiel knows that Cupid has cherubs and he idly wonders how Gabriel will think of having them in his dominion, but at the same time, he doesn’t care. It was Gabriel’s bright idea after all.

They’re completed, and they’re working accurately and quickly without making any mistakes. He’s had to painstakingly craft ten small microscopes and ten small telescopes for them to be able to operate, since the cherubs are about the size of a child, but… they’re done. Complete.

He takes a step back, watching the little cherubs work. They titter and chatter, giggling occasionally, but they work well. They don’t get in each other’s way, they separate the hearts into ten different piles, and they just… work. Beautifully. He does his best to ignore the fact that some of them have dark messy hair and green eyes, or sandy blond hair and blue eyes, or that some have freckles, or some are tan, or some have dimples.

No reason for that. None at all.

Remembering Gabriel’s words Castiel leaves his tower and his cloud, wings beating powerfully as he flies over towards cloud nine, where harps are playing and the fragrant scent of fruits and cheeses infiltrate his senses. Carefully landing, his bare feet sinking into the cloud pleasantly, he follows his nose and ears to where Gabriel is currently laid out on a hot pink velvet couch, head tipped back while muses feed him grapes and splash each other with water from the fountain. Rolling his eyes, Castiel uses his wings and feet to flutter closer to the god, clearing his throat loudly.

“Ah~” Gabriel opens his eyes, smiling dopily towards his little brother. “Welcome, Dior.” He then pouts, sitting up and brushing the girls away from his settee. “You rarely visit me unless you want something, you ever notice that?”

“Yes,” Castiel says blandly, “and I want something now.”

“Ehehehuuuu,” Gabriel drums his fingers together with a playful grin. “Your sweet sweet mortal’s heart, hmm?”

“It’s been ten days,” Castiel says, an edge to his voice. “His heart has been broken for ten days longer than it should have been.”

“Hey,” Gabriel ignores him, standing up and wandering towards a crystal table that holds a crystal carafe filled with wine. “Remember when your little gun backfired and sent you down to earth?”

Castiel’s eyes narrow, watching Gabriel knock back an inappropriate amount of wine straight from the bottle.

“And it’d never backfired before?” Gabriel continues, reaching into a bowl of chocolates and cramming a handful into his mouth.

Castiel’s cheeks heat up, his wings rising and sharpening.

“And it just happened to send you right into the arms of your dreamboat?” Gabriel picks up another handful of chocolate, turning around just in time for Castiel to fly towards him at top speed, a startled yelp leaving his mouth as he gets knocked into the crystal table, the items on top falling off in shambles and the chocolates falling from his fingers. Castiel’s hands are fisted in his toga, fury in his eyes, pastel pink wings casting shadows over Gabriel’s terrified features.

“You sabotaged my invention,” Castiel seethes, “you sent me to earth to live among the mortals, you allowed me to fraternize with a subject that had a heart I could not heal-”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Gabriel reaches up to grab Castiel’s wrists, looking truly fearful even though Castiel is a low-tier god. But the rage emanating from him is palpable, the clouds overhead darkening with anger. “Dior, I didn’t do it for nothing-”

“Why, Eros, would you put me through such misery?”

“It wasn’t misery, it was a reprieve!” Gabriel finally shouts, a few columns around them rumbling. He’s angry, but not like Castiel. More frustrated than anything, his honey golden eyes glimmering with rare emotion. “All you do is stay on your cloud of sadness surrounded by sad things! You don’t do anything for yourself, you never take breaks. You’re gonna burn out, Dior, and I care for you too much to see that happen.”

Castiel’s jaw clenches tightly, his fingers relaxing slightly on Gabriel’s toga. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because you work so hard to make sure that mortals can care when they think they’ll never be able to ever again,” Gabriel says, voice and eyes a little softer. “Yeah, I make ‘em love in the first place, but you? You’re the reason people love again. You tend and mend their hearts so carefully and lovingly. You put everyone ahead of yourself.” His voice softens to a whisper. “Aren’t you lonely?”

