It was not like Castiel hadn’t heard Dean’s prayers. And he desperately wanted to help. And the angel was needing help himself. But with what he had already asked of the Winchester —- with what he did for him, averting the apocalypse, at his side, he could not ask for more. What he would have to ask would be too big to grasp for the Winchester. His memory loss had been for the better, or so he assumed. The angel almost considered to force the amnesia back on him, so he wouldn’t remember. And he had made the mistake of being prideful enough to drag Sam Winchester back up from hell, just to find him to be soulless and decide to leave Dean on his own, living the apple pie life.

Dean’s loved ones turned away from him, out of calculation. He had every right to be angry. And by now, the net of actions and decision the angel had tangled himself up in was too thick to bother the Winchester to help him wind out of it. But what he saw the hunter turn into —- it terrified him. Shook him to the bone. He was being a reckless drunk, and the hunts he was taking over were more similar to ruthless mass murders than actual jobs.

The hunter was drinking, again, when Castiel watched him in invisible silence. Now, or never would be his cue to have a talk with him. But he was afraid to expose himself. Afraid, of his reaction. Almost more scared than he was of Raphael. It could be the end of them. Taking a soothing inhale, the angel braced himself for things to come. And stepped out of the shadow.

                                                                                    ” Hello, Dean.”