Face bloody and body aching, Dean held the pack of ice against his throbbing head, bringing the flask back up to his mouth, and taking another full swing from the metal container. He cocked his head back as the liquid coming from the small opening began to flow slower, pausing for a minute.
"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel looked sadder than Dean had ever seen him. He always looked a bit like a kicked puppy in tough, emotional situations, but this was different. If Dean didn't know any better, he'd say that Castiel looked heart broken. The fluffy-winged angel, who had been standing at Dean's side since the spirited angel had gone down into Hell to save him from centuries of pain and torment.
Dean extended his arm, holding the flask in his hand, upside down. Empty. He gripped the decorated tin of metal in his hand, so tightly that his palm stung. He could feel the anger, the frustration, the sorrow building back up. It swelled in the pit of his stomach, bubbling up his chest like hot, molten lava, threatening to burn a hole through his body. "Damn it!" Ignoring the throbbing pain in his shoulder, he threw the flask across the room, The metal hitting the wall with a loud clatter noise. He doubled over in his chair, his shoulder feeling like it would just fall off at any given moment.
"Back to Amelia, huh?" Dean didn't bother to hide the proud, almost smug, grin on his face as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hands in his pockets. Sam laughed softly, looking off away from his older brother. "Yeah." Dean took a step forward as Sam finally returned his attention on him. He pulled his hands from his pockets, pulling his little brother into a hug. "Bye, Sammy."
Sitting back up straight in his chair, Dean let his head fall to the side, staring, almost accusingly, at the small black cell phone sitting on the table beside him. Weeks. That's how long it had been since Castiel returned to Heaven and Sam went back to his normal life. That's how long he had been fighting the desperate urge to pick up his phone and call Sam, to drop to his knees at his bedside and pray to Castiel. Anything to make the lonely feeling go away, to let him feel something other than the pain and misery he was forced to face on a daily basis.
Dean threw his head back, letting the last of the beer in his current bottle pour into his mouth. He slammed the bottle back down onto the wooden bar in front of him, dropping his head back down as he swallowed the last of the alcohol. His vision was getting blurry and he was already having difficulties with his basic ability to tell right from wrong. He rose his hand, motioning to the bar tender as the much older man was wiping down the bar on the other side. "Another, over here!" He called, giving a drunk grin to the woman sitting next to him as the bar tender collected his bottle. "Hey."
Dean dropped the pack of ice, not bothering to reach for it, and got to his feet. He stumbled, still a little drunk from earlier.
The woman scrunched her nose up, not at all impressed with his charm. She rolled her eyes, taking her drink and getting up from the bar. Dean muttered a curse under his breath, turning his head to the other side where a small group of four or five men had gathered. They were all getting up from their table, apparently getting ready to leave and return home.
Unsteady on his feet, Dean put his hand on the table to steady himself somewhat, feeling the sharp bolt of pain that shot up the length of his arm. He had probably dislocated his shoulder - again - or broken his arm, but at this point, the experienced Hunter couldn't have cared less. He just wanted to fall into the hard mattress of his bed and pull the not quite effective enough blankets over him. Sleep sounded like a pretty good idea at this point in his day.
The men talked among themselves as they headed in his direction, going for the door on the opposite side of the bar from their table. The bar tender nodded his head to them, in the typical friendly bar tender way, and set Dean's next bear in front of him. He glanced at the brown bottle for a moment, "Guess everyone's headed back to their families…" He mumbled, more to himself than the bartender, who just raised an eyebrow at him. Hmph. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Stumbling down the hallway, Dean kept his hands on the walls to prevent himself from falling face first into the wood under his feet. The way he felt right now, he probably wouldn't even bother getting back up until he was needed elsewhere. Always needed by someone, somewhere.
Abandoning the untouched beer, Dean got up from his stool. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a number of bills, and placed them onto the bar without bothering to count them. If he underpaid for his drinks, the bartender would mention it. If he overpaid, well, he wasn't inclined to give a damn. He stumbled back a couple steps, feeling the dizzy, drunk feeling seep out and causing him to bump into one of the men that were leaving the bar, knocking something out of their hand. He didn't acknowledge any of the men as they called out to him, making his own way to the exit.
Finally reaching his bedroom - why the hell was it so far from the living room? - Dean pushed the thin wooden door open, cringing visibly at the loud creaking noise it made until it hit the wall beside it.
