A/N: I just watched Eurovision. (If you don't know what it is, ask someone from Europe. They will respond with a large amount of feels.) I feel as if Britain tries their hardest to lose. Every. Single. Year.

Anyway, here is the next chapter.

Warnings: Rape, Language, Mild Blood Play.

Dean Winchester. It had been 20 years since Castiel had last saw him, yet he could tell it was him in a heartbeat. His soul, his beautiful magnificent soul, seemed to blaze and burn brighter than when he was a boy. And there he was, completely and utterly drunk. Castiel felt sadness and disappointment for his human; his soul was much to pure to be sullied by such inane devices and the Angel could not stop the swirl of guilt that arose in him for letting that happen to Dean. He saw Dean interact with another human and when Castiel saw this human's soul, for the first time in Castiel's entire existence, he felt something that could only be described as absolute terror.

The male that was with Dean, his name was Alastair and his soul was the most malevolent and twisted soul the Angel had ever seen. Even the children of hell had souls that were not as spiteful. Dean's soul, as damaged as it was, was like a star at the peak of its existence: beautiful, blinding and vividly intense. Even to have the honor of looking upon it would make the most faithless Angel believe again. Alastair's soul was like a black hole. A dying star. Imploding and collapsing, capturing any light and taking it for its own. Including Dean's light.

Castiel panicked and so did the river. The conversation between Dean and Alastair was turning violent. If Castiel had a heart it would have stopped, as Alastiar somehow managed to hold Dean down and Dean was screaming such heart-wrenching cries of protest. The Angel has never felt more mundane until now; his one and only love, tortured and abused in front of him. Where was Tessa? He needed the reaper more than anything right now yet she wasn't anywhere to be seen. Castiel had to do something so he started violently flooding the banks and throwing water and the one who dared harm Dean, but the Angel's attacks were pointless and done nothing to stop the actions of Alastair. He pinned Dean down and was trying to rid Dean of his clothes. Castiel may be an Angel but he knew of such vile things that humans done to achieve sexual pleasure. Castiel would not let him harm Dean. Castiel would die before he let that happen. And when Castiel saw his Dean, so vulnerable and in pain, it broke something in Castiel. His being felt raw and strung-out and then it was as if something shifted in Castiel. Then, when he had realized what had happened, he acted.

...

Dean was uncomfortable. Here he was, at a friend's party on a riverbank yet he was desolate and gave the stink-eye to anyone who tried to approach him. Dean isn't usually the most social butterfly but today he seemed about as friendly as a feral pit bull. It had been about 20 odd years since he had last been here, at the river and he didn't exactly have the best time. He almost drowned in the river when he was seven and that day had scarred him permanently: he avoided the water and skipped on trips to the pool and beach and even though he became ridiculed by his classmates, Dean could never tell them the truth. He couldn't tell anyone anything; they never listened when he was younger, he opened his heart about it, for the first time since his mom died and his father brushed it off as if it was nothing and it crushed Dean. Even though he was so helpless, Dean got into this mind-set that he should never reveal anything as he'll end up more hurt in the first place.

"Hey Dean, you okay?" asked Jo. She had been one of his best friends since he was a kid and she knew him better than anyone; apart from his dad and Sammy, she was the only one who knew about the whole river incident when he was younger. She may seem like a sweet cookie-cutter blonde but she's tougher than most bikers. And she could throw a punch better. She noticed that Dean wasn't in the party mood, Jo knew it was because of the whole drowning incident that happened, but if Dean felt uncomfortable he shouldn't stay here and torture himself about it.

"Yeah, I'm freakin' peachy." Dean replied, irritation evident in every word.

"Dean, if you wanna go, then go. If you're gonna sit here and mope all night like a little bitch, I will beat you and you know from past experience that my punches leave bruises that last for weeks. And I'll tell my mom not to serve you anything." Dean's eyes widened. Jo's mom Ellen, works at the roadhouse, a kind of bar diner in one that serve the most delicious double bacon cheeseburgers known to mankind. Jo really was cruel.

Anyway, Dean's masculinity and pride won and Dean stayed at the party. The river incident happened when he was 7 and he shouldn't be that hung-up about it. It could have happened to anyone, really. Except it didn't. Dean always thought it was ironic that his mom died in a fire and he almost died in the water. Maybe his dad might get impaled on an ice spike or get buried under an avalanche.

