Cas almost threw up when he realised the voice outside his door belonged to Dean. Cas knew he would come back eventually; there was no way Dean would ever abandon Sam, especially since he was still recovering from the trials. But Cas already knew how this was supposed to go, the only way it made sense. Dean would come back, ignore Cas because of the disgust he felt at ever touching him, and Cas would slowly rot inside his meat-cell and then die, having suffered the worst punishment he could imagine. That was right. That was just. A fallen angel so enamoured with himself as to think that the righteous man would ever feel anything for him, especially carnal feelings, was blasphemy and Cas was right to feel this way.

'Cas, I… Sam wanted me to… Fuck.'

He listened with a sort of detached intrigue as he heard Dean sigh and slap his hand against the wall outside his room.

'Cas, can I come in, please?'

He nodded, not trusting his voice as his chest tightened and his eyes stung, then realised Dean couldn't see him so he uttered a weak 'Come in,' then tugged the sleeves of his oversized shirt down over the bandages on his arms, some still sticky from earlier in the day.

~#~

They had tried disposable razors, like Sam and Dean used, but Castiel's facial hair was more than a match for them so Dean bought him an 'old school' razor which Cas understood was less often used in male grooming regimens.

'Ok, what with you and your steel wool peach-fuzz there,' Dean ran a finger over Cas's stubble in the same fond way he had in Purgatory making Cas feel briefly warm inside as the pad of Dean's finger stroked over his cheek, 'you're going to need this which is a little more hardcore than the usual. See it uses proper razor blades which you have to change but… well, don't worry for now, let's just get you shaved, ok?'

Cas nodded at Dean in the mirror, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Dean, a steaming sink full of water in front of them. Dean had told Cas to follow his example so Cas watched very carefully, not wanting Dean to think he was incapable. When Dean leant forward and splashed the warm water on his face, Cas mirrored him exactly. When Dean squeezed white froth from a can and spread it over his face, Cas followed suit. However, when it came to the actual shaving, Cas managed to immediately slice a cut into his cheek, gasping as droplets of blood fell into the sink and the shaving foam dripped into the cut, making it sting.

'Ah, shit, Cas! Don't go sideways, these things are as sharp as our blades, you'll massacre your face.' Cas blushed as Dean wiped the blood away from his face then began to shave him. He used slow, gentle strokes, quietly explaining to Cas as he went along.

Soon Cas found himself lulled into a meditative state as Dean carefully shaved him, allowing Dean to move his face this way and that as the taller man shaved his face clean of scruff. Cas couldn't help but feel a little breathless at the intimacy of this act, though he was sure it was just his imagination that Dean was gazing into his eyes and gently caressing his face as he finished the human ritual.

'There you go, fresh as a baby's ass,' Dean patted him on the cheek before wiping his face with a warm cloth, removing the excess foam and hair, leaving Cas feeling clean and relaxed for the first time in a while.

'Now, I don't wanna baby you but these things,' Dean held up a small white rectangular package holding more of the blades for the razor, 'are really, really sharp and it's easy for them to slip and cut you so, 'til you get used to 'em, gimme a call when you need to change them over. You'll know because the shave won't feel as smooth. Ok?'

'Yes, Dean,' Cas nodded, careful to remember the importance of the advice Dean was giving him.

'Cas, don't worry, it's not that difficult to get the hang of. You'll be used to it in no time,' Dean smiled and patted him on the back as he placed the razor blades into the small mirrored cabinet in Cas's room.

~#~

Of course Castiel knew of self-harm, an ubiquitous term to describe the purposeful injury of the human body but he had always been taught that such an act was blasphemy, similar to suicide in its self-destructiveness, an affront to the Lord who had created each beautiful human. But, while Cas had had an understanding of human suffering as an abstract idea, he had never truly begun to understand the true depths of despair and self-loathing the human soul could feel. Even knowing Dean and Sam and watching them go through their various trials, Castiel had never really felt before, not really.

The morning, or afternoon, after Cas hurt his knee, he found himself locked into his bathroom, holding a fresh razor blade he had slid out of the pack that Dean bought him. His knee throbbed a little when he moved it a certain way and the tug of the stitches still made him feel sick but the pain was not enough. A dull ache was not enough to obliterate his endless thoughts about Dean. Cas did not know how long Dean and been gone but it felt like both an eternity and a fresh wound that his mind picked and prodded at, the feelings not dulling at all.

With a deep breath, Castiel dragged the blade across his left inner arm, wincing and shutting his eyes as the sharp implement cut into his skin. Cas looked at the wound and found himself feeling disappointed; it was a small gash, barely two inches in length and little blood seeped from it, just a few droplets beading in the slit he had made.

Frustrated, Cas swiped at his arm again and was relieved when the cut was a lot deeper and more painful than the first, rivulets of blood immediately trickling down his arm, pain overtaking his mind as the wound pulsed. All thoughts of Dean were obliterated as Cas poured antiseptic liquid over the cut, hissing involuntarily as the medical fluid stung the skin inside his arm. Immediately, Cas decided that the cleansing of the wound was painful enough to be worth including in the ritual, keeping the wound clean enough to deter Sam from noticing and making his arm throb painfully enough that he could collapse back in his bed, a thin bandage wrapping around the wound to prevent any stray drops of blood from betraying him to anyone who might see.

