Every little thing got me coming back around

Digging up old memories

Always used to be the one to let it go, kept my fears in a suitcase

I locked them away, in a place they wouldn't find

They still haunt me

This wasn't something new to them; their relationship wasn't something defined, or something they talked about, it just was. It was born out of a joking promise and a desperate loneliness left behind in the empty space of his brother. A space the angel who had rescued him from hell also saved him from, and it was fluid.

Sometimes it was just a fuck, a release from how much stress or frustration the other was dealing with, sometimes it was desperate, driven by lust or fear, and sometimes it was this. Sometimes it was loving the other all the ways they couldn't love themselves, sometimes it was quantifying what they had. Sometimes it got a little bit close to love.

Cas had settled his hands on Dean's waist, and Dean was cupping his face with his hand, the other wrapped around the angel's back.

"You need this Cas?" Words spoken against lips, breaths mingling in the small apace between them.

Cas lets out a breathy yes and Dean closes the small gap between them, pressing his lips to Cas's, and it's so much gentler than their usual pace. The two of them could count on one hand the times they'd been intimate like this, lips brushing and hands tentative, not a flurry of clothes and clashing of teeth, a different kind of desperation fueling the fire between them.

"I didn't take care of you before Cas, but I will now."

"Where to Cas?" Dean had asked, looking at the ang- the human from over the roof of the Impala, getting small glances of their reflections in his baby's shining paint. Cas doesn't answer though, and his expression is tired, more so than Dean thinks he has ever seen it, and there's a wall there, something he'd put up since he'd left.

Dean takes his non-answer as an answer, and he pulls away from the house, from the disaster they had left behind, and he drives. It doesn't take long for Cas to ask where they're going, as the trees blur in a mass of brown and green around them and the road winds beneath them like a snake, but Dean doesn't answer, doesn't because he doesn't want to hear any kind of protest. He has to leave soon, go back to Sammy, go back to the angel possessing him, but right now, Cas needs him more. Ezekiel has Sam, they'll survive another night.

These weeks, he's been playing a horrible game of who needs him more, and it's been eating at him since he'd had to walk the angel out, since he'd had to see taillights fade away instead of hear the flit of wings, since he'd had to choose between his best friend and his brother, who he could take care of. It had both been an easy choice, and a hard one. Easy in the fact that it was a helpless, dying Sam versus a powered down but still capable Castiel, but hard in that you can't choose between two people you love, you can't pick who you want to hurt, you just can't, but he had to, and he was looking at the consequences now, looking at this broken human in his front seat and wishing things could be different.

He was wishing Cas had listened to him outside that church, he was wishing Metatron hadn't lied, he was wishing Castiel wasn't so trusting, that they hadn't trusted Metatron in the beginning, that they'd never gone to him in the first place, he was wishing he had never let Sam start those trials, and he was wishing he hadn't sent Cas away. He couldn't change any of that, but he wouldn't be Dean Winchester if he didn't give himself a fair amount of ass kicking for his mistakes.

He pulled into the motel he'd been staying at and shoved the car into park before climbing out and striding over to Cas's side. It was a cool night and even the crickets didn't seem to want to interrupt the silence the two had formed. The gravel of the parking lot crunched beneath his boots and the door of the car squeaked as he pulled it open and held out his hand to the angel.

"C'mon Cas," he said, "I can take you back in the morning." Cas hesitated, almost like he wasn't really hearing Dean's words, before he stood, walking past the outstretched hand, and Dean felt like it was because of more than the delicate way the other man was holding his arm.

"This is unnecessary, I can go back to the store," he says, not meeting Dean's eyes, his gaze to the ground instead, toeing a rock beneath his shoe. Dean puts an arm on his back, gentle but firm, urging the other man forward.

"I need to look at your arm, I ain't leaving you like that," Dean says, as if its enough to make up for the other ways he's left him, the other ways he's practically abandoned the fallen angel.

"I can- I can take care of it Dean," he says but its half-hearted at best, knowing the hunter wasn't going to back down, but wanting to give him the out, because putting it out there himself was better than having it thrown in his face.