Dean was anxious and downed a couple of beers to take the edge off. It was a pitiful solution to his childhood phobia but it was much easier than say, seeing a therapist who charged a butt-load amount of money for asking and how does that make you feel? Dean was pleasantly buzzed after the beers; his anxiety seemed to melt away and so did his inhibitions. There were hot girls and guys around and even though the music could have been better, the party was okay. Or maybe Dean was just really wasted. Jo threw her beer bottle into the river and others, followed suit. One guy was so drunk that he missed and threw the glass bottle at another guy's head. Great. Dean didn't even know what happened next but he was doused in water. He was gonna kill the sonofabitch that spilt their drink on him when he realized the water was from the river.

Dean was shaking now, more nerves than him being cold from the water. Horrible flashbacks of Dean when he was seven sprang into his mind, things that he tried so hard to block out. When his dad held him in his arms. How his body felt after his dad gave him CPR. How he was shaking from the cold. Dean realized everyone from the party started to leave, damp and pissed off that their outfits and phones were wet. He was going to leave with Jo when someone called him back.

"Hello, Dean!" Dean turned around to see who was calling his name and internally cringed; Alastair Masters was approaching him. Seriously, this guy gave Dean the creeps and Dean had only met him a couple of times before. Jo raised her eyebrow in a silent question. Do you want me to kick him in the nuts for you? Dean shook his head; he could handle this by himself.

"I'm good Jo. I'll see you later."

"How are you going to get home? You're not driving the Impala this state." She raised an eyebrow

"Unlike you, I can handle my beer," Dean said with a smirk. "Besides, I could always call a cab."

Dean watched as Jo shrugged and waved goodbye as she stumbled along, soaking wet, away from the riverbank and putting more distance between her and Dean. He reluctantly headed over to Alastair. It was then when Dean realized that he and that creep were the only people left at the riverbank.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," Alastair said, with his creepy nasally voice that always seemed to grate on Dean's nerves. His watery blue eyes focused on Dean. Or to be exact, Dean's body. "You look so pretty, all dripping wet and shivering." Alastair's voice took on a desperate tone, filled with want and desire.

"You look so cold, Dean. I'm gonna warm you up," Alastair said, inching closer and closer to the Winchester. Dean shuddered. He was used to getting hit on, but the way Alastair said the words made Dean feel uneasy and nauseous. Dean's mind was foggy, too many beers drowned out any coherent and logical thoughts. He was having enough trouble standing up.

"Go away Alastair, I'm not in the mood." Dean muttered, hoping that it would be an acceptable brush off.

"Oh, but Dean. You look so cold. Let me make you feel hot. Hot and dirty." And then, without any warning, Alastair pinned Dean to the hard earth, his rough, calloused hands gripped Dean's wrists to make sure Dean didn't throw any punches. Dean tried to move up but Alastair's knees were pressing into Dean's shoulders, effectively making sure that Dean wouldn't escape.

Dean heard his jaw crack before he felt it. White hot pain flared on his cheek, Alastair brought down his fist again and more pain blossomed on the Winchester's stomach. Dean felt a weight on his chest and he couldn't breathe, he felt as if he was drowning again. A blow to his eye and effectively swelling it shut. He could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth and spat it at Alastair, who then lapped at Dean's blood and actually moaned.

"Dean, Dean, you taste so good, I can't wait to taste the rest of you."

Alastair forcefully pushed his mouth onto Dean's, practically sucking the blood from Dean's cut on his lip. Dean's lips were stinging and his teeth were hurting from the amount of pressure Alastair put on his kisses. Feeling Alastair's hot breath in Dean's mouth made the Winchester feel sick. Alastair then proceeded to grab the waistband of Dean's jeans and boxers and pulled them down. Dean tried to fight Alastair off, but he was drunk and disorientated from the blows that Alastair managed to put on him, so his body was too slow and sluggish to retaliate. The cold air hit Dean's legs and he whimpered when he felt Alastair's cold hands tightly gripping his cock. Dean moaned, but not in pleasure. He felt water spray his body again and shivers were racking his body. He heard Alastair take off his trousers before he settled on top of Dean again. Dean closed his eyes, not bearing to look at what would happen to him. He felt Alastair's hands roughly grab Dean's ass and ground down onto Dean. Dean tried screaming for someone, anyone to help him. His voice was going rough and hoarse with the strain.

Then the heavy weight of Alastair vanished. Dean had braced himself for a punch or kick or a thrust into his body, but it never came. Dean looked out of his good eye, everything was blurry but he managed to see Alastair on the ground. There was a man on top of him, straddling Alastair's body and grabbing his neck and then twisted. Hard. Dean saw Alastair jerk his legs and then stop moving. Dean was afraid, panicked breaths hurt his chest but he couldn't stop. Would this guy do that to him? End his life with a twist of his hands? The man turned around and ohholycrap Dean felt terrified. The guy had a murderous look on his face but the moment he saw Dean his look softened into one of disbelief.

