Chapter Text
With Sam in Hell and Castiel gone AWOL not long after, Dean found himself at a complete loss. The memory of his promise to Sam--go to Lisa, don’t look for Sam--remained at the corner of his mind, where he could purposefully avoid remembering to fulfill it. The sheer weight of despair he felt kept him from doing much of anything. Which is why, on a cold New England night, he found himself sprawled in the bathtub of a sketchy motel, bottle of whisky empty in his hands and tear tracks etching themselves permanently on his cheeks.
The one reason for anything he’d ever done--Sam--was gone, trapped in the pit, and there was nothing he could do about it. This is how Castiel found him; drunkenly crying alone in a motel bathroom, his clothes stinking of vomit and a sufficient amount of snot running down his face. Cas knew that Dean would have trouble accepting Sam’s fate as well as completing his promise. Where Sam genuinely expected Dean to return to Lisa and live a happy life, Cas knew that Dean could never do such a thing.
Cas had been invisibly checking on Dean for the past week since Sam was dragged under, so he had witnessed Dean’s gradual fall to this sad state. Cas made himself seen after a few moments of observing the strong but broken man in front of him and knew that he had to intervene--this was rock bottom. It was a few minutes of Dean crying softly, eyes closed and head tipped back, before Cas cleared his throat gently.
Dean looked up with teary eyes that broke Cas’ heart. “Cas?” He asked, confused.
“Dean.” Cas walked over to the small bathtub and looked down at him. “Dean. Let me help you.” He said, the words sounding more like an order rather than a request.
Dean looked down at himself, wrinkled his nose at the smell he seemed to just notice, and slowly lifted his head to look at Cas again. “...okay. Yeah, okay.” He handed over the bottle when Cas reached his hand for it and trained his eyes once more on the angel who had never seemed more angelic before now. In his drunken haze, Dean’s mind went in a million directions, wondering why Cas would want to help him and how he could, wondering if Cas could bring Sam back, wondering if there was a point anymore without Sam. He let out a soft whimper, hiding it poorly in a cough, and tried to pretend it wasn't him.
Of course, Cas heard it and noticed his increasing sadness, and turned back to Dean from where he was placing the whiskey bottle in the trash. He made a quick decision then, noticing how Dean looked on the edge of yet another set of tears and noticing with what desperation the man was looking up at him. Bending down, Cas put his hands under Dean’s armpits and hefted the hunter up so that he was holding him on his hip like a child. Dean uttered another embarrassing sound at being lifted so easily, but, though he would never admit it, the safety and warmth the position offered was extremely comforting. Still, he felt he needed to protest.
“Uh, Cas? What are you doing?” He asked, squirming to get down. “Cas?” Sure, he may have just been crying in a bathtub while covered in his own vomit, but he still had enough dignity left to oppose being held like a baby.
This just made Cas hold on tighter, one hand under Dean’s butt, the other around his back, holding the man’s chest firmly to his own. Dean was surprised for a moment at the ease which Cas held him, a fully grown man, but quickly recalled that for an angel of the lord, 200 pounds was nothing.
“Dean, it’s okay.” Cas started pacing slowly, bouncing Dean gently in a comforting way. “I know what you’re feeling, and it’s okay to let it out. You need to, Dean.” He continued to bounce Dean up and down, cooing wordlessly to him all the while.
For a few minutes, Dean stared over Cas’ shoulder, confused as ever, but unable to move away. He remained tense, waiting for Cas to give up and set him down. When he saw that the waiting game was futile, he began to relax against Cas, unconsciously gripping his coat and digging his face into the angel’s shoulder. He was rewarded with the arm around his back moving from keeping him in place to rubbing his back in soothing circles, with Cas muttering ‘good boy’ under his breath.
They stayed like that for a few minutes longer, Cas crooning and Dean silent but relaxed. Finally, Cas talked. “Dean, you can let go. I’ve got you.” Dean screwed his eyes shut and shook his head rapidly, his hands tightening in Cas’ coat. “Shhh. It’s okay. Sam was your brother, it’s okay to be sad. You’ll be okay.” At this, Dean began sobbing quietly, tears dampening the angel’s trenchcoat, but Cas didn’t care. Dean’s hands tightened in Cas’ coat until his knuckles turned white. His sobs turned into howls as he mulled over Cas’ words, thinking of what Sam was going through as he was here, receiving comfort he didn’t deserve. Throughout his breakdown, Cas held Dean tight, rubbing his back and murmuring words that Dean didn’t hear.
Dean hiccuped and choked out in a shaky voice, “T-that’s...the p-problem.” Cas stiffened momentarily.
“What do you mean, Dean?”
“I-i’m fine. While Sammy’s….suffering.” Another sniff. “It’s not f-fair.” Castiel tipped Dean’s head back, looking into his defeated green eyes.
“Oh, Dean,” he said as he brought the hunter’s face to his chest once more. At this, Dean cried harder, years of unshed tears making their appearance in a dodgy motel room.
This is how his mother used to hold him when he was hurt or upset. Dean wondered idly how Cas knew how to be so parental.
After what felt like hours, Cas felt Dean calm down, and he sat them both down on the toilet seat. He wet a towel in the sink and tipped Dean’s head up with a finger under his chin. Dean’s eyes were huge as he looked into his angel’s eyes, embarrassed but comforted. Cas wiped Dean’s face down quickly and smoothed Dean’s hair back. The hunter sniffed and asked once more, “Cas?”
Cas just smiled and said, “How about a bath?” Dean went to question this, but Castiel was already lifting him and reaching for the bath knobs. When Cas bent down to turn them, Dean was forced to hold onto Cas’ shoulders to keep from pitching forward. Cas turned the knobs to the right temperature and brought his arm to Dean’s back again. Dean opened his mouth, ready to fight the idea of a bath, but Cas spoke first.
“It’s okay, Dean. I’ll take care of you.”
Dean stiffened then sighed, holding on tightly. A few silent tears fell and they both pretended not to notice.