Castiel envied Dean’s ability to fall asleep quickly. Every night, long after Dean’s soft snores had started to fill the comfortable silence, Castiel would lay wide awake.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t tired; on the contrary, he most certainly was. But however hard he would try to get his mind to rest, he simply couldn’t shut off the little voice talking at the back of his head. And the more he started thinking about it, the more it bothered him.

That little voice…it hadn’t been there from the beginning. It wasn’t until his new life had begun as a habitant of Mr Novak that it had appeared. In fact, he hadn’t noticed it until that sunny day in the park.

As the years passed and Castiel made his way further and further away from his family, the tone of the voice had begun to change. It had become hostile, questioning his every move, filling him with guilt and regret, but he hadn’t listened to it until it was already too late.

Those first times when he had heard the voice, he had been so confused and distracted from what was happening around him that he had needed to focus on something else. Incidentally, the voice almost always made itself the most dominant in the presence of Dean Winchester. So Castiel had started counting.

[[MORE]]

Laying in bed several years later, he was reminded of his old habit. He looked up at the calm face of the sleeping hunter beside him on the bed. One, two, three, four… The freckles never ended and they were still a perfect distraction from the little voice shouting at the back of his mind. It had changed over the last few months, turning sad and destructive, and Castiel had a hard time trying to ignore it, however, the freckles had made quite a good target for his thoughts, and after some time it had begun to become bearable.

But one night he just can’t stand it anymore. He’s counted all the freckles, twice in one night, and sleep still hasn’t come over him. After some minutes of debating with his inner self, he lets out a soft sigh, puts on his shoes and coat, and walks out into the brisk night. He walks slowly and without direction, hugging his coat closer to him as the wind starts to get chilly. He encounters a small field and a stone satisfactory as a seat. He looks up.

It is a clear sky that night. Not a single human being would be able to count all the stars visible, but Castiel sees more than anyone else ever would. A small smile hints over his features, and he starts counting anew. He gets so excited over seeing more and more and more—all thoughts of the little voice hidden and forgotten—that he doesn’t hear the approaching footsteps in the frosty grass.

“Hey,” Dean says softly.

Cas starts and looks towards his intruder. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean smiles softly and continues to walk towards his angel. “What are you doing? Couldn’t sleep?”

Castiel nods in response, sighing quietly as he looks up to the world above yet again. A few minutes later he says, “I count your freckles,” Dean looks towards him, “when I can’t sleep. It helps me…it makes things quiet.”

Dean doesn’t need to ask what the ‘things’ are; he knows. Instead, he follows Castiel’s gaze up towards the sky.

“But tonight,” he continues, “it just didn’t work. I counted all of them twice and it didn’t help.” His shoulder slump and his gaze falls to the ground in defeat. Dean’s arm finds its way around his back and pulls the fallen angel into his side. Castiel leans into him and lets his head rest on Dean’s shoulder.

“You went out here to get some air, or…?” Dean murmurs into Cas’ hair.
Castiel hums in response. “I started counting the stars. They’re not very unlike your freckles.”

Dean smiles to himself at that and pulls his Cas even closer to him. They sit in silence until the first traces of dawn are visible.

(Later that day, Dean explained that the voice in Castiel’s head was his consciousness, that it’s what made him human, even back when he was an angel. “It’s what makes you you.”)