He can't take it - all the pain and the grief, the guilt and the suffering, the betrayals and the struggles. It all piles up around him, smothering him no matter how hard he fights against it, no matter how desperate he is to find the light within all the darkness.
The water is a shade of blue that he can't quite describe, shifting lazily below him, calming him in the constant swaying motion, though he knows beneath the gentle appearance lies icy depths and unforgiving, rushing currents. The peace it promises calls to him, beckons him forward and the first step is the hardest, when his legs refuse to move for a fraction of a second that feels like an eternity. The second step is less difficult, coming with an ease of practice and followed by the weightlessness that accompanies the lack of anything solid beneath his feet.
Gasping and shouting pedestrians and blaring car horns are dulled by the wind rushing past his ears, garbling the noises around him and finally smothering them completely, powerful currents taking hold and sweeping him away.
He feels the bone-chilling numbness surround him completely, the noise and sorrow vanishing with the light above the surface, and he fights. Not to regain control or save himself, not to get back to the top, but to stay under. The water is dragging him down, his vision is blurring, and his lungs are burning, every fiber of his being telling him to go back up and save himself.
Blood pounding in his ears is all he can make out, his heart pounding against his ribcage, all his instincts of survival guiding him upwards. He opens his mouth, the last of the air trapped within releasing itself into the open, bubbles drifting up to the surface, and he tries to inhale, taking in water and small tufts of hair that feels like seaweed.
But the splash is the most troubling part of the experience. It's small and loud all at once, making his ears rings and panic start to settle in. No, no, no. His arms are flailing as wildly as he can make them with the resistance of the water, legs kicking below him as he searches for the source, terror settling in the pit of his stomach.
He doesn't manage to look long before he feels warmth snake around him, pulling him back against a solid mass. He struggles, but the lack of oxygen makes it difficult to put up any real fight and the person - a man - is determined and stronger than him right now, and he hopes that it's over before he is saved. Before he has to explain himself and apologize to someone else he hurt. And he prays that this person doesn't get dragged down with him.
They break the surface and he coughs violently, spitting up the water and gasping for air, the burn in his lungs fading with each breath. His head dips forward and he's clutching at the arm holding onto him. "Damnit, Cas!" The voice is rough, but familiar, angry and so distinctly-
"Dean…?" He questions. It hurts to get the word out and he already knows the answer, but he asks anyway. It's an instinctive response. Dean rolls over onto his side without a response, keeping one arm wrapped around Castiel and using the other to paddle towards the shore, cussing and cursing everything in existence as he did so, and Castiel can't find the strength to fight him. He lets himself be carried to the safety of dry land and hauled up onto the grass, flopping onto his back, his chest still heaving.
It's only a brief moment of peace, of nothingness, before Dean's hands are curling into fists against his chest, gripping the soaked cloth of his t-shirt, and yanking him roughly up to a sitting position, angry green eyes glaring down into his own, jaw clenched tight and-
And he's crying. His brow is furrowed, water dripping off the tips of the drooping spikes of his hair and running down his face. And his eyes are bloodshot, blurred with tears that he isn't bothering to stave off, letting them fall freely.
"Why'd you do that?" His voice cracks, pitched higher than he remembers and it hurts. Castiel forces his arms to come up, but can't quite find the courage to touch the other man. "Dean, I-"
Dean silences him. Not with a punch or a look. He jerks him forward and releases the grip on his shirt, arms swinging around him. His shoulders are shaking now as he buries his face in the crook between his shoulder and his neck and it's too much.
Castiel's head drops onto his shoulder, hangs gripping desperately at the back of his shirt, eyes stinging as the tears finally come.
"I love you, you stupid bastard," Dean grumbles against wet skin. "I love you. And don't you dare try to leave me again, got it?"
"I got it."