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Tears. Dean Winchester shed thick tears. He couldn't take it anymore. Hell, he was tired! Tired of the weight of the world falling on his shoulders. Tired of losing people he was learning to love.
For years he had been promising to himself that he would do anything to be like his father. He listened to the same songs, drove the same car, wore the same style of clothes, acted like John.
The glass of whiskey in his hand weighed a ton. The bar he had found on that old road was empty. A short, blond, young woman had served him earlier. She reminded Jo so much. That was when it had all started. Three hours later Dean was drunk and out of control of his own emotions.
"Sorry, but we're closing." muttered the girl awkwardly. Dean looked up and nodded. He stumbled to his feet, grabbed the whiskey bottle, and left.
The night was cool compared to the cozy warmth of the bar as Dean began his walk to the motel down the road, where he had rented a room. It was only a kilometer but his legs didn't work well and he arrived at the bedroom door later than expected.
He fished for his keys in his pocket and drunkely aimed it at the lock. He looked at the parking lot behind him and it was dark and there was no living soul roaming around. Dean finally closed the door behind him and slid to the floor, dropping the bottle and hiding his face in his hands. His head was spinning and he could taste the sour drink in his mouth.
He looked up at the almost dark room. The symbols to repel demons and anything else that caught his eye. He took a long look at the red drawings and felt angry. Why couldn't he have a life? Why wouldn't he want a normal life like Sammy?
But he knew he was and always would be a hunter - it was in his blood. It was the family business. It was the family curse. Everyone would die along the way, leaving him alone to take care of his younger brother. Sammy hated him, he knew. He hated him for everything he had done to destroy his normal life.
"There was no getting away, Sammy." he whispered to no one.
But Sam ran away. He was gone, who knows where.
Dean had hit rock bottom. He was alone. And drunk.
He gripped the bottle tightly and took another sip that went down like fire down his throat. He was still angry. And drunk. He threw the nearly empty bottle across the room, watching as the glass slammed into the foot of the bed and shattered, scattering the brown liquid on the grimy carpet.
A few more insistent tears fell and Dean hid his face in his hands again. Sam was gone, Bobby was far away and he was alone.
"Castiel." he thought out loud. "Castiel, Castiel, Castiel ..." he repeated like a prayer, a desperate prayer.
Nothing happened and Dean's anger increased. His angel had abandoned him too. He leaned against the door and stood awkwardly. He was furious now. Out of control, he paced the room, knocking down everything he could find along the way. He was angry and his chest hurt. He kicked the shards of glass from what had once been the bottle and saw them scatter around the room, breaking into even smaller pieces.
"Even you abandoned me, Castiel!" he shouted, bitter.
"I never abandoned you, Dean." said a voice from the opposite corner of the room.
Dean turned quickly and felt the room spin. He leaned against the bed and when he was able to focus on the figure in front of him, he didn't know what to say.
Castiel didn't look at him, he looked at the mess he had made. The room was in ruins, as was the man standing in front of it.
"What are you doing here, Castiel?" Dean asked sharply.
"You called me, I came." Castiel answered, finally looking up at Dean.
"It's a little late, don't you think?" Dean laughed sarcastically.
"I'm sorry, Dean." answered the angel.
"It doesn't matter." Dean slurred.
Dean slid off the bed and staggered to the bathroom. Castiel watched him make his way and then close the door behind him. The angel sighed and ran a hand over his face. Dean sat on the toilet and let his head fall against the flush. He was crying again. What the hell had that lady put in that damn scotch he had taken?
A flutter of wings made him look sideways. He quickly wiped his face with his shirt sleeve and stood up.
"Don't hide your emotions from me, Dean." asked Castiel.
"I thought it was obvious that I wanted to be alone." quarreled Dean, waving his arms around. The movement made him fall back sitting on the toilet.
"I heard you, Dean, I heard you all the time." Dean got up again and leaned against the sink. "You are not alone and if it depends on me, you will never be." revealed Castiel. "I'm your angel, I fought heaven and hell for you, that should mean something to you."
Castiel was surprised to feel Dean's arms around his neck. He could not identify when the man had made the move to reach him. But he had.
Dean held him tight and wept like a child on the angel's shoulder.
"I'm tired, Cas. I can't stand it anymore." Dean whispered in Castiel's ear.
Castiel returned the clumsy hug - he had done it just a few times in his angel or human life.
"It's fine, Dean. It'll be fine." sighed Castiel.
"Promise you won't leave me." he whispered again. "Promise you won't let me hit rock bottom alone."
The two still embraced. Castiel broke the hug. He rested his hand on the back of Dean's neck and looked into his eyes.
"I promise, Dean." Castiel smiled. "Wherever you go, call me and I'll be there."
Dean sighed, the drink still clouding his vision. He brought his face close to Castiel's and watched his reactions. The angel kept looking into his eyes and his hand still rested on the back of his neck. He moved closer once more, touching their foreheads and watched Castiel close his eyes.
"Dean ..." Castiel breathed.
Closing the remaining distance between them, Dean touched his lips to his. Castiel clasped the back of his neck and Dean put his hand to his face and held him tenderly. He moved his lips against Castiel's and was happy to receive an answer. It only lasted a few minutes, just tasting the lips of the other.
Dean stepped back but kept his hand resting on Castiel's face and his eyes closed.
"Thanks." Dean answered hoarsely and tiredly.
The drink and all that tension were taking it's tool. His head throbbed and he leaned against Castiel not to fall. He was having a hangover earlier than expected. Castiel took him by the shoulders and dragged him to the shower box. He turned the shower on and put Dean under the jet of cold water, with clothes and everything.
"Damn it, Cas." cursed Dean as the cold water came into contact with his hot body. Still holding on to the angel, Dean leaned against the wall and threw his head back. Despite the cold, the icy water was doing wonders for his aching head.
He was so tired. Physically and mentally. The water was softening his muscles and his legs were getting weak. Pulling Castiel with him, he sat on the stall floor still under the water jet. They sat facing each other, their clothes wet and heavy.
"You shouldn't drink so much, Dean." commented Castiel.
"Bad time for the sermon, Cas." dismissed Dean. "I'm cold." he said, trying to get up without success.
Castiel stood and reached for him.
"Come on." He called. Dean took his hand and stood up. They exchanged a long look and Castiel linked their hands.
Castiel led Dean, who seemed increasingly unable to stand, to the room that was still destroyed. The angel sat in the armchair and watched Dean as he exchanged wet clothes for dry ones.
"Borrow some clothes, Cas." muttered Dean.
"I'm fine, don't worry." Dean shrugged and lay on the bed.
"I just need a few hours of sleep and we'll be out of here soon." Dean stammered with his eyes already closing.
Castiel watched him for long minutes. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, then loosened his tie.
"Whatever you want and wherever you want, Dean." whispered the angel, but Dean had fallen asleep.