Cas sighed, trying to think of a way out of this. He could always lie, but he hated deceiving Dean. "I don't want to talk about it." He finally said.
Much to his surprise, the hunter didn't push for an answer. "Let's go for a drive."
Cas squinted in confusion. "What?"
"A drive. Come on, Cas, humor me."
"Um, okay."
He wasn't sure where they were going, but it couldn't be far. They had told Crowley that they would return shortly. Dean drove in silence, not even turning on the radio. Cas was getting worried. What was going on?
Dean made a sharp turn onto a dirt road, and soon a lake came into view. It was beautiful; sun glinting off the blue water. Dean drove to the pier and shut the car off.
"Where are we?"
"A lake. What's it look like?" He got out of the car, and Cas followed. Dean sat on the hood of the Impala. "Talk to me."
Cas nervously hovered in front of him. "I have nothing to say."
"Are you sure? Cause you're tellin' me an awful lot without saying a word."
"I don't know what you mean."
Dean shook his head. "Look at yourself, man! You're always tired, probably cause of the nightmares. You're losing weight, you look fuckin' miserable. And...and back there with Ephraim...it looked like you were ready to give up!"
"It...it wasn't like that! What do you want me to say, Dean?"
"Just tell me the truth. How are you really doing?" Cas hesitated, and Dean gave a noise of frustration. "Roll up your sleeves."
Castiel stuttered. "W-why?"
"Crowley wasn't exactly subtle, okay? I'm not an idiot, I know what he was talking about. Just roll up your damn sleeves!"
Cas swallowed hard. "I would rather not."
Dean impatiently grabbed his arm, yanking the sleeve back. "Jesus," He exhaled sharply.
Cas winced at the contact and looked at his wrist. The wounds from earlier today had bled more, leaving his skin covered in drying blood.
"It-It's not as bad as it looks." He pulled his arm from Dean's grasp.
The hunter stood, his hands clenched into fists. He glanced around, almost as if he was looking for something to punch.
"You're angry." Cas stated. "You can hit me if you'd like, I know it helps you relieve stress."
"Dammit, Cas! I'm not gonna hurt you." He grabbed his friend by the front of his shirt, which Castiel found both ironic and strangely thrilling.
"Why?" Dean asked simply, gazing into Cas's eyes with a look of devastation and anger.
He found himself struggling to answer the question. Dean was so close...Cas could feel the hunter's hand just above his heartbeat, clutching the thin material of his shirt. He could smell Dean's cologne, and his scent of aftershave and whiskey. Their faces were inches apart, and for some reason Cas's gaze dropped to Dean's lips...
"Dean," He said softly. "I believe it was you who told me about personal space."
The hunter snorted, but released his hold on Castiel's shirt. He took a step back. "Well, are you gonna answer me or not, Cas? Why are you...doing that?"
"It's complicated."
"We've got all the time in the world." Dean sat back down on the hood of the Impala, and folded his arms across his chest.
Cas sighed, really not wanting to have this conversation. "I deserve to suffer. After all the pain I caused-"
"That's bullshit!"
Cas glared. "You asked me to talk, I'm trying."
Dean grudgingly shut up, and let him continue.
"After nightmares sometimes, I use the pain to kind of...help me figure out what's real."
Dean nodded. "That makes sense. We can work with that."
Cas kept going. "But most of all...it stops the cold."
"The cold?"
He looked away. "I don't know how to explain it...Have you ever felt so frozen inside, like nothing could reach you?" He searched his vocabulary to find a word that accurately described the feeling.
"Sometimes...I don't know...sometimes you're just cold, like so cold you can't breathe, can't think...and you just don't know how to keep yourself warm. You can't drink it away, can't kill it or fuck it away, you just..." Dean took a shaky breath. "Yeah, I think I know what you're talking about."
Cas tilted his head. "Dean, have you ever-"
"No." He shook his head. "I do other dumb shit like get into bar fights with guys twice my size."
"Oh."
"Cas, look at me." Dean's voice was gruff. "I'm gonna ask you a question, and you have to be 100% honest with me. Think you can do that?"
"Yes." He reluctantly met the hunter's intense stare.
"Are you suicidal?" Dean's voice trembled, and Cas could see the worry in his eyes.
"I...I don't know." He answered truthfully. "I'm not necessarily happy about being alive, but I don't think I would be able to kill myself."
Dean nodded slowly. "Okay," There was a moment of awkward silence, and he took the opportunity to grab the first aid kit from under the passenger seat. "Sit down." He ordered.
Cas knew better than to try and argue. He took a seat on the Impala's hood.
"Sleeves up."
"Dean-"
"Now."
Cas winced as he pulled his sleeves back, rolling them up to his elbows.
Dean looked at the many cuts, and the pain was evident in his eyes. "Dammit, Cas."
"I'm sorry." Cas flinched as the hunter cleaned the blood from his arms with alcohol wipes, trying to be careful. He watched Dean's hands bandaging him up. It seemed almost a paradox; that someone so strong, so violent...could be so gentle.
"Thank you, Dean." Cas said quietly.
"Don't mention it." His voice was low and hoarse. "Get in the car. We're going home."
Cas complied, although he found the wording interesting. Dean already thought of the bunker as his home. But the former angel, on the other hand, wasn't sure he would ever truly fit in anywhere.
"Things are gonna change. Okay, Cas? They're gonna get better." Dean sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Cas.
"If you say so."