Yet again, even though he promised himself to stop, Castiel was playing wingman for Dean at the local club. Well, it was Dean's version of wingman, which was Cas sitting there while he flirted with all of the women, and if the girls came in pairs, he would offer one up to his third-wheel. Cas sat at the bar with his Coke (he was also the designated driver) while Dean was on the dance floor, looking down at his brown, bubbly concoction. This happened every Saturday night, and Cas would beat himself up every time once he got home. What else was he supposed to do for someone he loved?
Dean came stumbling behind him, letting most of his weight fall against Cas as he approached him. Cas winced, exhaled heavily, and turned around.
"Dude," said Dean. "Look at these lovely ladies."
Cas took a look, and they were anything but lovely. Their shorts could barely even be considered clothing, as their rear-ends were seeping out of them. Their breasts, bless their souls, looked as if they hadn't had a breath of fresh air in years.
"Oh my," said the one with brown hair. "He is cute, Dean."
"Told you."
"Wanna come dance, handsome?"
She moved her hand along his outer thigh, and tried to pierce through his soul with a come-hither look that could induce orgasms in any man (or woman) that dared to glance at it.
"I'm not interested," he said, turning back around, sipping his Coke.
"Fine then," she said. "Prick. Let's go dance some more, Dean. At least you're hot."
It happened again, of course. Dean was too drunk to even bail his poor friend out. The sting of it always felt the same. They had been best friends since their college days, and that seems to slip away from them right the minute Dean's blood alcohol content is high.
The bartender, a pretty girl with crimson hair, walked over to Cas and leaned over the counter, getting close to his face.
"Why do you let him do this to you?" she asked.
"You already know, Anna," he said, keeping his eyes on his cup of ice.
"You need to tell him," she said, backing away a bit. "Maybe then, he would realize he's hurting you."
"When he's drunk, he seems to forget that I don't like girls."
Anna sighed, and used the soda hose to fill him up again.
"Wanna know what I really think?" she asked.
Anna was an icon for advice. Not only was she Castiel's younger sister, but she was also logical and sympathetic enough to give the soundest advice. Everyone in their family seemed to turn to her when their lives were in disarray.
"What?" he asked.
"I've seen you go through this before. Dean seems blind to how you really feel. If you don't tell him, he'll never understand. But if you get the wrong answer…"
She trailed off. Her voice quivered near the end, and she had to take a few deep breaths to hold the tears back. This brought Castiel's attention to her face, and his eyes were wide, worried about his sister.
"I just don't want to see you go through what you've been through," she continued. "Just please keep taking those meds, okay?"
"I'm getting better," he said. "I'm really trying."
Cas had struggled from severe bouts of depression throughout his life, and it only got worse when it came to Dean. The first time Dean got a girlfriend while him and Cas were friends, Cas immediately tied a noose to the ceiling of his dorm room. However, his roommate had just gotten back from class while Cas was sliding his head through the hole, and he immediately stopped him. He was sent to a mental rehabilitation clinic, and after being prescribed with some anti-depressants, he maintained a moderate mood until recently.
"Do you think he'd leave if I told him I was ready to go?"
"Honestly," Anna began. "No."
The night dragged on for a couple more hours, and when Dean was ready, he and his lady friends started stumbling out of the club. Cas thanked Anna for her support, and noticing that Dean was trying to bring the trashy girls back for some fun, he had to put his foot down. Cas was a doormat when it came to Dean, but he wasn't passive enough to let the man he loves make out with two sluts in the back seat of his car. His heart already took a beating.
"What a prude," one of them said. "It's no wonder he never gets laid."
Cas dragged his friend out of the bar, ignoring the rude comments from the women. They made their way to the parking lot, and made it to Castiel's beige, '98 Cadillac Catera. Once they got in and peeled out of the parking lot, Dean looked to his friend, with an intoxicated smile.
"Did you have fun?" he asked, a bit slurred.
"Do you want an honest answer?"
Dean had to think for a bit. His brow creased, and he chuckled a bit.
"Duh."
"I didn't. I had to sit by and drink non-alcoholic beverages while I watched my best friend whore around with some 'classy' ladies at the club. And at that, you keep offering me one of them, which is incredibly insensitive of you, seeing as you know I have no interest in women."
