When Dean gets to work, the bar is lined with customers. He feels a sense of comfort in the aroma of beer mixed with the sounds of patrons conversing. Even so, the bar doesn't quell the itch that's been working through him. He finds Ellen in the kitchen yelling out orders to the cooks. Before he can knit together his question she's handing him two beers and sending him back out. He sets two beers down in front of the burly men at table eight. That's how the night goes. Dean get's orders, mixes drinks and talks to regulars. By the end of the night his legs are sore and he's ready to drop to the floor and never get back up.
Ellen is behind him taking inventory as he wipes down the bar. He's just gotten to tossing out old peanuts when Ellen flicks him on the back of the ear. He flinches before turning around.
"So boy what do you want?" She says giving him an accusatory glance.
"Uh, what?"
"You've got the look on your face when you're afraid to ask for a favor. Spill it boy, what's up?" Ellen knew him too well. Years of living with her and Bobby will do that. He scrubs a hand over his stubble and shrugs.
"There's this guy, he needs a job. Can we do that?" He rushes out.
"What guy? Have I met him?"
"Not really, no. He's new to town. I found, or met him last night." He winces at his own slip of tongue.
"Dean what's going on?" He shakes his head like a lost puppy. "I'm not dumb boy," she wacks him on the back of the head and yelps.
"He's a drifter; little down on his luck is all." He smiles and hopes she won't pry, but Ellen settles him with another look.
"Dean what are you doing?" She exhales irritated.
"Nothing, I mean he was sleeping in an alley. Guy needed help." His voice harsher than he means but Ellen is giving him that look. Like when he dropped out of school and showed up at her and Bobby's doorstep. Like he messed up.
"Dean just because of what happened-" and Dean has to leave before she finishes because he doesn't want to hear it.
He's out the door, hit with the calm of night air, before she can finish with not your fault and things are better now. Things aren't better, not as far as Dean's concerned. Sam is still in college, they still haven't reconciled and it's not better. Sam's probably sitting with some cute blonde talking law and Dean's here in shitsville population: one asshate brother. And now there is Castiel who he can help; make it right. He's still mulling it over when he walks in and finds the apartment spotless and Cas is giving him these eyes, such sorry eyes. Dean isn't having that so he grabs a beer from the fridge and tosses one over before turning Star Wars back on. If the conversation is stilted then he doesn't care because no chick flick moments.
Dean's in the middle of dreaming of some skinny thing with a halo when he hears screams from the living room. The words are incoherent but screams make him jump. He tries to cover his ears and shimmy on pants, which is harder than he originally calculated. When he tries shaking Castiel's shoulder giving him with another black eye. He wonder what the hell Cas is dreaming about when he hears stop, get off, and a repetition of sorry, sorry, sorry. He grips him by the shoulders, shakes, and shouts his name until he's met with bulging eyes, shocking enough to send him back a step.
Castiel is up and out of the room in second and the sounds of retching explain why. Dean silently prays he didn't miss the bowl. It's silent and Dean tries to piece together this back story that Cas is so flagrant in avoiding discussing. He's got siblings, avoided problems, and a shit dad. Dude could be a Winchester as far as Dean's concerned. He shakes a thought of Sammy off when Cas calls him from the bathroom.
Cas is sitting with his head in the toilet looking paler than normal. There are bags under his eyes and vomit on his breath. Dean runs a washrag under cold water and hands it to him. Cas' hands shake when he reaches for it and Dean winces. The guy looks like shit and Dean isn't sure how to help so he just stands there, useless again. Cas wipes the sweat off his brow and flushes the toilet.
"Dean," he says barely above a whisper. His voice ragged. "Dean if I do this, I need something. Anything Dean I can't," he clutches his stomach and Dean thinks he might vomit again.
