The Weight of Love

by castielsgrace

Dean always internalizes his feelings. It's almost become automatic by this point. But now there are wounds showing up on his body, and it's no witch or ghost causing them. Prompt fill. Trigger warning.

Title: The Weight of Love
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Warnings: Possibly triggering. Cuts, bruises, broken legs. Emotional drama all the way.
Word Count: 3,788
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, of course. I also do not own Castiel, sadly.
Summary: Dean always internalizes his feelings. It's almost become automatic by this point. But now there are wounds showing up on his body, and it's no witch or ghost causing them. Prompt fill.
Prompt: I'd love a fic in which all of Dean's emotional pain begins to manifest as physical wounds. Would especially love to see caring and concerned Sam and Cas, and how they handle it when they discover just how damaged Dean really is.

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The first one showed up in the middle of the night, and it went more or less unnoticed by Dean. It was small, reaching from his belly button to his left hip bone; a thin, straight cut that ran only deep enough to scar. When he woke up the next morning to find his t-shirt stained with dried blood, he had been more than a bit concerned. He had no recollection of getting into a fight the night prior, but he shrugged it off knowing that mysterious cuts kind of came with the job.

The next one didn't show up until a week later, and this time Dean was awake when it happened. He felt a burning line of pain going across his chest, as if someone was running a sharp blade across his skin. Blood quickly started coming through his shirt, and Dean ripped it off to find a new cut, much like the one on his stomach, reaching diagonally across his chest. This one was deeper, and the blood was coming faster. Dean knew it would need stitches. As soon as he fixed himself up, he checked the hotel room for every sort of Demon or ghost, but found nothing. No sulfur, no hex bags; nothing. He had no choice but to ignore it and move on.

However, as the weeks passed, the invisible attacks became more frequent. By the end of the month, Dean's torso and legs were covered in cuts, bruises and various other forms of wounds. He was losing sleep, waking up in the middle of the night in agonizing pain as another wound showed up. Dean could tell Sam was worried. He knew that he couldn't hide how tired and sore he was, but he didn't say anything. He didn't know what was going on, why would Sam? There was no use worrying him or Cas. He would get a better idea of what was going on, and then he would get their help in ganking whatever it was that was doing this. Until then, he'd just suffer in silence, so to say.

After a while, the attacks started to slow down again. Dean's body was covered from the neck down, and the oldest of the wounds were just starting to scar over. Whatever it was, it looked like it was ending. For a while, Dean actually believed it. He was getting better, the attacks were stopping, and everything was turning out fine again. Once in a while a new one would turn up, usually after a long hunt, but they had more or less slowed down.

A month later finds Dean and Sam hunting a nasty ghost in Seattle. Dean sent Sam off to burn her bones so he could protect the twelve or so kids she, for some reason, wanted to murder brutally. She had been stronger than either of the boys had expected and she threw Dean around like one of the kid's toys, knocking him out cold. When he came to, he was alone in the orphanage. It was freezing, and the ghost was long gone. Dean's eyes scanned the room and, to his horror, landed on the mutilated bodies of the twelve kids he was supposed to protect. Sam came bursting in, shouting his name and asking if everyone was okay. The look on his brother's face when he saw them almost killed Dean.

When they returned to their hotel room that night, Sam tried to tell him it wasn't his fault. Dean knew that was bullshit. He shouldn't have let that bitch within ten feet of those kids, and instead he had to burn their damn bodies. He had never been as thankful for alcohol as he was in that moment. Eventually, Sam gave up. He knew Dean; he knew that he blamed himself whenever something went wrong. It was a waste of time trying to convince him otherwise. They both turned in early, and thanks to the generous amount of alcohol he consumed, Dean was able to sleep.

He woke up not four hours later screaming in pain, cold sweat pouring off him as Sam struggled groggily out of his own bed, gun in hand. He scanned the room before turning to his brother questioningly, "Dean?"

Dean looked down at his leg and noticed it was bent completely opposite to how it was supposed to. Sam followed his gaze down and dropped his gun. He took a giant step over and turned the lights on, temporarily blinding Dean in the onslaught of brightness.

"What the hell happened?"

"Uh, not sure," When he spoke, his voice was rough. His leg was throbbing painfully, and even breathing hurt.

"How are you not sure, Dean? Your leg is practically snapped in half."

"I've noticed." Dean gasped at another sharp pain, this one coming from his side. He lifted his shirt and found a four-inch long cut that almost went to the bone. Sam swore under his breath, running to his bag and grabbing the salt. As he worked at placing a circle around Dean, another three cuts appeared, these one's on his wrists. His breath was coming in short puffs and he could barely comprehend what was happening, what Sam was saying to him. All he could think about was the pain he was in.

