Castiel can't do this. He can't be human.

He's been back at the bunker just over a week. He was ready to leave the hospital. He probably left sooner than he should've, but Sam and Dean managed to get him out early, using the proper badges of course.

At first, being back at the bunker wasn't bad. All of his energy was focused on getting better. He's still far from being fully recovered, but he was too tired to really focus on anything for the first few days for things to get annoying. But then Dean hardly left his side. And that got old fast. Castiel snapped yesterday morning and yelled at Dean saying he didn't need his help and that he was perfectly capable on his own. He was very wrong and knew it when he was saying it too, but he just needed some time alone. He regrets everything.

He never should've gone to Heaven's gate. He should have just wandered the Earth for the rest of his days. Sam and Dean would have been fine. Castiel would have been fine. Why did he ever think going back would be a good idea?

All of these thoughts and frustrating human emotions have been swirling in his mind. He tried to shave this morning, but his hands wouldn't stop shaking enough for him to do it. His body is still weak. He's still weak. And Castiel hates his growing facial hair. It reminds him of Purgatory. There's too much maintenance in being human.

Take now for instance. Castiel just wants to eat and is trying to make an omelet. His first problem is he isn't quite sure what goes in an omelet besides eggs and maybe onions? He left his phone in his room, and he doesn't want to go back for it to look up how to make omelets. Walking is still difficult, and his wound hurts more than he's letting on. He just wants to be independent again.

But now Castiel is hungry and frustrated and there's yolk on his hands, and his stupid meal of onions and three eggs doesn't look like an omelet. He's just making scrambled eggs. He can't do anything right.

He knows he's being dramatic, and this is just his hunger and frustration coming out, but he just wants an omelet, dammit.

Castiel's been trying to correct his meal for too long and now the eggs are burnt. He clicks the stove off angrily and dumps his burnt eggs into the trash. It isn't even worth eating. He'll just starve.

Castiel angrily stomps over to the sink with his pan, and pain shoots through his wound. He sucks in a sharp breath. He needs to move slower, but he doesn't want to. He hates being restricted in his body like this.

There's egg burned onto the pan and trying to wash it off is a bitch, and Castiel knows he's scrubbing too hard because he's sweating and his wound is throbbing again, but he just wants to do one thing right. The pan slips from his grasp and clatters into the sink. It doesn't even look like any egg has come off. Hot tears run down his face.

Is he crying over dishes? Really?

"Hey, Cas," Dean says from somewhere behind him.

Castiel tenses. He didn't even hear Dean walk up. Dean can't know he's crying. Castiel glares at the pan in the sink. This is somehow its fault.

"Cas, you okay?"

"No." It's as if his admission opens up a dam, and the tears he was already failing to hold back completely break free and drip down his face.

Dean grabs his arm and turns him around. "What happened? Are you hurt? Cas, talk to me."

Castiel refuses to look into Dean's eyes and stares at his feet. "I can't—I can't do anything!"

"Alright, calm down. Take a deep breath." Dean rubs his hand comfortingly along Castiel's arm, which only makes Castiel cry harder. Dean's been so good to him, and all Castiel has done is push him away.

"I'm sorry," Castiel says and finally looks up. His cheeks heat up in shame. He wishes Dean isn't watching him have a mental breakdown.

Dean smiles softly. "You're seriously apologizing? You have nothing to be sorry for, Cas." Dean cups Castiel's face with one of his hands, just for a moment.

"I left," Castiel points out.

Dean freezes for a second before placing both of his hands on Castiel's shoulders. "Yeah, well, you're back. And that's all that matters."

Castiel nods. "Can I stay?"

Dean's grip on Castiel's shoulders tightens. "Of course you can. You can always stay."

Castiel nods again. "I just…" He stares at his feet. "I don't want to be a burden."

"Hey." Dean lifts Castiel's chin up. "You're not a burden. Ever." Dean pauses. "I want you to stay, remember?"

