Febuwhump Day Seventeen: Self Inflicted Wound. After returning from Purgatory, Cas needs to atone for what he has done and the only way he knows is through pain. He attempts to hide it from Dean, but he can only keep it secret for so long.

Title: Sin to Atonement

After Purgatory, Cas walked around in a daze. He went through the motions, did all the things he knew he was supposed to do, but behind it, there was an overwhelming numbness. He should have never gotten out. He belonged there. After what he had done, releasing the Leviathans and forcing Dean into that haunting world, killing thousands of his kind, and trying to play God, there was no way to come back from it. He deserved to suffer.

Purgatory was his penance. It was the only way he knew how to atone, but now, walking around as a free man, he was receiving no punishment. He had no way to make it up to all those he made suffer.

The first time it happened, they were standing around the Impala with a metal bowl set atop Baby's hood and Sam stooped above it as he mixed in ingredients. As useless as Cas felt nowadays, he was paramount in this mission because they needed angel blood. Cas withdrew his angel blade and dragged it across his palm. He could have used a regular knife, it would have hurt much less, but it was the closest thing to him. He startled at the sharp, shocking pain that flourished from the cut. It brought him back to reality and stunted the numbness. He cupped his hand and watched curiously as the blood pooled.

"Cas!" Dean snapped, "What are you doing?"

Cas stepped forward and turned over his hand, allowing the blood to splash into the cauldron. When enough had drained, Cas dropped his hand back down to his side. Dean gave him a sideways look. "Aren't you going to heal that?"

"Hm? Oh, yes," a glow emanated from his palm, the slice sewn back together and the lost blood restored.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"I'm fine," he answered, but he chose not to mention the hypnotizing fascination that had just bloomed inside him.

The second time it happened, Cas was attacked by another angel. She came out of nowhere when Cas was cutting through an alleyway. She jumped up from behind him and attempted to stab the angel blade through his back, but he heard the sound of her feet on the pavement in time to evade the attack. The knife missed him, but managed to clip his side. He hissed and swiveled, plunging his blade into the angel's heart. She howled as light flooded from her mouth and eyes and she crumpled to the ground.

Cas regarded her somberly, another angel dead because of him. Why did they have to do this? Maybe he should let one of his assassins win and that would be justice, but when push came to shove, his instincts kicked in and he was incapable of giving up without a fight.

The wound in his side throbbed and Cas grabbed at it. It was an inch deep, just above his hip, and blood was pouring out of it, down his trousers, and bathing his right leg. He stumbled to the nearby wall and slid down. He sat with his legs in front of him and held his hands over his side, but the cut was too large and deep for him to stop it with pressure alone. He pulled his hands away and held them out in front of them, mesmerized by the way his blood looked almost black when it glimmered in the night.

At any point he could stop it, but he let the blood gush until he swayed and his head felt so light he was ready to fall asleep, then finally permitted himself to heal it.

He let the scar remain and stand out on his skin, choosing to keep it alive. He wasn't sure exactly why he did it, maybe to let the memory stay with him, but he was pleased when he reached beneath his shirt, pressed his fingers through the wet blood, and felt the damaged skin there.

Cas walked back to the motel for a change of clothes. He pushed through the door and saw Dean sitting on the edge of the bed. His face fell. He was immediately on Cas, demanding answers. "What happened? Are you okay? Jesus, that's so much blood. Is it yours?"

"I'm alright, Dean. I ran into an angel and she attacked me."

"I can see that. Where did she get you? I've never seen you bleed this much."

Cas walked to the dresser and opened the drawer that contained his carefully folded clothes besides Dean and Sam's unwrinkled suits. Dean tossed his shirts and jeans into the drawer beneath, not caring if they looked messy, but Cas would find them and neatly fold them as well.

"Hey, you're gonna get blood all over the place," Dean protested, "Let me do it. You need to shower."

"Okay," Cas agreed, but without the pain keeping him awake, his brain was already growing disconnected from the world.

"Be more careful, okay?" Dean said gently.

The third time it happened, Cas was stationed at the crappy, plastic chair in the corner of the motel room, dutifully watching Sam and Dean as they slept. He tried to keep his eyes focused on their sleeping forms, but the memories would take over and he would see the light as it flooded from the angel's eyes and mouths when he took their lives. He would hear them beg and plead for him to take mercy before he callously murdered them.

No matter how he tried, the images followed him everywhere. When he tried to shake them away, they would immediately reappear, refusing to leave him alone. Cas knew that it was fair, he didn't deserve to live in peace after everything, but this wasn't enough of a punishment. There had to be something he could do to redeem himself, but he wasn't in Purgatory anymore and couldn't atone through the misery that place caused him.