"Alright. Level with me Cas. Look me in the eye, and tell me you're alright, and I'm not just talking about your arm." Cas's gaze flicked up to him, and his mouth opened before his lips closed again, forming a tight line as he realized 'he couldn't lie to Dean, not again,' and he bowed his head and let himself be led into the motel room.

Dean closed the door, locking it behind him before pulling the duffel off the floor and riffling through it, looking for the first aid kit they'd gathered over the years. This was the first thing he could do, he could fix the man the way he knew how, help heal him the only way he really could, the only way he really felt he deserved to at this point.

It wasn't anything fancy, an ace bandage and some splint wood, that was what they kept on hand, because it was versatile, interchangeable, and compact. He would get something better in the morning, before he left. Before he left Cas alone again.

It made his stomach turn, knowing the danger the man had been in just that night, to even think about leaving him alone again, but he had something here, a job, a friend at the very least, and Dean couldn't offer him anything else. He was tied between what felt like drowning and what felt like his chest imploding.

"Let me see," he says gruffly, and Cas extends his arm to him, and Dean frowns at the way the skin there is bruised, at the way his normally slender wrist is swollen. "I'm going to have to set it back, on three ok?" Cas gives a short nod, and Dean counts to two before forcing the joint back into alignment, and Cas cries out, unused to feeling the full brunt of physical pain, used to it being dulled, even when his angel powers had dwindled they had shielded him from so much, and here he was, like a raw nerve, exposed to the world. "Sorry," Dean mumbles, hating to be the one to drag such a sound from the angel's, he has to stop thinking about him as an angel, lips.

"It's fine," Castiel croaks, and Dean realizes how close they are, nearly breathing each other's air, his fingers still wrapped loosely around Cas's injured arm.

"What did he mean?" Dean asks, and for he first time since they'd left Nora's Cas looks him in the eyes. "About choosing a human life being giving up? I mean," he chuckles awkwardly, stepping back and releasing Cas's arm. "You didn't choose this."

"Many angels believe, that a human existence is below an angelic one. I suppose that's what he meant, I," Cas huffs, shaking his head, "I don't really know." His eyes flicked to the side, in a way Dean knew meant he wasn't telling the whole truth.

"You don't?" He challenges, looking down at Cas, and he wants to take it back when the shame crosses Cas's face, lips parted gently as his blue eyes rove over the dingy motel carpet.

"He was, disappointed, at what I've become, hiding, he thinks its cowardice."

"What the hell are you supposed to do?" Dean snaps, "every one of those winged dicks is out for you, if you aren't careful you're dead. Is that why he was there? Is that why he was tryin to kill you?"

"No," the word is out of his mouth before he can stop it, and he wishes he had held his tongue because he knew Dean would press, and it would have been so much easier to say yes, to say that was all it was, to not have to explain himself. Dean throws his arms out in a questioning gesture and Cas sighs. "Ephraim was… misguided. He thought he was helping."

"Helping how?" Dean asked, before turning away and rifling through the cooler, pulling free ice and spinning around looking for a small towel to wrap it in.

"He was ending their pain. Dean, I brought him here."

"But you're warded," Dean said, fingers brushing down his arm before pulling it back towards him, resting the cold pack on his wrist where the damage was worst.

"He senses pain, he could see it despite the warding. Dean, if I hadn't drawn him here those people, they-"

"That's enough," Dean says. "That ain't on you, that's on him. Come on," Dean pulls him in carefully, wrapping his arms around the other man and dropping a barely there kiss to his hair. Cas clutches the back of his shirt with his good hand, the other outstretched awkwardly, burying his face in Dean's neck.

Dean pulls away sooner than Cas wants him to, and Dean hates the fear he sees in the once fierce blue eyes, and he's quick to assure him he isn't going anywhere, and it breaks something in him to see the relief crowd over tense features. He wished he didn't ever have to go. But fate was cruel, and he wondered if this wasn't some long overdue punishment, making his brother and his best friend need him the most at the same time.

