The steady beat of pounding water echoed against the tile walls and floor of the shower room, and Dean moved further under it, closing his eyes and allowing the hot spray to fall on his face, the pleasant sting numbing other, less pleasant sensations and for the moment, silencing the tumult of his thoughts. It felt good to just allow his mind to go blank for a few minutes, to focus on nothing except the feeling of the water on his skin, the scent of the steam as he slowly breathed it in.

This morning when he'd awakened, Dean had felt better than he had in days – better than he'd felt since before all of this had started.

Okay, so the way things were going between Sam and Cas at the moment was… unsettling, yeah. But Sam was right; Dean had no right to be angry with him for simply following through with the plan Dean had set into motion. It was unhealthy, a little creepy, and fourteen million kinds of fucked up – but it was the only course of action they had.

And Sam was still here, for him and for Cas, and Cas would be getting better soon… at least physically. Dean hated to think how things might have gone if Sam wasn't able to be there for Cas, in the wake of… what had happened.

What you did, he mentally amended. You did it, Winchester, so own it.

Dean drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly and feeling the heavy tightness in his chest ease some as he pushed the thoughts out of his mind. It didn't do anyone any good to keep dwelling on it. What he needed to focus on right now was finding the spell to hide Cas's wings. He actually smiled a little to himself as he stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, his mind already going to the books he had spread out on the library table.

I'm close… I know I am… just need to find the right Enochian words…

The difficulty in finding the spell to reverse "the unspeakable", the act they'd performed to expose Cas's wings, lay in the fact that it was… well… unspeakable. The angels had been forbidden to record it, and therefore there was no recorded counterspell for it, either. The Men of Letters who'd created the original ritual in Latin apparently hadn't bothered with a counterspell, not that Dean could find – so he'd resorted to attempting to come up with one himself.

The problem was finding an appropriate Enochian word to describe what they'd done to Cas. He was pretty sure if he asked Cas, Cas would be able to tell him.

Yeah… probably have a few other choice words for me, too…

But Dean knew that wouldn't be the case. The last time he'd tried to talk to Cas, the angel had been too terrified to even look at him, much less tell him off the way he deserved. The familiar cold knot returned to Dean's throat, and he swallowed slowly, shivering as he stepped out of the steamy shower room and into the hall, the air cooling the water on his skin.

No. Not putting him through that again. Staying away as long as he wants me to. I'll have to find some other way, because talking to him is out…

For me. But… maybe not for Sam, he thought as he headed toward his own bedroom at the end of the hall. Upside to this weird thing they've got going at the moment… maybe Cas would talk to him about it…

Dean averted his eyes, unease settling on him as he neared Cas's bedroom door, and he hurried his pace. But then, Sam abruptly appeared in the doorway, carrying Cas's blanket under his arm, one end of it wadded up in his fist. He glanced both ways down the hall, before settling his wild, worried gaze on Dean.

"Did you see Cas?" he asked, the words abrupt and a little breathless.

"What? No." Dean frowned, his stomach lurching with alarm. "Wasn't he with you?"

"He was, but…" Sam grimaced, looking away and shaking his head. "Something… happened, and…"

"Yeah, that's real descriptive, Sam. Very helpful."

Sam didn't reply, didn't even spare another glance for Dean before heading down the hall, away from the bedrooms and toward the library.

"Hey, Sam, whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dean hurried to get ahead of Sam, holding onto his towel with one hand and grabbing Sam's arm with the other as he stopped in front of him. "Hold on a second, is he okay?"

"I – I don't know," Sam admitted, huffing out an impatient breath, his voice trembling and tense. "I just – I made a mistake, and he freaked out, and I've gotta find him, he doesn't know his way around the bunker and there's like a hundred rooms and God knows what in them, and – shit, what if he tries to leave?"

"You think he'd do that?" Dean's stomach clenched with fear, and he studied Sam's face closely, troubled by the way Sam wouldn't meet his eyes. "Sam." Sam finally looked at him, so guilty and scared, and Dean's voice softened automatically in response to what he saw in his little brother's eyes. "What happened?"

Sam swallowed hard, his expression faltering, uncertain, before he looked away again, pulling out of Dean's grip on his arm and pushing past him to proceed down the hall. "I'll tell you later," he muttered. "Gotta find him."

