AN: I am so incredibly sorry for taking so incredibly long to post this. At least it's the longest chapter I've written yet! I have a million excellent reasons for the delay, but I know you don't want to listen to me whine. If you want to hear about the insane three weeks I've had, send me a message. Just so you know, all of my updates are going to be well-spaced now because school has started for me. Mainly though, I was delayed because this chapter was so hard to write! I honestly don't think its the greatest one I've ever written, but that is for you all to decide. Fair warning: I think Dean goes a bit out of character, and I apologize for it. Most of the chapter is in Dean's head. So, here we go...

"…it would all be of wasted effort."

After Dean quieted his thoughts and figured out how to somewhat ignore Beelzebub, that was the first thing he heard. Somehow everything was "all of wasted effort", and Dean just knew that it was his fault. He was the stupid one who got possessed after all. He was the stupid one who still hadn't memorized the exorcism. He was the stupid one who was too weak to fight. Now Sam was out there alone because of his stupidity. Whatever he was doing to save Dean was "all of wasted effort" because of Dean's stupidity. There was no way that sentence started any way other than "Because Dean..." or "If Dean..."

Quietly, Dean hummed 'Creeping Death' by Metallica. It was just to calm himself down, but never before had a song held such relevance.

Dean tried to reason with himself; he tried to convince himself it wasn't true. This voice in his head was just Beelzebub talking, trying to hurt him, to make him mad and push him off his rocker. For one thing, Sam wasn't alone. He was with Gabriel and Balthazar. Now Castiel was coordinating with him, too. Everything would be fine. Castiel would save the day like he always does. As long as Dean remained locked in the bathroom, out of the way, where he couldn't hurt anyone, everything would be alright. Castiel would be Dean's angel with shining wings yet again.

But Dean couldn't lie to himself. Of course it wasn't Beelzebub talking. When did Dean honestly not cause a problem in whatever it was they were doing? He was always the weakest link, and he didn't need some royal demon to tell him that. After all, a powerful demon had already spent forty years convincing him of it.

Dean hadn't moved from the place in the shower where Castiel left him. Rather, he had retreated further into the corner where Castiel had pushed him down, resting his head in the fold of the walls and leaning his entire body against one of them. For comfort's sake, he extended his legs in a wide V in front of him. His eyelids drifted together from exhaustion, but there was no chance of sleep. Besides the fact that Dean wouldn't allow himself to for fear that Beelzebub would regain control, the demon was still poking and prodding and slicing and dicing his innards without reserve so that he couldn't find rest. By this point, Dean had become so accustomed to the internal torture that Beelzebub was resorting to the more and more painful methods just to get a reaction.

Dean drew blood in his lip as held back a scream when Beelzebub found a particularly sensitive area. It was a scar that Dean remembered very well from his time in the pit. His memories of it rushed forward and Beelzebub leered as he doubled his efforts. Castiel's grace within him rushed to the spot to offer a balloon of comfort, but it wasn't enough to hold back Beelzebub's concentrated effort. Sullenly, Dean wondered again what would last longer: the grace or his consciousness.

He needed something to distract himself again. Straining to hear Castiel just on the other side of the bathroom door would work, but Dean ignored his every instinct to. He couldn't listen to the low tones of conversation just outside. The less he knew the better; wasn't that how it was supposed to be? Shoot first, ask questions later. That was how he had been raised. Suddenly, Dean became angry with his angel. The stupid celestial being could've ended all of this the moment it started! If he had just smote Dean, neither of them would've been tortured and none of these plagues would've happened. It was his fault.

"No. Stop it," Dean reprimanded himself aloud. "It's all my fault. Everything's my fault. Who am I kidding?" He breathed out a heavy sigh and knocked his head against the wall.

Don't worry, Dean, Beelzebub hissed, you're not fooling anyone.

Dean rolled his eyes and received an extra-hard sting for it in that sensitive area. His eyes rolled back with the pain, and he curled into the wall just a bit.

Thank you for sharing this spot with me, Dean, Beelzebub taunted. You're such an entertaining host!

Dean didn't bother to answer. He wanted to listen to Beelzebub even less than he wanted to listen to Castiel. Physical pain he could handle; mental pain… not at the moment. There were too many issues floating around his head already. He currently had a headache; he didn't need a migraine.

