Author's Note: So this might be kinda an Angst-Fest. Stay with me guys. I'm almost done with the next chapter and it'll be out very soon.

Dean eventually came down from Cloud 9 and fell back to reality with a thud.

Cas was busy looking at his torn knuckles like he'd never seen them before. When he heard Dean shift up on his elbows, he inhaled and seemed to pull out of wherever he'd gone. Dean watched as all the bloody scrapes on the angel healed over instantly.
He averted his eyes quickly when he noticed Cas' still tented pants.

Shit, what was he doing? A freaking angel had just gotten him off and beat him half unconscious. Not in that order.

Castiel reached towards him with a slightly shaky hand to heal Dean too. Before he could, Dean forced out a soft, "Don't." The fingers paused mid-air. He couldn't get out more than that. Couldn't ask for what he wanted.. needed.

Cas maintained eye contact as he continued forward and touched Dean's temple with two fingers, lingering a few seconds before dropping them. Dean watched the worst gashes knit closed and stop bleeding. The shallow surface cuts remained and pockets of soreness on him told him he'd have bruises tomorrow. Evidence. Proof of.. what? His fucked up new kink?

This freaked him out a lot but at least it had made him feel alive for a while without wanting to make everyone else dead.

He sighed and looked down at the floor, not knowing how to act now that he was in his right mind. They'd just jumped into this weird no man's land and he had no idea what to say to his friend.

"Cas, um.. we, I mean I ..." Awkwardness and tension were coming off him in waves so thick he could almost choke on it. Was choking on it.

"We can talk later. Sam has most likely returned to your motel room by now."

Bless Cas. He was giving him an out and hell yes he was going to take it. They both needed time apart to process whatever just happened, he reasoned internally, and knew he was being a coward.

"Yeah. Ok.. thanks." He didn't even know what he was thanking him for exactly.

Within a three count, he was in front of an anonymous brown door.. same one he'd seen in a thousand different motel shit holes all his life.

He started to mumble something but when he turned around, Cas wasn't there. He took a moment to do a self-conscious once over and thankfully the angelic touch had his pants back to rights as well. That would have been all kinds of embarrassing to explain away. But then Sam was probably more worried about the fact that he'd been about to kill him last time they were together rather than his stained pants though.

Dean stared at the tarnished plaque. Room 12. An ant crawled across the entire width of the door and he watched. Then he counted all the splinters and pot-marks in the weathered door frame. God, what was he doing? Would Sam be able to somehow sense this new weird fucked up thing about him. This thing that he'd managed to pull Cas down into as well. He pressed his forehead to the door.

And Cas..

The door opened and he stumbled in, almost face-planting.

"Dean?!"

Sam caught his arm to right him. Shit. What was he going to say?

It turned out he didn't have to say anything. Sam pulled him into a hug and if Dean shed a few tears.. no one saw.

Dean was so emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausted that after a quick rinse off, Sam let him just pass out. The questions would come tomorrow...

When Dean woke up the next morning, he felt better than he had in a long time. More like himself. He was singing along to an AC/DC song on the alarm clock radio when he stretched his back and caught sight of a scrape on top of his hand. Sam asked, "You ok?" barely awake.

Dean smiled. "Hungry?"

After they'd dressed and headed out for breakfast, Sam started in. Chalk it up to his pre-beating afterglow(is this really his life?) but he gave him much more than he was intending about his vacation to monster-land. As they were getting menus, he finished up with, "Yeah so I'm, uh, having some issues and Cas is just helping me work through them."

Sam frowned at him waiting for more but Dean was done.

"What like PTSD or something?"

"Yeah, kinda. Sure." Dean eyed the menu eagerly. He's never wanted breakfast more and that's saying something.

"Well how is he, I mean.. What are you.." Sam trails off, lost.

Dean doesn't look up from the menu.

"Is he teaching you like meditation, or..?

"Yeah, something like that. Look don't worry about it. It helped. I'm better. Let's order."

Sam is about to press him but the waitress comes up. Dean gives his order with his most charming smile and thanks her by the name on her uniform. He can tell Sam wants to needle him more until he gets all the gory details so Dean asks about their next destination.

Sam gets the hint and lets the subject drop. For now.

The Impala rumbled down the highway back towards their motel. His thoughts roamed while Sam fell back asleep.

What's he going to do? He has to talk to Cas. All the violence and..sex keeps getting tangled up together like his wiring is crossed. This isn't him. He remembered seeing a leather suit and ball gag combo on a mannequin once at a seedy adult store and thinking it was ridiculous. Weird. Wrong. Is this that same thing? Is he becoming some leather fetish freak? Leather jackets don't count, dammit. Insecurities circled his mind like vultures, taking jabs at the good feeling he'd been riding.

Was it his 40 years in the pit under Alastair that bent him this way. Was he forcing Cas into this fucked up thing with him? He got a flash of the world Zachariah shot him to and future Cas. Smiling so big but it was all wrong. And even though his eyes were bright, they were dead. Did his other hardened self lead the fallen angel down that path too? Maybe Cas was just destined to follow, no matter how Dean sunk into the shit.

Cas with his misplaced loyalty that how the fucked had he earned? He used to think of him as a stray. A lost puppy.. that could smite the eyes out of your sockets but still. He gets a brief flash of his hair being gripped hard and a spasm of want hits him unexpectedly.

He was glad the radio was on and he could zone out. He wouldn't call Cas again. He couldn't fuck him up like he fucked up everything good that touched him. He wouldn't taint him. The guilt of all those he's lost and failed and screwed is pushing to the surface to overwhelm him.

Driving with one hand, Dean turns his forearm so he can glance at a yellowing bruise. He pushes down over it with firm fingers and gets a flash of when Cas grabbed him there to twist it behind his back. He breathes out slowly and the self-loathing and creeping darker thoughts dissipate, unable to get a foothold.

He knows he's in trouble.

Okay so he'll call him once more.. to tell him why he.. well he owes him an explanation. Cas is his friend and maybe they can pretend this didn't happen eventually. One Day.

He told Sam he was going out to settle up with the motel clerk and to start packing up to get back on the road.

Walking out a ways to the wooded area behind the place, he sighed and prayed silently.

Dean was dreading this but determined to get it over with quickly and with as little awkwardness as possible.

"Hello, Dean."

His pulse picked up just from the familiar greeting. Yep, not going to be awkward at all.

"Hey, Cas."

They stared at each other for probably an inappropriate amount of time before Dean cleared his throat.

"Uh. Look, Cas. So I wanted to thank you for.. you know.. "helping" me before.."

Cas nodded with a small smile.

"But we can't.. um.. I'm not.." He trailed off. He had this planned out, dammit.

"I understand, Dean." Cas was now blank-faced and looking just past him.

"It's not that you're not.. you know you're like family to me but you're a dude and we can't just-"

"I said I understand."

After a tense moment of cold silence, he adds, "What are you planning to do when you lose control again?"

Not if. When.

"I'll handle it." He'd cut himself if he had to. Pain seemed to keep it at bay and he could manage that. He didn't need all the weird.. kinda hot.. control game him and Cas seemed to be playing.

Cas nodded stiffly at the ground.

God, Dean wanted to apologize for dragging him to his level of screwed up. Cas who called a whorehouse a "Den of Iniquity." Jesus. What must he think of what they did?

"Cas, I just don't want to hurt you."

He was already gone.

Author's Note Part Two: Thanks to all my lovely reviewers and followers. Eskimo kisses to you all, darlings!