"Hang on, I'll help," Dean offered, following Sam. "Two sets of eyes have got to be…"

"No." Sam rounded on him abruptly, and the alarm in his voice and on his face stung. "No, you… you shouldn't, okay? I need to be the one to find him."

"No, no," Dean shook his head, frowning. "We'll find him faster if we both look…"

"And what if you find him?" Sam cut him off sharply, his eyes suddenly locked onto Dean's, challenging. "He's in full-blown panic mode. Confused and freaked and scared out of his mind. So what happens if you find him first? How does that help, Dean?"

Dean tried not to physically flinch at the words, which struck him harder than a blow. He knew that if Sam hadn't been so worried about Cas at the moment, he would have chosen them more carefully – but that didn't keep them from hurting. Still, he swallowed back the hurt he felt, focusing instead on what Cas needed at the moment.

He was getting pretty good at doing that.

"Okay," he relented quietly. "I get it, just… I can't just do nothing, Sam…"

"That's the best thing you can do right now," Sam insisted, his voice softening as he took a step toward Dean. "I've got my phone in my pocket, I'll call you when I find him. Just – wait here, and…" Sam glanced over him, and there was something unfamiliar in his eyes as he muttered, "… and for God's sake, put on some clothes."

Dean frowned, a little offended by those last words, though not quite sure why.

"It's never bothered you before," he grumbled to himself as he turned down the hall back toward his own room.

He did as Sam instructed and got dressed, then returned to the library to wait while Sam searched the bunker. If he couldn't help, he might as well get some research done in the meantime. But he couldn't focus on the words in front of him, couldn't make any sense of what he was reading, or even the progress he'd already made.

Dean lasted about twenty minutes before shoving back his chair and standing up, heading toward the basement.

If I was freaked out and looking for a hiding place… that's probably the first place I'd go…

Sam found Cas in the computer room, huddled on the floor behind the massive machine, his knees drawn up in front of him, his face buried in his folded arms wrapped around them. His massive wings were drawn in close, and Sam swallowed hard, his gaze drawn to them, though he now felt horribly guilty even for looking. Cas was trembling, and didn't react, seemingly unaware of Sam's presence.

The soft, hitching sound of Cas's ragged breaths, his quiet, anguished sobs, tore into Sam's heart and brought hot, stinging tears to his own eyes.

He backed off silently, moving back outside the room and leaning against the wall, hugging Cas's blanket to his chest and drawing in a few deep, steadying breaths.

Give him a minute… he doesn't need you to see him like this…

Sam's heart raced, his mind running in circles as he tried to figure out what he should do.

He doesn't need you to see him at all, that's the problem… if he needs some space, that's perfectly understandable, but… you can't just leave him here. He probably doesn't even remember how he got here, and couldn't find his way back when he wants to.

Sam's stomach was twisted in knots, his mouth dry, nausea building up in the back of his throat again, at the painful memories that had been pushing at the edges of his mind since the moment when he'd realized just what he and Dean had really done to Cas. Cas had taken the hallucinations, taken the constant torment that had nearly killed him the previous year, but…

Sam still remembered.

The Cage. Lucifer.

And he understood better than he wanted to what Cas was feeling right now.

He doesn't want to talk to me right now, I know, but… he needs to know that… none of this is his fault. That… he has nothing to be ashamed of.

Sam knew that even if he could convince Cas of that at an intellectual level, it would still be difficult for him to accept it, deep down. There were days here and there where Sam still struggled with it himself.

But… he had to try.

Sam drew in a deep breath before stepping through the doorway again, making sure his footsteps were clearly audible this time.

"Cas?" he said softly, not leaving time enough for Cas to wonder who was there. "Are you here?"

The crying sounds from the other side of the computer went abruptly silent, and Sam bit his lip, closing his eyes.

"Cas, I… I know you wanna be alone. All right? But – I need to know you're okay. I need to know you're safe, and… do you even know how to get back to your room from here?"

Silence met his words, for a long moment, and Sam was trying to decide how to proceed from there, when he heard Cas's voice, quiet, subdued but almost sullen, from the other side of the computer.

"No."

Okay. Okay, well… that's something.

