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As he had done most every night for months, Castiel curled his small form around Dean Winchester's sleeping one, and let his silent tears fall.
He'd given up trying to understand the purpose behind what was happening to him. He loved. His purpose was to protect the man he loved and that was a purpose he would gladly fulfil no matter the cruelty of the cosmic joke.
Castiel's tears fell softly against Dean's back, soaking into his skin and infusing him with unconditional, absolute love.
Even as his body rested, Dean's mind raced, trying to understand the thoughts and feelings raging inside him. One moment, the memories and images of Hell would be consuming him like the fires of that same demon pit; the next, nothing. But it was more than that. It was the warmth he felt just before waking. The half felt images of an angel of light and shadow wrapping him in comfort, of Castiel's reassuring presence.
In his sleep, Dean reached for the scar his angel had given him. His body subconsciously seeking comfort from it's existence.
Dean's palm lay over his angel's palm print as his fingers laced with Castiel's. "Cas," he sighed happily, still more asleep than awake, as he squeezed the angel's hand tightly with no intention of letting go.