The case in Iowa turned out to be an all too easy salt and burn and Dean couldn't find anything else in the immediate area so he took off towards what sounded like a vamp nest in Ohio. He didn't switch his phone on and he didn't think about anything other than the job. Nothing at all.

The vamp nest ended up being just a couple of them, easily taken care of, and then Dean was off to Georgia to find out what was melting people's hands. Cursed object. Ghost in Louisiana, almost took his head off with an antique scythe before he ganked the bitch. Then there was a werewolf in Texas…

Before long, it was three weeks later and Dean was parked ten miles out from the bunker, staring at the cell phone in his hand, willing himself to stop being such a goddamn pussy and turn the fucking thing on. Face the music, boy; be a man, Dean heard his father's voice in his head, swiftly followed by I guess that's a lost cause considering you're a faggot rapist, a hint of Alastair's oily voice seeping into his father's. Dean clenched his teeth and shook his head to clear the voices out. Hands shaking, he switched his phone on and cringed as message after message came up on the screen, his phone vibrating and booping like mad as the alerts came through.

Dean figured Sam'd be mad at him for taking off and staying gone for so long so it was hardly a surprise that most of the messages seemed to be from him. The lone message from Cas however, that made Dean's stomach turnover and his hand automatically reach out for the car key, ready to run away again. No, no, you can do this. Dean tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he looked out of his window at the empty road surrounded by vast wheat fields, stretching out all around him. It was late afternoon and the sun was dipping low on the horizon, accentuating the golden husks as they swayed gently in the breeze. Inhaling slowly through his nose and unclenching his teeth that were grinding mercilessly together, he looked back at his phone and tapped on the first message. The first three messages were all telling him he had voicemails so he deleted them and went on to the first actual text from his brother, diligently not looking at the one from Cas.

Sam: Let me know if you need my help in Iowa. Try not to get yourself killed. Again.

Ok, relatively painless. Next one.

Sam: Did something happen? Cas won't come out of his room. Call me.

Dean gasped in a shaky breath and tried to calm his sudden rapid heartbeat.

Sam: Dean, what the fuck? Why aren't you answering? I tried your other phones and found them in your room. You need to come back to the bunker. Cas is in a bad way.

'Shit,' he whispered, his vision blurring a little as guilt and shame speared his insides. What the fuck have I done?

The next one was from Cas and, like the pathetic coward he was, he skipped over it without looking to read the next one from Sam, dated just under a week after he'd left.

Sam: Dean, I am not fucking around! Get your ass back to the bunker!

The next few were more voicemail notifications, one from Charlie asking when would be a good time to visit, another from Garth asking if everything was ok as he hadn't been able to get hold of him, and the final four were from Sam.

Sam: Dean, I'm getting really worried. You've been gone for over a week and no one can get hold of you. Please call me. Whatever happened, we can deal with it.

Sam: Dammit, Dean! Stop running away! Cas won't eat and I don't know what to do! At least call or turn your phone on so I know you're alive!

Sam: Dean, it has been TWO WEEKS with no word! Cas is really depressed, I'm freaking out and you need to get your selfish ass BACK TO THE BUNKER!

Sam: Cas has been cutting himself. Come back to the bunker.

Dean felt his mouth drop open in shock and the tears that had been threatening in his eyes spilled over, running down his cheeks as he read and reread those ten words, the gravity of how bad he'd fucked up, how much he'd really hurt Cas, slapping him upside the head. You cowardly sack of shit. You useless, stupid, selfish, twisted…

He shook his head again, trying to be brave, trying to do what was right as he scrolled to the message from Cas, dated a few days after he'd left. Dean clicked on it and took a deep breath before reading.

Cas: Dean? What did I do wrong?

Dean hit the steering wheel with his hands, once, twice, hard enough to break it and him as those shameful tears ran down his face. Not only had he poured alcohol down his vulnerable best friend's throat and then taken advantage of him, put his hands where they never should've been, but he also managed to make Cas believe he'd done something wrong.

As he scrabbled with the key, now desperate to get back to the bunker to see Cas, make sure he was ok, to beg forgiveness, anything to make this ok, Dean wasn't sure he had ever hated himself so much.

~#~

Cas thought he had been miserable before but oh no. Dear Father, why should it be possible for human beings to feel this bad, this wrong? To be given what you have desired for so long, to be given salvation in the form of love and family, only to have it snatched away again less than twenty four hours later; Cas was finding it hard to continue breathing. Apart from occasionally dragging himself out of bed to refill his water glass or to use the bathroom, Cas just laid on his bed, eyes open, eyes shut, drifting in a state of numbness that was broken only by the odd bought of agonising pain centred in his chest, as though something with claws was ripping into his heart, peeling strips off to eat as Castiel, former warrior of the Lord, ceased to exist.

'Cas? Are you ok in there?' Ah, Sam was back. Cas was vaguely aware of the very tall hunter's sporadic visits, sometimes he came with food, sometimes he came to plead, making noise about things to live for, asking what would make Cas happy, always careful not to mention Dean, as though the green-eyed-hunter had died and Sam was easing Castiel through his grief. Except he hadn't, he just wanted nothing to do with Cas. That's all. Nothing big, not another apocalypse, not an angel sword through the chest, not his grace being ripped from his body, just his best friend, who had been gone for some vague amount of time, who had ran away from Castiel as soon as he could. Because he did not love him. That was all.

Cas was sure that a sword to the chest would be much more preferable.

