A/N: Written for -wondersmith's word prompt on tumblr. Figured I might as well post it here too. The word was heat. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: Not even close to being mine.

Different Kind of Hell

Dean hated the beach. Hated the way the sand somehow found its way into every crevice imaginable and held on like a crewmember of the USS Enterprise whenever Scotty gave her everything she had. Hated the unspeakable things that the sand did to his baby's upholstery. He had once told Sam that there were not enough beaches full of hot nudist to make him willingly subject her to such cruelty, and yet here he was at the beach. Because Sammy thought it would make him feel better. Truth was, it made him feel worse, because of all the ways he hated the beach what he hated most was the heat. It was also the one thing he wasn't going to complain to Sam about, because it was the one thing that meant something. Really meant something.

Sure nobody really liked heat, but lately there was something about it that made it an anathema to Dean. Becasue ever since he had gotten back from hell heat wasn't just heat. It wasn't just wet, sticky and uncomfortable. It wasn't just something he avoided because it made him sweat too much, or change his clothes because of discomfort. It was different; more severe. Every bout of heat had this sickening ability to transport him right back onto the rack and under the crafted knife of Alastair. Every burst of heat was a slice, a scream, an inhuman laugh, unbearable pain, and unimaginable fear. And worst of all was when a ray of heat would strike him and take him back to the worst day of hell. The day he had said yes. The day he had become a coward and a torturer. The day he earned his place among the damned.

Because of this he avoided warm showers, kept the AC on full blast at all times, and tried to avoid any flash of heat possible. Sammy didn't know this of course and so therefore he thought that Dean was moving on. That he was getting better, but how could he? How could he walk away from what he had done down there? Who he had become. Especially when it was around every corner, in every motel room, written on the face of every victim that he saw. He was tarnished, broken, corrupted. He didn't deserve to be up here with all the pure, untouched souls. He didn't deserve to be saved. He just thanked…whoever the hell was up there, he wasn't entirely sure anymore, that Sam thought he was getting better. That Sam couldn't see into his soul and witness the pathetic shell of a person he had become. Unfortuantely for him, however, Castiel was not Sam and it is a hell of a lot harder to fool an angel that can literally look right into your soul and know your deepest darkest fears. Sometimes Dean wondered how Cas could bear it. How someone so pure, so innocent, could stand to look at his battered and torn soul. The scorched and twisted thing that it had become and not be repulsed by it. How could Castiel look at him and not throw him right back in the pit? It was a mystery that baffled him at times.

His inability to fool said angel is why when he sneaks out of his motel room at around 2am he finds himself with a face full of messy black of hair and searing blue eyes.

Drawn rather abruptly from his musings he says, "Damn it, Cas, what the hell?"

Cas at least has the deceny to at least look somewhat apologetic before he says, "I sensed your distress and wished to know if I could be of some use to you."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Well, dude, hate to break it to you, but your angel-dar must be fucked up because I'm fine."

Cas seemed to contemplate this before continuing, "Then why are you out here instead of inside. Is it not customary for humans to be sleeping this time of night?"

Dean rubbed a hand across his face and breathed out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding in, "I just needed some air."

He saw the confusion flicker across his face and the question forming in his eyes so he muttered, "Just an expression, Cas."

"A very strange one as air is everywhere, is it not?"

"Cleaner in some places than others."

"I suppose this is accurate."

Dean took a seat on the curb outside the motel room and put his hands on his knees looking out toward the city that lie ahead. Cas mirrored his movements and simply stared, as if the world was this fascinating movie that if he watched enough times would reveal itself to him. Dean supposed in a way that must be true for his winged friend.

After a few minutes it became clear that Cas wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, at least not until Dean either talked or went inside and he really didn't want to go inside right now so he took a deep breath and said, "What was it like for you?"

After looking at him for a moment with something akin to sadness or regret in his eyes, Dean really couldn't be sure which, or even if he had seen them at all because Cas had mastered the art of the poker face and his mask had slipped back in place for now.

"It was…difficult. There were foul creatures trying to either corrupt or capture us on all sides. And finding you took longer than anticipated with the setbacks. You were very well…guarded, for obvious reasons, and it was evil and decay on a level most of us had scarcely even imagined before. And there were so many souls crying out to us. So many longing to be saved, but we had a goal; a mission. You. Still it was painful to see so much agony. God doesn't want that for any of you. He loves you all so much. Even so, I…apologize for taking so long to get to you, Dean."

Dean laughed at that, a bitter, broken kind of laugh that shattered the air between them, "God, don't apologize, Cas. You're a fucking angel. You never should have been forced to go to hell in the first place."

The sadness appeared back in his friend's eyes and Dean knew he didn't miss the implication of his statement. His belief was confirmed when Cas whispered, "And you should?"

"You saw me down there, you know what I did. You know what I'm capable of."

Cas sighed and leaned closer to him then, to the point where they were leaning against each other from shoulder to ankle, Dean tried to repress the shiver that shot down his spine at the touch.

"Dean, I read in a book once that it is our choices that make us who we are, not our abilities and you would never willingly choose to be the torturer under normal circumstances, it's not who you are. You are worth so much more than you know, Dean Winchester. Even in hell your soul shown brighter than any I've ever seen."

The last bit seemed almost a confession, whispered so low Dean wasn't even sure he'd heard it right, "What do you mean?"