He grabs a glass from the kitchen and fills it with water. The sound of bile hitting water makes Dean shiver. This is going to be a long night he thinks and he slides the cup over to Cas. He realizes that he's not sure how long it's been since Cas has been sober. All he knows is that he had pills on him when he found him. But there are secrets Cas keeps and he's sure those aren't the only drugs he's played with.
Once Cas' heaving has resorted to dry, empty chokes he drinks the glass in front of him. Dean hopes he can keep it down because anymore of this and he's going to the one clutching the toilet. He tries not to think of Sam when Cas clutches his knees and shivers. He looks smaller than he remember, thinks he can count his ribs. Cas' gaze is fixed on the tiles now he's crying and rocking with each sob. Dean shuffles on the tile until he's sitting beside him and rests a palm on his back, his shirt is damp with sweat but Dean doesn't waver. Instead, he rubs small circles and tries to calm him.
"Dean, I can't do this," Cas finally croaks out. "I don't want to do this anymore." Now he's hunched against Dean and he can feel him shaking.
"I know buddy," he soothes. "I know but once you get it all out it's over. It'll be okay."
"Is this what your brother, Sam, is this what happened to him?" Dean's hand stills.
"I don't know, I guess. I wasn't really there." He voice breaks. There's guilt mixed with regret building in his chest and he wonders how he can still breathe. He thinks of Cas, then of Sam, then Sam small and wilted in a corner without his brother to help him. He squeezes his eyes shut and covers them with his free hand.
They spend the night huddled in the bathroom. Cas pets Grace until she falls asleep in his lap. Dean tells him about Sammy, about how he had fallen into the wrong crowd at school. When Dean came home and found his strung out on the couch. How he had to drive him to the hospital and leave him to the doctors. When he was so worried and scared but so unsure of how to face him again. Sammy was his little brother and he was supposed to take care of him. The warning signs were there but Dean was so wrapped up in his own life that he missed them. They way they fought when Sam got out and fell back into old habits. He chokes back tears when he remembers the look on Sam's face when Dean told him to choose between him or his next fix. He can feel that nagging piece in him re-shatter when he remembers Sam's choice.
Sam's cleaned up now. He was forced into rehab when Bobby decided he'd had enough. The rehab knocked some sense into him and now he's riding a scholarship at Stanford. Bobby let him know when he received the acceptance letter. Dean regrets not calling and congratulating him, regrets that he still hasn't called him.
When the sun peaks through weak curtains, Dean thinks it's time to get off the floor. He makes Cas a pot of coffee which he tentatively sips at. Cas smells like his own waste and Dean has had enough by the time they finish their cups. He hands Cas another old t-shirt, decides he can keep it when he steps out of the shower with it fitting snuggly. Exhaustion hits him like a zeppelin when they are watching another re-run of Law and Order. He's drained emotionally and physically but Cas is still shaking and he looks too scared Dean to just leave him.
When he wakes up Cas is resting against his shoulder and Dean likes the warmth so he moves closer. It's when he smells his own aftershave that he opens his eyes to ashen hair and baby blues staring back at him. Cas mutters a sleepy, hello Dean, when he gets up and turns off the T.V. He clears his throat and looks around the living room like he's lost something. Cas just curls up with Grace again and watches. He looks so innocent and Dean wishes he'd stop looking at him like he's some God. He sets an afghan next to him and goes to his room.
The showers too warm and his skin is too warm so he turns to dial until it's just above freezing. He tries to think of balding men and saggy skin and anything to erase those blues that are burning the back of his eyes. He tries to think of the last girl he was with, if he'll call her back. He wonders where he left her number or if he can find someone during his break. But then there's Cas sleeping on his couch and how would he sneak around him, or explain it when she asks. Then there is Cas sleeping and breathing against his skin and he's touching himself now. His skin feels like a fire and he just wants to put it out and those blues, fuck those blues and he's coming against the linoleum and thinks he's the biggest creep. Guys don't help strangers and jerk to them in the shower. Dean erases blue eyes as he towels off.