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Dean slowly wakes, roughly pushing away the blanket Sam or Bobby must have draped across him while he slept. Something feels wrong. Dean’s been hunting long enough to know to trust his gut, so he gets to his feet as silently as he can. He feels a little strange sneaking around without shoes, but bare feet will have to do for now.
Although his back aches from sleeping awkwardly on Bobby’s couch, Dean is barely aware of the pain. A sound is prickling in his ears, the kind that makes his blood run cold with worry, the kind that makes him disregard his earlier attempts at quiet. He hurries up the stairs. What time is it? he wonders briefly, but the question is soon forgotten as he bursts into Sam’s room. Confusion is dashed across Dean’s face. Sam is asleep, so what…?
He turns to the other side of the hallway, and presses his ear to the bathroom door. Bingo. Cautiously, Dean knocks; the noise ceases, and the doorknob twists. Standing in front of him, sniffling, is a red-eyed Castiel.
“What… what is this, Dean? What is my vessel doing?” His voice is raspy from the crying, and he can barely speak a syllable without a sob getting in the way.
Dean doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and instead he finds himself moving forward to wrap Cas into a tight hug. Cas rests his head on Dean’s shoulder and bursts into a fresh round of sobs.
“It’s okay, Cas,” Dean says softly. “Here, come here,” he says, walking Cas backward a few steps into the bathroom and closing the door behind them. His crying is the gross, uncontrollable kind, tears streaming down his cheeks and bubbles of spit forming around his lips. Dean grabs tissue after tissue and wipes Cas' face the best he can.
“Breathe, baby,” Dean whispers, giving up entirely on drying Castiel’s face. He squeezes him tighter. “You’re safe now. No one can hurt you.”
“I-“ Cas chokes out, but his mind and mouth aren’t cooperating well enough to make words. Nothing like this has ever happened, and Cas is so painfully confused. “What-“
“Shhh…” Dean croons, and he starts talking, reminding Cas of all the good times they’ve had ganking bad guys and monsters and thanking Cas for always being there for him and being so strong.
Cas has to fight hard, but he calms himself enough to start listening to Dean’s words. His body quiets, but Dean doesn’t let go, and Cas is thankful for that.
A few minutes pass in silence. Cas is still clinging to Dean when he lets out a low, involuntary moan. Dean pulls back a bit to look at him. “You okay?” Cas’s face has flushed, his white skin making his eyes look that much more bloodshot.
“I… I don’t-“ And then Dean recognizes Cas’ facial expression, the same one Sammy used to pull when he was about to puke.
Dean steers Cas to the toilet, and within seconds, Castiel is vomiting like he drank the contents of an entire liquor store. Dean rubs his back, and when the angel is finished, Dean gets him a glass of water. Cas is slumped against the bathtub, exhausted, and Dean sits cross-legged in front of him. When Cas speaks, it comes out much flatter than usual. “Do you remember when I told you I thought I might kill myself,” he asks, but there’s no inflection to imply a question.
Dean feels a chill shake through him. He nods.
Cas swallows absently before noting, still toneless, “I am going to do it now.”
Dean’s eyes widen, and he fills with tension. “No,” he says sternly, moving closer to his friend. “Cas, look at me. Look at my eyes.”
Tiredly, Castiel obliges.
“You’re not gonna kill yourself. You’re gonna talk to me, okay? Let’s talk about it.”
“You don’t want to talk about it,” Castiel says, and his voice is so empty that it makes Dean ache.
“Yes I do,” Dean says desperately. He reaches out to grab one of Cas’ hands. “I do, I swear. What happened? Why do you want to kill yourself?”
There are a few seconds of nothing, and then Dean begins to see something shift in Castiel. His eyes are filled with the same terror they were when they went to save Samandriel. His hand tears away from Dean and he covers both of his ears.
“Okay,” Dean says quickly, “okay. Cas. I’m here, buddy, you’re safe.” There are no tears this time, just Cas scrambling to bury his trembling body in Dean’s arms. Cas pulls his hands away from his ears and starts scratching his arms and rocking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Dean tries desperately to stop him scratching, but Cas is too strong. Within twenty seconds, he’s dragging hard enough to draw blood.
“Stop, Cas, come on, please stop, please…” Dean pleads, but it's in vain. “Don’t do this to me, Cas,” Dean says, and the brokenness in his own voice startles him. Dean relaxes his tight grip on Castiel’s hands but doesn’t take his fingers away. Instead, he starts to lightly rub them, hoping his calloused fingertips are enough to relax his panicked angel. “I’m here for you, Cas, right now and always, okay? I’m here. I’m here, and I care about you, and I want you to be happy. I know I say I don’t want to talk sometimes, but hell, man, you gotta say something when it gets this bad. I’m your friend. That’s what friends are for. I’m gonna help you, okay? We’re gonna fix this. Cas?”
