Dean doesn't talk about it; he doesn't have to. But Cas remade him and he knows sometimes Dean just gets this way: quiet and withdrawn, melancholy. Cas knows he'd give anything for someone to pull him out of it, but he'd cut off his own finger before he'd ask for help.

Cas never makes Dean ask.

Cas just makes a strong cup of hot chocolate, complete with the little cinnamon sprinkles he knows Dean likes, and he hauls Dean onto the old leather couch and into his arms. If Dean is only mildly down, he will maybe protest a bit, insist that he has things to do, work that must be done. But if he is truly depressed, he remains quiet and just lets Cas hold him.

Cas worries when Dean doesn't protest. Like now.

Dean had barely spoken a word all day, and he all but collapsed into Cas' arms the second they were on the couch. Cas was worried. "Dean what is it? What's wrong?"

Dean just shook his head and buried his face further into Cas' shoulder.

"Dean please, I can't fix it if I don't know what the problem is." Cas griped him tighter, smoothing his hands up Dean's tight back and kneading at the tension in his shoulders.

Dean muttered something and Cas could feel heat against his shoulder where Dean's face flamed from embarrassment.

"What?"

"I don't like this time of year," Dean repeated, obviously uncomfortable. "You always leave during this time."

Cas felt Dean's words like a punch to the gut. He had never considered, but it was true. Every time he had ever had to leave, or was pulled away, or even killed - it always seemed to be around this time of the year. And Cas knew enough about Dean to know that Dean would always fear it would happen again, that come some Autumn day, he would wake up to find Cas, once more, gone from his life.

Tears pricked Cas' eyes and he tightened his arms around Dean like a vice. "Forgive me, Dean. I never realized. I'm sorry."

"I know," Dean mummered. "S'not your fault."

But it was in a way, and they both knew it. They'd not had this discussion. They weren't good at discussions. But both of them knew how much they had hurt the other, and how sorry they both were for it. They were forgiven, they knew that too; but that didn't mean pain and fear weren't still present.

Cas buried his face in the top of Dean's hair. "I'm not going anywhere, Dean. I don't want to be anywhere but right here with you."

Dean didn't reply, perhaps couldn't reply, but Cas could feel him tremble the tiniest bit. This was getting to be too much for him and Cas knew it. The last thing he wanted to do was upset Dean further. He needed to relax, to calm down, to feel safe.

"Hey," Cas spoke up, changing tactic, "I think there's supposed to be a 'Star Wars' marathon on TV this afternoon. You want to see?"

Dean nodded vigorously, clearly glad for the diversion.

Cas turned the TV on, found the right channel, and they settled in. After forty-five minutes, Cas could feel a shift in Dean's breathing, how it was deeper, slower; and he realized Dean had fallen asleep. He looked down at the man in his arms and sighed. Dean would be embarrassed by his emotional display later, no doubt; he always was.

But he would be better, and that was all that mattered.

Cas knew it was very likely Dean's fears would never totally be assuaged, that he would never learn to completely trust or open himself up again. And he could understand that. But Cas also knew - even if Dean didn't - that he would always be there to calm Dean's fears and to help soothe away the hurt any way he could.

Cas smiled and kissed Dean's soft, spikey hair. "Sleep well, beloved; I have you."