As Cas buried himself in his ripe blankets, he found he was both elated and ashamed of what he had just done; the emotions safer and more palatable than what he had been feeling before.

Cas fell asleep with an empty smile on his face.

~#~

Soon enough, both of Cas's arms were wrapped in bandages he had stolen from the medical kit and he had to move onto his legs. Careful to keep wearing very large Sam-sized shirts to keep the hunter from realising what Cas was doing and stopping him, Cas moved onto his thighs, carving deep gashes into them anytime emotions regarding Dean surfaced. He was surprised, really, by what a simple thing it was; physical pain overrode emotional pain so why not simply inflict physical pain upon oneself until the emotional pain subsided? Cas thought deeply on the subject and decided that his Father had created such a mechanism in order for his creations to survive the abhorrent trials they faced as human beings.

Because Cas was pouring vigorous amounts of antiseptic fluid onto the wounds, they did not get infected and Cas found them easy to hide from Sam who, bless him, was still checking on Cas regularly, bringing him food to eat and talking with him about pleasant banalities that made him feel calm; the weather, films and books he might like, that sort of thing. Cas found that, since discovering the effects of self-injury, he no longer felt much compunction about eating. It was still often unpleasant and he never sought out food on his own, preferring to sleep and occasionally read one of the books Sam had brought into his room than leave his strange hybrid sanctuary and prison cell to seek nutrition. But, when Sam came in with a bowl of this or that, Cas dutifully ate it, thanked Sam, assured the sad-eyed hunter that he was fine and then continued either reading or sleeping.

After a few days or maybe weeks (Cas was unaware and uncaring about the passage of time as humans recorded it), Cas realised he was running out of easy-to-hide places to injure so he began punching the hard tiles in his bathroom, bruising and splitting the skin across his knuckles, pleased to find it provided a longer lasting pain that he could extend by pressing hard against the bruises, keeping his mind clear as he continued his pathetic existence.

It was this that alerted Sam to what Cas was doing.

~#~

Cas tried to say it's unlocked but nothing but a dry wheeze came out of his throat. He swallowed what felt like a pile of gravel and managed to choke out the words again, some strange vestige of mortal pride stirring in him as he realised how awful he must look.

The door opened slowly and Cas felt a short painful stab to the heart as Dean walked through his door, looking tired, sad and hungover, like he had been on a bender that had lasted a lot longer than it should have. There was several days scruff on his face, similar in length to Cas's and he was hunched slightly, like his head was too heavy to hold up properly.

There was a full minute of awkward silence after Dean shut the door behind him and leaned against it, staring at the carpet, his feet close together, accentuating his bow legs. Castiel was at a loss as to what he should or could say, too frightened of saying anything that would cause the hunter to leave again. Absently he picked at the healing scabs on his left hand, pulling just enough to cause him pain, the ritual banishing of his emotions having become a useful habit of late.

'You know, I, ah… I wasn't gonna be away for so long. I didn't mean to be but, sometimes you just keep hearing about cases and time flies,' Dean managed to meet his eyes for a second as he laughed humourlessly then dropped his gaze back to the floor.

'I understand, Dean. I am…' Cas bit into his bottom lip as he tried to keep his voice under control, 'I am sorry if I made you feel like you had to leave. I… We-'

Dean pulled away from the door, linking both his hands on the top of his head as he began to pace up and down the length of the room. 'Castiel, no, it wasn't… it isn't you…' He shook his head and pulled a little on his hair before finally turning to face Cas who was quivering in his nest of books and blankets, terrified of what Dean was going to tell him as he caught the other man's golden-green gaze and saddened by Dean's usage of his full name, something he hadn't said in years, 'I never should've… I'm fucked up, ok? I fuck things up, always have, everything I've ever tried!' Dean threw out his arms to indicate Cas being one of the things he had fucked up.

'I hurt the people I care about and I drag them through the muck with me and I never should've… I never will again, I won't... do that, to you again, not ever, ok? And I'm… I'm…' Dean rubbed a hand down his face in the way that meant he was hurting, the way that made Cas want to take the hand away and kiss it until the light came back into Dean's eyes, hold him until his shivers stopped.

Dean pulled in a shaking breath before falling to his knees, hands splayed out flat on his thighs as a lone tear dripped its way down his freckled cheek, Cas's heart throbbing painfully hard in his chest, his arms aching to touch the man in front of him, the man who was so upset to hurt his friend that he was crying without shame.

'I never should've touch you, Castiel, and I'm so, so sorry,' and then the beautiful hunter covered his face with his hands as Cas tried to digest the words he had said. As their meaning washed over him, Castiel began to feel the one emotion that had lain dormant since Dean left; he began to feel rage.