Cas drew up his sleeve and looked at the soft skin of his inner arm. It was smooth and unblemished, almost begging for a mark to be left there. Cas carefully pulled the blade from his pocket and pressed it against the skin. He tore it across as slowly as he could to savor each moment that the pain bloomed, the way that it expanded second by second. Blood flowed down his arm to his wrist and spilled on his hand until thick drops fell to the floor from the tips of his fingers.

He angled the knife above the first cut and dragged it again, this time faster and deeper. It was red hot and stung so that his nerves tingled with pain around the cut. Blood bathed his arm, coating all the skin with the warm fluid.

Cas repeated the action again and this time imagined the fear his friends had regarded him with when he filled himself with Leviathans. He saw their faces, the way they trembled when he ordered them to bow to him, and he was filled with disgust. He ripped the knife further into his skin and let out a heavy breath.

He was getting dizzy and if he were to pass out and have Dean and Sam find him here, he would have no answers to give them. He reluctantly healed the wounds, allowing the scars to stay, and stood to wash his arm in the bathroom. He paused when he noticed the blood that had splashed on the floor and pulled the chair forward with his foot so that the stains were hidden.

The fourth time, Dean had gotten hurt on a hunt. Even with his powers, Cas had been unable to stop it in time. Dean slammed into a wall and cried out. The sound of his friend in pain echoed through Cas's ears. Despite trying his best not to screw anything else up, he had still allowed this to happen.

Cas knelt beside Dean and rested a hand on his shoulder. Dean sighed as relief flooded through him and the forming bruise on his back was healed. "Thanks," Dean smiled, but it only made Cas's chest ache more.

"I'm sorry," Cas muttered.

Dean gave him a quizzical look. "Sorry?"

"We should go," Cas stood up, unwilling to expand on his apology. Dean let it go and they headed back to their most recent lodging, a run down motel just outside of town that stunk of mold and urine. Cas waited patiently as Sam and Dean winded down for bed and watched them until their breathing grew rhythmic and easy, then he flapped his wings.

He transported himself into the remote woods of the Appalachian mountains. Human eyes had never been laid on this spot before, only wildlife skittered through, not fully comprehending the beauty of its solitude. Cas cursed. "I let it happen again," he yanked the blade from his pocket and shimmied off his jacket. He didn't hesitate to start carving. He closed his eyes and imagined over and over how he failed to protect Dean, the scene replaying each time he slashed. "You can't save anyone," Cas berated himself, "You can't even keep Dean safe."

Cas opened his eyes and found that he was running out of room to cut. He switched the knife to his other hand, but it shook feebly. He growled at his ineffectuality and tossed the blade to the ground. He deflated beside it and allowed the exhaustion to overtake him and pull him to sleep.

He woke up a few hours later and his heart stopped when he saw the sun rising behind the mountain peak. He ran his fingers down his hurt arm to mend the cuts, then tried to scrape off the dried blood that had hardened against his skin. He grabbed his knife and jacket, threw it on, and flew back to the room. Sam stirred and groaned. He pushed himself up and squinted at Cas. "Did you go somewhere?" he asked drowsily.

"I haven't left."

From the fifth time and on, Cas lost count. Often, in the secrecy of the night, he would disappear to his spot on the mountain and hack his skin open. When the scars took up most of the space on his arms, he moved on to the rest of his body: legs, hips, stomach, wherever he could manage that hurt enough to count as penance. Soon, it became an every night ritual.

He didn't know it was the twentieth time when he found out that Hannah had been murdered. Dean turned to speak, to comfort him and tell me he was sorry, but he couldn't stand to hear it. He deserved no sympathy, no compassion, no kindness. Hannah was killed for being close to him, a direct result of his interference, and the weight of her death was his to bear.

Cas flapped his wings before Dean could speak and appeared on the mountain. He fell to his knees and covered his face with his hands as he cried. His self-preservation was at an all time low. He withdrew the knife from his pocket, hiked up his shirt, and ripped the angel blade across his stomach. He screamed out. The cut was too deep, cutting through the fat and muscle, causing more blood than he had ever lost before to flood out of him. The wound glowed with white light and for the first time since Cas had begun the self-harm, he thought he might die, but the light flickered out and he fell to his face, no longer able to hold himself up.

'Cas, can you hear me? Where are you? Please come home. You're scaring me. Cas?'

"Dean," Cas choked out. Dean was praying for him and in the haze of the blood loss and pain, he forgot that he should be hiding this. All he knew was that he wanted Dean more than anything. He needed to be close to Dean.

He gathered up his remaining energy and flew to him. Dean was pacing through the motel room with his phone pressed to his ear. "Cas!" he shouted and nearly jumped backwards.

Cas fell forward, but Dean scooped him in his arms before he could hit the floor. They slid gradually to the ground, Dean's arms wrapped around him. "Cas, what's going on? You're hurt. That's so much blood," he turned Cas over so that he was on his back with his head in Dean's lap, and lifted his shirt. Dean gasped when he saw the gash there. "Can't you heal yourself?" he sounded terrified.

