Kiki went on a fic-let spree in people's asks last night. Here's a compilation:
"Dean was frustrated with Castiel. "You just don't understand." His voice was gruff. "They're just words." Castiel said, failing to understand why Dean was so upset. "You are unsure of my intentions," Castiel said when he understood Dean's anger. But how could he explain to Dean what they shared between each other. It was deeper than even Castiel's connection to his brothers in the Host. Dean's human soul, magnetic with its free will, had captured Castiel's grace entirely. The feeling was sublime"
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Castiel could feel Michael's grace from worlds away. When the archangel escaped the cage and took Adam as his vessel, Castiel was almost incapacitated by the beauty his song sang to the Host. He watched his wings, invisible to Sam and Dean, as they rose and eclipsed the late afternoon sun. Adam's eyes bore into Castiel. "My brother," His voice said, a mixture of song and word, Michael's voice. The swirling golden grace burning in his core shot out to Castiel, as Michael merged their graces.
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The rain never stopped in Lithuania, and maybe Sherlock had picked this locale because he wanted to remember those periods of time when rain kept the interesting cases at bay. Those lazy, water-logged days of being in his blue silk dressing gown, gently stroking John's cream-coloured jumper as he idly turned the page of his book. If he closed his eyes, after pressing down the plunger on his needle, wrapped in his blanket in that foreign country; it was hard to remember that he was dead.
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It was just a moment, to bring everything crashing down. It was a cool winter's day and John was at the surgery. He'd walked for a bit before hailing a taxi, and the wind had nipped at his face pleasingly. Hed felt that his life might be beginning to heal from the gaping wound that was--he still couldn't quite think the name. But as John sat at his desk and stared at the calendar in front of him. The date slapped him across the face. And he was on the road in front of St. Barts.
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Dean was showering when Castiel arrived. Being pulled to the framework of his own grace in Dean's soul, Castiel landed in the bathroom. The fog from the steaming water had saturated the room, and he saw Dean's bare body rubbing soap across strips of muscle. Something twisted in Castiel's grace and he felt himself reaching out to Dean's soul. Turning with a small twitch at the connection, Dean's face was unreadable. "You're here." He said unbelievably. "I reached out, and you were there."
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"Do you understand love, Castiel?" Anna asked him. Her grace dancing with inquisitive curiosity. Castiel didn't speak, his grace turned within him in a slow tempo, ebbing like the tide. Anna continued. "Connections are important for us all. The connection of our grace ties us together, just as love can tie the Winchesters to each other. You cannot deny that your feelings for Dean resemble those of sam, deepened by your healing grace. That is love, Castiel."
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Oh Little Town of Fitton
Cabin Pressure Fic on AO3.