Another nightmare. Another night of trying to sleep and failing. Waking in a cold sweat, heart racing, jaw clenched as you try not to let out the scream you have been holding since before you were pulled from hell. Anything to keep Sam from knowing just how broken you are.
To keep him from knowing about how every night Alastair haunts your dreams. Taunts you. Cuts into you before you cut into someone else. Some poor sap, you do not know if they are innocent or not. Just that the screams make you hard and you are pliant in Alastair's hold. Cutting into them as he kisses along your neck.
It is enough to make you want to vomit when you wake but you hold yourself from running.
There is more than just your weight on the motel mattress after all.
Sam's snoring from his bed, you know it is not him. Not heavy enough to be and he would be cuddled up to you like some kid clinging to his teddy (though he would never admit to it).
No it is blue eyes watching you quietly like some pervert, head tilted in question but he obviously knows what has you distressed. You hold up your hand before he can say a word, and stand, moving to the bathroom to do your thing. He has asked about the dreams before, but you both know asking is only so you will admit that something is wrong.
You both know he knows about the dreams. Who they are about…what they are about.
You do your best to stay quiet as you retch up your dinner in the bathroom, Cas quietly watching from behind. You can almost feel his eyes on your back, then his hand as he rests it on your shoulder where the scar is burned into your skin. Where his grace burned you.
It is almost like that summer when you were a teenager, obsessed with loosing weight. Trying to do it in secret so John would not find another thing about you to be disappointed in. You were fat, useless, disgusting, always in the way…
Then Bobby found you.
Shaking the memories away you look to the sink but Cas is already holding a wet cloth so you can clean your face. If he were not an angel you would almost swear there is concern in his eyes. But angels do not have feelings. Especially not this one.
A quick an lazy job is done at washing yourself before he clearly gets frustrated with you, moving into your personal space (not for the first and definitely not the last time). Taking the cloth he carefully brushes it along your skin, not meeting your gaze as he cleans you up.
Both of you are silent, you watching him, him washing away the sweat and crusted blood from the last hunt. From you picking at your scabs, and tearing at your nails.
Your hands shake as he takes one, holding it in both of his own, your heart beating rapidly and he can tell something is off.
"Why haven't you told Sam…?"
He does not specify what, does not have to. He is staring at your hands and it is enough to tell you just what Castiel is thinking of. 'Because it makes me weak and useless?' you think, 'because I don't want him to think I have to be coddled?', 'I don't want him to look down on me?', 'I don't need his sympathy.'
"He doesn't need to know." It is all you say, all you ever say when the topic of your anxiety comes up. You have been like this for years now. Only Bobby ever really talked with you about it. He was the one to finally see what everyone had not noticed. Taught you to cope.
He opens his mouth before closing it and you wonder for a moment what he would have said if he tried. Looking away you feel him brushing the cloth along your hairline. Almost affectionately. Like he is trying to comfort you. The coolness is enough to ease the heat in your blood, but your heart is still beating like a bongo drum.
Fingers brush your hair back and you close your eyes, trembling slightly but trusting him not to hurt you. Would detract from the entire 'righteous man saving the world' deal if he did, would it not?
The cloth brushes along your ears, your neck, easing away any sweat that had collected in your sleep. "There's liquor in the room right? Should ease the bad taste in your mouth…" his voice is soft, low and he is backing away though he seems like he does not want to. Like he wants to keep close to you. In your space.
You do not call him back though. "Yeah…on the bed side table."
Nodding he looks into the room, "I'll get you the bottle then, I trust you don't need a glass."
It is not a question. He knows you well enough. He has been watching, even though he says he is not here to baby sit you. Somehow in some weird way you ended up with an angel following you, one who seems invested in you, and every fiber of your being is screaming to keep the barriers up before you let him in and your heart is broken again.
Another part knows that he is already there. That you are just waiting for the inevitable crash.
The last part, the secret part hopes he stays. Hopes he heals the wounds that the world seared into your heart. The ones that made you cold, broke you. See the man who is afraid of hurting others again. The one who just wants to lay himself bare and be held by someone who cares.
Luck has never been on your side though. Cas will leave. They always do. Some day Sam will too. You will be alone again, die in a blazing glory on some hunt, seen as some hero if you are lucky.
Dean Winchester is not good enough to have an angel fall for him after all. No man afraid to fly deserves someone as holy as Castiel.