The cruel truth of the matter was that Dean Winchester did not love the Angel of The Lord, Castiel. Although, the Angel was hopelessly in love with the righteous man, Dean Winchester didn't feel the same way.
After all, Castiel was only a baby in a trench coat.
It was so confusing. Angels and humans did not love the same way. Angels don't have the equipment to love the same way. (It was agonising when Dean said those things, when he learned that Dean didn't think Castiel loved him. When Dean thought Castiel would ever hurt him in any way.)
Castiel felt so many things. Whether he had the equipment or not didn't seem to matter because mercy did he love that beautiful man. He worshipped him like the Divine being he was. Castiel looked up to him like a god. He followed him through the gruesomely pure land that was Purgatory. Through the corrupt, filthy, blisteringly hot hell that Castiel had fought through to touch Dean's bright soul.
His devotion for the hunter had struck him swift and harsh (much like the dagger Dean had stabbed him with upon their first meeting).
Castiel followed him everywhere. He did everything the boys asked. Until they needed
those souls to save his family. He made a choice in an attempt to stop a war from killing the Earth.
Sadly, Castiel chose wrong. His only error, had been a fatal one (not just for Dean, but for his brother. The man Dean would do anything for, who he's done everything for.)
Castiel had betrayed Dean.
Everything else he had done disappeared in that instant. His fall. His unwavering loyalty. His wings. His death.
All because he did what he thought was right. He practised the “free will” that Dean thought so incredibly highly of.
But Babies in Trench Coats didn't have the equipment to make decisions, and when they try, they fall apart.
And fall apart he did.
When he closed his eyes, he could still see the blood slathered across innocent bodies and eyes burnt to a crisp. Could still see the tortured look in Sam's eyes. He could still feel the way Dean's hands gingerly held out his trench coat that has come to be a safety blanket of sorts.
He remembered slowly losing every coherent thought. All the scrambled words from different languages and millions of years that had somehow formed a person- an angel- before, all slowly faded. Dwindled to a small frame, where it was only him and his brother.
All he knew was pain and remorse.
At the time he didn't know what he was remorseful for, but he knew that he was so sorry.
Everything got clearer each day. He learned to ignore his brother's chants, to disregard the painful toil in his gut, to turn a blind eye to the jolt he received when he looked into the eyes of his caretaker (Sam and Dean had left him alone, with the company of a demon . There was nothing wrong with Meg- she was quite kind when you broke her satanic surface- it was the fact that they didn't bother to check on him in person, when Castiel knew with certainty that Dean wouldn't have had to think about it twice before traveling the world for Sam. It was foolish of Castiel to remotely compare himself to the amazing Sam Winchester. But he knew that he undoubtedly would walk across continents for Dean. He would climb mountains. He would swim oceans. Castiel doesn't deserve their affection, he knows this, but that doesn't stop the sting in his blue eyes when he gets no visitors day after day, because they are family. They are family. Maybe this was how family worked, Castiel wouldn't know. His previous family wanted him dead or obedient. Apparently this one wanted that too. Was that family? If so, Castiel didn't understand what all the fuss was about.)
According to the movies Castiel watched from over Meg’s shoulder, family was a big group. With loud, jovial laughter, and typically a turkey mishap.
Assuming the movies were correct, Castiel had flown to the nearest convenient store. He attempted to ask the woman at the desk how to cook a turkey, but she seemed concerned about his clothing obtained from the hospital. Castiel had worried that the v-neck was inappropriate to wear in public (humans had the strangest fashions) and had simply taken a pre-cooked turkey. Sam and Dean had grown up on the road, so Castiel had hoped they would still accept the turkey anyway, and that they would think of it as “the thought that counts”.
Ignoring the shocked splutters from the woman in front of him, he popped back into the kitchen at the hospital. He quickly put the seasoned turkey down on a counter, and faced the cupboard filled to the brim with faded white sheets. He faintly heard whispers of doubt, that they won’t come. They thought you wanted to kill them. You practically killed Sam. They didn’t want anything to do with Raphael. They just wanted peace. But you ruined it by bringing them back in. He ignored those thoughts, and resumed, used to the constant stream of guilt and self-loathing. Castiel fantasized that the hunters would purposely look the other way when they would surely notice the lack of design on the cloth. Of course, Sam and Dean were much too great to say they out loud that he had failed miserably, but the Angel (ex-angel) wanted everything to be perfect for when Sam and Dean finally returned. After all, the families in the sitcoms always took a few months break before they saw each other once again, and it had been a good amount of time since Castiel last remembered seeing the man he raised from hell.
Castiel quickly laid out the sheets along an abandoned wooden table, and got out some ingredients from the fridge. (He didn't know how to cook, but he would always do his best for Dean).
He whipped up (more like stirred messily and hoped that nothing burned) some mashed potatoes- another necessity in film- and fussed over the clumps that he found when he was checking to make sure that everything would go well for Dean.
Long story short, they never showed, and Meg had to drag him by his feet back to his room.
Of course, he could have simply zapped himself out, but deep down he knew that Dean wouldn't come.
So he had stayed there. Waiting and waiting. Waiting until they finally came.
When he had seen Dean, his heart had soared because finally Dean had returned to him.
Only to find out the only reason they had come was to ask him to fight. Or to read.
They didn't want him . They didn't need him.
They wanted his powers. They needed his angelic reading. They needed his knowledge.
Who cared whether it was Castiel or some other angel that was possibly on their side.
He could be replaced so easily with another angel. Or even a demon with enough facts.
Because that is all they needed him for. His “angel mojo”.
He was completely, and utterly expendable.
He had an army of angels. Fighting Metatron would prove to be simple with the help of his brother's and sisters. After all, they trusted him to be their leader.
Then they wanted to kill Dean.
His Dean. His human.
He gave it all up. For Dean.
They had been doubting him. But now the Winchester Brothers knew they could trust him.
Then Dean died.
And Castiel died with him.