"Well shit," said Dean. "Why'd you come then?"
"Because I'm not letting you drive yourself home in the state you're in. I'd rather be a third wheel and know you're alive than stay at home and hope I don't see your face in the obituaries."
"Aww," said Dean, with a bright smile. "Is it because you love me?"
"Stop," said Cas.
"Well I love you, Cas. You're the best."
"Stop it, you're drunk. You only tell me that when you're drunk."
They reached Dean's house, and like the good friend Cas was, he walked Dean to the door. Dean invited him in, and regretfully, Cas accepted. It was the normal routine of a night out, and Cas always tried to milk every bit of time with Dean he was able to find. They went up to his bedroom, and Dean immediately fell on his bed. Cas remained standing; Dean always seemed iffy about how close he wanted them to be when it came to distance.
"Well," said Cas. "You're home safe. I should probably get going."
"Stay," said Dean. "I could use the company."
Cas sighed, and sat down on the bed beside him. Dean smiled warmly at him, laying his hand on Castiel's thigh.
It was starting again.
"Dean," said Cas. "You're drunk. Stop."
"C'mon," he said, gruffly. "You had to have chased those girls away for a reason. Let's fool around a bit, Cas. It's not like this would be the first time."
It was the truth; it wouldn't have been the first time. Cas would always prohibit the trashy girls from the clubs to enter his vehicle, and nights like these always ended with Cas feeling used and out of place. Dean would never budge on the emotional side of the twisted relationship they had, and that was ripping Cas apart from the inside out.
Dean moved on top of Cas, gently moving his lips against his, and slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Throughout this whole process, Cas couldn't help but let out little moans, trying to enjoy every moment of it while it lasted. Even through all this, in the back of his head, he knew how he'd feel in the end. He was like an emotional scavenger. He scrounged up whatever pleasure he could find, whether or not it was satisfactory. It was just meant as a means to survive.
That night ended like no other, and the dissonance he felt was just as intense.
He slipped away in the early hours of the morning, unable to get much sleep because of how beaten up he was on the inside. While he thought about what just happened, and how his life had just been one hook-up after another with the man he loves, he started crying. The sex always meant nothing, and Cas could never convince himself that it would change. Dean would always be under the influence when these things happened, and Cas would never get the satisfaction he needed.
He walked inside his house, hair disheveled, and his clothes in disarray from morning laziness. He threw his keys onto the couch and moved slowly up the stairs to his bedroom.
The first thing he did was pull out his journal, which he kept safely in a box under his bed. He always had to get his thoughts down, because it was his way of trying to rationalize the issues in his life. His entries were neatly aligned on the pages, and he slowly leafed through them all until he got to a blank page. He grabbed a pen off of his nightstand, sighed, and started writing.
I did it again. And yes, I feel terrible. Why can't I just tell him "no"? I'm only making it worse for me if I just keep getting my pleasures from him when he's drunk. I'm only making it easier to set myself up for disappointment. Maybe things will change. Maybe I should talk to him about it. Hopefully, he'll understand.
He put the journal back in its proper place, and slipped under the covers. He closed his moistened eyes, and drifted to sleep as his tears stained his pillow.
Dean
When his eyes slowly peeled open, he was greeted with the bright lights of the outside world, piercing his head with indescribable pain. He threw the covers off of his naked body, which reminded him that he should probably put on a pair of boxers, at least. He retrieved his undergarments, and looking to the other side of the bed, he noticed a note that Castiel left to tell him he went home. Dean sighed, and set the note on his dresser.
Dean usually remembered what happened, but paid no mind to the aftermath. What was another heartache to Cas was a typical night for Dean; it was just something that happened. He knew it was wrong, but he also felt like it was just for entertainment. He knew there was no meaning behind it, but he couldn't help but wonder.
They had been friends for so long, and Cas was always quick to find a reason to see Dean. When he said "I love you" through every drunken stupor, it wasn't a lie. With as many times as Cas would tell him "Stop, you're drunk", it finally occurred to him that maybe this meant something more. Dean was never a deep thinker, but with as many times as these things had happened, the reality of it all started screaming right at him.
When he didn't know what to do, his brother Sam was the first person to call. Like Anna was to Cas, Sam was Dean's logical mind, always trying to get him to do what was right.
