It's quiet when I wake up on the floor. It's dark outside, and the car's gone. Everything aches; I get up and I kind of shuffle into the bathroom to see what's been done.

It hurts worse when I look at the damage in the light. There's a ugly hand print around my throat, it's about every shade a bruise can be; I see a dark mark along my jaw, where he punched me. I wash the dry blood from my hair in the sink and am a little frightened by the lump on my head. But I woke up so it's probably not as bad as I'm thinking it to be. My arm…I have to find a different shirt, this one has too much blood on it and I can't look at it without wanting to puke. Since the shirt is ruined I rip off a clean piece and wind it around the jagged flesh. There's blood on my hands but I don't care anymore. I have to find a way to make Cas forgive me, but instead of working on any plan, I wander around the cabin, lost in thoughts. If my face was on the news again then they must be still looking for me, they must have heard my message and talked to the police and traced the number and started looking for me again; my family is probably out there right-

The sound of the door slamming open makes me jump and I peek out of the bedroom. It's Cas. I can tell that in the darkness of the cabin, but I can't tell if he's still mad. "Dean?" he sounds normal, but suddenly I'm afraid of him and I stay where I am.

"Yeah?" I call out to him, still hidden behind the door.

"Come here." There's no argument in his voice and I obey him, like I always have. I stop about a foot in front of him; I can tell he's looking at the bruises, the marks left by his angry hands. I just can't tell what he's thinking. "No I mean come here." Reluctantly I do, his hands are gentle on my skin and it's hard not to lean into him. It scares me how I much I've come to trust him, the man who has killed people since he was a kid himself. I look away from him, to the floor. I don't want to see how he is looking at me. I don't want his anger or pity. I want him to trust me again, I want him to…it doesn't matter. I'm the hostage here. I jerk back, without thinking, when he touches my head. It feels like I have a second heart beat. I look up to see if I made him mad again. His hands undo the cloth around my forearm and this is the first time that I'm actually able to look at it for more than ten seconds. It looks like a design, but I look away before I can make it out. I stumble a bit and he steadies me. "I'll drive you home in the morning; you don't have to worry about me anymore. I'll leave you alone for the remainder of the time that we are in each other's company."

He looks like he normally does, stoic, unmoved by anything, but there's a storm building in his eyes and I don't let him move away from me. How pathetic am I? "Tomorrow's Christmas Eve Cas, you can't do that." As much as I want to see my family I don't think I can bring myself to go back right now, because if-when I do, I will never be able to see him again. God knows how wrong this all is, caring about the person that kidnapped you and held a gun to your head and also beat the crap out of you earlier isn't something that normal people want to stick around for. So why in the hell am I begging to stay a little longer with him? I look up into his eyes and know exactly why, I want to and I push it down, like every other time I've felt like this. "I want to stay for as long as we had planned before…before I hurt you." I know that I hurt him a lot, and he hasn't been hurt in a long time. What's a few scrapes compared to how it hurts to be betrayed?

"You don't mean that Dean." It sounds more like he's trying to convince himself more than he's telling me what I think. But I know how I'm feeling and I know that he wants me here more than anything else. He has to want me here, because I know how lonely he is; I know how much he holds onto me at night, when we're sleeping. Sometimes I'll wake up and he'll be clinging to me like I'm the only thing anchoring him to the world.

It's getting darker in the cabin, mostly because we haven't checked on the fireplace in a long time and neither of us has bothered to flip on the lights. "Are you cold?" I ask the same question he did right before our first, and last, time. He doesn't get the connection so I cautiously wrap my hands around his shoulders and lean my head down and close my eyes. "I'm freezing."

"How can you want me?" his voice shakes and I pull back and look at him, but I don't let go. "How can you possibly still want to be with me even after all that you know about me." I try and come up with an answer and I can't think of one, "Dean I could have killed you tonight, I wanted so much to just snap your neck like it was nothing and just dump you outside to rot."

I shudder and he notices, "But you didn't."

"I know you're still scared of me."

Cas pushes my arms off of him and sits in front of the fire, prodding it until the flames begin to grow, "I'm not right now."

He stands up and I wonder how he can be shorter than me but still be so commanding, but I know what it is. Its confidence, something I've never had the pleasure of knowing, "An hour ago, when I slammed you against the wall and when I-"

"It's nothing that can't heal."

"That's not the point." Cas takes my arm again and ties the cloth back around my cut. His hands shake, like the idea of helping the person he purposely hurt is something completely foreign to him.

"Do you know the story of Icarus?" Cas shakes his head and I explain, "There was this boy and his father. Well his father made him and his sons a pair of wings so that they could fly. They could fly anywhere they wanted to, but the father warned the son that he shouldn't fly to close to the sun. The father told his son that if he did he would surely die. But the boy was stubborn and didn't listen. One day he decided to see the beautiful sun up close and as he got closer and closer the glue on his wings began to melt and the son fell back to earth and died." I wrap my hand in his and stare at his callused fingers, "I've always hated that story, the boy should know better, his father told him. He told him that he could get hurt and that he would die if he got too close. I've always thought about the story in the father's perspective, it would hurt to see your son do something so seemingly stupid, just to be closer to something so great.

"But now I'm looking at it from the perspective of the boy and I think I get it now. He knew the danger; he knew that he would most likely die. But it was worth it. It was worth being close to all that power and grace. It was worth the fall when he rose that high." I look up at him now, and he's looking at our hands interlaced, "I think I get it now because you're my sun." He jerks his head up and looks at me, "I know that you can hurt me and I accept it, and I also know that you're amazing and I'm stupid. I'm so incredibly stupid and I wanna be yours.

"At least for as long as we are here, in this cabin, I wanna be yours." Cas doesn't say anything, and I start to get nervous, I've never had to tell someone that I wanted them. It had always been understood and we'd fuck. There was never a romance in my life where I had to tell the other person what I wanted. "Say something Cas."

He doesn't, instead he cups my cheek and ever so softly kisses me. His mouth is slow, searching, and I know what he's searching for. I kiss him back and he's found his answer.