Short story for Nat; Destiel.
It was a dark and stormy night, the evening of Dean's birthday. He and Sam had cracked open a couple beers to celebrate, but didn't do anything particularly special. Sam turned in early, so Dean decided to go drive around the town they were in currently, hunting a skinwalker. He grabbed the keys off the dusty table beside him and opened the door quietly, hoping not to wake Sam up. He closed the door craftily, without sound, and locked it. A cold breeze hit Dean's face, followed by a mist of rain. He made his way to the car, opening the squeaky door swiftly and slid in. The inside of the car was even colder than it was outside, so Dean reached for the leather jacket laying in the backseat and shivered to put it on. Pulling out the keys from his jean pocket, he turned on the engine, letting it roar for a few seconds before reversing out of the parking space at the godforsaken motel in the middle of nowhereville. Once he pulled out of the parking lot, he stepped on the gas hard. He wanted to get out of there for a while, even if it was just for an hour. His mind was taking over all his thoughts; it was as if he had no control over what he was thinking. And on top of that, he was having more frequent memory flashbacks to his time spent in hell. He couldn't stop seeing all the horrific, despicable things he'd done down in the pit. Sometimes when he'd think about all that he'd get splitting headaches and actually have to stop what he was doing. But no, that wasn't going to stop him from driving out of that podunk town. He passed the sign that said "Now Leaving Woodland Park" and drove off into the trees. He reached for the radio when he looked over and saw Cas sitting in the passenger's seat.
"Jesus." Dean said, his heart skipping a beat.
"Not quite, Dean." Cas replied, his expressionless face unchanging. His tie was loosely done, and the top two buttons of his collared shirt undone. He looked at Dean with his piercing blue eyes and said, "Are you okay?"
Shit, Dean thought, Can Cas can read my mind? His eyes didn't waver from the night road when he replied, "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"
"It just seems that something is upsetting you." Cas looked somewhat concerned now.
Dean looked down for a second before pulling over into an open patch in the forestry. He threw the Impala in park and shut the radio off. Looking at Cas and he said, "No, I'm not really fine. I've been trying to keep this in for a while now, trying to protect Sammy. Seems like all I do nowadays."
"What's wrong, Dean?" Cas said, scooting closer to him on the leather bench.
"It's…" He paused to stifle a soft cry, attempting not to shed a tear in front of the seemingly emotionless angel. "When I was down in the pit, I… uh… I did some really sick things. I've never said it out loud before, but I can't stop seeing images of what all went down. It may have been four months up here, but down there it felt like 40 years." A tear strolled down Dean's cheek despite his hardest efforts to keep them contained. "I did horrible… inhuman things to innocent people."
"They were not innocent, Dean. They were in Hell for a reason." Cas knew it wasn't going to be any comfort to hear that, and added, "It wasn't you who did those things. It was the demon in you—"
"No, Cas. It was me. If it wasn't me then why am I remembering it? I mean, it had to have been me. I just didn't know I was capable of such horrible things." He couldn't hold back the tears now. His cheeks became hot and wet from the fresh tears.
Cas' face finally altered to a look of sadness and empathy. He placed his left hand on one of the scars he left, his hand fitting perfectly against Dean's clothed shoulder, and the other he used to wipe the tears from Dean's face. "It will all be better in time, Dean. You must give it time; time heals all wounds." The hand he had on Dean's face moved to his chin, where he tilted Dean's head upward and planted a gentle kiss on Dean's warm lips before whispering soothingly, "I promise."