It's time for Writing Prompt Wednesday! This story was written for last week's theme, which was "Celebrity AUs."

What is Writing Prompt Wednesday?

Writing Prompt Wednesday is a feature I run on my Tumblr. Followers, readers and friends suggest themes for AUs, and I come up with a list of prompts based on the suggested them. Then, based on those prompts, anyone who wants to join in writes up a short story (or a long story, I guess) and posts it to Tumblr (or AO3, or , or wherever) and tags it Writing Prompt Wednesday!

You can read more about Writing Prompt Wednesday, and read this week's entries, at

This week, I chose this prompt:

Sure, you look like my significant other, but you're obviously NOT, and seriously, how fucking drunk must I have been last night to go home with the wrong person, and what the hell are YOU thinking, that you went along with it?

Relationship: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Characters: Dean Winchester; Castie; lSam Winchester; Pamela Barnes

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting; Top Castiel; Bottom Dean; Depression; Angst; Frottage; Anal Sex; Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism; Therapy; Praise Kink; Past Aaron Bass/Dean Winchester; Mistaken Identity; Marriage Proposal; Angst with a Happy Ending; Oral Sex

Groaning, Dean rolled over and dragged the blanket over his head. The light from his window stabbed through his closed eyelids like fucking daggers, his head pounded, his throat ached dryly, and his stomach twisted with nausea. Fuck hungover; Dean was pretty sure he was still drunk.

"Babe, how you feelin'?" he mumbled, pawing across the bed for Bass. He found an arm, curled his fingers around it and gave a gentle shake.

"Better than you, I think," said a dry, low, sexy voice that most definitely did not belong to Bass.

Oh, fuck.

Dean groaned.

Something vibrated in his pocket – he was wearing pants, that had to count for something, right? – and he fumbled with his off-hand, fingers tangled in the blankets. His hand brushed over a plastic tube – that'd be the lube – his open fly – so much for the pants suggesting anything – and something hard and plastic that he couldn't identify – I don't own any sex toys that shape and anyway surely I must have been too drunk last night to get as far as toys – before he finally found his cell phone, miraculously still tucked into his jeans. Pulling it out, he forced his eyes open. The screen was too bright, the room was too bright, everything was too bright, and he had eight fucking missed messages, all from Bass.

All of which indicated unequivocally that he'd been dumped.

Well, that was what usually happened when he left the bar with a different dude than he arrived with. Fuck, getting politely dumped by text message was an improvement from last time, at least no one had slapped him in the face or tried to kick him in the junk. He groaned again. Things had been going pretty well with Aaron. Dean genuinely liked him. But of course, like always, he'd fucked up.

"So remind me," Dean managed, his voice a gravelly wreck, "who the fuck are you?" He fumbled with his phone. The least he could do was send Bass a reply.

"Wow," said his companion with a chuckle. "I knew you were drunk, but..."

Dean (12:11 PM): Yeah man I'm sorry. Your right. I'm worse than scum. You deserve better. Take care of yourself k?

"...I mean, that's really drunk." The bed shifted, but Dean couldn't bring himself to turn and see who his beer goggles had sent him home with instead of his boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. "It's Cas?"

A hand came to rest on Dean's side, pulling him to his back. A second hand shoved the arm holding Dean's cell phone aside. He had a brief, blurry glimpse of tanned skin and dark hair and then lips were on his, salty and gummy and a little gross from a night in bed yet hot and skilled as they kissed him. For a moment, Dean resisted – I don't even know this fucking guy – and then he sighed and surrendered. Judging from the evidence, they'd fucked the night before; by comparison, what the fuck did a kiss matter? And, bonus, he was single now. If this dude liked him drunk, there was a dim, outside chance he might like Dean when he was sober, too. Which isn't right now, fuck...

"What was that for?" Dean breathed when Cas broke the kiss off and leaned back, looking satisfied. Wow, he's actually really fucking hot. At least I didn't totally blow it. Toned body, strong shoulders, gorgeous pink lips, blue eyes, hair nearly black, cheeks brushed with stubble...well, he didn't look fuck-all like Bass, but looking at him now Dean began to wonder if in his now-forgotten drunken thoughts he hadn't made the choice deliberately to go home with this gorgeous stranger.

