Wave of Silence
Dean feels the earth roll beneath him. A fire begins to burn in his stomach; acid tripping over acid, all vying for fresh air. Dean flutters his eyes for a moment; but the light of the room attempts sear his pupils shut.
"Dean?"
The familiar hum of Cas's voice slips softly into Dean's ear.
"Dean, wake up."
Dean slits his left eye open once more and sees two, giant, blue ones peering back at him.
"Cas?" the name slurs at the tip, heavy with rum.
"Dean, are you alright?"
Dean rubs his eyes with a blundering hand before dragging it across his nose, snorting up whatever might possibly slide out as he pulls himself upright.
"Where is, the girl . . . woman?" Dean is still trying to figure out where he is or what's going on—only being certain that he has something equivalent to morning wood, and there was someone here with the means of taking care of it.
"Oh, um, she had to leave." Cas says, hesitation wracking his voice.
"Leave?" Dean gurgles, pushing himself out of the chair and stumbling round to face Castiel.
"Yes, well—she didn't have to so much, as I asked her to." Cas's eyes shoot towards the ground, and Dean follows his gaze thinking that it may lead him to some sort of clarity on what's happening.
He feels his face bend and squish with more confusion, "You asked her to, to leave? Why? How? . . . Why?" Dean stumbles towards to door, supporting himself on the knob before flinging it open enough to stick his head out.
"Woman! Lady, person. . . come back! I haven't even given you your money yet!"
Dean peers, wide eyed around the empty street, finally comprehending that woman is really gone.
"Dean, I already paid her. It's okay, you don't have to worry about that." Cas offers meagerly as Dean's head is still sandwiched between the open door and the frame.
The drunk man's shoulders stiffen with his friend's words. "You paid her? For what?" Dean turns, eyes narrowing as they fall on Cas. He drops back against the door, letting it slam close with a bang. Cas flinches at the noise but stares unblinkingly back at Dean.
"I paid her for her . . . er, uh, services." Cas shifts uncomfortably in his shoes, his trench coat looking too big on the suddenly, shrinking man.
Dean feels the heat rising through his neck. The frustration from his untouched waistband powers him towards his anxious friend, bringing him impossibly close to his face.
"You paid her? Before she even did anything for me?" Dean growls, causing the man to twitch with the barrage of rum breath and spit.
"She didn't already . . .?"
"No! You fucking idiot!" Dean feels his hand fly up and grab the folds of Cas's coat. They stay still for a moment, while Dean soaks up the palpable fear exuding from the other man's dead weight. Dean lifts him off the ground and hurtles him back until the bruit force of the wall stops their motion.
"Dean! I'm so sorry!"
Dean doesn't hear him, he can't hear him. All he hears are the sounds of wasted pick-up lines and money he spent on the woman's drinks, burning away into nothing.
"I will show you fucking sorry!" Dean's head whirls; he can taste the liquor on his tongue and the desire to have something warm around him on his skin. He drops the man from his grip, letting him rumple to the floor. Dean stares blankly at the wall where Cas was being pinned, undoing his pants with unfeeling fingers. Unaware of Castiel's terrified eyes below him.
Dean reaches down with the drop of his jeans and pulls Cas back up by the collar of his coat. He flips the man around and presses his face into the wall. Dean pushes up against Castiel's back, feeling the man's warmth through the rage and heat of the booze. He slips his hands down to collect his now, throbbing bulge from his boxers, when he catches the scent of Cas's hair.
Dean stops, the smell bringing him back to Lisa's funeral. Back when Castiel leaned in close and gripped Dean tight, raising him just as he broke down on the side of the Impala. Everyone else had left. Even Sam went back home, apparently buying it when Dean said he was okay—or not willing to fight him anymore. But Cas was still there. He found Dean, all too sober and all too wrecked with what was happening around him. Dean tried to hide, he tried to send his friend away; but the man wouldn't leave. Eventually, Dean couldn't hold back the tears. Cas pulled him deep into his side and let Dean rise and fall with the waves of guilt. The only comfort was the smell of Cas's hair, something equivalent to water and woods. Fresh and natural. Dean felt like a chick at the time for finding refuge in such a thing, but he told himself he would never have to admit it to anyone. So he sucked it in, with each heavy pant and gasp, through every snot soaked tear, Dean inhaled Cas and let the scent calm him down.
He inhales him again, this time, Cas, heaving in panic beneath his weight. Dean stumbles back, nearly tripping over his collapsed jeans. Cas remains against the wall, chest lifting him and sucking him back in; eyes darting to the corners of his skull to glimpse at Dean, but his head-too scared to move.
Dean can't speak, he wouldn't know what to say if he could. He looks down at himself and then back up at his friend—his best friend, motionless and afraid. Dean can't even remember really how he got here or how he began his assault on one of the two people he loves most in the world. He just knows, that once again, it's his fault.
Dean descends his fingers down his legs, slowly lifting his jeans until they're back around his hips. He stares at the button, urging his hands to move quietly, as if he can somehow, slip out of the room and just disappear from the world in a wave of silence.
When he finally looks up, he sees Cas turning around; his blue eyes curving with the weight of concern and fear that is climbing about his face.
"Dean, I am so sorry."
Dean sucks in the toxic air around him. He feels it's escaping the room all too quickly, and poison is better than nothing. His minds fogs over again and guilt bubbles in his gut, making him want to vomit and scream and curse all at once. He closes his eyes and bends down, beating his fists on his legs. Finally letting out his captured breath, he looks back up to find he's still locked in Cas's gaze. He looks back down a moment, trying to escape. Another peek at his friend proves him trapped. The anger returns.
"Don't look at me!" Dean pleads, his voice somewhere between a cry and a bark.
Cas doesn't listen.
Dean growls, clenching his fists harder against his thighs; the onslaught of blue irises still burrowing into him. He can't take it, he needs it to stop. He will make it stop! His body lurches forward. He feels his fist connect with something hard, angled and rough. He bites at his breath, trying to calm it from its panic. As his chest slows and his heartbeat regulates, he looks down to see an unconscious Castiel, crumpled at his feet.