Disclaimer| I do not own. Obviously. I wish I did though.

A/N| I know I already uploaded this chapter but I wasn't happy with the ending so I went back and made it longer. So if you've already seen this chapter you're at the end. Sorry if this complicates anything.

The nightmares were something Castiel could normally control.

He supposed that it was difficult this time because he was in a new environment. He was somewhere alien. He was too comfortable. Sometimes the man with the beard would come in, tell him to be quiet. He used the word "idjit" a lot and Castiel was unsure of its definition. Dean would usually sit himself by the window, told him to go to sleep and that was that. Ironically Castiel slept best those nights. Dean let him walk around on the first floor whenever he wanted to stretch his legs. Most nights Ellen would bring him soup, but he didn't have much of an appetite, and her work would go to waste.

The police were becoming restless, and no one was allowed in the streets, the only time they were permitted to go outside was between ten and eleven am, and that was usually the time Sam would arrive, bringing food and checking on their alcohol situation. Sometimes he'd bring Ruby, whose eyes would meet Dean's with a mutual level of distaste. He never talked to her, and he made sure Sam didn't tell her about Castiel.

He didn't trust her. Never did, and never would. Castiel only saw Ruby once. He had caught sight of dark brown hair, trimmed eyebrows and full lips. From what he could tell she was lovely, although he caught sight of Dean shooting him an urgent glare and he had disappeared into his temporary living space before she could see. Sam seemed to trust her, so he often found himself wondering why Dean didn't.

"It's just something about her, man. I dunno. She always looks like she's up to something." Dean tried to explain one morning, the sun just rising above the shackled roofs and the Train's empty iron tracks. Castiel hadn't had a good night, the nightmares more vivid, and Dean had come up to sit with him, had handed him some water and told him to stop screaming, someone would hear.

"Has she ever done anything to warrant your distrust in her?" Dean shook his head, biting at his thumb absentmindedly.

"Not yet."

"I don't understand–"

"Don't worry about it, it's nothing. How's your head?" Castiel regarded Dean in silence for a moment; studying green eyes to try and determine the different emotions he could see pooling in their depths.

"Better. It hurts less now." When Dean didn't respond Castiel sat up higher against the wall, his back feeling sore and slightly tingly from the effects of what Ellen had diagnosed as a "fever". It had been three days since Dean and Sam had saved him from the institution, and although his body was growing weaker his mind was not. "Dean." The man seemed to snap out of whatever daze he was in, turning his body so that he could face Castiel more fully.

"Yeah?"

"If I have become to much of a burden–"

"Damn, Cas, don't start this again."

"…Then I understand entirely if you or Bobby or Sam would prefer me to take my leave. I am putting everyone in danger, Dean, and while I appreciate all that you are trying to do, I cannot–"

"Enough alright? Just, stop. You're no trouble, and c'mon, Cas, let's be realistic. You wouldn't last ten minutes out there on your own, at least not how you are now."

"But–"

"And I promised I'd get you out of here, didn't I? Don't worry, I don't scare easy." And when Dean grinned his cocky self-reliant smirk Castiel felt something foreign and warm bloom throughout his chest. It was strange, but not unpleasant, and the feeling only seemed to intensify the longer him and Dean stared at each other. Castiel swallowed, his throat becoming dry, and his eyebrows creased in frustration.

"Why are you helping me?" Castiel asked, for the second time since meeting Dean. The air then seemed to change then, shape into something a bit heavier, a bit more demanding. Dean gritted his teeth, turned his gaze to look out the window.

"Can't you just be grateful and move on?"

"I'm serious, Dean."

"Yeah? Well so am I. What's so strange about wanting to help someone?"

"I'm not just someone, Dean. I'm an Angel."