Sam steeled himself for whatever was to come before stepping further into the room, rounding the side of the computer and bringing himself into Cas's view. Cas's head was raised from his knees, turned toward Sam, but his eyes were downcast. Sam approached him slowly, cautiously, and then held out the blanket in front of him in his hand. Cas looked up at it, eyes widening in surprise for a moment, before he looked away again. Sam carefully draped the blanket over Cas's wings, crouching down in front of him to pull the ends together and place them gently in one of Cas's hands. He allowed his own hand to linger there for just a moment before withdrawing it, remaining crouched down at eye level with Cas.

"May I sit with you?" Sam asked softly.

Cas's tone carried a subtle edge as he replied without looking up. "It's your bunker. I suppose you may sit wherever you choose to sit."

Sam stifled a sigh. "Cas… you know that's not what I'm asking."

Cas didn't reply for a moment, but his lower lip quivered and his eyes were brimming with tears when he finally looked up to meet Sam's gaze. He shook his head a little as he confessed in a hoarse, desperate whisper, "I don't know what's wrong with me…"

"Cas, no…" Sam whispered, a deep ache in his chest as he dropped to his knees beside Cas. He reached out his hands to steady Cas's arms through the blanket, just as Cas's face crumpled, and he dissolved into despairing tears. "There is nothing wrong with you, okay? Nothing."

When Cas lowered his head onto Sam's shoulder, the hand that wasn't tightly clenched in his blanket reaching out to wrap around Sam's waist, Sam felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Cas was sobbing again, so deep that he could barely draw breath, and Sam could feel Cas's entire body shaking against his.

"Come here," he murmured, lowering himself onto the floor and scooting back against the wall, pulling Cas into his arms – careful to avoid any contact with Cas's wings, even through the blanket. "Come here, Cas… you're all right… you're all right…"

Sam held him, stroking his hair and whispering words that he hoped were soothing and reassuring, while Cas poured out all the pain and confusion… all the things Sam knew he couldn't find words for. Sam knew all too well that sometimes, there just were no words. And none were necessary. Sam heard the echo of his own brokenness, of the shame and desperation he'd felt in the Pit, in Cas's breathless, wrenching cries.

"I know, Cas," Sam found himself whispering, closing his eyes against his tears. "I've got you… I know…"

Eventually, they both fell silent, Cas's sobs ebbing away more from sheer exhaustion than any sort of resolution, if Sam could judge by the way Cas's body sagged against him, weak and weary. Sam hesitated to speak at all in the heavy stillness that fell between them, but he knew that Cas wasn't going to start the conversation – and he knew that there were things that had to be said. Things that Cas had to be feeling and thinking but would never voice without prompting… things Sam had to make him understand.

Finally, he spoke softly, his voice hushed and private. "Why… what makes you think there's something wrong with you, Cas?"

Cas was quiet and still in Sam's arms, and he didn't look up. They were close enough that Sam could hear Cas swallow before he finally spoke, his voice a raspy whisper.

"Because… when you… t-touched my wings…" Cas's voice was a shamed whisper, and he tucked his head down as the words left his lips. "I-I liked it." There was a quiet horror in his words, a rising disgust as he continued, "How – how could I like it, when… after… Dean…"

"Cas," Sam cut him off gently, sensing his rising agitation, the panic beginning to build again with his confusion. "Listen. Your wings…" Cas tensed in his arms, but remained silent, so Sam pushed on. "They're… sensitive, right? That's… part of why they're supposed to stay hidden?"

Cas nodded. "Yes," he whispered, barely audible at all.

"And… private," Sam continued, careful. "No human is supposed to see them…"

"Few ever have," Cas confirmed softly. "Those occasions when it did happen, well…" He hesitated, and Sam could hear the faint smile in his voice as he concluded, "… usually resulted in little Nephilim babies, so… it's forbidden."

Sam nodded, his suspicions supported by Cas's words. "So…" he ventured. "… it's like… sex."

"Not exactly. It's… similar in terms of… of intimacy, and meaning. It's something that's… only shared with someone for whom you care deeply and… well… it's similar, but… not quite the same thing," Cas sighed, sounding tired, but thoughtful, and Sam guessed that explaining this to Sam in objective terms was probably actually good for Cas, helping him to feel more calm and focused. "It's only that… for an angel to trust a human with such a… to willingly make himself so vulnerable before a human's eyes… usually, they've formed such a bond with that human that… it does lead to… intercourse. It's… difficult to explain. It's… not explicitly sexual, but… it's incredibly intimate."

