Hey, guys! I really wish it hadn't taken me this long to get this chapter up, but I was struggling with another one of my stories, so I was trying to focus on that. This chapter also meant quite a bit to me. As someone who has been on both sides of self harm, I know first hand how devastating it can be to find something like that out and I also know how I wish my family had responded. And while I know this isn't a therapy session, I was treated like a criminal when my parents found out, told I was doing it to hurt them, and blamed when my mom got hurt throwing out one of my blades. So writing Cas' reaction as one of almost understanding both made me feel a little better and a little worse. I wish, as I'm sure so many others do, that someone cared enough to try to understand why someone might self harm. (I also feel this is the time to point out that my PM is always open for anyone who needs to talk about something along those lines. If you're ever struggling, I get alerts whenever something happens on this account, so I'll get back to you as soon as I see it and am more than happy to help with whatever you need.)

That said, I hope you like it.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." The words falling from Dean's lips make Cas' heart stutter. Not a minute ago, he was begging, screaming, for someone to stop. Still, Cas can't wake him. He shakes Dean's shoulders again.

"Dean, wake up. Please, you're having a nightmare. Please wake up, Dean." Cas stumbles back when Dean surges up off the pillow, suddenly awake.

"Cas," he coughs.

"It's okay, Dean," Cas wraps Dean in a gentle hug, trying not to hit any injuries, "I've got you. You're safe. You're okay."

"Hate that dream."

"I know, but Dean, it's just a dream, it's not real. I promise. This, here, is real. I'm real."

"Memory." Cas tenses, having not been prepared for that. Nightmares he knows he can handle, Gabe can't handle scary movies, but a past so traumatic Dean dreams about it? How could he possibly help Dean through that?

"That was a memory? But, Dean, you were begging someone to stop." What happened to him? Was this about whoever hurt him last night? Is that what he was dreaming about?

"I don't-"

"Don't want to talk about it. Okay, Dean. Whatever you need. When you're ready to tell me what happened to you, who did this to you, I'm here. I'll always be here, like I promised."

"John," Dean gasps. Is the name good or bad? Then, Dean adds, "Sammy."

"You're fine, Dean. Sam has my number, remember? He'll call me if he needs you and we turned off your phone so John can't track it."

"My other phones, though. He can track them. And he could find my car. I shouldn't have come here. All I've done is put you danger." What does he do that requires more than one phone? Focus, Cas, keep Dean safe.

"Hush. I'll be fine. He's not likely to look here. What other phones? You have more?"

"My job isn't safe. We keep extra phones. Most of mine are off, but I have a few on, just in case." Yeah, I can see that your job is unsafe.

"Okay, then, tell me where to find them, and I'll bring them up. You can turn off the ones that are on and John won't be able to find you."

"What about the car?"

"Phones first, car later. Let's take this one step at a time."

"The phones are in my car, in the glove compartment. There's also a duffel in the trunk. It's got all my things in it. I can go, just let me up." Nope. No way. Dean is far too hurt to be walking around. Besides, his ankle would never bear his weight.

"No. I'll go."

"Cas."

"Dean. You're hurt. You need to heal. I'm not letting you hurt yourself more than you already are." Well, shit. He can't find out.

"Fine. Jacket pocket for the keys."

"Thank you, Dean." Cas nods sharply and stands, collecting the keys and hurrying out to the car. He roots through the glove compartment, finding a small brown box. He opens it and finds a stash of- wallets? I need phones. Another box, the only other one, contains so many phones Cas almost drops it in surprise, but he manages to compose himself. He rushes the box up to Dean and together they take another step to ensuring his safety.

"We need to get you cleaned up. You can't stand on that ankle for long, so I'll help you shower." Cas smiles when Dean agrees automatically. At least he's not being stubborn. Probably because he's too weak. Cas almost flinches at that thought. On second thought, I'll take the arguing.

"After you shower, I'll check your wounds again, then I can see about moving your car to Gabe's garage. He actually has a house, but no car, so his garage is empty."

"Would he do that for me?"

"He knows what you mean to me, so yes." Dean's eyes meet his and Cas can see the question floating in them. He only hopes Dean can understand the answer swimming in his own. Dean turns away and strips his shirt off and suddenly, Cas doesn't worry about whether or not Dean could tell he loves him. He is hurt everywhere and Cas cringes with every move Dean makes, imagining the pain he must be in.

Then, Dean slides his pants down and a pain Cas has never known before tears through him. His Dean is in so much mental pain that he takes a blade to his skin- on top of the beating he's already received. Hot tears prick Cas' eyes and, try as he might, he can't blink them away, but they don't fall, either.

"Dean," he whispers, but can't say another word.

"I'm sorry," Cas looks into pain filled eyes at Dean's soft words.

"No! No, Dean, don't be sorry. Someone caused this pain, not you, I only wish I could take some of it." Cas watches as the tears spill over Dean's lashes; first, just one, falling alone, then dozens all at once. Dean's broad shoulders shake as Cas pulls him close, struggling to breathe under the weight suddenly constructing his chest. How didn't I know? How didn't I see his pain?

"Is there anything else, Dean? What else did this monster cause?" Dean's shoulders shake a little harder, before he gets his answer.

"Alcohol." As he had expected. "And- and morphine." The worst combination Cas could imagine. Alcohol and morphine together were dangerous, a poison cocktail guaranteed to have nasty consequences. Morphine and cutting together, however, were a recipe for disaster and, quite possibly, death.

"God, Dean, I'm so sorry." Carefully, Cas guides the man he loves under the hot spray of water, wishing there was a way he could help Dean without forcing him into rehab.

"For what it's worth," Dean whispers the words that could make it all better, "you're better than any drug, drink, or knife."