"What difference does that make?" Castiel was taken aback by the biting undertone of Dean's words, but more so of the fact that Dean didn't just seem to view him as an object, as a weapon, as an experiment or a doll. And that alien warmth was back again and Castiel didn't know what to say. He could sense the tension rolling off of Dean in waves, could feel his guilt, his frustration. He could see how truly broken he really was.

He didn't think as he reached out his hand, gently laying it over the top of Dean's slightly larger one. The man flinched, green eyes seeming to pull blank as he stared down at Castiel's fingers laying overtop his own. His gaze met the Angel's blue and for a moment the human was lost. How long had it been since he had been touched like this? Soothing and chaste, and not asking anything in return.

"It is not blame that falls on you, Dean." Castiel whispered, his voice imploring in the darkness of the small room. "It is not wise to live in the past. To dwell on mistakes of guilt and loss. It will only slow you down." For a moment Dean couldn't form the words to speak. Castiel's hand was warm, and soft, and comforting, and in that instant Dean realized that Castiel was wrong. He saw flames and he saw blood and he saw himself stopping in the middle of the road to watch.

"I'm not helping you because I feel guilty." Dean whispered, hand flipping up so that he could grip Castiel's palm in his. The Angel seemed unsettled at the action but Dean found that he didn't care. He thought of Dick Roman and he held on tighter. "I was at first but not anymore. I'm helping you because I want to, Cas. Isn't that enough?" The Angel's eyes softened immensely, the deep blue glazing into a feathered sapphire and Dean didn't see his mom this time. He saw Castiel.

He saw Cas.

"His fever's dropping." Jo announced, coming down the stairs with a wet rag in her hands. She tucked a lock of blonde hair behind one ear, eyes scanning the room. Dean and Ellen didn't say anything, but Bobby nodded and huffed as he stood.

"Well that's good. Maybe he'll live longer than I thought." Dean seemed to tense at his words but said nothing, gaze dropping down to stare at his hands. Jo walked into the kitchen, placed down the rag and looked at the clock. 10:15.

"I'm going to head back. Just in case an officer wants to talk." Ellen stood then, patting Dean on the shoulder before walking forward to join her daughter by the door.

"Call me if his fever comes back." Ellen called and Bobby ran a tired hand across his face.

"You got it. You two be careful out there."

"Will do!" Jo called, eyes flashing back to Dean who gave her a small wave. She grinned warmly and closed the door behind her and her mother. The air outside was cold, the bakeries opened for this hour only and the smell of fresh baked dough rolled like melted sugar across the air. Jo shivered, pulling her jacket tighter across her slim frame. She breathed out, watching as her breath bellowed out in white huffs of smoke.

"He's gonna live, isn't he?" Jo asked after a while, and Ellen's dark eyes were on her, analyzing.

"I think so, baby. I hope so at least." Jo nodded, gaze turning to look up at the tracks. The Train whistled by, blowing through their hair and blasting a fierce bitter wind their way.

"I guess the rail's are open during this hour too." Jo commented thoughtfully, watching as the Train raced on through the sky. Ellen didn't respond. But she did pull her daughter into a nearby deli, bought two bundles of bread and a jar of jam and together, arm in arm, mother and daughter walked home through the wind.

Sam didn't tell Ruby about Castiel.

No matter how much he wanted to he had kept his mouth shut. It was around 10:52 as he and Ruby made their way down the street, each carrying a small bag so that they could stay the night. Bobby had agreed on the extra company, on account of him heading on over to Rufus's so they could load up on ammunition just incase the police caught wind of anything. Sam didn't tell Dean Ruby was coming.

As soon as he opened the door and watched Dean's face he knew he probably should have mentioned something. His brother's eyes grew dark, his jaw firm, and he gave the newcomers a sour smile. He was sitting on the couch; legs propped up, beer in hand. The TV was on, a woman talking about how to catch an Angel and if caught how you should turn it in immediately. There was a crack on the TV's screen that hadn't been there before. Sam wondered if it was Dean or Bobby.