Sam nodded slowly, trying to process what Cas was telling him, trying to put all the pieces together.

"It's not supposed to happen. It's… wrong, but… when you… touched me, Sam… it felt… good." Cas sounded bewildered, and ashamed, as if he was confessing to some great sin – and from what he was telling Sam, it sounded as if he was. Then Cas was quiet for a long time, and Sam felt him shudder as he finally whispered, "It didn't feel that way when Dean did it."

Sam couldn't breathe for a moment, and he couldn't see, either, through his tears. "No," he agreed at last, trying to steady his voice. "No, because… you didn't choose that, Cas. From what you're telling me, it's… something intensely personal and intimate, and… and he just… he…"

"Took it." Cas hid his face against Sam's chest, his voice muffled as he whispered, "He took it from me."

The quiet, broken words were like a knife in Sam's heart, and he drew Cas in closer, trying to comfort him where there were no words to offer.

"I wish I could hide them." The grief and humiliation in Cas's voice made Sam feel helpless and guilty and small, because he had done that to Cas. He had found the way to expose Cas more completely than he was ever meant to be exposed. "With them… out, like this… it feels like… like I'm…"

"Naked?" Sam offered faintly, feeling sick. "Like it'd be… to be naked? For me, or Dean?"

Cas nodded. "I – know you can't do anything about it," he assured Sam softly. "And… I know Dean's been trying while you've been… taking care of me." The shy, self-conscious gratitude in his voice hurt to hear. "I've… almost gotten used to… you, seeing them, because… you help me keep them covered, and… you only touch them to help me, and… I trust you, Sam… but…" He hesitated, before concluding in a voice of quiet horror, "… it's shameful. Every time you look… every time you touch them… I remember what he…" Cas shuddered, his hand tightening in Sam's shirt at his side. "Why… why would I feel pleasure in such a thing?"

"Cas…" Sam considered his question carefully before speaking, quiet and gentle. "When I was touching your wings upstairs… were you thinking about Dean then?"

"No," Cas replied, thoughtfully. "I… was trying very hard not to think of him."

"Okay." Sam took that in. "So… blank slate. Not thinking of anything in particular."

"Yes," Cas agreed.

"And… you trust me. You knew I wasn't going to hurt you. Right?"

"Right."

The unhesitating devotion in Cas's voice was overwhelming, but Sam went on, needing to get this point across and make Cas understand. "And… your wings are very physically sensitive… that means to pleasure as well as pain, right?"

"I… I suppose so." Cas sounded uncertain.

"So… it was an intensely intimate, physically pleasurable sensation… with…" Sam hesitated, choosing his words carefully, "… someone you trust. It's perfectly understandable that that would make your… your human body feel… good. Sexually."

Cas was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, there was a note of wonder to his voice. "I… hadn't considered that. My human body has always been nothing more than a vessel. I don't… feel human sexual arousal. Or… I haven't."

"Until your grace was restrained," Sam concluded for him. "And… it's not as restrained as it was, or you wouldn't be healing, but… maybe it's taking it a little while to come back? Maybe the fact that your wings are physical right now is making it possible for you to feel that? I don't know, but… Cas… it's very natural. Nothing is wrong with you. I promise."

Silence fell between them for a few moments, and when Cas broke it at last, his voice was soft and wondering. "You know, after… what happened… what Dean…" He hesitated, a faint tremor in his words as he pushed on. "… I hadn't considered that it was possible that it could be pleasurable to be touched…" He shook his head, his words dropping off with a heavy sigh. "There is so much I do not know," he concluded wearily.

Cas sounded as if he was actually beginning to feel better – but his words sparked a new and unsettling question in Sam's mind; one to which he felt the answer was dreadfully obvious, but… he had to be sure.

"Cas… can I ask you something?" he began, hesitant, and Cas nodded against his chest. "Before… Dean… had anyone… anyone ever…"

"No," was Cas's quiet, immediate answer. "No one ever… touched my wings… before Dean." He let out a soft huff of laughter, but it was raw and painful, and it made Sam flinch, as Cas went on, "It's odd. I'd… at one point harbored thoughts of… of one day, maybe… but…" He shivered, and turned his face into Sam's shirt, his words a muffled, broken whisper as he concluded, "… not like this. Not like this."

"I'm so sorry, Cas," Sam whispered, closing his eyes against tears that fell down his face anyway and into Cas's hair, wrapping his arms around the angel and holding him closer. "I'm so sorry."