Castiel's breath gets caught in his throat. Dean had said he wants Castiel back at the hospital. But now he's saying he wants Castiel to stay. He's never said that before. No one's ever said that before. No one has wanted Castiel to stay before.

Finally, Castiel says, "Okay."

Dean's gaze shifts to something behind them, and he takes his hands off of Castiel. Castiel wishes he didn't. "What were you trying to make?" Dean asks.

Castiel looks back down in embarrassment. "An omelet."

"Why don't I teach you, so you can make it next time?"

Castiel glances up. "I'd like that."

Dean grins. "Awesome."

Castiel's standing shirtless in his room, attempting to fix some of the stitches he tore in making his bed. Why is putting sheets on a bed so difficult? No one ever talks about how hard that is. Maybe it's only Castiel who struggles with it. Castiel dabs the blood off of his reopened wound with some gauze, but he's still having trouble making out where he needs to add stitches. He's getting better at it, though. He's probably tearing too many stitches to be improving at stitching this much. But he's taking care of it.

Castiel has left his door open since it's nearly 2am, and the brothers usually aren't out at this time. He tries to stitch up his wound when he knows no one will be awake to catch him doing it. He doesn't need to see Dean's concern or hear about how he's not taking care of himself. He knows.

His hands are still shaky. Less than before, but it's bad tonight. He can't even thread the needle. He's been trying for a good ten minutes, and now it's just getting frustrating.

"Hey, Cas."

Dean startles him, and Castiel drops the needle. "Dammit," Castiel mutters and bends down to pick it up. Pain shoots through him, and he winces as he grabs the needle. Now he's going to have to get a new one.

"Shit, Cas, are you okay? What happened?"

Dean is by his side when Castiel stands back up. "I'm fine," Castiel answers gruffly. He doesn't need Dean's help or concern. He can do this on his own.

"Yeah, clearly."

Castiel glares at him through the mirror, but Dean is staring at his bleeding stomach and doesn't notice.

"You tore your stitches," Dean says.

"Yes, Dean, I know."

Dean lightly brushes a warm hand next to his wound, making Castiel shiver. "Multiple times." Dean turns to stare at Castiel. "How many times have you done this?"

"Enough to know how to fix it." Castiel hopes his tone gives Dean the hint that Castiel doesn't want him here.

"Yeah, that's not a good thing."

"Goodbye, Dean."

"Cas, c'mon, don't be like this."

Castiel can feel Dean's eyes on him, but Castiel ignores him and selects a clean needle from the first-aid kit. "I can fix this, Dean."

"Yeah, I know you can, but can you let me do it? Just this once?"

"My stitching method is fine." Castiel fails at threading the needle. Again.

"And I never said it wasn't."

Castiel still can't thread the fucking needle. He shoves the needle and stitch at Dean. "Fine. Make it quick."

Dean takes the supplies from Castiel. "Can you sit at the edge of the bed?" he asks gently. "It will be easier that way."

Castiel swiftly turns and storms towards the bed, ignoring the pain ripping through his midsection. He probably just tore another stitch. He sits down with his feet on the floor, facing Dean.

Dean grabs the first-aid kit with a sigh and makes his way over to Castiel. "You know you keep tearing stitches because you're doing stuff like that."

"I know how it works, Dean."

"Then why do you keep doing it?"

"I don't want to be useless!" Castiel shouts up at Dean. He isn't sure why he yelled, and he's instantly ashamed. He looks down and says, quietly, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shouted at you."

Dean sighs again. "It's fine," he says softly. "And I know you can do this on your own."

Castiel looks up.

Dean continues, "I just need to know you're taking care of yourself, alright? I can't—" Dean's voice breaks. "Back at the hospital, before you woke up, there were moments where I thought you weren't gonna make it. And I can't—I can't do that again, Cas." Dean's eyes are shining with tears.

Castiel nods mutely. He doesn't trust his voice right now.

Dean takes a deep breath and steels himself. "Okay. Let's get you patched up." Dean sets the first-aid kit on the bed beside Castiel and kneels down in front of him. "Uh, you're gonna have to…" Dean looks at Castiel's legs.