Dean just grinned as his disgruntled new 'friends' roughly shoved him into the alleyway behind the bar. He wasn't concerned with the greater numbers they had. Even in his inebriated state he knew that they didn't stand much of a chance. His grin didn't falter the slightest as his back hit the scratchy bricks that made the building behind him. He couldn't actually feel the sharp edges that threatened to pierce through his clothing.
Landing on the bed with a heavy thud, the stiff mattress giving way under his weight, Dean groaned as the night started coming back to him. The memories were dull and fuzzy, almost like a quick, smashed together montage that bled together. The physical injuries painted a much clearer, more crisp picture of the night.
Dean swung hard, his fist making a loud and satisfying crack as it struck the largest man across the face. He ducked as the next man swung at him, hitting the bricks, and brought his fist up against the man's jaw. The third man caught him in mid swing, grabbing his free arm and shoving him against bricks again. Dean pulled forward, but the first man, having regained his senses, grabbed his other arm, the duo keeping him firmly against the wall while their buddies started wailing on him.
Bringing his bruised and cut hands to cover his face, Dean squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to stave off the impending headache that was creeping up the back of his skull, making his head feel like it was going to blow at any minute. That he was bleeding into the off white sheets and thin blanket beneath him was a distant fact that he was too tired and drunk to care about. The lights hurt his eyes, the noises outside the crappy motel thudded loudly in his ears, his whole body protested against the smallest of actions, and his chest felt tight as he breathed heavily.
The lights. Spreading his fingers so he could open his eyes and peer across the room, he realized that he had forgotten to turn off the lights. Damn. He shifted, feeling his fractured rib protest, and abandoned the task, sprawling out on the bed, eyes closed. "Dean?"
Dean's eyes snapped open, the painfully bright light and aching body a slowly fading memory as he willed his body into action. Snatching the pistol he left sitting on the wobbly nightstand, he rose up from the bed, cocking the pistol and pointing it at the source of the word.
"Cas?" He dropped his hands down, gun still held tightly in his fingers. "Damn it, Cas. Ever heard of knocking?"
"Of course I have," Castiel cocked his head to the side, only mildly concerned over whatever social obligation he forgot to undergo when Dean made a gruff, annoyed noise and fell onto his back again. His attention was quickly brought back to the matter that first concerned him when he arrived in the cheap motel: His friend's condition. "What happened?"
"Made some new friends," Dean replied, reaching back over and placing the gun back in it's place on the nightstand. He pinched the bridge of his nose, only faintly aware of the stoic, but curious, angel as he walked through the room, stopping at the side of the bed. "I wasn't aware that friends left each other in… Beds covered in their own blood." He commented, kneeling down. Dean opened one eye, turning his head to face the fallen angel. "I'm trying to sleep here, Cas."
"I can see that," Castiel stood back up, reaching down to pull Dean back into a sitting position. He received a pained grunt and a deadly glare from the injured Hunter, who made no real effort to stop the angel.
"Cas, seriously, leave me alone," Dean ground out, pushing futilely against Castiel's shoulders. "I'm tired and everything hurts."
Castiel looked over his only real and genuine friend, making note of every cut, bruise, and broken or fractured bone. "Let me… help, Dean." Dead sighed, irritated, but gave in, letting the angel do as he pleased.
Castiel noticed the pained look on Dean's face. The way his eyes dropped down, glassed over, and his shoulders fell in defeat. It caused an uncomfortable feeling that the angel wasn't familiar with. One that made him want to just wrap his friend up in the fluffiest, warmest, and most comfortable bed possible, sheltering him under his wide wings to make all the pain go away. He hesitated when weak, broken eyes met his.
Mustering up his courage, Castiel dropped his hand down to his friend's shoulder, gaining a confused look in response. Hand gripping the cloth of Dean's shirt, the fallen angel leaned down, pulling Dean forward, and pressed their lips together.
Dean's eyes widened at the sudden invasion of his personal space and the, more surprising, kiss, but couldn't bring himself to pull back or push Castiel away. He could feel the blood covering his body vanish as his cuts closed, his bruises faded, and his broken bones mended. It was a slower process than the near instantaneous healing Castiel usually employed, but he was using a new method.
As the pain subsided and his energy returned, Dean gripped the collar of Castiel's coat, not allowing him to pull away. All the sorrow, the pain, the helplessness seemed to vanish in the face of the angel - his angel.