He runs a hand over Cas's jaw, lingering at the back of his neck, before pulling him in decisively and pressing their lips together. It's a soft kiss, not desperate like many of the ones before, because that's not what Cas needs right now. Cas melts into the kiss, his body melding against Dean's, chest flush against the hunter's own, and a trembling hand still wielding a vice grip on his shirt.

His other hand is on hipbones that are more prominent than they used to be, and Dean wonders if he's been eating enough, and figures he probably hasn't, probably doesn't know what "enough" is. He tightens his grip on the man, running his tongue across Cas's bottom lip, causing a small gasp to escape and mouth to part willingly, letting their tongues roll together.

It's a lazy kiss, and Dean's putting so much of himself into the motion it hurts, trying to push as much raw concern and care into it, as if he could make Cas understand with the action, as if he could tell him he was sorry, and convey his regret without saying any words. Because he couldn't say anything, not yet. He couldn't explain himself, so it was better not to speak.

They part reluctantly, and Cas is shaking gently in his arms. "Come on Cas," he says, leading the other man to the bed. Dean shucks his overshirt, and goes back to his bag, digging out a pair of sweats and a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, and if anyone asked Dean why someone who always packed the bare minimum brought two pairs of sleepwear for a one night hunt, he'd adamantly deny there was any kind of purpose behind it, that he just wanted to be prepared or something equally flimsy and unsubstantial.

He hands the sweats to Cas and shucks off his jeans, slipping up the bottoms and looking up to see Cas wincing as he tries to maneuver his injured arm to a position where he can undo the button of his jeans, the sweating icepack abandoned on the bed cover.

Dean gently brushes his efforts aside, and pops the button for him, sliding the fly down and helping shimmy the garment down his legs. Cas looks embarrassed, not at the exposure but at the helplessness of it all, and Dean pulls the sweats from limp arms and holds them out for Cas to step into, before pulling them up to hang loosely on the others hips. He undoes the buttons on Cas's shirt with ease, knowing this was probably another task he'd struggle with, and his face is hot at the unwitting intimacy of it all.

Cas mumbles a thank you as Dean helps him slip his injured arm out of the sleeve. Dean picks up the wrap and splint, situating the wooden pieces where he wants them before wrapping gingerly. He tucks the end of the wrap into itself, and weaves his hand through the hair behind Cas's head, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead before stepping back and climbing into the bed.

Cas stands there for a moment, swaying slightly on his feet before climbing in, perching himself on the very edge of the bed, as far from Dean as possible. When Dean reaches over and rests his hand on Cas's right bicep the dams break.

"All right," Dean grunts, pushing himself closer and pulling Cas's arm so he turns to face him. That seems to cease whatever hesitance had been holding Cas back, and the smaller man let's himself be tugged in close, burying his face in Dean's neck, his leg slipping between Dean's and his good arm returning to it's grip on his shirt.

Dean's neck is wet and Cas's body is shaking and he's letting out these gasping, choking, broken sounds and Dean just grips him closer.

"It's gonna be alright Cas," Dean soothes, and he wants to say so much more, say 'I've got you,' and 'I won't leave you again,' but he can't, he can't lie like that. He can't whisper meaningless promises into the space between them, he can't try and make him feel better tonight by making it worse tomorrow.

"Everything – hurts," Cas chokes out and Dean rubs his back, and when his hand runs over bony shoulder blades Cas whimpers, and Dean never wants to hear that again.

"I'm so sorry Cas," Dean whispers, because he is. Because this is his fault. Because Cas fell for him, and this is what he got. Cas fought for him, and this is what he got. Was tortured by heaven, outcast by his family, and powerless because of Dean. Cas, who tried and tried to do good, was broken, and Dean couldn't fix him.

"It's so much worse now… I feel everything. Guilt, and pain, and shame and loss and-" he pauses "love and I can't-"

"I know, Cas." Love? Dean wonders, the others make sense, are misplaced because this wasn't Cas's fault, it was Metatron's, it was God's, it was anyone, everyone else's. But not Cas's. He was trying, so hard, always trying. So he fucked up along the way, and yeah, maybe Dean didn't always see it that way, sometimes he was angry with Cas, but only because he was worried. Because Cas didn't understand deception well, he couldn't comprehend that someone would want to hurt their brothers and sisters, he was naïve and that wasn't bad, but it was dangerous.

