[ It was a little past happiness. The flush stayed, although Castiel closed his eyes at Baby's final words, his brow creasing despite himself. It was hard to speak about this, about Naomi, even after everything that had happened since. What he'd learned about himself...

At the end of the day, God had always put Castiel together too, but for what purpose? To watch him crash all over again? Was Castiel just God's Impala, a beloved object that He just couldn't get rid of because it meant too much to Him? It made more sense than any of Castiel's other explanations, but the implication was sad, and it made him ache. It didn't bring him comfort or love, just regret--regret because God had made him this way, made him without a soul, and therefore perhaps somehow, valued him less because of it.

God had never waxed Castiel down, after all. Tuned him up, once, put him back together a few times, but there was very little love. Castiel was a Lincoln, not a Chevrolet. ]

I don't remember. What independence I had, what personality quirks--they were polished out of me whenever they occurred. Dean left all yours exactly as they were, appreciated you as you are.