"Dean." Cas' voice is right there, right next to his ear. Dean slowly turns his head, his eyes searching for the familiar blue of the angel's.

"Cas," He choked out, just as he felt another, deep cut go diagonally across his back, from his shoulder to his hip bone.

"I don't understand what's happening here," Cas wasn't talking to him anymore, he had turned his head away and the calm blue eyes that Dean had been using to ground himself were gone. "Why is your salt circle not working?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted, "Can you fix him, Cas?"

Cas turned back to Dean, looking at him like he was a child, "I can… I can fix his leg, but I'm afraid that's going to take a lot in itself."

Sam shook his head, "Fine, fine, whatever. Just do something. It looks like he's dying."

Dean felt the warmth of Cas' hand on his leg. The pressure was agonizing, but then it wasn't. His arms and back still throbbed from the cuts, but the release of his leg made everything just that much more bearable. "Thanks, Cas."

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more." He reached down, his arm slinking under Dean and helping him into a sitting position. "Are you okay to sit? We need to see your back." Dean nodded and reached down to remove his shirt. His wrists were still bleeding pretty badly, and Dean was starting to feel slightly light-headed. Cas stiffened next to him and he heard Sam's intake of breath. He looked down at himself, realizing he had just revealed how badly cut up his torso was.

"Dean, what is going on?" Cas asked.

"Uh, nothing. Just some stupid demons, y'know?" He tried to smile, but it was halfhearted. He could see the sadness in Sam's eyes and guilt immediately pooled in the pit of his stomach. He hated lying to them.

"I think Sam would have realized if demons were injuring you this badly."

Dean averted his gaze. He couldn't look at them and lie straight out. He hated himself for doing it in the first place, and that was when they couldn't see the physical proof. Another sharp line of pain, this time straight across his heart. Dean glanced down and noticed the blood rapidly coming to the surface. He wanted to scream in frustration, he wanted to know what the hell was going on.

"Dean," Cas' hand was on his cheek and his head was being turned in his direction. "Please."

"I don't know, Cas. I honestly don't." He sighed, "All I know is that a couple months ago these cuts and bruises and burns started showing up and I had no idea what the hell was going on, so I didn't say anything. I didn't see a point in worrying you or Sammy when I knew neither of you would have a clue, either. It started slowing down. The odd one would pop up now and again, but it was no big deal."

"Dean, how is this not a big deal? Have you seen your body lately? It is covered in scars and various other wounds, new and old."

"I just didn't want to worry you guys."

Cas sighed, "Sam, would you give us a minute?"

"But his wounds…"

"I'll take care of it; It will weaken me greatly for a couple of days, but I'll deal with it." Sam hesitated still, biting his lip and throwing concerned glances in his brother's direction. "Please, Sam? I need to speak with him."

It looked as if it genuinely pained him to do so, but Sam stepped out of the room. Cas was silent as he listened to Sam's retreating footsteps. When he was certain he was gone, his gaze moved back to Dean. "You shouldn't have hidden something like this."

"I know."

"We could have helped."

Dean dropped his gaze, "I know."

"So why did you keep it from us?" Cas' hand was on his forehead then and he felt the familiar soothing energy that came with the angel's healing abilities. All of the pain was gone then, and when Dean looked down, he saw that everything was healed over, just a series of white scars lining his tanned body.

"I didn't want to worry you."

"We worried anyway, and you knew that. We could see how tired you were, and knowing you were lying to us just made it harder."

"I guess I just didn't want to have you guys freak out," Dean admitted, "I knew Sam would ask questions and I don't have any of the answers."

Cas sighed, "I've seen something like this before."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, it was a long time ago, but I think it's the same thing you're dealing with."

"What is it, Cas?"

"It's a curse." Cas sat on the edge of the bed, and Dean found himself drawn to the warmth of the other man.

"A curse?" He frowned, "Like, from a witch?" Dean remembered searching for hex bags, weird coins, everything that witches used. He found nothing.

Cas shook his head. "No, it's more… complicated than that. Much more powerful than anything a witch could do."

"Okay, well, how do we fix it?"

"Only you can fix it, Dean."

"Okay, great. How?"

Cas turned his head, his gaze shifting from Dean's again. He looked torn, though Dean couldn't fathom why. He was going to fix this, right? "It's a difficult thing to break."

"Well it's even more difficult with you beating around the bush. Just spit it out, Cas."

"All of the emotions you keep buried deep are coming to the surface in the form of physical wounds." Cas stated bluntly, "I'm assuming they started coming quickly at first—catching up on the past eight or so years, most likely since the death of your father—and then things slowed down considerably. Am I correct?"