It was some time before the crying subsided completely, before the vice grip on his tee loosened and fell slack, and it was just gentle puffs of air against his neck instead of tears and desperate gasping. He stayed awake, holding his friend for awhile longer, stroking his back, and then, going back to his shoulder blades, and immediately regretted it when Cas burrowed further into him, shying away from the touch, a barely there sob catching in his throat as he slept.

Dean roamed to safer territory, deigning to run his fingers through Cas's hair instead, and smiling when it seemed to ease the tautness of his frame, but doing nothing to loosen the entanglement they'd gotten themselves into, arms around each other and legs intertwined.

Dean fell asleep tangled up in his sleeping friend, nose buried in soft dark hair, hand resting above his hip, just below the markings freshly etched upon his tanned skin, the ones that were the only thing standing between a fragile human and all the angels of heaven, and he hoped, prayed even, that it would be enough to keep him safe until he could bring him home, and he wished he could tell Cas when, tell him why, even if it didn't really matter, even if it wouldn't really help Cas now, or make Dean feel any better.

For the first time in days, maybe even weeks, he wasn't sure anymore, time had become irrelevant, only knowing it had been too long since Cas had been safe with them, Dean slept. Dreamless and dark, he slept.

His first instinct was to grab a gun, and he probably would have if his arm hadn't been trapped under what woke him to begin with. Cas was screaming. His body was contorted in a tight knot, his head nearly between his knees, curled in on itself, and Dean fought to keep the panic down, worried it was some kind of possession or delayed reaction to the angel's powers earlier that evening. He was halfway to pulling his arm out from under the other man and reaching for the holy oil when it the sound gave way to silence.

"Dean… please. No…" He grabbed his friend's face with his free hand, and realized Cas was sleeping still, he was just dreaming. He stroked his thumb over sharp cheekbones, urging Cas to wake.

"Cas, come on, wake up dammit, that isn't real." He says urgently, dropping his hand to bare shoulder and shaking, a sheen of sweat causing the skin to be slick beneath his grasp.

"Stop it… please," Cas whimpered, and then he was screaming again.

"Shit, come on wake up! Fuck!" Dean swore. His shaking grew desperate, and finally Cas's eyes snapped open, unfocused and wild, hand gripping at Dean's arm, nails digging into his skin. "You with me Cas?" Dean asked, and Cas nodded weakly.

"Dean-" Cas started but Dean hushed him.

"You're alright Cas, you're alright here."

"I'm sorry," Cas mumbles, and Dean has to fight not to tell him to shut the fuck up, that there's not a damn thing he should be apologizing for. Instead, he doesn't say anything, he just starts singing Hey Jude, and stroking Cas's hair again.

His fits are less violent through the rest of the night, but he continues to end up thrashing, waking Dean and causing the man to pull him in close again, and continue singing until the panic subsides, and the softness that looks so right, yet so unfamiliar on Cas's features, returns.

It's a long night, and in the morning Dean swings into a Walgreens and buys a proper brace, undoing the wrap and fitting it properly to Cas's arm in the front seat of the Impala, and just like that, Cas is gone again. In more ways than one, gone to Dean, gone to the angels, gone to the world. He's just Steve now, and Dean didn't think there was a name that could taste fouler on his tongue.

So apparently this fic is turning into reshaping scenes that I felt were glossed over, like Cas's PTSD, the implications of what Ishraim said, etc. Comment, I love hearing what you think, and if you have any suggestions of episodes or scenes you'd like me to address let me know and I'll do my best to incooperate them. I may go back and write when they started actually being a "thing" or I may not, haven't really decided yet. Anyway, thanks for reading!

I have a writing blog at .com if ya'll are interested, I take prompts and update about what story I'm writing and post snippets. So yeah,

See ya'll!

Cassie