The Anatomy of A Broken Man

Chapter One

It was Dean Winchester's thirty-third birthday and he was standing on top of the Brooklyn Bridge, contemplating suicide.

The wind pulled on his jacket insistently, and his feet threatened to greet the unknown in front of him as if him and Death were old friends. His Heineken rested on the top of the bridge along with the bouquet of flowers he'd bought a few minutes earlier.

He was supposed to bring them to Sam's funeral.

Dean had taken a detour on his way to the cemetery, eyes empty as he found his way to the bridge.

The tears somehow never came before. Not when Bobby called him. Not when their father told Dean, It should have been you, before he passed out cold on the couch. Not when he stood there, inches away from death.

He closed his eyes, shutting them tight so the wind wouldn't rip them open. Images of his family mourning the smarter brother, the nicer brother, the better brother-

He reached over for his bottle, and took another swig before realising it was already empty.

"Hmmph. Figures."

He gazed over the ocean. Crests of the ocean strained to meet the tips of waves, and the sunlight danced across Dean's features. It was now or never.

Pressing a palm to his tattoo, the protection sigil that he had shared with Sam, he took what he was ready to label as his last breath. He raised his arms spread eagle, like an angel, took one foot off of the edge and -

"Hey!"

Strong arms coiled around his waist and tugged him backwards violently. Dean fought for control, sputtering out and leaping forward, but this man's hold on him was too strong.

The nine shots, the two bottles of beer, and the grief that rested in his chest like lead must have found it's way to his heart because he fell completely limp then.

It was Dean Winchester's thirty-third birthday, and a stranger wearing a trench coat had saved his life, and was holding him in his arms.

"Sir?" The police man yelled down at him, for the fourth time. Dean shook awake, eyes fluttering wildly searching for a sense of familiarity. He hacked out a cough a couple times, and propped himself up onto his elbows. "Sir, can you hear me?"

He squinted up at the police man. "Yeah, sorry. I'm- I'm... where am I?"

Extending a hand and pulling Dean to his feet, the cop said, "The Brooklyn Bridge. God knows what you're doing- passed out, on the side of the road."

"I- oh." It came back to Dean, then. The memory of how ready he was; how unbelievably ready to kill himself he was. A flood of emotions crashed into him.

Sam, Dad, Mom, Sam, Jessica, Sam, Sam, Sam. Sam is dead.

I am not dead.

Why am I not dead?

"Son, you need a ride back home?"

Dean nodded. "No, I'm good. My car's right-" He stopped. Frantically, he spun all around, searching desperately his car. His baby, the Impala. It was nowhere.

Shit, shit, shit.

Fucking shit.

After everything he's lost, his fucking car, too?

"I'm fine. I'm at Lawrence Street. Just a couple blocks over." The hangover pounded into his forehead with every word he said, and the rays of light that cut into his eyelids weren't helping either. At that moment, he was safe to say that he had never felt crappier.

By the look of the sun, he'd only been unconscious for an hour

"I think it's best that you get a ride. Come on."

Dean agreed halfheartedly and followed the cop to his car.

He felt as if the universe was plotting against him, like a sick sort of reality tv show where the gods pick a perfectly fine guy and then pull him through literally the worst days of his life, to see how long it'll take before he'll break.

If that was the case, Dean was very certain he'd already lost.

In the car, he tried not to think about anything, and when he got out in the yard of his and Sam's house, he forced himself not to think about anything at all. If he thought, this would be real. If he thought, Sam would actually be gone.

Inside the house, he walked past family portraits of smiles stretched over features and arms slung around shoulders, and he had to hold his breath. He assumed if he breathed, he would choke on all of the grief around him.

Dean gathered his things into a suitcase, and walked out into the hall.

His silhouette stretched down across the hall, into Sam's bedroom. Taking small, cautious steps, Dean found his way to his door. His hand was shaking when he reached out to the splintery knob and pulled it closed. The house reeked of a sad silence.

Outside facing in, he swallowed the large lump in his throat.

"Goodbye," Dean whispered. He didn't know if he was saying to the house, or to Sam, or to what, but it felt final on his tongue.

He hoped he would never have to come back there.

His new apartment building was pretty raggedy and run down, as it was all he could afford.

For the years before, Dean worked at a bar until Sam, being the wealthy lawyer that he was, made a deal with him that he would pay for him to go to school, to become something respectable. So he went to NYU. He was technically still enrolled, majouring in Psychology. But if he didn't get a very steady source of income soon, that was history.