The morning Dean left, Cas had just pulled himself up, gone back to his bedroom, ignoring Sam calling out to him and the following knocks at the door, locked himself away and slept. For about three days. Every time he emerged from unconsciousness, his memory would rush back at him and he would turn over and burrow back into the darkness again.

Eventually he awoke to the sound of the lock on his bedroom door being picked and then there was a knock 'Cas? It's Sam. I'm coming in, ok?' and then Sam came in, holding a tray with a bowl of soup and some buttered bread. The smell of them both made Cas feel nauseous and starving at the same time. Sam sat next to him on the bed and made small encouraging noises as Cas took small sips of the soup, accepting the pieces of bread when Sam handed them to him. He finished the soup and bread and lay back down on the bed, turning away from Sam, refusing to hear what he was saying until the room went dark and he heard the door shut. Time dissolved into nothingness again as Cas sought unconsciousness.

The next time he woke up, Cas felt that irritating ache that meant his bladder was full and grumpily staggered out of bed, his legs rubbery from lying in bed for so long. Eyes half-closed and blurry from sleep, Cas managed to bash his right knee against the corner of the dresser, gouging a cut into the thin skin stretched skin over his knee, which immediately began bleeding heavily, and bruising the area too. He cried out in response to the sudden pounding pain and fell to the floor, landing palms down, his left leg tucked under him to spare his injured knee. He heard fast footsteps and then Sam was springing into his bedroom, near blinding Cas as he flipped the main light on to see what had happened.

'Ouch, Cas. Did you trip over?' Sam asked as crouched down beside Cas, inspecting the wound as blood dribbled down Cas's shin.

'I caught my leg on the sharp corner of the dresser and then fell over,' Cas rumbled grimly, his voice even rougher than usual due to disuse for a few days. His knee was throbbing fairly painfully but Cas was pretty sure it was nothing serious when he managed to bend his knee at Sam's behest.

'I better clean that up and possibly stitch it, just to be on the safe side. Hold up while I get the kit,' Sam smiled warmly at him, his attempt at an answering smile obviously off-kilter as Sam's eyes widened a little before he was getting up to fetch the kit with their day-to-day medical supplies in ('Sometimes you just fall on your ass without a demon or whatever kicking you down,' Dean had explained while cleaning a cut on Cas's fingertip, 'and that usually means a band-aid or maybe a bandage. The other kit is for the hardcore stuff; guts hanging out or head facing the wrong way.' At Cas's look of confusion, Dean had grinned fondly at the other man and applied a band-aid to Cas's wound). At the memory, Cas had to swallow thickly and shake his head, trying to clear out the thoughts before his ridiculously mercurial human emotions began to rip apart his insides. As usual, the head shaking, teeth grinding and deep breaths did nothing to defend his heart; Cas was consumed again as the black wave of despair, loneliness and self-loathing crashed over his head.

'Cas? Everything ok there, buddy?' he heard Sam ask as he re-entered the room. Cas didn't bother to open his eyes or speak for fear that his tears and voice would betray his sorrow, merely nodding. Sam said nothing else as he got to work and Cas let his mind wander as he heard Sam shuffling around inside the small kit. Images of Dean's face as he had reached his orgasm drifted through his head; they were immediately followed by Dean looking at him with disgust and revulsion, his beautiful lips curled into an ugly sneer as he looked down upon the useless, quivering, pathet- 'Oww!'

'Shit, sorry Cas, this is going to hurt a little,' Sam gave him an apologetic half-smile as he began threading the three inch gash closed to prevent infection. It stung and the feeling of his skin being tugged at made him feel uncomfortable, almost nauseous, but that wasn't what surprised Cas the most; as soon as the pain hit, his mind was cleared of thoughts of Dean and his heart, his soul, became momentarily, blissfully, unfettered by his painful emotions. The physical pain had such an immediacy to it that it blanked out the emotional pain, giving Cas blessed respite from the despair he had been incapacitated by.

As Sam helped him up, insisting that Cas took some painkillers before leaving him to urinate, Cas eyed himself in the mirror, at Jimmy's face, gaunt and aged from Castiel's grief, and decided he would do whatever it took to stop feeling, just for a little while.

~#~

Dean clomped down the stairs into the bunker, aiming for normality as he saw his brother look up and give him the bitchface to end all faces everywhere; the one he reserves for when Dean has truly fucked up and betrayed him. Dean couldn't help but flinch, waiting for his well-deserved punch to the face, as he reached the bottom of the stairs and Sam leapt up and marched over to him, his unnecessary hugeness a lot more imposing when coupled with his rage.

'Oh, I'm not gonna punch you, Dean, though believe me, you fucking deserve it!' Sam snarled into his brother's face, grabbing his jacket and pulling Dean close so they were nose-to-nose, 'No, the only thing that matters is that you pull your head out of your ass, go speak to Cas and GROVEL UNTIL HE FUCKING FORGIVES YOU, YOU GOT IT?!' Sam yelled at the top of his voice, spittle peppering Dean's face as Sam vented his fury, his huge hands holding onto fistfuls of Dean's jacket as he shook him, hard enough to whack the back of his head off the bannister.

'Ok, Sammy, ok! I'm sorry! I-'

'No! No excuses, no stalling, just get in there.' Sam shook him one last time then turned away in disgust, Dean's heart breaking a little as he saw the blatant loathing on his little brother's face.

'Sam, please-'

'Just go!'

So Dean went, head hung in shame as he made his way to Cas's bedroom, and prayed to a God he cared nothing for to please help him fix his mistakes.