"Sam, I am aware that you do not wish to discuss this—" Castiel grumbles, growing agitated at the young Winchester's stubbornness.
"Because there's nothing to talk about." Sam huffs, focusing on finishing his last rep of pushups.
Castiel's blue eyes roll skywards as Sam stands. "Sam, it has been nearly one week. I believe that you and Dean can work things out if you would just call him."
"Cas!" Sam explodes, hurt and annoyance and anger in his voice. "I shouldn't have to call Dean. He should— I don't need him in my life. Okay?"
"I understand," Castiel quietly responds with a dip of his head. "I will not bring it up anymore."
"Good." Sam says before sharply turning and walking out of the main room.
Two weeks later, Castiel sits with Sam on the maroon sofa in the living area. Sam had wanted to show Castiel the film Die Hard. According to Sam, it was a classic. Castiel didn't understand why it was a classic. Or what it meant to "die hard." Could one also die softly? He stares at the screen as an explosion erupts when the scraping sound of the bunker door opening alerts both him and Sam.
They jump to action; Castiel draws a dagger while Sam grabs a gun loaded with rock salt off the coffee table. Castiel walks head of Sam, motioning for the Winchester to stay a few feet behind him. As Castiel nears the corner, he takes a deep breath to steady himself—prepare himself for whatever is coming for them this time. He adjusts the blade in his hand and rounds the corner, dropped in a low, fighting stance.
His knife clatters to the floor.
"Cas?" Sam yells with concern as he rounds the corner to see Castiel holding up a very drunk Dean.
"Sammy?" Dean slurs when he sees his brother.
Dean looks bad. His usually bright emerald eyes are faded like an old, forgotten photograph and are rimmed red. His lack of sleep is evident from the deep, black circles under them. One of his cheekbones is colored with a deep, purple-ish-green bruise. His facial hair has grown out more than Sam has ever seen it and his hair is mussed. He sways on his legs as if they were made of jello. In Dean's right hand is a half-empty bottle on liquor.
Castiel holds Dean up with his left hand splayed across the hunter's chest while the other arm is hooked around Dean's left arm. He looks from Dean's pain-shredded eyes over to Sam and winces. The younger Winchester's jaw is set firmly as he looks Dean up and down. Pain is in Sam's eyes, but it is heavily outweighed by the raw anger and disappointment.
"What are you doing here, Dean?" Sam asks, looking at the wall.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Sam. I know I was s'posed to letchu make your own choices, but how could I let you..?" Dean stops, choking back a sob. "What good'm I if I can't protect my little brother?"
"You should go." Sam says, turning away. "You're drunk and don't know what you're saying."
"Sam…" Castiel pleads.
Sam shakes his head, his soft brown hair ruffling slightly. Then, Sam leaves.
"Sammy!" Dean calls, stumbling forwards a few steps. He sobs openly, falling to his knees. "What am I gonna do, Cas?"
Castiel's heart breaks and he leaves Dean in the floor to race after Sam. He finds the boy in the library, glaring at the bookshelf. Castiel clears his throat and Sam slowly turns to face him. He runs a hand through his long, brown hair as he glances from the floor to Castiel.
"Sam, you can't turn your back on Dean… Not when he's in this state." Castiel reprimands.
Sam scoffs, his hand falling from his hair back to his side. "'In this state,'" he repeats. "He's drunk, Cas. He did this to himself. It's not my problem."
"You can't mean that," Castiel frowns.
"Yeah, actually, I can. I have taken care of Dean when he's 'in this state' a lot. I was there when Dad died and he drank himself sick. I took care of him when he got drunk after leaving Lisa and after Hell and after he lost you again and again. I-I can't be with him now because…" Sam purses his lips and sighs. "I just can't deal with this. Not now."
Castiel sighs. "Can he at least stay in the bunker for the night?" he pleads.
Sam shakes his head. "Yeah. I guess. I just… I'm gonna get a hotel room because I can't be around him after what he pulled."
"Thank you, Sam," Castiel nods before heading back to the bunker's entryway.
Dean isn't there. The door is wide open and Castiel jogs out into the biting cold that is January in Kansas. "Dean?" he calls into the darkness. Castiel steps out, his shoes crunching in the two inches of snow. He looks down and sees a trail of uneven, shuffling footprints leading out into the trees. "Dammit." He mumbles to himself before stuffing his hands into his trench-coat's pockets and following the trail. Castiel's teeth chatter in the cold and he curses the wind for making it feel even colder. He calls for Dean again, listening hard. The wind howls through the trees, sounding like a hungry creature coming for him. He tenses slightly, his mind taking him back to purgatory.
