Hi! So this is set in season 4, between On the Head of a Pin and It's a Terrible Life. For the record, I don't hate Sam at all, even though this is a little Sam bashing. Read and review please ! :)
Dean Winchester had cried a handful of times in his life. Granted, he cried considerably more than the average guy, but his line of work was tough. He constantly saw monsters, terror, and a hell of a lot more death than he needed to. Therefore, he should be allowed the occasional cry.
That didn't mean, of course, that he didn't hate the feeling of weak and out of control that usually accompanied it. The man despised crying with all his heart and soul. Growing up with an ex-marine, crying was to be frowned upon. Crying got a, Man up. Crying got a, Stop sniveling and watch out for Sammy. Crying got long, mushy, chick-flick moments.
Dean hated all of those responses.
This time wasn't even his fault. It was those stupid pain meds that stupid doctor had given him, Tradamol or Tramadol or something. They made him feel lightheaded and sick. Add that to the current mess he was in, and anyone would be crying.
The green-eyed man, already fragile, had to do something he would swore he would never do again: torture. Even if it was Alastair, carving into his flesh brought up bitter memories in Dean's mind, memories that he would much rather repress. God, it made him sick to even think about his time spent in Hell. He had become one of the monsters that he destroyed. He had tortured innocent souls. If that wasn't emotionally destroying, the man didn't know what would be.
Apparently that wasn't enough, Dean thought as the tears slipped out. It wasn't enough that he felt ruined inside. It wasn't enough that he had nightmares every single night, waking up in a cold sweat, heart racing. It wasn't enough that he constantly thought about what a piece of shit he was and how his dad didn't cave in. He disappointed him and his memory. No, it wasn't enough. He just had to go and start the fucking apocalypse.
The weight that fell on his shoulders was easily enough for an entire army, but it rested on Dean alone. God, that weight crushed his spirit. He started the apocalypse. He broke the first seal by being the righteous man and starting to mercilessly torture. The man can still remember the look in Castiel's icy blue eyes. It was a look of regret, of sorrow, and of something else. Dean tried not to look directly into them because he couldn't stand to see disappointment there. He wouldn't be able to deal with the pain.
It wasn't just that he had started breaking the seals. The older Winchester had to stop it. He had to stop fucking Lucifer from taking over the earth and killing all of mankind. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, but more tears fell. He had to stop the Devil, and the apocalypse, and the mass destruction of six billion people. And Sam…
Where the hell even was Sam? He was at their shitty motel room (what a surprise) when Dean went to bed, but he hadn't been back since then. Sam's probably off with Ruby, the big brother thought, his chest ready to explode from trying desperately to hold in tears. A losing battle, just like his entire existence. It wasn't the most unlikely of scenarios. They seemed to be fuck-buddies as of late, with Sam seemingly trusting her more than his own goddamn brother. The older sibling could hardly bear the thought of a demon, of all things, replacing him.
In the literal sense, the man was taking in more than enough oxygen to stop the tears from falling. Yet he didn't feel like he was actually breathing. The nightmares of Hell, responsibility of the apocalypse, and lack of a brother choked him like a noose. He could physically feel the pressure on his throat and chest, as if challenging him to try and take it off. But the Winchester couldn't take the pressure of of him, and he couldn't breathe.
So Dean sat there on the motel bed, eyes wet, exhaling deep, shuddering breaths, trying to keep from losing himself completely.
Castiel was worried about the righteous man. He didn't seem to be taking the pressure very well, from the meeting they had in the hospital. Normally the angel would let Dean carry on with his business, but for some odd reason, he felt the need to check up on the Winchester.
He popped into the dingy motel room. Cas observed his surroundings, immediately noticing the nearly broken man and the lack of his brother by his side.
Something touched the angel. He felt sympathy for Dean, but not normal sympathy. It felt as if he wanted to help ease the pain, which was quite unusual. He walked over to the bed and sat down besides the one he gripped tight and raised from perdition, who was currently hunched over the side of the bed.
"Dean?" the blue-eyed angel asked gently, "Are you alright?"
The man in question let out a bitter laugh, plagued by tears, "I'm just fucking fine, Cas. My world is crashing down around me, but I'm fine."
Castiel detected the sarcasm with some difficulty, which showed him that his charge was, in fact, not fine. He appeared to be in the middle of an emotional breakdown, which was understandable. He tried to think of what would be comforting to the man.
Carefully, the angel put his arm around Dean. The Winchester flinched violently at first, but leaned inwards. The green-eyed man took a ragged breath and began to sob.
Dean was mortified. He was crying on an angel of the Lord, for God's sake! But he didn't have it in himself to stop. Once the barrier was open, there was no going back.
It was kind of nice, having someone there who cared. It didn't seem like Cas was just doing his job. It felt like maybe, just maybe, the angel cared a little about him.
Castiel looked down at the Winchester. He seemed to be nearing the end of his crying. It was a bit of a relief, but he didn't exactly want to get up. He rather enjoyed having Dean pressed up against him, clinging to him like there was no tomorrow. He even maybe wanted to experience Dean's lips against his own.
Am I in love with a human?
Am I in love with an angel?
Dean closed his eyes, feeling the sobs subside. He didn't want to let go, however. As much as he bitched and whined, he liked the angel's company. The older Winchester also appreciated everything that Cas had done for him over the year. And he was attracted to women generally, but damn, Castiel was beautiful. It was now or never.
Cas felt the man's head shift upwards. He glanced down to find green eyes upon his blue. Dean was peering up at him, eyelashes twinkling with the remaining tears. The angel's heart beat faster. What is happening to me? he thought, desperately trying to find logic where there was none.
Slowly, Dean's head moved forwards until his pink lips were pressed sweetly against Castiel's.
This by far was the most outrageous thing that Dean had ever done, which was really saying something. He even went to third base in the back seat of the Impala as a teenager (which John would skin him for if he were still alive), but that was nothing compared to kissing an angel.
However, Dean started to freak out a little: Cas wasn't responding. He pulled away, but Cas grabbed him and kissed him ferociously.
Castiel had no idea what to do at first. He was too busy having a panic attack at the fact that he was kissing Dean Winchester. But then the man pulled away, and Cas panicked even more. Thus, he did the only thing he could think of.
He felt like his lips were on fire, his soul dancing. He suddenly understood why humans would want to do this all the time. Nevertheless, he was confused when Dean pulled away.
Dean never wanted it to end. It was hands down the best kiss he had ever had. He was regretful when he ended it, panting.
"I need to breathe, Cas," the man said, "You may not, but I do."
Dean saw the angel grin, which made Dean kiss him again.
Dean Winchester had cried a handful of times in his life. How could he not, with the amount of pain and destruction in his line of work? He had always hated crying. But, maybe. just maybe, it could actually lead to something good in his otherwise shitty life.