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There were days when Castiel felt dead inside, all he could see was the shredded remains of the Grace of his brethren. The dullness of their vessel’s eyes, their halos cracked and in pieces. When he closed his eyes he saw negatives of their wings scorched into the ground. All those lives lost because of him. He would sit in front of a book, any book he could find. The pages would be open, but he wasn’t reading. The black ink was like a mocking ghost, something laughing at him cruelly as he endured endless pain.
He never told Dean. Dean would worry and it was not his job to worry about Castiel’s mistakes. So he kept quiet and went along with the motions of life around him. Getting out of Naomi’s control had been more complicated than he’d have liked. Rebellion was easy in the past, so open and filled with grandeur. He was making a statement before. This time around it was a slow, subtle thing filled with manipulation and resentment. But, it had worked. His brothers began to see what was happening and rebelled. They waged war on Naomi, killing her swiftly and then looked to him for guidance over the burnt remains of her lifeless corpse.
The words were simple enough to say, ‘serve humanity,’ but he’d not bothered to check how anyone was doing. It weighed him down until he felt like he’d be shaped into a pancake like in the cartoons Dean had showed him.
He walked down the hall, expecting to slink into his room and meditate until dawn when he could cook for the boys. Suddenly there were fingers wrapped around his wrist, a hand pulling him further across the floor. His motions were sluggish as he looked up to see himself being guided by the insistent grip of Dean.
“Dean, what—”
“Just trust me.” Dean turned back and flashed him a quick smile. Of course he would trust Dean, he’d followed the hunter to Hell, Heaven and Purgatory. There was nothing he wouldn’t trust Dean with or do for him.
Dean opened the door to his own bedroom and pulled Castiel inside. The door clicked shut softly, lock engaging just a second after. They were both silent, Dean’s hands moving with confidence as he pulled the overcoat and suit jacked from the angel’s shoulders. Castiel barely reacted, doing little more than lifting his arms to aid the motions. “Kick your shoes off.”
“I could simply will myself out of my clothing if you wanted.” Dean stopped and looked at him, almost angry.
“Is that what you think this is about? That I pulled you in here for sex?” Castiel tilted his head, if not that, then what? Dean shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes met Castiel’s, something burning in them that the angel couldn’t muster the energy to read. “You’re not just sex, Cas, you hear me?”
“I am aware that I have other uses.” He toed off the dress shoes, followed by his socks. It was a rather awkward set of steps, but he managed well enough.
He looked down to undo his belt, fingers nimbly moving around the metal clasp. Dean’s hands covered his, halting his progress. He looked back up to find Dean close enough that the hunter’s breath was hitting the lower half of his face. It seemed that he was working through something in his mind, eyes flicking around Castiel’s face. Warm hands gently cupped his jaw on both sides, guiding his head down so that Dean could kiss his forehead, his eyes as they closed, along the ridge of his cheeks and down the bridge of his nose.
Their foreheads rested together and Castiel reached out to fist his hands in Dean’s shirt, unaware of when he’d started shaking. “You listen to me, all right, ‘cause I’m not good with this shit and I don’t know how many times I’m gonna be able to say this.” Castiel took a deep breath and waited for Dean to continue. “You’re not a hammer, Cas. You’re… you’re the only friend I have. Fuck of a lot more than that, too. Sam and I didn’t ask you to be here because you’re useful, we did it because you’re family and we love you.” Dean pulled back and forced the angel to make eye contact. “I love you, you hear me?”
Tears welled up in Castiel’s eyes, blurring his vision. “Dean…”
“No, I’m not letting you do this to yourself, Cas. This is bullshit. You gotta stop, all right? Seeing you like this is fucking killing me, okay?” He could see Dean’s eyes becoming glassy and wet, facial muscles trembling with the strain of his emotions. “You’re here because I love you and I need you. Please, stop treatin’ yourself like dirt. You’re better than that.”
He slumped into Dean, eyes closed as tears spilled onto his skin. Dean took over undressing him, leaving him clad in only his boxers before leading him to the bed. Castiel curled into the spare pillow Dean had taken to keeping with him, thick comforter plush under his legs. Rustling noises filled the air as well as the jangle of Dean’s belt being undone and the dull thud of it hitting the floor. The mattress dipped under his weight and Castiel felt himself pulled forward into the strong, warm body that now accompanied him.
Dean held him close as he sobbed and clawed and punched and kicked. He didn’t want to deal with it, healing was too difficult, but Dean left him no choice. Somewhere he was vaguely aware of hearing himself screaming as he cried, chest empty and hollow where once it had been filled with purpose.
Time was unknown, passing by as minutes or hours while he unloaded into the soft muscle of Dean’s chest. When he calmed, breathing deeply and snuffling he felt the slide of a calloused hand on his bare back, rubbing soothingly to coax him out of his fit.
He listened closely as a new sound made itself known. “Hey, Jude…”
Dean sang to him as he came back to himself and for the first time in weeks, Castiel felt alive.