His apartment gradually got less drug dealerish as he walked up each flight of stairs, thankfully. When he reached the top floor, he realised it was only him and one other door at the opposite end.

His suitcase dragged on the ripped carpet in the hallway, and the air collected in a hot and heavy atmosphere, but at least it wasn't home.

Just before Dean reached the door, his zipper popped. Out spilled just about everything in his suitcase, and Dean couldn't help but laugh at his misfortune.

Of course that would happen. Why should anything else?

"Do you need help?" A voice, that for some reason reminded him of rough canvas, called out from across the hall. The other door.

Dean dropped to the floor, not bothering to match a name to the voice. He just wanted to get settled; he didn't have time to small talk with the neighbours. "I'm good."

"No, it'd be my pleasure." The guy insisted, and within moments, he was next to him, picking up sweaters and pants and books and putting them neatly into the suitcase.

Now Dean felt like a dick.

"Sorry. I mean, thanks." He said, when it was all inside the suitcase again. He turned to shake his hand.

Wow.

He couldn't tell why the man had such a surprised look on his face, but it certainly didn't do anything to distract from his features.

Unreal blue eyes, ones that made Dean's mind short circuit for a moment, coupled with a jaw painted in quick, defining strokes, along with hair that looks like he just finished a crazy round of sex.

"What?" Dean said, clearing his throat. "Why the face?"

If the man recognised him, he did not say anything. He just shrugged, completely losing the look of surprise. "Nothing." He accepted the handshake. "I'm Castiel. I live next door. Well, you knew that."

"Castiel. That's a strange name. Don't hear that often. Or at all, really." Dean said, then wondered why he was still carrying on the conversation when he just said he didn't want to chit chat.

"I'm named after an angel."

"Oh. Cool."

"Yes, my family can be a bit religious at times. And by a bit, I mean completely disowning me when they found out I was gay." Immediately, Castiel bit his lip and mentally smacked himself. Oh, how he hated his tendency to ramble. Dean just stared.

"Wow. Well, uh-" Dean laughed a little. Wow. It felt strange to laugh, so soon after-

Sam.

His mood worsened instantly. "I have to go." He fumbled with his keys, eventually finding the key hole.

Castiel looked at him sadly. "Well, I'm here. If you need anything else," he added, weakly.

Dean nodded. His door gave with a little push, and the new house smell flew out to meet him. He gave Castiel a polite smile, and went inside.]

Castiel groaned.

He gets a beautiful neighbour, one that doesn't remember him from two weeks ago when he saved his life, and within two minutes of meeting him, he's told him his sexuality.

Good going, Castiel, he told himself. Good going.

Dean spent the next two weeks moping and mourning, not doing anything but eating and sleeping and ignoring calls from Bobby ( he didn't have any from Dad. What a surprise), until he decided it was definitely time to get off his ass and look for a job, since his college 'fund' was bound to be running out soon.

He walked down to the cute little coffee shop that took up the first floor of the building, grabbed himself a cappuccino, and sat down at one of the tables with a newspaper in his hands.

The coffee was super sweet, and he was glad there was a good coffee shop so close to him. There was one good thing going for him, small as it might have been.

"You know, I never got your name." Castiel said, matter-of-factly as he closed the door shut behind him. Dean looked up at him, startled, and gave him a half smile.

"Dean. Dean Winchester."

"Winchester. That's a strong last name." Castiel stared, wide eyed as he scolded himself for being so nervous. This guy was just that- a guy. Nothing more, though incredibly beautiful, and muscled, and smart, giving the Faulkner books that fell out of his -

"Yup," Dean said, smiling politely. He turned back to his paper, hoping Castiel would leave then.

As the thought crossed into his mind, he didn't actually know why he wanted him to leave. He was nice enough, though a little awkward. Not to mention really, really attractive, even more so in the v-neck he was wearing then. He wasn't in the best place mentally to be having crushes, or thinking anyone's cute, not now. He guessed he wanted to spare the guy in advance.

It was a terribly awful thing for Dean Winchester to like you.

Just ask Cassie. Or Layla. Or Carmen. Dean loved them all, and they each came out of the relationship more bruised than healed. More recently, Anna. Dean and her had almost been married, before Dean had a very startling realisation that he was, in fact, very gay. No girl should ever have to hear her fiancee tell her he's gay a week before the wedding. But it was what she got for being with Dean. It was like he was cursed.

