Dean was in the bunker's library, flipping through some old books about angels. There had to be a way to get Cas his grace back…the poor guy had been moping around for weeks. He was clearly miserable.

He looked up when he heard Sam's heavy footsteps approaching.

"Dean!"

"Over here!" He called out. Sam sounded out of breath. "Where's the fire?"

"You need to talk to Cas." His brother was visibly upset.

"Woah, what's the matter?"

"He's cutting himself."

"I'm sorry, he's doing what?"

"Cutting himself. On purpose."

Dean felt uneasy. "What for? Is he making Sigils? This place is protected enough without-"

"No, Dean. You're not listening! Castiel is slicing his goddamn wrists open. He's doing worse than we thought. It's really bad."

Dean felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. He shut the book he'd been reading and stood. "Where is he?"

He followed Sam to the kitchen, where Cas was sitting at the table fidgeting with his sleeves uncomfortably. He risked a glance at Dean, quickly averting his gaze as if he expected him to start yelling.

The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach only increased. Cas looked so ashamed. Dean was angry, but it wasn't at his friend. It was at Metatron, for stealing Castiel's grace and royally fucking up his angel.

His angel? Where did that thought come from?

"Show me." Dean said quietly, sitting next to Cas.

"I don't think that's wise-"

"Cas, it's okay." Dean reached for his sleeve, gently pulling it back to expose Castiel's wrist.

The ex-angel anxiously watched, waiting for Dean to explode, to tell him what an idiot he was…

"Oh, Cas…" There were dozens of cuts traversing the length of Castiel's arm. Dean had only pulled the sleeve up a few inches, but it was obvious that there were even more wounds he couldn't see.

"I'm sorry," Cas jerked his arm away from the hunter, and tugged his sleeve back down. "I didn't realize this wasn't appropriate behavior. I will try to stop." He wished Sam and Dean would stop looking at him like that. Why did they seem so sad? Dean looked especially heartbroken. Despite his promise to quit, he wanted to cut now more than ever. He had disappointed them yet again.

"It's…it's not that it's 'inappropriate behavior, it's just…" Dean struggled to find the words to explain. "Cas, you've gotta see how messed up this is. You're hurting yourself!"

"I know. I'm sorry, like I said, I didn't know it was a problem."

"Look, we're worried about you. I'm not mad, we're not mad."

"I let you down."

Those words cut through Dean like a knife. "No, Cas…you didn't let us down. It's not like that! Not at all…" How could he make him understand? "Christ, here goes the chick flick moment." Dean muttered. "We care about you. Okay, Cas? I care about you. I just want you to be happy, and it's obvious that you're not. You're hurting real bad, and I'm worried about you."

"I'm sorry," Cas couldn't look Dean in the eyes. "I will try to stop."

"That's great, but it doesn't change the fact that you still feel like shit."

"I don't understand…what do you want me to do?" Cas didn't say this in a rebellious tone, he simply looked up at Dean with pleading in his cloudy blue eyes…eyes that had once been a brilliant Cerulean, flashing with fire and life.

Again, Dean tried to find the right words. "It's not about the…the cutting." God, he could barely say it out loud. "It's about what the cutting means. It's about getting out of your head, which means your head is a bad place to be. And that's the problem."

"How-How do I change that?"

"I don't know. But we're here to help you figure it out."