"You – you didn't hurt me, Sam," Cas insisted, raising his head and looking into Sam's face. His eyes widened and he tilted his head in confusion as he studied Sam's expression, saw his tears. His jaw slowly set, brow furrowed with determination, and his voice was fervent, almost fierce in its intensity as he declared, "You didn't do anything wrong. You asked me if you could touch them, and I told you yes. I… was never at any point in pain or in fear because of you, Sam. You have only helped me, and cared for me, and I trust you." He paused, glancing away, thoughtful, before looking up at Sam again and concluding gently, "What happened upstairs… it was… confusing, and… it troubled me because I did not know what it meant. But… even that distress, you have mended, Sam." The devotion in Cas's eyes was unmistakable, and it took Sam's breath, made his chest seize up, stricken with guilt, as Cas concluded, his words clear and precise in the quiet room.

"Dean… violated me. He's the one who… humiliated and… and broke me. You have spent every moment since then… putting me back together again. When you touch me, it – it is not a violation, because… I do trust you, Sam. Completely, and… intimately. And I am grateful to you, Sam Winchester. I will always be."

Sam couldn't breathe, couldn't bear the adoration in Cas's eyes, but couldn't bring himself to look away either, to send even a subtle message of rejection in the face of such devotion and love. But he just wanted Cas to stop – to stop talking, to stop praising him for things that wouldn't have needed to be done if Sam hadn't broken Cas in the first place, to stop… stop placing such faith, such gratitude in Sam, who did not deserve it.

Unable to form words, Sam simply offered Cas a weak, watery smile that he hoped conveyed his affection, and gently pulled Cas back down against him – so he wouldn't have to see that blind adoration in Cas's eyes… so Cas couldn't see him break apart under the weight of the grief and guilt that came with it.

Dean heard their voices through the open door of the computer room, and slowed to a stop, relieved, before turning to go. Sam had found Cas, and he was safe. He never needed to know that Dean had even been here. But then – Dean heard his own name, on Cas's lips, and…

He shouldn't have stayed. He knew he was only asking for more pain, before he heard a single word more. But… he stayed anyway.

And within moments, he desperately wished he hadn't.

Cas's words reverberated in his mind, repeating themselves again and again, driving the agony of the true weight of his guilt home with every beat, as Dean realized just exactly what he had done to his friend, on the cold, dirty floor of that dark basement room.

He heard again in his mind the broken sound of Cas's voice as he confessed to Sam how violated he felt, how ashamed and humiliated… and then, similar words, but stronger, accusing.

As they should be…

You are a monster, aren't you? God must have left the building for good, for sure… or He'd have struck you down the moment you touched him… the moment you dared to just… put your filthy, murderous hands all over his pure, untouched…

Dean fought back the urge to vomit, knowing only that he couldn't call attention to himself, couldn't violate Cas again by letting him know he'd overheard everything.

Violate… yeah, just call it what it is, Winchester…

You raped him. You heard what he said: you took the most personal, intimate thing he had to offer, that was his to share with who he chose. You took it. You raped him.

The roar of accusation in Dean's mind was overwhelming, the deep ache in his chest, the sick heat of shame that flooded his body as realization washed over him – and suddenly, he just knew that he couldn't be here. Couldn't be standing outside this room when Sam and Cas came out. Couldn't bear the hatred and revulsion he knew Cas had to feel for him… or the fresh disgust that he would see on Sam's face, now that Sam knew what he'd really done.

Dean turned and fled, swearing under his breath as he crashed into the cabinet in the hall in his haste. A sick sense of dread washed over him, and he knew they'd come looking to see what had happened – and he couldn't let them find him.

So Dean fled, back down the hall and up the stairs to the library, where he'd left his backpack in the chair next to where he'd been studying. He glared down at the few pathetic, indecipherable notes he'd taken as he fished his keys out of the pocket of his pack.

Useless. Pathetic. How could you think for one second that it's even possible for you to fix what you've done?

Keys in hand, Dean headed up the stairs to the bunker's exit. He paused for a moment, listening for the sound of his brother's voice – but heard only silence. He blinked through bitter tears as he stepped out into the incomprehensibly bright, cheerful sunlight and headed for the car.

Just as well. He needs to focus on Cas. And Cas needs me gone.