Half of the sky had been trapped behind clouds by the time Dean was allowed a lunch break. He stood behind the building, biting into his protein bar a few yards away from the dumpster. He tried not to think too much about the rotten smell crawling towards him. Spoiled milk and putrid meat made the cool air seem almost muggy.

After having choked down the rest of his bar, he brought his phone out of his pocket and pressed the number two on speed dial. As he put the speaker up to his ear, he scanned the parking lot that faced him.

It took four rings for the line to pick up. The man on the other side was unmistakably Bobby, answering with a, "What the hell did you get yourself into this time, boy?"

"What, a guy can't phone someone without needing something?" Dean scoffed.

"Oh, you better need something," Bobby told him. "And it better damn well be important."

Dean rolled his eyes. He walked forward a few paces and looked both ways, making sure that the lot really was as empty as it looked. After stepping back under the shade of the protruding roof, he sighed. "Alright, this'll probably sound a little crazy..." He lowered his voice. "Do you know anything about angels?"

Bobby didn't say anything for a moment. The only way he really knew that they were still connected had been the shuffling he could hear. "You gotta be kiddin' me," he finally said. "Angels? Those things with wings and halos and white robes?"

"Yeah, Bobby. Those things."

"As far as I know, they don't exist."

Dean closed his eyes. "Yeah, well," he said. "I met one of them this morning. Name's Castiel."

"How in God's name did you meet an angel?"

He brought the heel of his palm up to his eyes, rubbing at them until they hurt. "It's kind of a long story." He ran his hand down the rest of his face.

"Are you sure he's an angel?"

"No. Far as I'm concerned, angels are just fairy tales, but I can't think of anything else he could be." He stuffed his hand into his pocket, pausing. "He claims he can't get back into Heaven until he grants me some sort of wish."

"So, what, we're in a Disney movie now?" Bobby scoffed. "Why the hell would an angel want to grant somebody's wish?"

"Beats me. I just need a way to get rid of him." Dean gently hit the back of his head against the wall behind him, his eyes trailing to the gray clouds above. "Do you think you could look some things up for me? Maybe figure out if there's anything else he could be."

"I don't know how much I have written about angels, if anything. Before now I thought it was all folklore," said Bobby.

"C'mon, Bobby."

"I'll see if I can find anything," he grumbled. "Might take a while. I'll call you if something comes up."

"Thanks."

Dean hung up the phone, putting it into his pocket and letting both of his hands rest there. He watched the clouds pass by. Then, figuring that his boss wasn't going to be too happy with how long he was taking, Dean pushed himself off of the wall and went back inside.

⛥⛥⛥⛥⛥

Relief had flooded through Dean at the sight of his house. The feeling of finally being home after serving a multitude of ungrateful customers was enough to get him speeding down the road. He pulled into the driveway and shut off his Baby's engine.

Standing at the threshold, the sun was leveled at such an angle that it melted into his back, hugging him around his torso. He worked the door open, and just as his eyes landed on Castiel, the heat evaporated any remaining drop of relief.

The angel had pulled out one of the dining room chairs and positioned it so that it was facing the doorway. They made eye contact as Dean entered the building. After the door clicked shut behind him, Castiel rose to his feet. Strangely, he didn't say a word to him. Only stared on as Dean walked into the kitchen. It was almost too good to be true.

"Have you thought about your wish yet?"

Scratch that. It was too good to be true.

Dean glared at him, then turned his attention away. He tugged the refrigerator door open and peered inside. The light that poured out illuminated his set jawline, highlighting his tense expression. He reached in to grab the plate of leftover spaghetti sitting snug under the tight layer of plastic wrap. "I told you already."

Castiel frowned. "I'm afraid coveting my absence is not validated under these circumstances."

"I want you gone," Dean said. He set the plate on the counter to unwrap it. "How is that not valid?" He placed it into the microwave. It beeped to life with the push of a button, a soft hum and glow emitting off it.

"Because it is not something that you truly desire."

Turning back to him, Dean saw Castiel standing, as rigid and still as he always seemed to do, right beside the fridge. Dean lifted his arms to dig his palms into the counter behind him. "And you'd know all about that," he retorted.

All Castiel did was nod.

Dean raised his eyebrows at this, his expression going from mildly shocked to ticked off as he glared at him again. "Alright," he said. "Then what do I want?"

The angel didn't even seem to notice the piercing eyes. He just continued on as if Dean was being one hundred percent serious. "I don't know that," he responded.

"Look," Dean started, pushing himself away from the counter. He lifted his hands up to animate his speech. "I don't understand how this telephone line between you and the big boss works, but tell him I'm a lost cause."

Castiel's eyes flickered to his arms, pausing there as if interested by the callouses on Dean's hands. He took a steadying breath and slowly lifted his eyes back to his face. "I don't have direct communication with Him."

"Then how'd you know I even prayed in the first place?"

"I just know," he stated. "It's a difficult concept to explain, and even more difficult for a human to understand."

Dean huffed. "Well ain't that just peachy?"

Castiel bowed his head. "I'm sorry, Dean. Until your true desire has been fulfilled, I am unable to leave. It must be something equally as sought after and intense as the original."

When Castiel looked back up, Dean was smiling at him. But it wasn't a happy smile, not in the slightest. It felt sour to both parties.

"Great. Just... Great." He walked across the small kitchen floor toward Castiel, who was careful to avoid being too close with Dean and promptly stepped out of his way. He opened the refrigerator door, bending over to snatch a cold one from the shelf. He lifted it up. "Beer?"

Castiel squinted at it. "No..." he trailed off. "I don't drink."

"Alright, suit yourself." He straightened up. "What about water?"