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Sam's number, waiting for a response.
"Hello?" his voice said on the other side.
"Hey, Sammy," said Dean.
"What's up?"
Dean didn't usually call Sam for small talk. It usually meant business, so Sam usually would cut to the chase and figure out what he wanted.
"I had another fun night," said Dean, a bit hoarse.
"For Christ's sake, Dean. Again? You're gonna drive that poor guy to suicide."
"Geez, Sam. A bit harsh, yeah?"
When it came to Cas, even though the two of them never really hung out, Sam always took his side. He was highly knowledgeable on Dean and his emotions, and Dean's search for advice would usually lead to a lesson in morality.
"He only does it to get close to you. Can't you see that?"
"But he's a dude, Sam. I don't think I can date a dude."
"So you're just going to keep him around for the sex, and hope he doesn't decide to do something irrational because of it?"
"I called for advice, not a guilt trip. What do you think I should do?"
Sam's sent a sigh through the phone.
"As your brother, I would tell you to do what your heart pleases. But as a person with morals, I'd tell you that what your doing to him is wrong, and that if there's nothing more between you two, you need to let him know before he gets any more emotionally involved. He doesn't deserve this."
"Okay okay, thanks Sam. I don't need the chick-flick version."
Dean thanked his brother, and they said their good-byes. Dean took a deep breath, and dialed Castiel's number. With every ring against his ear, his stomach dropped even further.
"Hello?" Castiel's soft voice said on the other side.
"Hey, Cas," said Dean. "Everything goin' alright?"
"Yeah," said Cas, wary. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason. Hey I wanted to know if you'd want to go to dinner tonight. Kinda wanna talk to you about stuff."
"Will there be alcohol involved?" Cas asked.
"No," said Dean, with a laugh. "Just a nice dinner for the two of us. How does that sound?"
Cas waited for a while, leaving Dean nervous.
"Fine," he said, with a breathy tone. "Sounds good to me."
"Great," he said. "Where should we meet?"
Castiel
Cas arrived at the Italian restaurant that he and Dean decided on, and he walked in to see that Dean had already gotten a table. With a weak smile, and a nervous wave, he slowly approached the table. His roaring nerves made it almost impossible to keep moving, giving him every indication to turn around and run. That way, there would be no opportunity for Dean to inflict any more harm on him.
He sat down and they made small talk, speaking of nothing important while they were waiting for their food. Cas didn't try to push the discussion any further, because the pit in his stomach told him that this "stuff" might not be something he even wants to hear.
Cas couldn't take it any longer; he beat Dean to the punch.
"I've got something to tell you," he said.
"What a coincidence," said Dean. "So do I. You first."
Suddenly, the room was hotter, and the burst of confidence that Cas took slipped away just as quickly as it arrived. His nerves were surging with shocks of anxiety, and he had to put his fork down because his hands were too sweaty to handle anything.
"I have feelings for you," said Cas. "Like, enough to where it physically hurts me to see you with those girls at the clubs. I only go with you because I'm scared that you're going to wind up dead on the way home. I sit through the pain because I kept hoping that you would realize that I liked you more than you thought, but that didn't work. So I just had to get straightforward with it."
Dean's gaze went blank, and it was obvious that the gears in his brain were working at full speed to comprehend what just happened. Either that, or they failed to respond to the shocking news; Cas wasn't sure which was happening. Out of nervousness, he started eating his plate of spaghetti again.
"Cas," said Dean, breathlessly. "That's sweet of you, man. It really is. But…we're dudes. I don't know if I can actually date you."
At that point, the food in Castiel's mouth lost all of its taste. It felt like mashed up plastic swimming in his mouth. The world dropped its weight right onto Castiel's shoulders, and it was immobilizing him. He couldn't see straight; he fought every desire his body had to just lose consciousness. This couldn't be happening.
"You're the greatest friend I could ever ask for," Dean continued. "And…I just think dating you would be a mistake. I know we've had some…interesting times, but it wasn't meant to be anything more than fun. I'm sorry, Cas. I just think we should stay friends."
The words echoed in his troubled mind. "I just think we should stay friends." It bounced against the catacombs of its dark, disturbed corners, pounding against his eardrums with relentless force. Nothing about what was happening was right, and his whole body was in pain.