A small ghost of a smile appeared on Cas' face as he turned to Dean and cupped his face with both hands. With his hands came a tiny burst of heat that surrounded Dean's face, but brought no memories with it, "It means that even in the midst of corruption your soul fought to stay pure; to stay good."

Dean tried to look away, but Cas wouldn't release his hold. He felt the tears welling up in his eyes as his voice broke on the next sentence, "I broke after only 30 years, Cas. How the hell is the fighting to stay good to stay pure? If anything that is the opposite of everything you said. I chose to pick up that knife, Cas. Doesn't that mean I am just like them?"

A look of sympathy later and he dropped his hands, "No, Dean, because your circumstance was different. You risk your life and your soul every day for the people that you love. And often for people you have never even met. A damned soul would never be so selfless. A truly damned soul would not care so much."

Dean shook his head, trying to collect his thoughts, "Point is, Cas, I broke. I tortured, I…became someone else. My soul has to be tarnished after that. It has to be…fucked up."

Castiel sighed and for a moment Dean thought it must be a whole new kind of sin to frustrate and angel, but then Cas was talking again and he stopped thinking for a minute.

"Dean you fail to understand how vastly different you are from most. If only I could show you your soul you might begin to understand it's magnificence. It's beauty. Yet, I cannot. All I can do is tell you that lasting thirty years in hell is much greater than most. Most souls barely last 30 minutes, Dean. And that is not, I believe the term is an over-imagination. But regardless, you should probably go back inside now, though, it's getting late and a cold front is coming in."

Dean shook his head trying to collect his now elusive thoughts, "No…uh, I like the cold."

Cas nodded, "That is interesting, I believe most humans find it somewhat disconcerting."

Dean laughed, still a bit broken, but on it's way toward being more genuine this time, "I used to hate it."

Cas tilted his head to the side in that adorable…umm interesting way he had and said, "Used to?"

"Yeah, it's just since, you know…"

"Heat bothers you now."

It wasn't a question and Dean wondered if Cas had even needed to look into his soul to find that answer, "Yeah," he whispered.

"Dean, there is nothing noble about suffering in silence when there are people who are willing to listen and there is nothing cowardly about asking help when the burden you carry alone becomes too much to bear."

His voice was stern, almost a repremand and there was something oddly comforting about that. Something in the fact that Cas was upset he hadn't talked to him about needing help that made something in his chest feel lighter. It made Dean smile to remember the terrifying angel he'd met in that barn a few months ago and how different he was than the angel sitting beside him now.

He coughed, "It's just…in there, under the covers with all the heat surrounding me I can't…whenever I close my eyes I'm back on the rack. Back under the knife. Back with…Alistair."

Dean shuddered with the memory and maybe a bit with the cold that was beginning to seep into his bones, but once again he felt a vague notion of warmth, this time around his back.

"I can help if you would permit me to."

Dean felt a small smile play at the corner of his lips, "No offense, but I hate it when you lay your angel mojo all over me."

Cas smiled, a tiny-would-miss-it-if-you-looked-away kind of smile, but a smile none the less, "I was thinking more of a…human gesture."

Dean laughed and nudged Cas in the ribs, "What you going to rock me to sleep?"

Cas nodded seriously, "Yes."

Dean stopped, "No, dude, are you insane? You can't be serious."

"I don't really joke."

Dean laughed as he stood up, "Yeah, I noticed."

Cas followed him and stood up too, "So, are you relenting?"

Dean sighed and turned to tell him that no he did not need an angel who didn't even fucking sleep rocking him to sleep like a baby, while he what? Sat there and watched him all night? That was creepy as fuck. And that he sure as hell didn't need Sam making fun of him when he found out. Or fuck, how about that it was weird for two guys to lay in bed in each others arms. He was going to say all of this, but when he turned toward the motel room and the fear of closing his eyes and being in hell again gripped him tight he let those thoughts leave his mind and gave in, "Fine, but don't you breathe a word of this to anyone or I'll rip your lungs out!"

Castiel seemed amused by this statement and for a moment Dean wondered if Castiel even needed lungs at all, it wasn't like he had to breathe but then Cas said, "Of course, Dean," lightly and everything else was lost.

When they snuggle into bed after Dean has gotten ready and Cas has gotten rid of his shoes, belt, tie, and trenchcoat Dean realizes that Castiel's heat is different. It is a soothing kind of heat that starts in his toes and radiates through him. And most importantly, at least in this very moment, is that it is the only kind of heat that he can stand anymore without thoughts of hell ravishing his mind. So when Cas tugs him closer he willingly clings to him and the brief reprieve that his proximity brings. And if a part of his heart finds its home in those stolen moments between night and day he tries not to think too hard about it. Tries not to think about the fact that soon the sun will come up and he will probably wake up to a cold, empty bed. Tries not to wonder if this is for tonight, or for however many nights Dean needs him. Tries not to wonder what this changes or how significantly it changes everything. And for the time being it works.

A little bit later when Dean is wrapped in Cas' heat and for the first time in months hell is the furthiest thing from his mind he whisperes, "Thanks, Cas. I'm glad you came."

After Dean is snoozing peacefully Cas smiles down at this human; his human as he places a small kiss to his forehead and wraps his wings more securely around him.

And Cas' whisper of "Always," gets lost on Dean's skin.