AUTHOR'S NOTE: So this is my first attempt at a fanfic...ever. Reviews would be appreciated and are better than Castiel's soulful stares. All rights to Supernatural and the boys belong to Kripke & Co. (although personally I think I'd have much more fun with them :p) Now, on to the fic:

"Listen Cas, I just – I just need to get some air"

Dean turned away from the angel and made his way outside. It was a beautiful night, clear and cool, and the moon and starlight cast a pale glow on the lot of cars in various states of disrepair. All this went unnoticed by Dean, who was entirely wrapped in his thoughts. He could still hear Sam's cries as he pleaded, begged for help, for freedom, for – for demon blood. Oh, Famine. He hated that damn horseman for pushing Sam back towards that particular road, and for other things as well. During the confrontation earlier that night, when he had said those things, Dean had felt naked, stripped, unable to hide behind the mask of sarcasm and disinterest that had nearly everyone fooled. Not Sammy, though – or Cas, he thought to himself. The brothers had been through enough together that it was near impossible to keep anything hidden anymore, but Cas seemed to have Dean figured out even better, if that was possible. And it wasn't just some angelic trick, either, because the rest of the heavenly choir of dicks always seemed to misjudge how he would react in a situation. No, it was something about Castiel himself, and the way that he always understood and looked out for him. Normally Dean would find that kind of thing patronizing, but in this case it seemed right. Right, and comforting in a way, and safe. Sure, his father has kept his sons safe, but he had taught them how to protect themselves, too, and didn't go out of his way to keep them out of danger. Cas was that protection, that safety net that Dean had never had. He'd convinced himself he didn't need it, that he never needed help, but after today, he didn't feel so strong and untouchable.

Famine's voice echoed in his head: I can see inside you, Dean. You're not hungry, because inside, you're already dead. Dead. He had kept up a strong front back there, because he was damned if he'd let that old bastard see how much those words had gotten to him. But here, alone with his thoughts, with the weight of the world literally resting on his shoulders, he couldn't keep it up any longer. What did they expect of him? Zachariah and his angels, Michael, God, and even Sam and Cas, everyone wanted something from him, wanted him to singlehandedly save the world. How was he supposed to save the world when he couldn't even keep his own brother safe anymore? All of it, it was too much. He put the bottle of whiskey to his lips – and stopped. He let his hand fall to his side as he looked up, heavenward. Maybe Cas was right; maybe God was somewhere, and he was listening. Dean couldn't remember the last time he had prayed, and he wasn't even sure he knew how to anymore, but it was the only thing he could think to do.

"Please….I can't-" Dean's voice broke on the words as he tried his best to fight back tears. "I need some help."

"He was wrong, you know."

Even after all this time, Dean was still surprised every time Castiel popped out of nowhere. Right now though, the angel's gravelly tones gave Dean a sense of relief, and not just because he knew the voice belonged to a friend. It just seemed to be the very sound he needed to hear.

"Was he, Cas? Was he really? Cause I can't take this anymore, dammit. I can't. Sam, Lucifer, Michael, the freakin' Apocalypse, all of it. I wish I wasn't in the middle of it anymore. I wish I could just be normal." He felt a hand on his shoulder, and leaned into it, accepting the support. Normally he would hate to show this kind of weakness; he couldn't be this open even with Sammy, because he was the big brother, the strong one. But with Cas, it was different. All the angel had to do was give him one of those searching looks – the ones that he felt could see right through to his damaged, broken soul – and he found himself opening up in a way that he normally couldn't. Dean couldn't put his finger on why, but there it was.

"Dean, you do have help, whether you realize it or not. Your brother may be experiencing a period of weakness at the moment, but he is always has your best interests at heart. I believe his instinct to protect you is almost as strong as yours is to protect him – you know this. You are indeed blessed to have each other. You have Bobby, as well. True, he is – not entirely able to assist you in many ways, but his knowledge and experience has proved invaluable, and I believe it will continue to be so." He paused, hesitated, before continuing. "And, for what it's worth, you have me. You do know that I want nothing more than to help you in any way I can, Dean. Truly."

Something in the angel's tone as he spoke those final words made Dean turn back and look – straight into those eyes. Their gazes remained locked as Castiel continued. "Dean, I turned against Heaven. I disobeyed, was cut off. I've killed my own brothers, I've done so many things I once found unthinkable – and I did them all for you, to save you, to help you. And it has been worth it, every second, because you are still here. You may not think you deserve salvation, but I do."

Dean couldn't imagine why, but he felt a little breathless as he tried to come up with something to say.

"Why?"

"Because you are a good person. Because you care more about saving others than yourself. Because you're mindless of the cost to yourself, as long as you're doing the right thing. But I have a more selfish reason as well." Here the angel's eyes broke away and he looked downward, as he always did when he was unsure how to continue. "Dean, when I was…imprisoned in Heaven, it was not only because of my disobedience. It was because of my reasons for that disobedience. Because of my- my feelings. For you. Because I cared about you more than Heaven. Because I would do anything for you. Because I-"

The sentence remained unfinished as Dean leaned forward and cut him off with a kiss. It wasn't long, just a gentle caress of lips before he pulled away again - and then he realized what he'd just done.

"Listen Cas, thanks. I- I'd better go in and check on Sammy."

He walked past the angel and towards the house without meeting his eyes again. He tried to tell himself it was out of awkwardness or embarrassment, but a small part of him knew that it was fear; fear that he'd see denial there, and rejection, from the only person that made him feel safe. And though Dean Winchester was strong enough to fight ghosts, vampires and demons, he didn't know if he'd be able to handle that.

TBC