"What the hell is she doing here?" Dean snapped, and Sam had to curl his hand into a fist to keep himself from lashing out.

"Jesus, Dean…"

"Nice to see you too." Ruby cut in, tilting her head up so she was looking at him down her nose. Her chestnut hair was pulled behind her shoulders and as Dean stood up from his position on the couch Sam immediately regretted coming here. Even with the extra food for Castiel this was ridiculous.

"Ruby, if you want we can drop the food and go." Dean laughed at that, shaking his head before taking another swig of his beer.

"No, I'm fine here. If Dean doesn't like it then he can leave."

"I was here first, princess. And I'm not going anywhere." He set the now empty bottle on the table top, pushing past Ruby and Sam to the steps. Sam caught his arm, hoping that the tightening of his grip was enough warning for Dean to back the fuck down. But Dean just shook him off with a frustrated snort and climbed the stairs, his steps heavier and more purposeful than usual. Sam flinched when he heard Bobby's door slam. He sighed, brushing back his hair, closing his eyes and trying to just focus on breathing. He felt Ruby's hands cup his cheeks; bend him down so that their foreheads were resting together.

"Hey, it's okay."

"It's not, Ruby, he can't talk to you like that." He felt her eyelashes caress his cheeks, her lips pull up into a soft, reassuring smile.

"I'm used to it."

"That's terrible, you shouldn't have to be used to my brother being a dick to you." She stopped him with a kiss, hard and demanding against his lips and he breathed her in, opting to drop his bag to let his arms encircle her small waist.

"It's okay." She repeated, smiling gently and Sam just shook his head, leaned in, and kissed her once more.

"It's okay…"

"You can't walk around tonight. You have to stay in here, at all times. Understand?"

Castiel regarded Dean solemnly, eyes taking in the nervous tension in his jaw, the way his hands seemed unable to be still against his jeans. Worried, Castiel tried to stand. This seemed to catch Dean's attention and he eyed the Angel warily as he swayed to his feet. His knees no longer shook and there was a presence about him now. He stared level with Dean, blue eyes deep and seeing and Dean found that he had to look away, slightly ashamed of having such a pure, flavorful look shone his way.

"Are you that afraid of her?" Dean seemed to perk up at this, anger flashing across his jaw as he rolled his shoulders to stand a little more fully.

"I'm not afraid of her, Cas. I just don't trust her. We're in a police state man, I can't be too careful." Castiel understood, he did, but it seemed like Dean needed that assurance. The knowledge that Castiel wasn't going to do anything to make himself known. Suddenly, the Angel was nervous.

"Dean. I will not move about, but what if…" He trailed off and Dean caught onto the tremor of nerves in his voice and latched on like a leech.

"What?" He asked, suddenly alert, eyes darting about the room, looking for invisible faults and threats that did not exist.

"My nightmares." Castiel concluded reluctantly, and he could feel a slight blush mar his cheeks. He didn't know why he was embarrassed about this, probably because no one else seemed to have the burden of nightmares and it was a thing only reserved for children. He felt shamed to have to drag Dean down with him, all because he couldn't handle a few tarnished memories. Dean relaxed, the tension and growing panic seeping out of him like smoke and he studied Cas gently, eyes soft in a way they had only been for Sam when he was younger.

"I'll be here. Don't worry." And there it was again. That warmth that was becoming familiar.

The air was thick. Too thick.

And Dean hated it.

Ruby sat at the table with Sam, no one really talking, and Dean was stretched out across the couch, watching the police go off on how they might have found some leads (they hadn't). The tension was broken by a knock on the door. Both Dean and Sam looked at each other, then the clock. It was almost seven, no one was allowed out now. Dean felt the tell tale goosebumps crawl up his skin when a second knock sounded this time. He couldn't really move until he saw Ruby sigh and push up from her seat, her chair legs scraping against the floorboards with a bit too much force. That seemed to jolt Dean back.

