Castiel knows the tale of Icarus well. He has been watching
humanity for far longer than the boy’s story has fascinated it. He’s heard the
cautionary tale; of the boy who reached too high and didn’t listen to those
around him and paid for it in the end. He’s heard the romanticized tale; of the
boy fell in love with the sun but could never quite reach it. Castiel has heard
the tale many times and to this day doesn’t understand the infatuation people
have with it.
It is not a particularly kind tale. The boy believed he had
found freedom; had reveled in his acquired free will. But he did not heed the
dangers that he had been warned of and he flew too high and crashed too hard.
He fell in a blind panic as his wings were melted by his own ambitions and torn
from his back as his Gods watched and let him die.
But when Castiel first lays his eyes on Dean Winchester he
understands the tale. His soul was brighter than any sun; it shone out through
all of Hell, even as broken and bloody as he was, and Castiel could feel it calling out to him. He had
rebuilt The Righteous Man; put him back together piece by piece with his own
hands and grace, and he still had not gotten close enough.
Dean Winchester was never just the sun; his face has enough
constellations to make the night sky envious. His eyes are as deep as the ocean
Castiel would inevitably fall into, would inevitably dive into headfirst. Dean was the sun, the stars, and everything
underneath. He is an entire universe wrapped up into one man and Castiel would give
up his grace, his halo, his wing, just to be near.