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Castiel doesn't really belong on earth. This is not a new realisation. This is something that he has felt for some time, a simmering under his skin, that itch that he can't scratch. That distinctly uncomfortable feeling that Castiel just knows, he does not belong.
It's not like the Winchesters haven't tried to fit him in. They have entertained his misunderstandings and his, admittedly more common, complete lack of understanding. They have patiently simplified their words and smoothed away all those references that he doesn't recognise. They have taught him how to be human, showed him the strange world that he has watched for so long but never lived in.
Dean has taken it further, Dean with his nonchalant nature and his green eyes that betray his uncertainty. Dean with his words and thoughts that are so painfully human, so painfully different from Castiel. Dean who smiles at him as if the world has stopped to let them have their own pocket of time and touches Castiel like the angel is a skittish creature that will flee any second.
Dean who does not hesitate to lash out with cruel words because he thinks it is expected.
Castiel knows how broken his human is. There is a path behind Dean with signposts planted in bloodied corpses. This path is lit by the glowing fluorescent strips of light illuminating motels and inns that were temporary houses because they never truly had a home beyond the Impala. Sam is always there on that path, smiling at his brother because their destinies will always be one. Although Dean smiles back, he can hear his father's voice whisper in his head 'look after Sammy'. It is followed by the stabbing pain of guilt.
So yes, Castiel knows his human is broken but his own grace is not unmarked by the scars of war, the scars of life.
"I do not belong here."
There is no longer anything that humanity can do that will surprise Castiel. He understands them, or he understands how to predict them: expect everything. Humans are predictable because they are so unpredictable. So really, he understands nothing and that just makes everything even more confusing
"Come on, Cas. Don't give me that crap."
There is always something that has drawn Castiel to Dean, guided his eyes when he glanced down at Earth. It was there before his human was ravaged by life. Perhaps at first it was a guardian knowing his charge but it changed as Castiel watched the elder Winchester fight the evil of the world and the doubts of his mind. It changed as Dean managed to defy expectations time and time again like a tightrope walker who wobbles the length of the rope but somehow never falls.
"It is the truth, Dean. I am an angel. I don't belong in this world."
It changed and suddenly Castiel was seeing a beauty in God's paradise that his eyes had only glossed over. Suddenly everything changed and the world was not complex enough for Castiel to hide. Then Dean was there with his steady voice and easy understanding. It was awkward at first, words dropped uncomfortably into a silence that knew their sins. So Castiel reached out and flattened his palm against Dean's shoulder, over the scar that would never fade, and everything slotted into place.
"So!? No one really belongs here. Do you think Sammy or I truly belong in the hunting business or were we born into it? God, you're turning me into a girl."
Not much really changed. They never fell into a tangle of limbs and lips on lips. They never folded into the animalistic urges that rose with a warm body, pliant and inviting. Instead there was simply a new awareness, the knowledge that, in the rusty red wasteland of war and pain, they were never alone. There would never be an empty place at their side when all others had strayed too far. It was not conventional and there was not a word for it, but it was theirs.
"I do not wish to change your gender."
Sometimes Castiel wondered what he would call it, if he could box it up and label it, file it away so he could finally make sense of it all. One night, foreheads pressed together, bodies angling away, resigned to separate sides of the bed, Castiel asked Dean what he would call it. Without a word, his human rolled away and Castiel instantly regretted his inability to silence his words that were so alien to the tumultuous human mind. The bathroom light was blinding in the night but the door closed and cut it off in a way that Dean usually never did with Castiel. When the door opened again and the light was flipped off, Dean did not return to their bed.
"No that's not what- It's just a saying."
And perhaps that is the truth that has always been rotting Castiel from the inside. He does not understand these humans because he never will be human. God made angels as celestial slaves, vigilant guardians. God made angels and then he made humans. Castiel will always be a celestial being imitating humanity, a fake living a lie, a counterfeit spotlit among the genuine. Earth is not his home.
"This is exactly what I mean." There is a strange, volatile anger uncoiling in Castiel. Anger at himself for believing in another life. Anger at Dean for letting him. "I do not understand what you are talking about. I do not understand what you are thinking. I have tried but I simply cannot fit into this complicated thing that, for reasons I don't understand, you will not put a name to."
Dean's eyes drop to the muddy-brown carpet, his jaw clenching. A silence stretches between them, tense and heavy with something that Castiel can't quite explain. Dean's body is tight and knotted with emotions so twisted into each other the angel doesn't know where one begins and the other ends. Suddenly all he wants is to end the silence, tear it apart and rip out the heart that keeps their thing beating.
"I love you, Dean. I think I understand at least how love should feel and I do love you. When I return to Heaven, I will always come back to save you. I am always your guardian but I cannot stay in a place that makes no sense to me."
He doesn't think about the next movement, doesn't pause to ponder what it means. He just reaches out and easy fits his hand onto the scar, his permenant tattoo, on Dean's shoulder. Somewhere he wonders if this is the last time he will touch Dean like this, like he is going to break if Castiel says the wrong thing. The angel knows that tomorrow his human will be gone. The Impala will carry the Winchesters away to the next small town crying for a superhero. Dean will save another family from the hands of The Reaper. He will laugh and flirt with the woman who understands what 'big hands' mean.
"I'm sorry," Castiel says, not sure what he is apologising for. He is given no reply, no acknowledgement. Just the tense silence thickened by words unsaid and explanations unassembled. The angel finally turns away.
"Cas." A hand stops him and Dean's voice is gruff, eyes not quite meeting his. "You're a dick for making me such a chick but I swear I would-” he pauses, jaw clenching again “-I would, you know, swallow the ocean for you or whatever. Just needed you to know that, man."
Castiel tilts his head to the side and frowns, confused by Dean’s words. "I don't think you can drink that much, Dean." The hand drops from his wrist and he is stretching his wings, reaching for where he belongs. As the white light of Heaven pulls him home, he glances over his shoulder.
Dean is sitting on the edge of the bed where Castiel left him, one hand pressed against his shoulder, face crumpling as if someone has told him that everything is a lie. Castiel wonders if it is something he said.