"Cas?" Dean's weak voice break's Castiel from his memory-induced trance.
"Dean?" Castiel calls gruffly, following the footprints and the hunter's voice.
He finds Dean at the bottom of a dried-up stream. The hunter is taking a long pull from his bottle, his hands are shaking and he almost misses his mouth. There is blood dripping from a cut on his hairline; from the footprints in the snow, Castiel assumes that Dean didn't notice the drop and fell into the ravine. He lowers himself into the shallow pit and immediately confiscates Dean's bottle, tossing it aside.
"H-hey! That's m-m-mine." Dean can hardly talk between his slurred speech and chattering teeth.
"Come on, Dean," Castiel says as he grips Dean's arms and pulls him up to his feet.
"Jus' leave m-me out 'ere." Dean tries to shove Castiel away. "'s better if I f-freeze."
Castiel scowls and ignores what the hunter says. He leads the man back to the bunker. It's a slow process because Dean continues to stumble and fall. Each time, he apologizes to Cas with his impaired speech. Each time, Castiel tells Dean that it's alright. Once they reach the Men of Letters's bunker, Castiel leads Dean into the hunter's old room. Castiel suspects that Sam is gone already from the intense silence in the rest of the hideout. Dean flops onto his bed, rubbing his face with his hands. All the snow that had accumulated on Dean's flannel over shirt is now melting, resulting in the shirt being wet. Dean is shivering violently, his hands covering his face from Castiel.
"Dean, I think you need to take off your shirt." Castiel points out with concern.
"Are you try'na hit on me, Cas?" Dean jokes, but he makes no move to remove the shirt.
Castiel rolls his eyes skyward. "You will freeze. You should remove that shirt and put on another." He reaches to help the Winchester remove the shirt, thinking that perhaps Dean is far too inebriated to do so himself. But when Castiel starts pulling on the long sleeve, Dean jerks back with horror in his glassy eyes. Castiel retracts his hand and tilts his head. Dean turns his head to face the wall, his left hand absently gripping his right forearm.
"Dean..?" Castiel questions, sitting beside Dean on the bed.
Dean doesn't acknowledge Castiel at first; he brings his right forearm to his chest, still gripping it tightly. He rolls onto his side, back to the angel. "G-go away," Dean grumbles through his chattering teeth.
Castiel feels annoyance building and he clenches his jaw. "Dean." He says with purpose. "What's wrong with your arm?"
"'s not your concern."
"You once said that you considered me family. As your family, I believe that it is my concern."
"Shut the hell up."
"That's enough." Castiel growls, gripping Dean's shoulder and flipping the hunter onto his back.
"What? You wanna get kinky?" Dean says with a scowl, still clutching his arm and still avoiding Castiel's gaze.
"Sit up."
"Wha-?"
"Sit. Up." Castiel commands.
He may no longer be the leader of a legion of angels, he may not be a full angel any longer, but his voice can still resonate that intense, respect-commanding tone. Dean slowly pushes himself to a seat on the bed. Castiel's eyes flit to how Dean's left hand is twisting around his forearm, as if Dean is trying to wring out dirty water from a dishtowel.
"Take off your overshirt." Castiel commands.
Dean finally makes eye contact. "No."
"Take it off, Dean." Castiel says slowly and threateningly. He rises to his feet, prepared to take it off by force if necessary.
Fear is present in Dean's eyes, but he is still belligerent. "No."
"Why do you wish to make things difficult?"
"Why do you have to be such a pain in my ass?!"
"I am just trying to help you, Dean! You're going to freeze to death!"
"No, I'm not."
"Dean. If I hadn't have pulled you from the snow—"
"I would've been really cold for a long-ass time! But you know what? I wouldn't have died!" Dean shouts, rising to his feet unsteadily. His chest is inches from Castiel's.
"Don't be ridiculous, Dean."
"I'm not being—Dammit, Cas!"
Castiel grabs the shirt, trying to force it off. Dean shoves Castiel away from him and stumbles backwards in doing so. "FINE!" he roars. He begins unbuttoning the flannel layer with shaky hands. You wanna know what's a'matter with me?! Fine!" Dean's voice is low and angry and defensive.
Castiel stands a few feet from Dean, waiting and watching.
"But I promise you," Dean warns as he unclasps the final button, "you're gonna hate me when you know."
