Hi guys! Here's chapter 2 of my first (hopefully of many) Destiel fic- this one's shorter than the last, but it's pretty angsty so was exhausting to write. This is all pretty much Dean's internal monologue, and hopefully this is kind of revealing more about his condition... Anyway, let me know what you think- reviews and constructive criticism are all welcome!

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Dean was frustrated. He was stuck in a bed, unable to move and in agonising pain, while Cas just sat there, pretending he understood, pretending he felt Dean's pain, and being just as vague and cryptic as any other day. But there was something wrong. Dean could feel it in the air, in the way Castiel sat, in the way his blue eyes flicked over him with a look that he couldn't quite identify.

He tried lightening the thickening atmosphere in the room, though he was sure Cas was oblivious to it.

"Hey Cas, how about you get me some breakfast? I haven't eaten since yesterday morning…"

Castiel stood up abruptly, the thin, weak light from the blinds sliding over his crumpled trenchcoat. He looked about him, and then back at Dean.

"Yes of course, I, uh- Sam said you'd be hungry. I shouldn't have left it this long- I'll be back shortly."

"Oh hey, Cas, how about some p-" Dean blinked at the empty room in front of him, and sighed, leaning back into the bed. He wasn't betting on Cas remembering his love for pie- those things seemed too trivial to be of any concern to the angel. "Well, guess it's a cold sandwich for me, then," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut against the dull, throbbing pain that pulsed through him as he breathed.

He tried to sleep, but there was something niggling away at him. Sure, Cas and Dean his things from each other all the time- they all did, it was in their nature. But something wasn't right here. How had Cas known where and when to find Sam and him after he was injured? Dean subconsciously slid a hand across his ribs as though trying to trace the symbols carved beneath his skin. The unexpected pain of it made him clench his jaw. That was another thing. Cas had reacted oddly to Dean's injury, and Dean couldn't quite figure it out.

He sighed in exasperation, and, wincing, pulled himself up and carefully slid off the bed, steadying himself on the bedside table. He felt disgusting- there was still grime on his face from the hunt the day before, and his clothes were dirty and ripped.

He heaved himself into the tiny bathroom, having to stop himself every now and then to blink away the spots of white light that danced in front of his eyes. The pain spread through his entire being, and seemed to throb in his very mind. He splashed water on his face, ignoring the stinging of his skin.

He glanced up at the chipped mirror, at his own face, and he stared. His reflection gazed back at him, brow furrowed, jaw set and chin trembling obstinately. The crows feet around his eyes twitched as his reflection squinted through the pain. His eyes were dark and shining, but Dean could see in them the torment only he could identify.

He cleared his throat- son of a bitch, even that hurt- and squinted up at the plastic clock fastened to the wall. 12:30. This time yesterday they had been sitting in some diner, Sam puzzling over notes and articles while Dean tried to avoid the attentions of their waitress. She had been pretty- a couple of years ago he would have been all over her- but something about her smile seemed so empty, so meaningless.

There it was again, that thought, that emotion, pressing into his mind, trying to break free from behind the solid, haphazard cage Dean had built up over the years, to block it all out. To block out the fear and the hurt, and to block out the emotions that would plague him. They would make him vulnerable. Most of all, though, the cage was there to block out the guilt. It was a deep, burning guilt that coursed through Dean's very veins, and it had followed him for as long as he could remember. The life of a hunter was a life of guilt, and that was the burden that weighed him down, and that was the burden that must be crushed. The cage meant he could stop it, at least for short periods of time. He could smile and pretend it was all okay, that he was happy. But it never lasted long.

A sudden wave of the pain rolled through his body without warning, and Dean gasped, doubled over. He didn't remember sinking to the ground, but his head pressed into the cold lino of the floor, and he clenched his fists against it, trying to will away the feeling, trying to push away the agony.

The sound of wings broke through the incessant throbbing in Dean's head, and he heard Cas beside him, panting, out of breath. He felt himself being pulled up, leant against the sink, and his eyes blurred as he tried to focus on Castiel's face.

"Dean," Cas's voice was pained, breathless, "you have to relax. You have to breathe. Dean. Dean."

The fog in front of Dean's eyes cleared for a moment and he saw Castiel's face inches from his, blue eyes pressing into him, full of some tortured expression. His mouth moved, but Dean was slipping away again, falling away from Cas. He gasped, swallowing lungfuls of air, but the pain throbbed through him, and the darkness snatched him from Cas's gaze.

Chapter 3 coming soon! Feel free to r&r and I will love you forever- Amy xoxo