The man slowly and stiffly walked over to Dean and that's when Dean noticed the guy's outfit. He dressed as if he was from the freakin' 1800's or from these nerdy Victorian shows Sammy used to watch. Did the guy think this party was a costume one? The closer the man got, the more Dean could make out his features. He had crazy dark hair, with a straight nose and nice thick pink lips surrounded by a five o'clock shadow. This guy seemed like Dean's type, minus the killing. But it was until the man crouched down, almost warily, as if trying not to spook an injured animal, when Dean saw his eyes. His eyes were a vivid electric blue and even in the dark they seemed to blaze, compared to Alastair's, who eyes were a pale imitation. Dean had never been to the sea before, but this man's eyes reminded him of the glistening ocean. Everything in Dean's vision was hazy apart from the dark-haired man and his beautiful eyes.

"Hello, Dean."

"How d'ya know my name?" Dean asked, his voice sounded foreign to his own ears; his tongue felt thick and slow, probably due to the alcohol and the fact he got repeatedly punched on the mouth.

"Dean, you are hurt." The guy said, completely ignoring Dean's question. His concentrated gaze scanned Dean's body, not like Alastair's leer, but more checking to see if Dean was okay. As if Dean was his top priority. The man deftly touched Dean's chest with his long nimble fingers, treating Dean like he was fragile and was about to break under the slightest amount of pressure.

"I'm fine! Leave me alone." Dean didn't need some random guy helping him out and he didn't want anybody to touch him after what just happened. He batted the guy's hand away and tried to move away from him. Dean's chest protested and pained like a sonofabitch and then Dean realized he had a cracked rib. He tried not to move but even breathing pained him. In fact, every part of Dean's body was sore and there wasn't one part of his body that didn't hurt.

"If you wanna help me, call the freakin' ambulance." The Winchester muttered through gritted teeth. He was in inscrutable pain but he wasn't gonna show it. His dad had drilled that lesson into him countless times: You can't let people see you hurt otherwise they'll think you're weak, Dean. They'll take advantage of you and nobody screws the Winchesters around.

But sometimes, Dean wanted people to see he was hurt, to see that he was not okay, and to have someone take care of him and not worry about the consequences.

"Dean, let me help you." Blue-eyes said, sincerity in his voice.

So this time, when blue-eyes held his hand out and gently cupped Dean's cheek, Dean didn't pull away. His palm was soft and warm on Dean's jaw and he leaned in to the touch. If Dean turned his head oh-so-slightly, his lips would be brushing his palm. It felt nice and pleasant and Dean realized how much he craved the warmth and comfort of another person. What they were doing was completely innocent and chaste yet it felt so intimate. It felt more comfortable than Dean's endless list of one-night stands. Blue-eyes looked at Dean like he was the center of his world. They stayed like that for several minutes and with each passing second, Dean felt the pain slip away. His cut on his lip stopped bleeding. There was no pain that was plaguing his body anymore and even his mind felt clearer and sober.

And that's when Dean realized what happened.

He had been beaten and almost raped, and this guy killed Alastair as easily as killing a fly. And Dean was letting this guy near him with no resistance.

"Who are you?" Dean asked. Panic and anger crept into his voice. At the drop of a hat, Dean could go from gentle to cruel, it was something his father taught him and Dean resented him for that.

"My name is Castiel." Blue-eyes stated.

"You killed him. Alastair. You broke his neck." Dean's voice was trembling now, he was terrified. What would this Castiel guy to him?

"He was harming you, Dean. I wanted you to be safe. He had hurt others before and you wouldn't have been the last." Castiel said, with so much protective fierceness for the Winchester boy. He hoped Dean could feel love and adoration in every word.

But apparently it was the wrong thing to say. Dean looked spooked, as if he was uncomfortable with people admitting their true feelings. Then Dean looked angered.

"Fuck. You." Was all Dean said before he turned on his heel and ran, not bothering to turn his head to see if Castiel followed.

Dean sprinted so hard to the impala, his mind going over the conversation that had happened between him and Castiel. Before, the "drunk" Dean thought that Castiel killing a guy for him made Dean special. God, Dean is more messed up than he thought he was. That Castiel guy had just killed a man and Dean let Castiel hold him. Why does he always attract the psychotic ones?

Dean kept on running until his muscles were burning. It wasn't until then that Dean realized what happened and stopped in his tracks. Dean was supposed to have damaged his ribs earlier, when Alastair kicked him in the chest but they didn't pain him again, even when he was sprinting. Hesitantly, Dean lifted up his top, expecting bruises and scrapes, so Dean was surprised when he looked at his smooth, tanned skin and that there were none. Not even a scratch.

A/N: Oooh Cas isn't a river anymore. Next chapter will explain all.