There’s blood on Dean’s hands now, and there’s blood on the tile floor, and god help them, there’s blood all over the sleeves of the goddamn trenchcoat. Cas can’t seem to stop, but he’s definitely slowed down and listened.
“Okay,” Dean murmurs, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “You don’t have to talk right now.” He wraps Cas even tighter into his embrace, lets him scratch at himself until the drowsiness takes over.
Dean’s mind wanders as the twenty or so minutes pass, and he has to stop himself from jumping when Castiel begins to speak. “I want very much to fall, Dean. Do you know what that would mean for me?”
“You’d be human, right?”
Castiel pushes back from Dean and nods miserably. He looks so tired that Dean can hardly stand it, but it helps that the angel can’t bring himself to raise his eyes to Dean’s.
“That way I can take my life correctly,” Cas mutters, and Dean almost doesn’t catch it, but he does, and he rushes forward onto his knees and takes Castiel’s face in his hands.
“Don’t say that,” he whispers fiercely. “Don’t you dare say that to me.”
“Dean… there are many things you don’t know. I tried to fall. I did things in an attempt to make my Father despise me, but He never did. Over and over, His mercy shone through for me, when I least deserved it.”
Dean has to stop himself from telling the angel that he deserves to live, that he deserves to be happy, but Cas is finally talking, and though it proves a real challenge, Dean forces himself to be a good friend and just listen. He sits back on his heels and takes a quiet breath as Cas continues.
“Sometimes when I would disappear from you… when I couldn’t come when you called for me… I was a bit,” he stutters,” tied up.” Castiel pauses, tries to look at Dean, fails, and casts his eyes back to the tile by his feet. “My words are not coming out as I wish.”
“It happens,” Dean offers, his voice emerging more roughly than he expected.
Castiel nods. There is a pause, and then he quietly says, “I slit my wrists. Twice. I bled greatly, but my grace healed me too quickly for my plan to be carried out.”
Dean’s stomach seizes. Cas, trying to kill himself? For real?
“I later attempted to overdose on sleeping pills, but that did not work properly either. I merely fell into a deep sleep and awoke a few hours later.”
Dean finds himself at a loss for words and just stares at the browning blood on the trenchcoat. Cas doesn’t try to add anything else either, so the men fall into a long silence. Parts are comfortable, and some parts are far from it, but it is a silence nonetheless.
“You, um,” Dean begins clumsily, “You know we’re here for you, right? Sam and me? And Bobby. You need anything, you just let us know. Even if you think you’re starting to feel bad, you tell us. I mean it, Cas. I can’t lose you.”
Cas looks at him, really looks at him, and Dean’s hands start to tremble. In Castiel’s eyes is a small glimmer of hope, and that’s enough power for Dean to continue. “You’re part of the family. I need you, Cas. I, I…”
Dean hastily moves onto his knees and cups Castiel’s face in his hands, much gentler this time. He touches his lips to the angel’s. For a moment, everything is still, but then Castiel is pushing into the kiss, his lips parting, letting Dean taste the desperation that resides in his mouth.
Dean pulls back, his breathing ragged. “You can’t leave me, okay, Cas? You can’t. Because of that. Because of-" he gestures to the two of them - “this. Because I… I…”
“I know, Dean,” Castiel says, and a bit of light has found its way back into his eyes. “I love you as well.”
“Promise me you won’t try to kill yourself again.”
Castiel’s eyes drain again. “I cannot make that promise. It is likely I will make another attempt.”
“Then, promise me… promise me you’ll tell me. Before. When it first starts, when you’re thinking too much about the bad stuff. Tell me, Cas, okay? I just want to help you.”
Castiel ponders this for a moment and then nods. “I will speak to you if my burden grows too large.”
Dean exhales heavily. “Thank you.” He helps Castiel up, and steers him to the sink. He helps him up onto the counter, like he used to do with Sam when he was little, and runs the water til it gets warm. Cas shrugs off the trenchcoat and lets Dean run the warm washcloth down his arms, to clean off the blood. The angel finds himself growing weary, especially with the added warm, gentle touches and the security of being with Dean and knowing that nothing can hurt him. He rests his head on Dean’s shoulder. He knows he is still less than content and has a long way to go, but now he finally has something to hold on to.