"Yeah…"

"From that point on, it would only happen after a hunt in which someone got injured or killed, yes?" Dean nodded and tried to swallow the bile rising in his throat. "And then last night you were unable to save those children and the guilt that you forced onto yourself was so strong it broke your leg."

"Okay, so it's because I don't cry about my feelings like a girl?" Dean scoffed, "Whatever. Just tell me how to stop it, Cas."

"You need to start talking to someone. 'Crying about your feelings', as you so put it."

"What?"

Cas sighed, "Dean, this is happening because you're carrying all this pent up guilt and sadness in your heart. It's so bad that your body is now trying to get rid of it through violent means."

"Great." He moved to get up. He really needed a beer.

"Dean," Cas grabbed his wrist, and he froze. Cas' hands were warm, and they sent a bolt of energy through his arm that Dean could only assume had to do with the angel mojo.

"Cas?"

"Why won't you talk to us?"

"Because I'm fine, it's no big deal."

Cas frowned; his grip on Dean's wrist tightening to the point it was bordering painful, "Do you seriously expect me to believe that? It is now carved into your skin just how not fine you are."

"What does it matter if I'm okay or not?"

"Do you think Sam wants you to have to deal with all of this on your own?" Cas moved closer, and Dean was very tempted to remind him about personal space, "Do you think I do?"

"I don't talk about my feelings, Cas. Spend long enough with my dad and you won't, either."

"Yes, well, now you don't really have a choice. If you don't want to talk to me, talk to Sam." The warmth on his wrist was gone then, and so was Cas. Dean fell back onto the bed, and somehow he just knew he had royally pissed Cas off.

. . .

Dean didn't see Cas for a good two weeks after that point. He told Sam he was fine, and lied when he asked a couple days later if the attacks had stopped, while in reality they had only gotten worse again. Dean knew it had something to do with Cas leaving and knowing that he was pushing away the only people who still cared about him, but he didn't know what to do about it. He just couldn't unload all his crap on Sam. He knew that it would stop the damned attacks, but he just couldn't bring himself to force it on his little brother. Hell, he was supposed to protect the damn kid.

He knew Cas would be there if he wanted him to be, but Dean didn't know if he could do it. He didn't know if he could show the vulnerable, weak side of himself to oh-so-powerful Cas. He highly doubted he would be judged. In fact, he had reason to believe Cas already knew a lot of what was going on, but he didn't even know how to approach such a subject. Not that it mattered, because he was gone and pissed, and hell Dean just really needed a drink.

So drink he did. Dean drank until he couldn't see straight, couldn't feel the messily stitched up cuts, and couldn't think about the stupidity of what he was going to do. Cause hell, he was to the point where calling Cas down seemed like the best idea he'd ever had, so call Cas down he did. "Castiel, c'mon down here. We need to talk."

He expected to have to call a few times, but Cas was just there, standing in front of him in the small hotel room. "Dean?" He asked curiously, "What is it?"

"You were right, okay?" He slurred, "I shouldn't keep all this shit in. Half the time I feel like my brain's going to, like, explode, but man. I can't talk to people, it's weird. They always, like, expect me to be this strong guy and I have to live up to that, y'know?"

"Dean, are you drunk?"

"Yes, very. Is that a problem?"

Cas sighed and wrapped an arm around Dean's waist. He hadn't noticed that he was swaying until suddenly everything was really still and he could feel Cas' strong grip on his hip as he was led in the direction of the bed. "Woah, not planning to take advantage of my currently intoxicated state, are you?"

"Dean," Another sigh, then a gentle pressure on his shoulder, pushing him into a laying position on the bed, "You need to sleep."

"No. I need to talk." Dean pushed onto his elbows and then, with some effort, into a sitting position. "You said I need to talk."

"Yes, when you will be able to remember it the next morning."

"I'll remember this tomorrow. I'm not that drunk." Cas stared at him incredulously, and Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm serious. I know my tolerance; I know how drunk I am. I'll remember."

"Fine, continue. It's not my fault if you say something you didn't want me to hear."

"I'm pretty sure you know more about me than Sammy." Dean shook his head. "Plus, I trust you. I don't think you're the type of guy to, like; hold it against me or anything, right?"

"I would never."

"Good, cause I like you, a lot. You're my favorite angel." Dean got really close at that point, pulling Cas forward by his tie to the point that their noses were almost touching. "I know I call you mean names almost every time I see you, but seriously. You rock."

"I'm glad you think so, Dean."

"No, I don't think you get it." He smirked and Cas shifted uncomfortably, "I like you kind like I liked Lisa."

