Hi, everyone! So I started my freshman year of college a few months ago, and I've been crazy busy trying to get this whole thing down. But I think I have, and it's definitely been a while since I posted anything! So here's my first story in a while-enjoy, and, as always, leave a review! Thanks!

Pain ripped through his body, slashing and tearing its way up from his blistered feet to his scarred face. Blood trickled down from the corner of his eye to his chin, a single red tear leaving a faded red trail down his dirt-covered face. He lay flat on his back, chest heaving, hand curled so tightly around his knife that his knuckles were turning white. Leaves crunched around him—never-ending autumn surrounded him, a season that was once filled with change and hope and everything new, and now a pit of desperation. The monsters were disappearing—slinking off to their homes, wherever the twisted things lived. He wasn't angry—he didn't have the energy to be angry. He was just tired. Tired and sad and hopeless, because he knew that he wasn't getting out any time soon.

It was moments like these when Dean closed his eyes and prayed. He was never a man of religion. When it came to God, Dean closed his mind and his heart and spat out bitter words and sarcastic remarks. What God would allow this to happen? What God would destroy innocent people, caring wives and little boys? On a selfish note, Dean wondered what kind of God would rip Sam from his normal life. Ripped him from comfort, happiness, safety. Pulled him into a scary world that no boy—or man, Dean supposed—should see. And what kind of God would tear Dean away from his brother, one of the few people Dean ever allowed himself to love? No, Dean never bought it. Never prayed, never closed his eyes or gave himself completely to a higher power.

Until now.

When Dean closed his eyes, he did not imagine a bright light. He did not imagine sunlight streaming through clouds, or stars, or the universe, or some other bull like that. No, Dean saw the ocean blue eyes of an angel boring into his green ones. He saw mussed hair and a forehead creased in confusion—parted chapped lips in a seemingly unending state of misunderstanding that was so fucking annoying but endearing at the same time. Comforting. Safe.

He didn't feel the embrace of God, or a sensation spreading through his body, or whatever. He felt the burning hot touch of a smooth, strong hand on his arm. He felt the closeness that he always felt whenever the angel stood so close to him, disregard of all personal space. Once again, fucking annoying but endearing. Comforting. Safe.

And when Dean spoke, he didn't whisper pleas for himself or his gratitude toward the higher power that many spoke to during these kinds of times. He spoke to a power much closer to home. He spoke soft, desperate whispers, gasping for breath and moaning whenever the pain struck him again.

Cas, I know you're there.

Please, please come on. I know you're there. Show me that you're okay.

Are you a fucking coward? What have I done to you? What have I done to deserve this?

CAS! Damn it, Cas, what's the matter with you? Huh? You can hear me, can't you? CAN'T YOU?

Please.

Please help me. I want to go home.

I need—

Another moan as excruciating pain shot through his body. What did he need? Help? A way out? Home? Yeah, he needed all of those things. But right now, Dean would settle for having Cas in front of him—close enough, real enough to touch. In fact, he wouldn't just settle for it—he would give anything for it. Dean wondered how much more of himself he could give. How much more of himself he could sacrifice for what he wanted. Needed. Whatever.

I need you, buddy. I—

Tears swam in Dean's eyes, but he could barely lift a hand to wipe them away. Images of Cas flooded his mind. The sudden entrance he made all too often, yet not often enough. The hint of a smile that had the capability of lighting up his face—the smile that Dean barely ever saw. A tear escaped Dean's tired eye and fell down his face, mixing with the blood and the dirt on his cheek. Friendship? Yeah, he guessed that's what he felt around Cas. It was funny. He hated the guy at times—absolutely despised him, wanted nothing more than to get away from him.

Don't let go, Cas. Promise you won't let go, and I'll come for you, I swear to—

And then there were times where he felt as though he couldn't live without him. Not just because Cas saved his life multiple times, but because Dean didn't know what he would do without the fucking annoyance, what he would do without another person that Dean allowed himself to—

Dean moaned as he lifted himself into a sitting position, putting a stop to his thoughts as pain ricocheted through him. Two more tears fell down his face, and he didn't know whether it was because of the pain or because of the thoughts of Cas that would not stop flooding in, overpowering him, making him vulnerable and weak and so, so desperate.

Horrible yet perfect, annoying yet determined and strong. Hate, and then, soon after, love.

Sure. Why not. Love.

Dean leaned against a nearby tree that had fallen. The rough bark scratched at his blistered, bruised back, causing another groan from Dean as his head fell back. He felt his eyes closing and did nothing to stop them. His sleeps haven't been good—full of nightmarish visions of Cas, beaten and bloodied, left for dead in some frozen grass, shriveled leaves surrounding his broken body. But it never stopped Dean from hoping, from desperately pleading to God-knows-what for a dreamless sleep. And tonight might be one of those nights. It might be.

And before he drifted off to another fitful sleep, two gruff voices mingled together in one last thought.

I'm coming.

I promise.