Dean sat alone in the bunker, slumped on a couch, a bottle clutched tightly in his hand. He brought the bottle to his lips and took a long drag from it, the cheap whiskey burning his throat, leaving it raw and hot. He swallowed hard, remembering a time when it wouldn't even have made him blink. Purgatory had been a surprisingly effective rehab. He took another sip from the bottle, needing to numb himself. Finally, after everything else, this was too much. He was alone. Sam was gone, suffocated and buried by an angel's grace; and it was all his fault. He had, yet again, failed to protect Sam. You'd think that by now he would have got the hang of it; but no, he had fucked it up again. But really, what else had he expected? He always let down the people he cared about. Kevin had even known it, "I always trust you," he had said, "And I always end up screwed." Dean hoped that Kevin hadn't had time to realise just how right he was; if only because if he hadn't had time for that, he probably hadn't had time to feel any pain.
Dean took another drag from the bottle, grimacing again as it seared its way down his throat. Sam was gone, and Kevin was dead, and it was because of him. And then there was Castiel; Dean had told him he had to leave, told him that he couldn't stay. Cas was just one more person Dean had pushed away in his effort to protect Sam, and it had all been for nothing,
"I'm sorry I'm such a fuck-up Cas," we whispered, "I'm sorry I dragged youinto this mess." Dean put the bottle on the floor in front of him and put his face in his hands, stretching his eyes out so that the tears couldn't escape.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a knock at the door. Dean shook his head, telling himself to get it together, that being freaked by a knock at the door was fucking ridiculous. He considered not answering it, but then he realised that no-one knocked on that door. He stood up, scrubbing a hand across his face and through his hair, before walking over to answer the door, gun loaded and concealed behind his back.
Castiel was on the doorstep, snow falling behind him, snowflakes resting in his hair and on his eyelashes. Dean couldn't do anything but stare. In this light, with snowflakes falling behind him and glittering in his hair, Cas was absolutely fucking beautiful. Dean leaned against the door, fighting the urge to just fall against him,
"What are you doing here?" Dean asked, not knowing what else to say,
"I heard your prayer," Cas replied simply. Dean stared at him in shock. Of course he had. Of fucking course Cas had fucking heard his pathetic excuse for an apology and fucking showed up at his front door. What with Sam and Kevin, Dean had managed to forget that Cas was an angel again; that he could hear his prayers, even if it hadn't really been one at all,
"If you flew here, why didn't you just pop up like you normally do?" Dean asked, if only for something to say,
"Given your current state of mind, it didn't seem like a very good idea," Cas replied, his gravelly voice sending the tiniest shivers down his spine. Dean hugged him at that, needing to feel him, needing to make sure that this was really happening. He wrapped his arms around Cas' shoulders, and after a moment, he felt warm, solid arms tentatively circling his waist. Dean rested his chin on Cas' shoulder and just stood for a moment, Cas' stupid fluffy hair tickling his cheek, drinking in the warmth and the smell of him. Cas had always smelled of wool and cotton, and when he was an angel, the smell of ozone had clung to his skin. Dean inhaled deeply, noticing that it was back. He realised then just how much he had missed him. Finally, he pulled away,
"We should go inside," he said, feeling awkward,
"Of course," Cas replied.
Dean turned, walking back to the couch and bottle, Cas walking behind him. Dean sat down again, placing his gun back on the table before picking up the whiskey and holding it loosely in his fingers. Cas watched as Dean took a long drag,
"What's happened?" he asked, looking at Dean with those fucking gorgeous eyes of his,
"Sam-" Dean's voice broke around the word, "Sammy's gone," he said, on the verge of tears once again, "Mystery angel took over, and he's gone," Dean took a final sip and then set the bottle down on the table,
"What else?" he asked. Dean didn't even think about how he knew, he just answered,
"Kevin's dead." Saying it out loud made it more final, somehow, in a way that burning his body hadn't,
"How?" Castiel demanded. Dean had always appreciated the way Cas got straight to the point,
"Mystery angel again," Dean hissed between gritted teeth, "Smote the crap out of him." Dean put his head in his hands again, and felt a hand on his shoulder, "They're both gone, and it's all my fault," he continued,
"No," Cas said quietly,
"What?" Dean demanded,
"No. It's not your fault," Cas said firmly,
"No, you don't understand," Dean protested, "I tricked Sam into letting the angel in. That's why you had to leave,"
"You didn't have a choice," Castiel replied immediately, not even thinking about it,
"Yes I did. I should have found another way,"
"What other way was there?"
"Don't," Dean whispered, because there was always another way,
"Dean, look at me," Cas said forcefully, "This was not your fault." Dean turned to look at Cas,
"Why are you doing this?" he asked, looking into those blue eyes, "Why are you saying these things?"
"Because they're the truth," he said, "You're a good man, Dean, but you can't see it,"
"I'm not," Dean whispered, "For a while I thought that…" Dean shook his head, "But I fuck things up, and then the people that I care about end up dead,"
"Dean, that isn't your fault,"
"Yes, it is," he insisted, "I make stupid mistakes and then people die, and I'm not worth dying for,"
"Dean, when I found you in Hell-"
"Don't" Dean hissed, vicious,
"Dean, listen," Castiel demanded, "You are a good man. You are loving, loyal, compassionate, and warm; you are good. And you are allowed to make mistakes."
Dean was completely lost for words; he had never known how to respond when people said things like that. Tears were pricking at the corners of his eyes, and one managed to escape before he could blink them away. He wiped it away hurriedly,
"Dean?" Cas asked, tentatively,
"I don't deserve you," Dean replied, "But I'm damn glad you're here,"
"Dean?" Cas asked again, more certain this time. Dean turned to look, and then there were lips against his. He froze for a fraction of a second, before letting out a muffled, desperate noise and chasing Castiel's mouth. Dean tangled his hand in Castiel's hair, relishing in the feel of Cas' dark curls between his fingers while Cas' mouth moved against his own. Dean felt an arm wind around the back of his neck and a hand settle against the place where the handprint had been. Dean licked at Cas' bottom lip, and then tongues were curling and twisting together, running across lips and teeth. Dean finally pulled away, breathing heavily, and looked at Cas in wonder. His hair was a mess, his lips a little swollen, and his face ever so slightly flushed. He was gorgeous. And then it hit Dean, with all the delicacy of a brick, that Cas felt the same way. Sam was gone, Kevin was dead, and for a precious few seconds, Dean allowed himself not to care, because Castiel felt the same way,
"Dean?" Cas asked, his voice low and gravelly and hot as fuck,
"Yeah?" Dean was grinning like a complete idiot,
"Are you alright? Did I do something wrong?" Cas was pulling that adorable squinty face of his,
"No. Absolutely not." Dean leaned forward again, kissing him with everything he had, cradling his face in his hands. He pulled away, resting his his forehead against Castiel's, and smiling. Cas was smiling back; when Cas had fallen, his smile had changed. Dean was quite pleased to discover that it had stuck around,
"Come on," Dean said, "We've got things to do."