Author's note:
Warning for minor self-harm. It is not the focus of the chapter and not extreme but if you are likely to be triggered read with caution.
Additional warning for Dean's self-hatred.

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Dean tried to remember to breathe as he read Castiel's words, addressed to Sam, but full of devotion. The letter was overwhelming. He felt his grasp loosen on the pages and they slipped from between his fingers. He was unable to co-ordinate his body to retrieve them. Dean Winchester, who had defeated Dick Roman and shot Lucifer in the head, was undone by an outpouring of love and concern.

He tried to process each word, tried to assemble them into a meaning almost too big to comprehend. Castiel loved him.

Deep down Dean knew Castiel loved him. He had fooled himself that Castiel held him in high regard, or was attracted to his body, or felt he was one of the family. The type of adoration that Castiel had been unafraid to proclaim to Sam, that he had been proud to write about, Dean had never received that from anyone before and he had never returned such depth of sentiment. His hands trembled matching the quivering in his breast. He tried to imagine using those words. 'You are family' meant you are loved. 'I need you' meant I love you. But to say it, to write it…

When he looked up and saw joy turn to betrayal and disappointment on Castiel's face, it was like an oncoming train slammed into him. He dropped his gaze as Cas turned away.

The beautiful sacred pages were on the floor like garbage, not held close and tight in Dean's hand. Maybe if Dean had been holding them like the treasure they were, then the sting of deceit would have been moderated.

He had to fix this.

Urgently Dean sprang from the bed and took off down the hall after Cas, but the guy had the lean wiry body of a runner and too great a lead. He slammed his bedroom door as Dean reached for it.

"Cas! Cas! Please, please, I'm sorry."

Dean pressed his forehead against the wood. It was cold against his skin. An icy fear spread through his veins like a virus. He had fucked up. Major League, Hall of Fame, fucked up. He knew it.

No matter who, they always found out what a disappointment Dean was in the end. They all got that look. Their Dean-balloon deflated and they saw how pathetic he really was. Sometimes Dean didn't shoulder the whole blame, like with Lisa, or when Cassie wanted to call in mental health services unable to accept the truth. Other times, most frikken times, Dean knew it was due to dumb stupid shit that he did himself; playing arcade games when he should have watched over Sammy, letting a guy touch him in front of Dad, making his deal, trying to say yes to Michael, getting shit-faced, the look in Benny's eyes before he swung the machete, Ellen's face when he led Jo into hunting, Castiel's hurt…

Dean slid down the door and sat with his knees up and back braced against it.

"Is nothing freaking sacred to you?" Sam roared as he marched up the corridor.

Dean managed to move his head, agreeing with Sam's unspoken assessment of what a useless pile of crap he was.

"Don't you dare!" Sam shouted.

"Whaa?" Dean blinked and craned his neck to look at his brother.

"You do not get to make all this about how bad you are feeling because you got caught, Dean." Sam's eyes were burning holes into him, "You need to fix this. You broke Castiel's trust. Not to mention why you were poking around in my private things?"

"I…" Dean gulped, "I brought your clean stuff and I saw the spell books and looked at 'em, and the letter was there…"

"So?" Sam spat.

"Yeah."

"No Dean. So what? You leave the friggin letter there. Geez Dean you are like a freaking child. The candy was there so I ate it. Do you have any impulse control? Fuck it Dean. Fix this."

Sam turned on his heel and pounded down the hall.

Dean stayed where he was.

"I fucked up, Cas." He called brokenly through the door, "Fucked up again, story of…"

There was no response. He drew his knees closer and rested his head on his arms. He mumbled apologies too low for Castiel to hear. He didn't have to see Castiel to imagine the look of pain and betrayal he had caused. Sam probably looked like that when he told him to pick a hemisphere. He had a new entry in the billboard chart of worst Dean Winchester FUBARs. This one was more raw because of the heartfelt love Castiel had written.

He wanted a fucking drink. He wanted to drown in hard liquor.

Before Dean had broken everything Castiel had loved him enough to promise to Sam that he wouldn't leave. He would not abandon Dean. A child's voice in his head told him that people you love go away forever. A broken sob caught in Dean's throat. He began to bang his head back against the door. Not to seek admittance but trying to inflict physical pain to take away the self inflicted heartache.

"I'm so fucking dumb." He cried out loud enough for Cas to hear and smacked his head with each emphasized word, "So so stupid. I'm sorry, Cas. I am. I'm not made for thinking Cas. I'm a grunt. I don't know what you see in me. I'm rotten inside…"

His head met air. Castiel's body wrapped behind his and lifted him up under his arms. Cas didn't hug him like the tiny four year old part of Dean wanted. He sat Dean on the hard backed armchair behind the door and commenced a silent rant.

Dean wiped his eyes and tried to lip read as Castiel paced and pointed his finger and mouthed, 'Hurt' and 'Private' and 'Devious'. Dean was transfixed by Castiel's mute tirade. In his anger Castiel even licked his lips to moisten and continue like he was screaming the words. Then he slowly mouthed 'Dean.' He dropped to his knees in front of the chair. His eyes were red rimmed. Dean had made him cry. It made Dean feel like an insect.

Castiel placed his palms on Dean's thighs and locked their eyes together, 'I'…'Am'…'Not'… Castiel paused in his exaggerated speech movements.

Dean waited. He swallowed and tried to prepare to see 'able to stay here' or 'able to trust you.'

'Not'… 'Leaving.'

He jabbed Dean in the sternum. The finger poke was hard and painful.

'You'… 'Will'… 'Never'… 'Speak'… 'About'…'Yourself'… 'Like' … 'That'… 'Again'.

Dean wasn't sure what had happened. He wasn't sure he had been forgiven. However from dying out there on the floor, he had gone to having Castiel's head on his lap. He carded his hand thought Castiel's unruly hair and let him get comfortable, nuzzling in, and making a damp spot from his warm breath. He could stay here in this moment, postpone the future and take the respite, and let it sink in that whatever the consequences to come, Castiel leaving was not one of them.