With that thought, the inner torture ended. Despite himself, Dean let out a shaky breath of relief when a full minute passed and no pain ensued. He knew the demon wasn't gone, but at least his offensive was. Dean stood on shaky legs and approached the mirror gingerly. He needed to rest all of his weight on the sink to stay upright; without Castiel's steadying presence beside him, he was lost.

With a heavy sigh, Dean brought his eyes up to his reflection and was terrified by what he saw. Though he would deny it every time, he actually yelped at the sight he saw. At first glance, he thought it was that poor bastard Lucifer had possessed. However, the person had dark hair and green eyes, not blond hair and blue eyes. His face as deathly pale, but his throat was crimson. The tip of his nose was scabbed over, and the ridges beneath his eyes, usually purple or pink with bags, were deeply peeling. His left cheek was heavily bruised, and his right cheek had practically peeled off. His chin appeared as if someone had completely dragged the skin away.

Dean closed his eyes and shook his head. "That's just Hell. The pit did that to me. I'm fine now," he told himself. "Beelzebub is playing with my head. That's not real." However, he knew that Hell didn't just do a number on his face; it had flayed him alive and almost turned him into a demon. Then it had put him right back together again and started over. Hell hadn't left physical scars.

His hands shaking, Dean slowed his mind. He had to calm down. He wasn't in Hell anymore. He was fine. He was being possessed but was otherwise fine. He opened his eyes again, saw the same horrid face, and blamed Beelzebub this time. The – what had Gabe called him? – the bottom-feeding smoke-cloud wasn't using smoke and mirrors. No, he was deteriorating him or something equally worse. Dean had actually forgotten that side effect of possession, but now he couldn't avoid it. Briefly, Dean wondered how Beelzebub was able to wear him in public when he looked like this, but, if he was honest, he didn't really care. Dean now understood why Castiel wanted him to stop fighting. What had Beelzebub told him at the start of this?

"You'll go the same way: skin will melt and peel off, bones will crack or grind, consciousness will dwindle... And the more you fight, of course, the faster it'll happen."

"It's barely been a week!" Dean groaned as his chin fell against his chest in defeat. He hadn't felt broken like this since Sammy died that first time, right in front of him, by a stupid human and a sharp blade. It had been the first time he truly lost his brother and pushed away the rest of his family. It was the first time he had lost everything. Yet even then, he had options. He had gotten his brother back, hadn't he? Granted, he had sent himself to Hell in the process; but Sammy was alive, and that was all that mattered. This time, Dean didn't have options. This time, Dean couldn't do anything. He couldn't fight Beelzebub, so how was he supposed to fight deterioration? When he did fight it, he made it worse! And when he would ultimately lose this fight, he would ruin everything for Sammy all over again.

I told you only a month... that somehow silky and slimy voice breathed into his ear making him shiver. Oh, come now. You knew I wasn't gone. Still afraid of me are we?

Dean scoffed at the mirror, "I'm not afraid of you."

You're not? Like you're not afraid of Alistair? He paused to gauge Dean's reaction: a sharp gasp and clenched fists. Really, Dean, haven't you ever heard that lying is a sin? You'll never reach those pearly gates you're so desperate for at this point.

"Shut up," Dean spat. He forced his hands to relax and placed them on the sink to brace himself as he shifted all of his weight to lean against it. With steadying breathes, he calmed himself down and imagined Castiel's hand on his shoulder, resupplying the grace he desperately needed. Maybe locking him in another room hadn't been such a great idea. Maybe he should've been bound and gagged in the same room instead.

Oh, come now, it's no fun when you don't argue, Beelzebub protested.

Dean ignored him and turned away from the mirror. He slid down the bathroom door and knocked his head against it gently, trying not to make any noises that could bother Castiel on the other side. He extended his legs again and set his hands in his lap. He was too drained to argue pointlessly with the demon inside him – both the literal and figurative ones. Rather, he let his thoughts wander again. Anything that wasn't plague- or demon- related would do.

"What was up with that kiss?" Dean wondered aloud, deciding Castiel was a safe subject. There was no way Beelzebub could shake Dean's faith in his angel. The angel was his rock. Besides, how much effort had Beelzebub already expended there?

Beelzebub perked at the unofficial challenge.

Castiel kissed Dean. Castiel had properly kissed Dean. And Dean had liked it?

"Yeah... Yeah, I liked it." Dean was dumbstruck. "The guy's an angel! A celestial friggin' being! And I kissed him back? That's gotta go against the Bible in so many ways. Did I just single-handedly make the guy fall?"