Cas closed his eyes, "Dean…"

"Don't worry, man. Totally accepted you're, like, legitimately way out of reach. Totally moved past it."

"I…"

"Don't worry about it, Cas. Seriously." Dean smiled, but Cas didn't see the sheen in his eyes that he normally did when Dean was happy, "Wow, I'm tired. What were we going to talk about, again?"

"Nothing, Dean." Cas took his hand off his tie and nudged him back so he was lying down, "You just need to sleep."

"I don't want to."

"Why not?"

"Because if I go to sleep you're going to leave." Cas smiled. He couldn't help it. Dean looked like such a child, and it pulled at Cas' heart in ways in shouldn't.

"I won't leave, I promise."

"Give me your hand," Dean insisted, intertwining their hands when Cas folded and handed his over, "This way you can't leave."

Cas watched his eyes slip closed, and the grip on his hand loosened considerably. He could tell Dean was asleep, and before he really knew what he was doing, Cas pressed a kiss to Dean's cheek. "I'm not out of your reach," He whispered.

. . .

Dean woke up the next morning with a killer headache. The sun was too bright, but when he went to roll over he found himself unable. He glanced down at his hand and found it still intertwined with Cas' as the events of the night prior started coming back in hazy glimpses. He trailed his eyes up slowly to the blue one's he knew would be watching.

"Good morning," Cas said simply.

"Morning."

"Did you sleep well?"

Dean coughed, sitting up, "Um, yeah."

"Good."

A silence fell. It wasn't exactly awkward, but it also wasn't the most pleasant silence Dean had ever experienced. He felt stupid for what he had said. He knew that being drunk had been a pretty good excuse for him saying it, but he didn't doubt that he'd kind of messed up their relationship. "I'm sorry about last night, Cas."

"What about it?"

"I remember everything, man." Dean told him, "I know what I said, and I'm sorry. You didn't have to stay here all night."

"I didn't mind."

Another silence. Dean didn't know what to do, what he was supposed to say. He really wished drunk him would've listened to Cas and kept his mouth shut. "Although," Cas said after a minute, "I am curious as to whether or not you meant what you said last night."

Dean was damn well tempted to lie and say that he was drunk, and therefore stupid. But he was tired, and he just couldn't bring himself to do it. So he shrugged, "Yeah."

"I see."

"Like I said, I'm sorry. Can we just forget it ever happened?"

"No, I don't think we can."

Dean rubbed at his eyes, sighing, "Look, I'm sorry Cas. Okay?"

"Dean," There was a hand on his own again, and Cas had moved closer, "We can't forget it because I don't want to forget it."

"What?"

"I don't quite understand what I'm doing, but I know that I care for you deeply," He explained, "I originally thought I thought of you as a brother, like Sam, but it's different than that. It's more… intense, I suppose."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, I believe so."

Dean couldn't stop the grin. He didn't quite believe it, and he had no idea what he planned to do with this newfound information, but hell if he wasn't glad to hear it. Instead of saying anything, he pulled Cas in for a hug. He tensed slightly, but eventually relaxed into Dean's grasp, wrapping his own arms around his waist. Dean could've stayed like that for a lot longer, but Cas was pulling away. "We still need to talk Dean, about what you were going to say last night."

"Oh."

"It's important; I know the attacks haven't been stopping."

"I can't talk to Sam, Cas. I can't just unload on him. I know he wouldn't mind, but you know just as well as I do that he would spend most of his time worrying about me."

"So talk to me, Dean."

"I don't know where to begin," Dean admitted, "I've never really done this before."

"Just start from the beginning," Cas encouraged, "We have time, just let yourself speak for a while."

Dean sighed, but that was just what he did. At first his story came out in broken, stiff sentences, but slowly it started to just flow out. Everything that had happened in the past eight years; from his dad, to Sam, to Lisa and Ben, and finally to Cas. He told him how traveling with John had forced everything inside, because guilt and pain equaled weakness. He told Cas everything, and not once did Cas judge him for it. Dean could physically feel the weight being lifted from his chest, and he felt like he could finally breathe.

"That's everything," He breathed, "Now you know pretty much everything."

Cas didn't speak. He simply scooted forward and pressed himself to Dean again, his arms warm around his waist and his breath on Dean's neck. "Thank you for telling me."

"Well, you were right. It felt good."

"Good, now you just need to keep telling me." Cas pulled away enough to look Dean in the eye, "Whenever you feel guilty, or bad, or blame yourself for something that is most likely not your fault, just call me. I promise I'll come to you."

"Thanks, Cas." Dean smiled, "Though I kind of hope you'll visit a bit more often now."

Cas smiled, too. "I think that could be arranged."