Castiel tilts his head in confusion. "What?"

"I need to be closer." Dean flicks his gaze back up. "You need to move your legs."

Oh.

They're both looking at each other when Castiel spreads his knees apart so Dean can get to his wound. There's a beat where neither of them move, still holding each other's gaze. Then Dean awkwardly shuffles forward, breaking the tension.

Dean places a hand on Castiel's bare side as he inspects the wound, and Castiel can't breathe. Dean's grip is firm and warm, and Castiel can feel Dean's body heat in places he shouldn't. He's never been close like this to Dean before. The only skin Dean has ever touched is Castiel's face and hands. Excluding the hospital, Dean never touches him longer than a few seconds. And this… No one has touched Castiel here in years, and even then, it had been about chasing after pleasure and not about touching the other person. Castiel is trying so hard to push down his yearning and the sudden dirty thoughts popping into his mind, but it's difficult when Dean is literally kneeling between his legs.

Oh, no. He can't do this.

Dean suddenly leans forward while keeping one hand planted on Castiel's side, and Castiel thinks he's going to have a heart attack when he hears Dean pop open the first-aid kit.

Right. Of course.

Dean leans back holding gauze, stitches, and a needle. He easily threads the needle. He looks up, and time stops. Castiel knows he's going to have the image of Dean staring up at him while kneeling between his legs seared into his brain forever. His mind will never let go of this, and he's going to relive it a thousand times. He will never be this close to Dean again. Dean will never touch him like this again.

"You okay?" Dean asks.

Castiel realizes he's trembling, and he's balled the bed covers up inside his fists. "Yes."

"Okay. This is going to hurt a bit."

Castiel nods.

Dean dabs the blood off of him before putting the needle into his skin. Castiel grips the covers tighter but doesn't protest.

"I'll go as fast as I can," Dean promises.

Castiel wants Dean to take his time but says, "Okay."

And Dean does work fast. His hands work with purpose. They're gentle but firm. And Castiel thinks Dean's hands are a good representation of his character. They may be calloused from years of Hunting, but they're also gentle and loving, especially when it comes to those Dean cares for.

Dean hardly touches Castiel as he works, but Castiel enjoys every second one of Dean's fingers brushes along his stitches or when Dean readjusts his grip on Castiel's side.

It's over all too soon, and it doesn't even take Dean five minutes to patch Castiel up, even after taping fresh gauze over the stitches.

As he's taping the last part, Dean glances up and says, "It's a little worse than I thought it was. You're moving around too much. Does it hurt?"

"Yes." Then Castiel realizes what he said. He's still freaking out over how close Dean is, let alone having any control over what he's saying.

"Dammit, Cas." Dean presses the medical tape firmly onto Castiel's skin. "Were you going to tell me?"

"It's getting better."

Dean sighs and looks back up. "You're one stubborn son of a bitch, you know that?"

Castiel smiles at him fondly. "I know."

Dean smiles back.

And there's another moment where neither of them move. They've been staring for too long, but Castiel can't look away.

Dean suddenly clears his throat, and says, "You should be all fixed up for now." But as he's talking, the hand he's had on Castiel's side moves down his bare skin, across the top of his jeans, and settles on top of Castiel's thigh. "You know you can come to me if you tear more stitches, right? You know I don't think less of you because you need help. Everyone needs help, Cas."

Castiel isn't quite sure what Dean is talking about. All he can focus on is how gently Dean is touching him, and how it felt when Dean's hand ran down his body. Castiel is so touch-starved, and he'd feel embarrassed about it if he wasn't completely relishing in it right now.

"Cas?" Dean asks.

"Yes," Castiel quickly answers, not quite sure what he's saying "yes" to.

Dean squeezes his thigh then stands up. "Get some sleep."

Castiel rolls his eyes. "Yes, Dean."

Dean smiles warmly as he grabs the first-aid kit before walking out of Castiel's room.