This wasn't the first time Dean had fallen for a guy. Dean wasn't exactly comfortable with his bi-sexuality, but for as long as he could remember, he'd been attracted to anything with a pretty face and intelligence. Of course, he had always hid it in shame. He was scared, slightly of the feelings and shitless of his father. The man had beaten him for disappointing him or for not protecting Sammy – what would the homophobic do when he caught his twelve year old with a tentative friend behind the library? So, Dean learned to put a stomp down his feelings and drown them in thoughtless one night stands. When until his father disappeared and he hit the road with Sammy, Dean didn't know what to do. Suddenly, there was no constant judgment hanging over his head, and he was able to understand himself. After his father died, Dean felt free – guilty, angry, and incredibly free.

"Good thing it was just in time for all the time travel," Dean grinned to himself, remembering all the well-dressed men of the '70's, '40's, and even the 1860's.

After Dean had gotten over his paralysis of the self-proclaimed warrior of God those few years ago, Dean realized he was head over heels for the guy – which was confusing enough without Castiel's accidental advances and misunderstanding of human behaviors. Honestly, Dean had no idea why Sam hadn't caught on yet. Dean thought he was painfully obvious and even more frustrated. But, there was no possible way Castiel could like Dean, too.

"He's a damn angel! What would a wavelength of celestial intent want with a mud monkey like me?" Dean asked himself bitterly. "That stupid kiss was just an effort to straighten out my head. It was just to help me put a lid on Beelzebub. That's all."

No matter what Castiel said about profound bonds or personal space or getting too close, Dean just knew that he wasn't interested, and it was entirely his own fault. Dean was nothing but an unagreeable problem for the angel. As much as he trusted Castiel, Dean never had the patience to go along with the angel's plans. Dean didn't believe in God, constantly insulted Castiel's faith, and had a hand in practically destroying the whole religion more than once. Granted, occasions like the apocalypse Dean couldn't control (Righteous Man guilt or no), but the other situations that Dean made uncomfortable simply because he could were a defense mechanism. On top of all that, Dean knew how much Castiel hated his lack of faith in himself.

Which only proved that the kiss was simply an improvised survival tactic and that Castiel wanted nothing to do with Dean.

Castiel knew that Dean responded best to painful or sexual advances; words never worked on Dean, and with everything he's been through a kiss was the only option there was. That was it. But if there was nothing else there, why was Dean still so caught on it?

"The look in Castiel's eyes, that's why," Dean answered himself. "That was more than friendship and survival," he scoffed. "I mean, who looks at a guy like that?" Dean paused for a moment then laughed at himself, "I do, that's who."

Oh, Dean, Beelzebub's voice startled the man. You're not really that ignorant are you?

Dean simply groaned in response. All he wanted was five minutes of peace. He slowly realized that all he had just remembered had been presented to the demon as well, and he groaned again. How could he be so stupid as to tell the story of his messed up childhood to the thing that was trying to kill him? Now Beelzebub had excessive ammunition in the war for Dean's sanity, the war Dean admitted earlier that he would ultimately lose.

"Fantastic," Dean moaned. "Absolutely fantastic."

Really, though, Dean, Beelzebub continued earnestly, do you honestly think he doesn't have feelings for you? It's obvious, isn't it? I thought your brain functioned before I turned it into putty?

Dean laughed humorlessly and tried to reestablish the wall he had put up to ignore Beelzebub. The demon's opinion was the last thing he wanted to consider. It wasn't even an opinion at all; it was just propaganda to make Dean insane. …But, Beelzebub's assertion weaseled to the front of Dean's mind anyway. Could it be true? Were those accidental advanced not accidents at all? Like he said himself, accidents don't just happen accidentally. But, of course, this was a demon talking to him – a demon whose goal was to manipulate Dean and make him utterly inept.

Dean, Beelzebub intoned with a pitying voice, have I ever lied to you? Why should I now?

Dean had to admit to himself that Beelzebub hadn't lied to him yet. At first, the thought intrigued him: Did that mean he was serious about Castiel? After considering it for a moment, however, he realized that Lucifer had constantly used the same line.

Oh, of course it's true, you buffoon! Beelzebub exclaimed.

Dean wasn't sure which point the demon was defending anymore, but he played along anyway. Silencing the part of his brain that criticized him for holding a discussion with a high-ranking demon, Dean childishly asked, "How would you even know?"

