It had been three weeks since Dean had sent Castiel away.
Three agonizingly long weeks, each night filled with regret and self-loathing.
With the stress of worrying about Sam's recovery and if Cas was safe, Dean lost himself. One night after a tough case, Dean decided he would just take off for a day or two and clear his head. He packed up some things in the dead of the night and left before Sam could wake up and try to stop him.
One night turned to two. Two nights turned to a week, and after two weeks Dean still did not want to go back. Each night was the same, he still couldn't figure out how to ease the pain of ditching Cas in his time of need. He loved Cas and the hurt look on his face when he told him he couldn't stay still haunted his nightmares.
Every night he would have the same dream, reliving the same moment over and over in his head.
"You can't stay Cas," the words cut through him like a knife. The last thing he wanted was to lose Cas again.
"Why, I thought you wanted me here?" Castiel was confused and hurt. Why had Dean tried to find him, just to tell him to leave?
"It isn't safe. Sam is still on the mend and you have angels hunting you down. You should lay low somewhere for now," Dean didn't even believe his own words. He wanted Castiel to stay with him more than anything. Cas stood up abruptly, clearly hurt, with tears pooling in his eyes.
"I will go then," Cas turned to leave. Dean caught his arm quickly and pulled him in for a short hug.
"I'm sorry…"
Dean woke up in a cold sweat. The ding smell reminded him where he was. Some motel off the beaten path, where hopefully no one would be able to find him. He looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was only six p.m. so Dean figured he could head to the bar, drink a few beers, maybe find a one nighter.
The biker bar down the street wasn't too bad. It was dimly lit and played some crap country music, but it served cold beer which was good enough for Dean. About an hour and three beers later, Dean decided to join a game of pool. He got to talking with a big biker named Steve. Dean and Steve talked about the places they had been, the calming feeling off the open road, and the crazy shit they had seen(Dean of course withheld some of the details of his experiences.)
"How do you deal with the shit you've been through?" Dean needed an answer. He was tired of restless nights.
"If you can keep a secret," Steve began with a devilish grin, "Smack helps take off the edge." Dean was caught off guard with that answer. He had always been one who was down to drink, maybe smoke a little weed, but heroine? He had never thought of doing a drug like that. "I got some, if you want to try a little. Trust me, it'll do the trick." Dean thought for a moment.
"Sure," he finally replied coolly. He could feel the butterflies in his stomach. Could he really do something like this? Steve nodded towards the bathroom and Dean followed him in. He watched as Steve prepared the smack. It was almost impressive how effortlessly he heated the spoon and filled the syringe. Before Dean knew it, Steve was ready. Dean took a deep breath and gave Steve a silent 'go ahead.'
He could feel the drug enter his blood stream, within what seemed like a few seconds, Dean was filled with euphoria. He no longer cared about Sam or Cas, just about the absolute pleasure he was feeling. That night, when he finally made it back to his motel room, he had the best night sleep he had had in a long time. He had no nightmares and he was grateful.