‘I’m not’ is on the tip of his tongue, a knee-jerk response, but he bites it back. The truth is ever since he came back from staying with Dean, he’s felt lonely and miserable and… well, bored. He does his job day and night, day and night, over and over, keeps to himself on his cloud and in his tower… He misses Dean. He misses his laughter and his eye rolls and his cooking and his shy, but carefully crafted touches. He misses Dean’s innate curiosity about the gods, he misses Dean treating him like a person, he misses Dean teaching him about simple human tasks.

He lets go of Gabriel’s toga, taking a step back. He lifts his hands up to cover his face, taking in a shuddery breath, his wings drooping. He moves his palms just slightly to ask Gabriel, “Am I really capable of love?”

Gabriel lets out a soft, sympathetic sigh. He steps forward, wrapping Castiel up in a loose but comforting hug, his cheek to Castiel’s, his larger golden wings coming around to wrap up the smaller pastel pink ones. “You’re the dumbest smartest god I know. Makes sense that we’re related.”

Castiel lets out a stuttered chuckle.

“But yeah, dummy. Why else would you be feeling all these stupid emotions?”

Staying quiet, Castiel waits until his eyes no longer sting and his breath is under control. Pulling away, he shakes his wings free of Gabriel’s then wipes carefully under his eyes. Sure that his voice and emotions are somewhat stable, he asks, “Where is his heart?”

Gabriel snaps his fingers, a box appearing in his hands. As soon as it’s close Castiel’s heart starts pumping, the movement mirrored in the box. Gabriel hands it over, Castiel cradling it to his chest, his head dipping and eyes closing tightly.

“I’ve got my ears on, ok?” Gabriel says.

Castiel nods, then flexes his wings and pumps them once. Gabriel waves his hand, a beautiful golden shimmer flying from his fingertips. In one minute Castiel is floating…

...In the next minute his bum is landing hard on the concrete floor of Dean’s balcony, a pained exhale leaving his lips and a shower of sparkles raining around him.

When Dean comes home, Castiel regrets ever leaving immediately. His cheeks are slightly hollowed, his posture is terrible, his skin is pallid. It takes him a moment to even realize Castiel is there, his movements in the foyer sluggish as he takes off his shoes and hangs up his coat. Castiel is standing in the living room, holding the box out in front of him, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He’s wearing his toga, there’s a golden leaf circlet in his hair, and his wings are properly groomed, visible to Dean and Dean only.

He is here for a purpose.

Dean sees him and stops in his tracks. Light sparks in his eyes but is immediately guarded, which Castiel understands. He’s tense, unsure. His gaze roves over the god, taking in the wings quietly, Castiel sure there’s a small burst of fondness in verdant depths as Dean realizes he’s still wearing the toga he made out of his sheets.

Licking his lips, Castiel holds the box out. “I understand… that I was wrong, before. And that I shouldn’t have kept your heart for so long.”

“S’that why you only kept it for two weeks this time?” Dean asks, voice rough and jaw tense, but his body leans closer ever so slightly.

“Technically Eros kept it-” Castiel winces at Dean’s sharp exhale, then shakes his head and steps forward. “He told me that when I knew what I wanted, he would allow me to bring it back to you.”

Dean’s eyes narrow, dropping curiously to the box. It’s simple in design, though made from gold so surely appealing to the human eye, and small enough to fit in both of Castiel’s hands. “That’s… my heart?”

Castiel looks down inside. Dean’s heart will, to him, look like a glowy pink ball with a few black, veiny tears through it. Nodding, Castiel holds the box out towards him.

“I wasn’t able to mend it.”

Dean steps forward, meeting him halfway. “‘Cause it mends itself, right?”

Swallowing, Castiel nods. “So long as you are healthy and happy, yes.”

Wiping a hand over his face, Dean sighs, the fight leaving him. “But I ain’t been either of those.”