Castiel frowns, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Dean strips the shirt from his left arm; the wet fabric has to be peeled off since it clings to his skin. The hunter inhales shakily before violently pulling it off the rest of the way and tossing it to the floor where it hits with a loud 'plop.' Castiel and Dean hold each other's gaze for a few moments before Castiel's curiosity gets the better of him. His blue eyes travel down from Dean's eyes down the length of his arm. He stops at Dean's forearm. There is a red, angry scar present. He squints at it, stepping forward and tilting his head to get a better look.
Then, he realizes what the mark is.
Castiel's breath hitches and hit heart stops for a moment.
The Mark of Cain.
"Dean, you didn't…?" he pleads, looking back to Dean's face.
Dean's eyes are downcast and he goes back to gripping his forearm. "Yeah. I did." He mumbles, backing away from Castiel. "I d-deserve this. I hafta kill Abbadon. I'm worthy of this mark. And I get it… if you don't wanna be 'round me anymore."
Self-loathing radiates from Dean's body in waves. Castiel stands stalk-still, stuck in a horror-filled trance. He shakes his head finally, approaching Dean. Dean back up, shaking his head until he hits the wall. "Cas, stay away from me," Dean's voice is heart-breaking.
Castiel lifts a hand and caresses Dean's face softly. Dean squeezes his eyes shut, but leans into the touch as a sob wracks his body. "Dean Winchester," Castiel murmurs the name like a prayer. "You are a frustrating man."
Dean brokenly apologizes, a tear falling from his eye as he looks at Castiel. "I'm so damn sorry, Cas," he whimpers.
"Shhhh," Castiel silences Dean, his delicate hand cupping Dean's jaw. The angel's opposite hand runs down Dean's right arm until it hits where left hand is concealing the cursed mark. Castiel gently pries Dean's left hand away until it falls aside, exposing the Mark of Cain. Castiel looks down at it and it's ugly and mean and wicked and the complete opposite of who he knows Dean Winchester to truly be. Castiel brushes his fingertips over the mark gently. His hand then continues down Dean's arm until he is gripping Dean's calloused hand in his own.
"Dean," Castiel's eyes meet the hunter's once more. Dean sucks in another sob, his mouth opening to apologize again, but Castiel runs his thumb across Dean's lips, silencing him. "You are worthy, Dean. But not of this mark. You… You are the most stubborn, self-sacrificing man I have ever known and you make some poor calls, but… You are worthy of so much better than this."
Dean scoffs. "I don't know who you have me confused with, Cas, but I'm not worth anything, alright?"
Castiel tilts his head to the side. "Stop talking about yourself like that."
"Cas, just leave me."
"Never."
Dean looks at Castiel intensely, another tear escaping his eye.
"I will never abandon you, Dean." Castiel says with conviction. "We can figure this out together. I promise that I will do everything in my power to aid in the removal of this mark. I will save you."
"What am I? Your charity case? The damsel in distress you always hafta save?" Dean laughs humorlessly. His breath reeks of cheap whiskey.
"No. You are my cause."
"Cause?"
"I believe someone once defined it as," Castiel pauses, looking nervous before finishing, "'my reason to get up in the morning.'" Castiel's hands fall back to his sides and he takes a small step back once he admits this. He feels nervous and his stomach churns.
Dean's breath hitches and he meets Castiel's gaze with a questioning look in his emerald eyes.
"You… I need you, Dean." Castiel says quietly, holding Dean's gaze.
Dean looks shocked for about half a second before he closes the distance between them. His rough hands cup Castiel's face and he pulls Castiel's face to his own. Their lips crash together like tidal waves crashing against the shores at sunrise. Castiel is taken by surprise. His hands hang limply at his sides, unsure of where to place them. Dean, as though realizing this, grabs Castiel's wrists. Never breaking their kiss, Dean wraps Castiel's hands around his neck. Then, Dean places his own right hand against Castiel's jaw while the other grips Castiel's shirt, pulling them so their bodies are flesh.
Dean's tongue laps over Castiel's lips and the angel moans, allowing Dean full access to his mouth. Dean's right hand moves from Castiel's jaw to rake through the unkempt raven hair of the man. Castiel feels Dean tug his hair gently and he cannot control himself. He wants to cleanse Dean of his guilt. He wants to kiss Dean until the man can see how beautiful he is to Cas.
Dean pulls away first, looking deep in Castiel's eyes. "Are you… Can… You sure we can fix this?" he asks with an unsteady voice.
Castiel nods solemnly. "I will figure out a way to remove this burden from you." He takes a step back. "I suggest we sleep so we can be ready to research the matter tomorrow."
Castiel begins to turn away when Deaan grips his wrist.
"Don't let me be lonely tonight?" Dean pleads quietly, green eyes glistening.
And Cas stays.