"I don't drink anything."

Dean swung the door closed, moving to stand by the microwave again. "You smoke?"

"No."

"Don't drink, don't smoke," he said, forcing a smile. "What do you do?"

He positioned the bottle at an angle against the edge of the countertop, then smacked his palm against the cap. It flew right off, falling to the floor with several tings before settling. He brought the bottle up to his lips, tipping the bottom up to take a generous sip.

Castiel frowned. "I do a lot of things."

"Yeah, like what?"

He was given a serious look in response; frown, squint, head tilt – the whole shebang – but no verbal answer.

"Classified angel stuff, huh?"

Castiel pressed his lips into a thin line, catching Dean's eyes with his own.. They looked to one another in silence.

The angel looked as though that moment had been the first time he really stood within Dean's presence.

Dean didn't like the quiet. At least not under Castiel's scrutiny. He tried to think of something to say – something that could break this whole scene. Luckily the microwave did that job for him, or else he'd probably end up standing there like a fish for the rest of the night.

He took the plate out, lifting it up just as he did with the beer. "Spaghetti?"

"I don't eat."

The corner of Dean's lips tugged upward in a half grin. "Of course you don't."

He took his dinner to the dining room table and set it down, trying to ignore Castiel even as he followed him. Settling himself onto the chair, Dean avoided any sort of eye contact with the angel. He concentrated on his food instead. Leftover noodles always had an odd aftertaste, but he'd eaten it enough times to have been used to it by now.

What he wasn't used to was a guy he'd just met under twenty-four hours beforehand to be standing so close to his chair. Dean only survived a few bites until he lifted his gaze to meet with Castiel's.

"Dude, this is seriously creepy. Sit down."

For a minute, Dean didn't think Castiel was actually going to listen to him. He just stood there, motionless, staring at him. The guy was like some freaky mannequin. Hell, he'd probably be able to make some good money off of acting as a living statue.

But then he walked to the other side of the table and sat down.

Dean took another bite, still trying to avoid looking at him too long. When he glanced back up, Castiel's eyes were right there waiting for him. He dropped his fork onto the plate and leaned in over the table a little bit, his elbows digging into the wood beneath them. "You sure you don't want somethin' to eat? At least pretend that you need it or whatever, so you aren't staring at me like that?"

"I'm afraid it would be a waste of food," Castiel said. "I don't enjoy the taste of starch..." He glanced down at the spaghetti. "Or anything, really."

Dean raised his eyebrows, then rubbed his hand over his eyes. He took a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose before letting his hand fall back to the table.

"Okay," he said. He pushed his chair back and stood up, taking the plate with him.

The angel frowned at the man across the table and tilted his head, squinting at him. "Where are you going?"

"I lost my appetite."

Castiel watched him walk into the kitchen. He watched him cover the remains in a plastic wrap and set it back in the refrigerator. Then he watched him walk out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Castiel listened to him walking around up there, his eyes locked on the staircase.

It took a few minutes, but Dean eventually came back. Piled in his arms were two neatly folded blankets and three white pillows. He passed by with them, walking down the hallway and entering the living room. Castiel stood up to watch him throw everything on the couch. Dean took the first pillow, grabbing the ends and pushing it into itself multiple times. He repeated this with the rest of the pillows, setting them at one end of the couch and smacking them for good measure.

"What are you doing?"

Dean didn't have to turn around to know that Castiel was standing right behind him, looking over his shoulder. Probably with that same curious expression, with those furrowed eyebrows and narrowed eyes.

"What does it look like I'm doing, Cas?" Dean unfolded the first blanket and shook it out. He set it on the couch and picked up the other blanket. "If you're staying here for however long, there's no way in Hell you're sleeping in Sammy's old room."

"That's... very nice of you." He nodded his head just as Dean turned to look at him. "But you should know that I don't sleep."

Their eyes met, and as always Castiel hadn't even blinked the entire time they were looking at each other. Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. In retrospect, he should have realized sooner that this guy didn't need sleep. He didn't need to eat or drink water, so why would Dean think he needed sleep? He fluffed this man's goddamn pillows for nothing.

Reopening his eyes, Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "Okay, what are you going to do all night then?"

"Don't worry about me. I'll watch over you"

That response had shocked a short, breathy chuckle right out of Dean. He raised his eyebrows, uncrossing his arms to point at the angel. "That's not going to happen."

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "You don't trust me," he concluded.

"Not even a little bit," Dean said. "Besides that, watching someone while they sleep is just straight up creepy."

"Then I will stay down here if you wish me to."

They're staring at each other with the same amount of intensity, both too stubborn to be the first to look away. Dean wanted to say that what he really wished for was for this guy – this ethereal being – to leave his goddamn house so he never has to deal with this supernatural crap ever again. But he's already tried that and it hasn't gotten him anywhere before, so there wasn't a chance that him repeatedly complaining would change anything.

And maybe a part of him actually missed being out there in the hunt. Maybe a part of him missed saving people... Missed being useful.

Dean tried to calm himself down with another deep breath. "Good." He nodded his head. "It's settled then. You stay down here, not watching me sleep, and I'll go upstairs and sleep, not having someone watch me."

Castiel squinted his eyes in return, slowly nodding, but not breaking their stare.

Silence corrupted the room after that. Neither of them moved. They were both just watching each other, waiting for the other to do something.

Dean ended up being the first to look away. "Alright."

Just knowing that Castiel was watching him walk away was enough for him to actually feel it. Those blue eyes were like weights glued to his shoulders and backside, bringing him down, making it harder for him to take each step up to the second floor.

He managed, and once he finally got to his own room, he sunk deep into his mattress.