“Dean,” Castiel’s heart leaps up to his throat. “I-”

“Y’know,” Dean interrupts him, looking him in the eye. “I thought a lot about how my life’s been. ‘Specially my romantic life. Growin’ up asexual was… I dunno. Easy, almost. Felt like I was savin’ myself for someone important, y’know? And when I met you, an’ I felt what I felt around you... it made sense. I thought to myself: this is it. This is who I’ve been waiting for.” He scrubs a hand over his mouth. “An’ you never- I mean there’s gotta be a disconnect, right? ‘Cause you’re a god and I’m a human. I wondered if sex would be somethin’ you’re interested in… but the more I thought about it the more I thought, if it came to that, with you, then… I’d be down. But it didn’t seem that important to you, which is another reason it just felt… right.”

“Dean,” Castiel says softly.

“And then you left. And part o’ me knew you would- no way you could stay on earth, right? Someone’s gotta do your job, and I knew I wouldn’t be interestin’ enough for you to hang around anyway.” Dean steps closer, looking down into the box. He lifts his hands, cradling Castiel’s where they’re holding the gold container from underneath. “But it still hurt, man.” His pretty green eyes well up. “I was too chickenshit to tell you how I felt.”

Very carefully, Castiel lets go of the box to allow Dean to hold it on his own. He reaches inside to cup Dean’s heart, the consistency of it very similar to the clouds he’s lived on for thousands of years. Meeting Dean’s gaze, Castiel presses the heart against Dean’s chest, speaking softly.

“I’m here to return your heart.”

Dean reaches up to grab Castiel’s wrist, leaning closer, their noses almost brushing. “What about yours?”

“I’d give it to you as well, if you asked for it.”

“I just need you, Cas.”

The heart in Castiel's palms mends beautifully, not a tear in sight.

Castiel presses his palms against Dean’s chest, his heart dissipating with a small whoosh, reentering Dean’s body. The glow returns to Dean’s eyes, the flush to his cheeks, the health to his body. A small smile filters over Dean’s lips, his hand keeping Castiel’s palms against his chest.

“You stayin’ for a while?”

Pressing their foreheads together, the god’s eyes look at Dean’s chest, the home of the heart that mends itself.

“I believe I have more research to do on your heart,” Castiel says with a small smile.

Dean laughs and wraps the god up in a tight hug, pressing a kiss to his messy dark hair, his broader frame enveloping Castiel’s feeling more heavenly than the Heavenly sun. They embrace each other in their first real hug, feeling each other’s breaths and bodies, how they slot together perfectly. Castiel’s wings fold around them, dropping some shimmer and sparkle onto Dean’s shoulders.

He feels Dean’s fingers card through a few of the feathers. “For some reason I thought these’d be… I dunno. Black.”

Castiel presses his face into the curve of Dean’s neck. “That would be fairly intense for a god who deals in love.”

“Have you met you?” Dean asks, incredulous. He chuckles, sliding both hands more confidently through Castiel’s wings, humming when Castiel shivers. “Don’t ever change.”

“I’m thousands of years old and today I made the first step towards change. I think,” he pulls away some, meeting Dean’s gaze with a small smile, “for once, I am ready for change.”

Dean grins huge, pressing a chaste, but loving kiss to Castiel’s lips.

For the first time, Castiel feels like his heart’s on cloud nine.

Chapter Text

Two months later…

“So,” Mary says as she serves ‘her three boys’ a hearty scoopful of casserole. “Dean, honey, you said you had something to tell us.” Once everyone is served she sits down, nodding at Castiel’s quiet query of whether or not she would like a glass of wine.

Dean grins, resting back in his chair a bit. Mary and Sam are on one side of the table, Castiel and Dean on the other. This not only gives Dean the confidence he needs to broach the subject, but it also makes it easy to see both his mom and brother’s reactions to what he’s about to tell them. He puts his hand on Castiel’s, which is on the table, sending the god a small smile before looking towards his family.

“Cas and I are dating.”

Sam blinks repeatedly, beer bottle held to his lips. Mary looks a little faux-polite before she asks, “Ok, sweetheart. But what’s the news?”

Dean deflates, pouting. “That is the news.”

“We knew you guys were dating the second you introduced us,” Sam says rolling his eyes and taking a drink of his beer.

Dean bristle. “We weren’t dating then!”

“Mhm,” Mary hums, reaching across the table to pat his and Castiel’s joined hands. “Will you be getting married soon?”