Do you think I've only been around for a few days? Beelzebub was incredulous. Dean shrugged having forgotten how long exactly he had been possessed. I watched you for years before I effortlessly possessed you. Dean mumbled at his choice of adverb but was ignored. Excellent work averting the apocalypse, by the way. I was glad to not die by the hands of overgrown three-year-olds with wings.

Dean tried to get a word in at this point, but Beelzebub kept going.

He didn't need to mark you, you know. That handprint was unnecessary. He told Heaven that it was a consequence of the way he retrieved you and that it would be a handy warning to keep evil away from you, but really he was just marking you as his own. Didn't you notice how he cleaned it up nicely after the apocalypse? If he was to take control of Heaven, he couldn't be labeled as a human-paramour, could he? Good thing I possessed you; it made for a nice excuse to mark you again.

And does that angel really have to be quite so rough with you all the time? Does he have to stare at you so much? Or watch over you while you sleep? The demon continued to pester Dean with questions, and Dean reluctantly felt himself begin to agree.

Forcefully, he reminded himself, "He's trying to mess with your head."

Suddenly, Dean heard the angel under consideration loud and clear:

"We do not have time for this. A man is dying!"

"Dying?" Dean parroted with a gulp. "Let's not get hasty here."

Dean, Beelzebub sighed, they're not being hasty. Quite the contrary, actually. They're being quite tedious. Of course, you're dying! I'm –

"Possessing me, right, yeah, yeah, I know," Dean finished. "Deterioration and all that." He dragged a hand down his face and knocked his head into the door. "Story of my life."

Exactly, Beelzebub replied simply, his voice caught between contentment and smugness.

"Wait a minute," Dean suddenly bolted into a straighter position and his eyes blew wide, "what does he mean he hasn't got time for this? Time for what, me dying?"

Now it was Beelzebub's turn to groan. You're really that stupid, aren't you?

But Dean had stopped listening completely. He stood again and perched himself on the toilet lid to think. Before he could process anything, the door opened cautiously, and Castiel stepped through with a weary glance around.

"Dean?" he called uncertainly.

"Yeah, Cas?" Dean answered wearily with a slight hint of annoyance in his tone.

Relief spread plainly across his features. "Your brother would like to speak with you before he disconnects," Castiel explained, holding out the phone. He handed the phone to Dean and moved to leave the room.

"What's up, bitch?"

A soft chuckle answered him, "I just wanted to make sure it was still you in there, jerk."

"Yeah," Dean said. "I'm still here. And I'm not going anywhere. I'd hate to be some dying waste of time for anyone." Without letting his brother say anything else, he flipped his phone shut with a loud clack, and stomped out of the bathroom.

Castiel looked up in surprise from his seat on the edge of the bed. It looked like his head had been in his hands before. "Is everything alright?" he asked. "Sam said he wanted to explain something to you. I thought it would take longer?"

"Did he? Guess I didn't give him the chance," Dean replied curtly as he tossed the cellphone to Castiel. The angel caught it awkwardly and stared at it in confusion. Honestly, Dean wasn't sure why he hung up on his brother. Castiel had been the one to say they hadn't the time for Dean's death. But had Castiel even meant that? Dean had probably heard wrong. He hadn't been able to hear every word through the door anyway.

Still, Dean was angry, angry at all of them. None of it was their fault, but he was tired of blaming himself. For once, he wanted someone else to shoulder the blame.

"Let's just go," Dean said after a moment of unintended silence, startling Castiel. "I assume you all came up with a plan, right? We have someplace to be now?"

Castiel stood briskly with a blank mask for a countenance. He pocketed the phone and scrutinized Dean once more. He stepped into Dean's personal space and squinted at his face. Dean almost lost it when Castiel's head tilted to the said to consider his charge further. The man was torn between the adorableness of the gesture and his frustration of being an object.

"Dean," Castiel began in a voice especially deep, caught between thought and irritation, "do you remember what I told you after I brought you back from 1973?"

"Um, yeah." His voice trailed in nervous confusion. "You told me something about destiny never changing and that my brother was on a dangerous road or something. That I had to stop him or you would. Which, if I may point out to your former arrogant self, was a contradictory statement."

Castiel stared at him for a moment with narrowed eyes. "You'll do well to remember that again now, Dean," he said finally in a menacing tone, "but Sam is no longer the brother in question." Then Castiel pushed past Dean out of the motel room, leaving Dean with a worried frown and a cold sweat.

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