Castiel looked around, chewing on the inside of his lip. "Can I sit with you?"

Dean looked up, surprised at his bluntness.

"There's nowhere else," he clarified. Dean nodded, and went back to the paper.

His eyes seemed to follow Castiel's ass as he walked away to get his coffee, and he felt the sudden urge to whistle. Damn.

No. Stop. Dean, come on. Don't focus on his-

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Castiel had bent over to look at a picture on the barista's phone, elbows steadying him on the counter. His shoulder blades jutted out at the top of him, and his back trailed behind him marvellously, coming to a stop when his spine reached the base.

Images of Dean fucking into him while Castiel braced himself against the wall-

Whoa. Whoa. Not okay, Winchester. Slow down.

He cleared his throat, and glued his eyes to the newspaper. He reread the same line over and over, eyes always threatening to lift up and take a look.

Up at the counter, Castiel and Jo laughed together at the adorable pictures of her newborn baby girl. He swiped on the screen, wanting to see more when Jo tapped him on the hand about a million times.

"What?" He asked, laughing.

"You know that guy in the sweater, over by the window?"

He paused. "Incredibly handsome?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, he's my neighbour," he said, trying desperately to be nonchalant.

Jo laughed as she handing him his coffee, the same thing he'd been ordering for the past year. "He was just totally checking you out."

Castiel went pale and stiff.

"What?" Jo said, worried.

"Are you sure?"

"Uh, yeah. He just did the awkward boner shift and everything."

"I think you might be mistaken, Jo," Castiel said, though his face lit up just a bit at the thought.

"Uh, I think you might be underestimating my ability to read people, and my gaydar."

"Okay, first of all, Dean isn't gay."

"Oooh, Dean, is it?" Jo asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

Castiel gave her a look. He wrapped the cloth around his coffee. Looking back, he realised he was holding up the line.

"Sorry," he said, to the woman behind him. "Jo, look, I told him I was gay earlier," he sped up to explain himself at her surprised look, "on accident. And he seemed very homophobic about it."

"Wow. Well then, he's pretty gay for a homophobe."

He just gave her a roll of his eyes, and walked back, giving her a wave.

Dean was still staring at his paper when Castiel returned.

Castiel knew Jo must have been playing around with him when Dean rose the moment Castiel sat down.

"Sorry," he said, "I have to go."

"Uh. Oh. Okay." Castiel stuttered, obviously upset. Dean didn't seem to care at the rate at which he ran out the door.

Castiel stared at the coffee Dean left, which still had steam rising through the lid. What was this guy's problem? Whatever interest he had in him before quickly turned to disappointment. He tapped his foot a couple times and then thought- fuck it, I don't feel like living next to a homophobic neighbour for the second time.

He finished his coffee in a couple minutes, thinking things over. Before the logical part of his brain that kept him out of violent situations could respond, he flew out the shop and up the stairs, humid air weighing him down instantly. He slowed to a jog, and didn't slow his pace until he was on his floor. Closing the distance between their apartments in three quick strides, Castiel knocked loudly on Dean's door.

Wait. What if he hadn't gone home?

But apparently he did, as a second later, he answered the door.

"Hi," Dean said.

"So what's your problem with me?" He asked.

Dean just blinked, obviously caught off guard. "I-uh-"

"I shouldn't have told you I was gay within five minutes of meeting you, that I understand. But for you to act like I'm going to ask if I can sleep with you at any moment I'm around you-" Dean gulped with arousal at the thought. Castiel all proper, whispering into his ear- oh fuck, "that's absurd. And bigoted. And homophobic. So I would appreciate it if you looked for another apartment if I make you that uncomfortable-"

"Castiel," Dean said, chuckling a bit, "I'm not homophobic."

"Wait." He tilted his head to the side, and lifted his eyebrows.

"Just trust me when I say," Dean reached forward, big hands laying flat against the shorter man's hips to steady himself. He dropped his neck to become level with his ear, and his voice fell so low it turned into a growl. "I'm very, very far from homophobic."

Castiel stood, mouth gaping, heart threatening to beat out of it's cavity.

Dean smiled, winked, and shut the door.

The minute it shut, the smile fell from his face, and he breathed in and out, terrified. Holy shit, what had he done? The chance that Castiel even liked him, even wanted to go out with him, even wanted to do anything with him was so low, and he probably just violated his personal space and-

He flung open the door.

"Hey, I'm-" The sorry was kept in his throat because Castiel was already gone.