"Ruby, wait–!" But the door was pulled open and a man clad in total black stared into the room. A helmet covered his face; most of it glass, and not a bit of skin showed on him. Dean froze. He saw Sam swallow heavily before standing up himself. The officer outside looked in slowly, before turning his head down to Ruby.

"Ma'am I am required to look about your house for the missing Angel 401." He held up a warrant. "May I come in?" Ruby looked slightly confused but she opened the door wider and stepped aside nonetheless. The officer strode in, his footfalls forlornly loud in the narrow hallway as he made his was into the living room. He looked about, helmet turning with his eyes, and he stilled some as his gaze fell to Dean.

"Does this home have a basement, Mr. Winchester?" His voice was muted and tired, but there was an arrogant undertone that made Dean's jaw clench.

"No." Dean wasn't surprised that the officer knew his name. His father was well known for breaking their mother out of the institution, of course all the police force had kept an eye on the Winchester's for years. The officer now opened every door, checked every cabinet, and when he began to make his way up the stairs Dean had to use every ounce of his will to stay planted in the living room. He just hoped Cas had heard the man come in.

Dean had closed the door though, like he always did, and since Ruby was here he had made certain that it looked as though it blended in with the wall. You could never be too careful, that room was designed to not be found, but Dean wasn't sure of what the point of that officer's helmet was and it made him on edge. He listened with baited breath as the officer stomped about upstairs, opened drawers and dug through the shelf behind the mirror in the bathroom. Sam was by Dean's side then, hand resting warningly on his shoulder.

"Dude, you have to calm down. You look like your going to explode or something."

"How the hell can you ask me to calm down, Sammy? How are you not worried?"

"Why would you be worried?" Ruby cut in and Dean groaned before turning his head away from his brother to face her. He tried his best to smile.

"It's none of your damn business, princess."

"Okay, enough! I'm sick of you treating me like some kind of second-class citizen! What the hell's your problem?"

"Ruby–"

"No, Sam, it's cool. Let her blow off some steam. She seems tense."

"Fuck you–"

They all stilled as the officer stepped down from the second floor, and he regarded them calmly before nodding.

"Thank you for your time. I am sorry if I interrupted your evening. If you see anything suspicious please report immediately and you will gather a recompense for your troubles. Good day." Ruby's eyes bore into Dean's and the older Winchester didn't break eye contact as the front door closed. He'd be dammed if he looked away.

"You're acting quite suspicious, Dean."

"Fuck off." He growled, pushing past her to stroll into the kitchen, swiping a beer from the fridge. He didn't wait around long enough to hear Sam lecture him; he was up the steps in a heartbeat. He looked about Bobby's room for a moment, didn't notice anything out of place before he went to the back, down the small alcove and felt for the crease in the wall that suggested a possible opening. He found it with his nails and pushed, the door swinging open to reveal an empty room. Dean would never admit that his heart stopped. Or that his mouth went dry and his head spun. Instead he walked in, eyes scanning the dark small room with a slight panic building in his chest.

"Cas?" He hissed, ears straining to pick up any sounds around him.

"Hello Dean." He nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice behind him and he spun around, almost knocking into Castiel as he did. The Angel was really frickin' close, and absently Dean noticed how pink his lips were. He then felt a shock of disgust and stepped back, sighing deeply and trying to calm his pounding heart.

"Dammit, don't do that!" Castiel tilted his head, almost like a bird, blue eyes blazing with amusement.

"My apologies." Dean nodded, looking up again to take in Castiel's form.

"You okay?" He questioned and Castiel seemed to ponder this for a moment.

"I believe so. The officer didn't come near the door." Dean felt like he could breath a bit more easy and he stood up straighter, taking the Angel in.

"You hungry?" He asked, and Castiel very nearly smiled. He shook his head and Dean seated himself below the window, waiting for Castiel to join him, which he soon did. That night they watched the stars and Castiel told him the names of constellations Anna had showed him when they were kids. And as Castiel talked Dean felt the tension and nerves of the day roll off of him and for the first time in a long time he felt relaxed. He felt at peace.