Dean nearly spits out his beer. Castiel idly drinks his wine, pulling his hand back so he can start eating.

“What!?”

“He probably needs a green card, right?” Sam asks. He’s warmed up to Castiel over the past few months, but he still has his suspicions.

“No he doesn’t need a- Jesus!” Dean puts his elbows on the table, pressing his face into his hands.

“Elbows, sweetie,” Mary chides.

Dean groans. “Cas doesn’t need a green card. We are not getting married.”

“So you’ll be going to Greece with him when his visa expires?” Sam asks, way too casual.

Dean stares at his brother and mom, dumbfounded. Sighing, Castiel decides to intervene.

“I told you the partial truth of where I’m from,” he says. Sam preens. Castiel bulldozes over the ‘I told you so’ with: “I am technically from Greece. I am a god. Specifically Epidiorthotís, the mender of broken hearts. One thing led to another and I ended up coming to the mortal realm to meet Dean. He was very gracious in hosting me. It did not start out romantic, but our relationship has taken a wonderful turn and I am very grateful for Dean to open his life and home to me as well as include me with his family.”

Mary’s smile is frozen on her features. Sam’s mouth is shut, but his eyes are wide. Dean puts his face back into his hands.

Letting out a little sigh, Castiel shakes his back, calling forth his wings from the ether. They pop! into existence with a shower of glitter and sparkles, most of them cascading over Dean and covering him in a pink sheen. Mary squeaks in surprise, Sam leans back in shock, and Dean moves his plate to the side so he can press his forehead to the table and stifle his groan.

“Obviously this is a secret that must be kept between us,” Castiel continues, shaking out his wings and relaxing them over the back of the chair. He idly brushes some glitter off of Dean’s arm. “But it’s easier for all of us if you know.”

Silence.

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean says, sitting up straight and rubbing his hand over his mouth before sending his mom and brother a sunny smile. “So! My boyfriend is a god. What’s for dessert?”

“Peach cobbler,” Mary says, some animation returning to her features as she looks between Dean and Castiel fondly.

Sam leans forward, looking more intense than ever. “I have so many questions.”

Six months later…

Lying in bed, legs wrapped together, naked save for their smiles and Castiel’s blush-toned wings providing better warmth than the blankets they’ve kicked to the end of the bed, Dean and Castiel are caught up in simply gazing at each other. Dean used to be shy about prolonged eye contact, about holding hands and sharing close space. It took a while for him to invite Castiel into bed, mostly because Castiel doesn’t sleep so it seemed a little pointless, but finally they both gave in.

“I will watch over you,” Castiel had said.

Dean made one lame joke and then accepted it.

Tonight in the bridge between spring and summer they lie together, Castiel’s fingers tracing Dean’s freckles, Dean’s fingers tracing over the god’s feathers. It’s not sexual - it never is - but it’s intimate. Castiel had understood sexual attraction on a clinical level, given his lineage, but it never really appealed to him, especially when he saw on a daily basis how sex could turn into something ugly.

He had wondered, to himself mostly, if Dean - once his heart had been returned - would become a sexual creature. It was actually a bit of a worry.

He had not. He continues to be him, regardless of the fact his heart is happy and healthy.

It had been a bit of a relief, something that Castiel occasionally feels guilty for. He had been worried that him holding onto Dean’s heart had been the cause of his asexuality, but the reality is that Dean had always been wired to be that way. It didn’t make him any less sensual or passionate. It didn’t make him immune to intimacy. Once together Castiel figured out that Dean was absolutely touch-starved; he craves physical closeness. Castiel loves to oblige- Dean’s like a pleased cat, arching into pets, purring when a good spot gets hit. He never seems to get enough. Hip-bumps in the kitchen, nearly on top of Castiel on the couch, asking the god to join him in bed even though they both know Castiel will leave as soon as Dean is asleep to go back up to his cloud and do damage control.

But it’s so good.

He and Dean… fit.

Right here, right now, they are not a god and a mortal in love.

They are two hearts that could not mend themselves of their own free will, but could mend themselves because of each other.