Cas couldn't stand to hear that pitch in Dean's voice and know that he had caused it. He never meant to scare Dean, so he took a breath in and let the wound close itself up. Dean rested his hands where the gash had once been like he was afraid it might burst open again. Cas watched the micro expressions on his face as Dean adjusted to the situation and gathered himself. "What happened?"

The question was too complicated to answer so Cas simply shook his head.

Dean sighed. "You're soaked. C'mere," he picked up Cas and propped him up against the bed. Cas observed Dean as he wiggled one of the trench coat sleeves down. Cas's mind was still numb, still not entirely present, because he had subconsciously chosen not to restore all of his blood, an instinctual repentance to cause himself more harm.

Dean helped Cas take his arm out of the sleeve and froze. Cas tilted his head and followed Dean's eyeline to see what had shocked him. The realization dawned on him that Dean was gaping at the scars. Shit.

"Who did this?" Dean demanded.

"No one."
"Don't lie to me," Dean picked up the arm and examined the impossible number of scars. Cas would have jerked his arm away if it weren't already too late. "How did this happen?"

Dean searched Cas's face for an answer. Cas reached into his pocket and pulled out the angel blade, passing it to Dean. Dean's forehead wrinkled, trying to comprehend what it meant, when his eyes fell onto the blood caked there. His mouth fell open. "You did this. Cas, you- you've been hurting yourself?"

There was relief in Dean finally knowing. "I had to."

"What do you mean 'you had to'?"

Cas looked at Dean seriously. "I have to make up for what I've done."

"No," Dean shook his head. Cas could see him trying to fathom it, choking on the disbelief. This was a betrayal, another failure on Cas's part. He would have to hurt himself for this too. "You're lying," he said, but there was no conviction in his tone.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

"How could you?" his voice cracked.

Cas pushed down the tears that came with seeing Dean hurt. "I never should have left Purgatory. This is the only way I can atone."

"No!" Dean barked. Cas flinched at the abrupt noise.

"You know what I've done. I know that you can't forgive me for that. Not after what I did to your brother or what happened to Bobby."

"I have forgiven you!" Dean balled up his hands.

Cas frowned. They'd fought together for the last year, Dean insisting that he come back home, refusing to give up on him, but Cas knew Dean held grudges and this was something that he could never truly rectify. "You shouldn't."

"Don't tell me what I can or can't forgive. How could you think this was the way? You lied to me."

Cas bowed his head. "I wanted to make it up to you. To everyone. I killed my brothers and sisters. I killed so many…"

"My hands aren't clean either, Cas."

"That's not your fault," Cas said immediately.

"Some of it wasn't, but a lot of it was. Do you think I should do this too?" he gestured to the scars.

"Of course not."

"See? You don't have to either. You, just being here, trying, that's all you can do. This isn't helping anyone. I know you, Cas. I know you want to do good."

Cas's eyes sparkled with tears.

"Can you please heal them? I can't-" Dean averted his eyes, unable to look at the cuts any longer.

"I can't. They remind me of what I've done."

"Please," Dean whispered.

Cas nodded and allowed the skin to heal and the scars to evaporate. Dean turned back to him. "Don't do this again. Do you hear me?"

"Yes," if it was what Dean wanted, he would obey. If abstaining from his penance relieved Dean of even the slightest pain, it was worth it. Secretly, he was glad to be freed from the burden of the punishment. It was taking over his life. Every waking moment he spent overcome with his shame. Dean was special. Who else could have ever forgiven him for this?

Dean reached out slowly, picked up Cas's arm, and ran his hand down it until he reached his palm, then laced their fingers together. He squeezed hard, like they couldn't be close enough, and together they sat in silence.

Cas thought this touch was more healing than his own angelic abilities. The warmth of Dean's body traveled to his chest and heart and nourished his soul. Dean leaned in and pressed his head against Cas's collar bone. They stayed there for a long time, Cas could have spent eternity with Dean's forehead on him and their fingers intertwined, but Dean finally drew back. "Let's get you fixed up," he stood without letting go of Cas's hand and pulled him to his feet, "Shower?"

"Shower," Cas agreed. Dean released his hand and Cas wanted to reach out and tug it back into his grasp, but he resisted. Dean walked behind him, grabbed the collar of his trench coat, and pulled it off his arm. Cas retracted his arm from the sleeve and watched as Dean tossed it to the bed. Cas turned to face him. He wondered what he would do next, but didn't dare to make a move on his own.

Dean raised his hand to the topmost button of Cas's shirt and slowly undid it. Cas took in Dean's face. The way his lips twitched, the color of his sparkling green eyes, the lines etched in his skin, they fascinated Cas.

Dean moved his way down the shirt, delicately unfastening each button, when his face broke into a smile and he glanced up at Cas. "What are you looking at?"

Cas smiled earnestly back.