He stayed long after Castiel fell asleep, watched as his chest rose and fell in steady, rhythmic waves. Absentmindedly Dean swept a stray strand of dark hair off the Angel's forehead. He felt something then, a jolt to his heart, and he sat back, eyes narrowing and turning to look outside. It was dark, but Dean wasn't aware of the time. It was always dark here. He shot one last glance at Cas, pulled up the blankets tighter around the Angel's curled body, and stood silently from the room. He made his way across Bobby's floor and into the old man's bathroom, closing the door behind him and shrugging out of his jacket and shirt.

The tiled floor was cool beneath his feet, made his spine tingle, and warily, almost scared, he placed a hand over his heart. It was beating faster than usual; he could feel the increased throb of blood under his palm.

He was scared.

Scared of whatever the hell this meant, and he pulled his hand away from himself fiercely, as though his own body had betrayed him. And in a way it had. He closed his eyes, trying not to see depths of blue or black hair in his mind has he turned on the shower, letting the water go warm before he fumbled tiredly with his belt, letting his jeans and undergarments hit the tiles with a dull clank. Whatever he was feeling now could go away. It was a choice he was feeling this way, wasn't it? Wasn't that always what John had told him? It's a choice, because everything you do in life is a choice. Dean could change this; he could slow his heart again. Because he chooses to.

The water hit his skin like needles, a sharp contrast from the days soft air drafting in throughout Bobby's house. Absently Dean wondered if Cas had showered yet, then remembered that he had. His second day here. Dean hadn't helped with that, left it to Ellen who saw it all with motherly eyes and a nurse's hand. Dean closed his eyes, leant his head against the chilled tiles of the showers wall. Cas had stood here as well, shed of Dean's borrowed clothes, the water running down his skin in perfect rivulets.

Dean furrowed his brow, tried desperately not to think of the expanse of pale skin, slim form but still hiding muscle, still honing a fearful strength. He had seen the depths of Castiel's eyes, had seen how they burned with determination for life. He shivered, the temperature of the air and the warmth of the shower having nothing to do with how goosebumps had broken out across his arms. A subtle heat pooled in the pit of his stomach, familiar enough that Dean gritted his teeth, bumping his head hard against the shower wall in retaliation.

"It's a choice…" He hissed, eyes screwing themselves shut but all he could see was Cas, his slight smile, his eyes, his full lips and soft hands. And he could see his scars, could see that the Angel was just as broken and damaged as he. And he didn't mean to slide down his hand, to let his fingers trail over the now warm skin of his abdomen and lower still to grip himself lightly in his hand. It was a natural instinct to move his hand, to feel the slide and tug of skin, the water not enough to act as proper lubrication so the friction was all there, was a bit tight but it still felt good, and Dean groaned softly, tried to stop thinking about Cas below him and more of the woman he had seen at the bar about three nights ago. She had been well endowed, she had smiled, had wanted. She was attractive, and he forced his mind to focus on her. On her thighs, on her waist, on how she would feel under him. But in his mind her soft curves shaped themselves into a body like his own, a voice much deeper and eyes much more perfect.

"Shit!" He hissed, eyes flying open as a newfound jolt of arousal coursed through him, brash in its earnest need and Dean felt like a teenager again, unable to stop his hand from picking up speed, increasing the rhythm until his toes curled slightly and he gasped, spilling himself over his hand and he watched, ashamed, as white mixed with water and was eaten by the drain. His skin was hot and he switched the waters temperature to something much colder, his breath stuttering and his hands shaking.

"Fuck." Dean groaned rolling back his head and letting the now cold water rain down on him. He lifted up his hand, pressed it to his chest, and felt his heart. It was racing.

"Fuck." He repeated, and switched the shower off.

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