He did the only thing he knew how to do; he ran while his legs still permitted him to do so.
He rushed out of the restaurant, hearing Dean's calls, but only as background noise. He jumped into his car, made the car roar to life, and sped out of the parking lot.
His cheeks were glistening with tears, and behind his sky blue eyes resided nothing but despair. There was no turning back; he could never look at Dean again. Dean's immaculate face represented a kind soul; someone who could give him a chance at happiness. In the end, he ripped it right out of Cas, leaving him crying and speeding down the busy streets. This isn't how it was supposed to go; he was hoping for the opposite. His mind started reciting the journal entry he would write if he made it home alive:
I fought hard for you, Dean. I thought you would be different. I guess my feelings were wasted. I don't regret meeting you, and I don't regret falling for you. You were my best friend, but even more important than that, you were a life lesson. I wish you nothing but the best, and if you find this somehow, just know that I'm dead now, because even if I'm going to Hell, the torture there will be easier to deal with than a life where I have to watch you love someone else. Have a good life, and don't let my death ruin it.
It was an entry that would never be read; only existing within his mind, because as he was driving down these crowded streets, blinded by his depression, the last things he saw were bright lights coming from his peripherals, and the eternal darkness that covered his sight.
Dean
The memorial service was over, and everyone had filed out of the building; all the ones who didn't matter, in Dean's eyes. No one could ever begin to know how he felt about his best friend. They weren't as close to him as Dean was, and he knew he could say that with confidence.
The only ones remaining were Anna and Dean. Anna kept her head down through most of the service, even when she had to speak for her brother. Her face was stained with sadness. Sam's tears were nothing in comparison to hers. Dean was the only one whose face showed nothing.
"Anna," said Dean. "I'm so—"
"Enough," she said, sternly, with a shaky voice.
Dean was taken aback; Anna was never like that. Her arms were shaking, and her tears were flowing even faster.
"I'm not mad because you didn't tell him what he wanted to hear," she said, her head still facing the floor. "I'm mad because you knew what was wrong with him. You knew about what he's gone through, and you just let him run out. Dammit Dean, my brother was clinically depressed; a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Who knew if he was taking his meds? Who knew if they even worked? Whether he was or not, he's dead now, and you were the only one who could have stopped it."
"I really am sorry," said Dean, the tears welling up. "I just—"
"You just what?" she said, much louder, turning to Dean.
The silence after her scream was deafening. Through her tears, her eyes were ignited with flames that could burn down a nation. Feeling the heat from her eyes, Dean backed away a bit, intimidated by its intensity.
"You just didn't want him around anymore? Is that what? He's dead now, Dean. Dead. Why didn't you stop him? He loved you, Dean. He could have been poor, living in a box, but as long as he had you, he would have been okay with it. If you didn't feel the same way: fine. No one can force you, but the least you could have done was make sure he lived to see the day when someone would love him the way he deserved to be loved."
She ran out of the building, sobbing. Dean looked back to at the entrance, lost for words. Everything she said was true. His life was in Castiel's hands, and he let it slip away. He lost his best friend, because he was too concerned with re-iterating what Cas was almost sure of.
He looked to the black coffin at the front of the room, approached it slowly, and started sobbing harder than he ever had.
"Cas," he croaked through his tightened throat. "I can't even tell you how sorry I am. I'm an ass, I know. I shouldn't have let you run out like that. You deserve much better than this. Why did you even fall in love with me? I'm nobody. There were tons of guys who would beg to be yours, but you picked me; the worst choice. I truly did love you, Cas. I'm sorry it couldn't be the way you wanted it to be. You did so much for me, and I took you for granted. You're the greatest friend I'll ever have, and I won't ever forget you. I hope you can forgive me from where you are in Heaven, and I hope someone there can give you what I failed to give."
Slowly, his strides led him to the outside world. They led him to a world filled with hate, despair, and people that chewed you up and spit you out like a bad meal. They led him to a world where he couldn't be at the peak of happiness. They led him to a world where he was more alone than Cas ever felt, and where nothing could dig him out of the hole he dug for himself.
It led him to a world that constantly reminded him of how he treated his best friend, and he considered it the punishment he was meant to bear.