"What did I do to you?"
He's getting the distinct impression that Castiel is somewhere else, remembering someone else. Except he isn't. Dean tries to hold onto that thought though his reflex is to push it away. Bury it somewhere no one will ever find it.
It was him. Or at least it would have been.
And he needs to know exactly what he did to make Cas this way. Because the guy sitting next to him with his shoulders hunched over like he's trying to disappear, who's innocent and wary of sex until he's completely out of it...is not the angel who pulled him from perdition.
He's not even the man who fell to earth on a shrimping boat.
He's just one more thing Dean Winchester has ruined, just like he let Sam become so twisted, just like the roadhouse, just like he got Jo and Ellen killed and Bobby crippled. But this is worse because it's Cas, it's an angel and he's so obviously broken, right down to his damned soul.
"To me?" It comes out quietly."With." Castiel stresses. "I was high not unconscious."
"You wanted me to..." Dean shakes his head. "How did it happen." He's asking like he's asking about an assault. Castiel can't imagine where his mind has gone, or rather, he can, and that's what saddens him. Dean knows himself enough to guess at what he'd become if he had to live through that alternate history. "Because I can't imagine you wanting me."
He can actually see Castiel frantically trying to edit together a version of events that won't cripple him.
"Cas...don't lie, please."
"Dean..."
"Please." And he looks so adamant, so desperate, that Castiel dredges up the truth. Even though he knows it will hurt himself all over again, and Dean. Because even after everything he can't say no to him.
Dean listens to the whole thing. Cas's eye occasionally close, his hangover suddenly surging past the effectiveness of the painkillers, other than that he stares fixedly through the wall opposite. Not once does he look at Dean.
He tells him about the Croats, the cage and his withdrawal. About how Dean came to see him only after Chuck begged him to. How he'd sat with him. That their shoulders had touched. How he'd been drunk, that Castiel, high after the sudden influx of meds, had kissed him. That they'd had sex on the floor. That Dean had told him he stank like a brothel. Had finished, beaten him within an inch of his life, and threatened him. Left him for Chuck to find.
Then the other things.
The two months of being laid up while the camp moved on.
Then the times he could remember Dean coming to him. Once in his own cabin, empty of women for a change, but still untidy enough to provoke a frown of disapproval. He'd walked in, closing the door behind him. There'd been a minute where Castiel had just frozen, they'd watched each other. Then he understood. After the first time neither of them spoke, not before, certainly not after.
And thankfully not during.
The only thing Castiel had done then was tug on the belt of his too big jeans, slipping them off as Dean crossed the room. He kept the details hazy on that one, there'd been the sex obviously, but other things as well. Things that would almost certainly make Dean think twice about kissing him again.
He wondered why that bothered him.
The second time came after a number of blurry mornings where he'd woken sore enough and soiled enough to know something had happened. Something he must have agreed to at the time. They'd been in the storeroom Dean's past self would one day be handcuffed in. It ran the same as their other encounters, Castiel pressed to the ground, hands and knees biting the concrete. Dean moving, not making a sound save for the odd grunt or groan. Afterwards he'd jerked him off, as an after thought, leaving him to clean up while he went back to running the camp.
After that, bar a few more blank morning-afters', Dean's attentions stopped. Castiel didn't know why, had assumed Dean was bored of him, or else too disgusted to lower himself to sleep with him.
Now he wonders if Dean was ashamed.
The thought bothers him, because if it's true he can't make it right now. That Dean is dead, and was never alive to begin with, now. He can't tell him that he understands, that he remembers how hard it was, just being alive in a time like theirs.
Dean listens to the whole story, inferring a few things that Castiel is glad he didn't have to vocalise. That Dean was the first and only man he'd slept with (at least in memory, though he was fairly certain nevertheless). That Castiel had slept with him willingly, had wanted him. Had taken the roughness as nothing more than Dean being himself. Had in fact tolerated a lot and given a lot in return.
Dean can't understand how, and when Castiel has finished, he say's as much.
"How can you...I mean you called me, you came here and..." Castiel almost misses the words, Dean's voice has become so quiet. "How can you stand to be around me?"
"Because I didn't hate him. I don't hate you."
"You should." The edge in his voice is directed at himself.
"Probably." Castiel's sigh tapers into a groan. Wordlessly Dean hands him more painkillers, easing him back until Castiel is lying on the bed again, watching him closely. Dean takes the other side of the mattress, sitting with his back against the headboard. Castiel lets the silence lie, Dean clearly needs time to adjust to what he's learnt. After a while he slides down the bed, lying next to Castiel carefully.
"I'm not him Cas"
"You kissed me." It's not an accusation, it's the opposite. His tone changes the words, meaning I know you're not .Because Dean's never kissed him before. Castiel kissed him, the first and only time, privately believing that's why Dean hit him afterwards. After the first time he can put enough together to know they did everything, including some things he'd prefer never to let Dean know about. But not kissing, never again.
"You kissed me back." He wonders why Dean looks worried. "How could you..."
"Because I wanted to."
"You shouldn't"
"I've done a lot of things I shouldn't of." Castiel turns to him, their face only inches apart on the stiff hotel pillows. "Why are you here Dean?"
"What are you..."
"You promised Sam you'd stay with Lisa and Ben. I called you, yes, but you didn't have to come. "
Dean is silent for a second too long, Castiel regrets starting this, reaches a hand towards the other man's side, but freezes. He has no idea how Dean will react, does even know if he wants to touch Dean. Something made him push him away before, he has no idea what part of him panics at the idea of Dean touching him, but it's there all the same.
After a while Dean moves closer, as close as he can get without actually touching Castiel.
"You called me Cas. I had to come." His breath prickles at his ear.
They fall asleep like that, Castiel through exhaustion, Dean because he can't remember the last time he felt this relaxed. Weird as their relationship might be, he still wants it. He still wants Castiel to be there when he wakes up.
But he isn't.
