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“The angels – they need help. Can I really sit this out? Shouldn't I be searching for a way to get them home?” Cas asked, instead of begging Dean to pull him back into his life, kind of doing it anyway.
“Me and Sam will take care of the angels. You're human now. It's not your problem anymore.” Dean may as well have said ‘we’re not your problem anymore,’ because that’s what he seemed to mean.
He got out of the car, because there wasn’t a different option. If there was, he would have done anything else.
Dean waved to him, like they weren’t locked on a trajectory towards each other anymore, two heat seeking missiles about to collide over the ocean.
Castiel waved back at him, like he wasn’t so sad that an agent of God’s divine mercy had been summoned to put him out of his misery not even twelve hours earlier.
Inside the Gas’n’Sip, Castiel brewed the coffee and thought about Dean drinking coffee.
He stocked the cash drawer and thought about Dean laying a wrinkled twenty on the counter in a nameless diner.
He turned on the TV and watched the angels falling, all over again, and thought about Dean facing this down on his own.
He looked out at the spot where the Impala had been parked barely an hour ago, and he thought about Dean, Dean, Dean.