Just the kind of douche move you'd pull, Winchester. What an asshole I am. His phone vibrated again but he threw it aside, indifferent to whether the impact on his wood floor broke it. He didn't want to know what Bass might have said in reply.

I'm never drinking again.

"Don't want you to forget again," said Cas, giving Dean a sinful smile. Wait, what? Oh, right, I asked why he kissed me.

"Sounds like you're planning on sticking around..."

"Well, you did ask me to marry you last night." Cas' grin grew even wider, showing perfect white teeth. "You had a ring and everything."

Holy fucking shit...fuck that, I need a drink right the fuck now.

Six months with Bass, six months with someone who put up with all of Dean's bullshit, six months of thinking maybe, maybe he'd found someone who would tolerate him. Bass never seemed enthusiastic but he was always kind, always gentle, always caring, and Dean thought it was about as good as he was ever going to do. Of course, that didn't mean he was ever going to actually ask the guy. He hadn't been sure what the fuck he was thinking when he bought the ring. Indulging a fantasy, really. If I have this I can at least pretend that maybe, some day, someone would want to stay. But apparently, I got drunk and decided to go for it…except I asked the wrong fucking person.

"I said yes, by the way," Cas continued, his smile growing mocking. He held up one hand between them, admiring the simple gold band on his middle finger. "It's the wrong size, though. I know a jeweler who can fix that."

Dean groaned again, pressed his palms hard against his eyes and rolled to the side. Cas laughed, a rich, warm sound that, despite how fucked up the situation was, Dean rather liked.

"I'm not planning to hold you to it." The playfulness in Cas' voice shifted to something that almost sounded like pity. Not better. "Heck, if you want, I'll even have a chat with the person you actually meant to propose to, make sure he – or she? – knows that nothing actually happened last night."

"Wait, what?"

"You were very insistent that I wear the ring," mused Cas, ignoring Dean. "Though you kept calling me Bass instead of Cas. Sure, one letter, no big deal, but I was a little sad. No one has ever proposed to me before. It might have been nice to pretend for a few minutes that you actually meant me."

"It doesn't matter," muttered Dean. Eyes still closed, he shoved Cas off him harder than he intended and felt the mattress bounce as Cas fell away. Sitting up, Dean planted his feet on the floor, dug his elbows into his thighs and dropped his head into his hands. He could see his phone where it had skittered across the hard-wood floors nearly to the wall. The screen was lit as if he'd just gotten another message. It didn't matter. "Bass dumped me. He's too good for me anyway. Loves me and shit, whereas I'm just afraid to be fucking alone. Shit, what am I even saying? Look, thanks for not taking advantage. I can make you some coffee or some shit if you want, but then you should go."

No one stays. No one stays because I always fuck it up.

"I know."

"Huh?" Confused, Dean looked over his shoulder. Cas knelt on the bed, sitting up straight, arms folded loosely over his chest, his expression sympathetic.

"You told me all about it last night," Cas explained. "Then you offered to have sex with me to thank me for listening. And now apparently you're offering to make me coffee and kick me out to thank me for listening."

"Do I even want to know what I said to you?" asked Dean unhappily.

"Probably not, no," Cas said. There were tattoos on his arms, Dean noticed, traceries in vibrant colors that he thought might be feathers. "But a lot of it sounded very familiar." Dean quirked his head, curious despite himself. "We have a lot in common."

"Getting smashed and fucking our lives up?"

"Convincing ourselves that what we want doesn't matter as long as the other person ends up happy and then self-sabotaging so that it all falls apart anyway," clarified Cas. Dean laughed humorlessly. "And drinking, yeah. You're right, I should go, but I'm going to leave my number. If you want to talk about it more, you'll know how to get in touch."

"Why'd you come home with me, Cas?" Dean asked.

"Because you asked me to marry you," said Cas, his expression disconcertingly distant. "Because you joked that you were only practicing with me, yet you made sure that Bass could see. Because in everything you said and did I could see that you were hoping someone would rescue you from yourself. Do you really thinking that marrying someone you don't love will ever make you happy? You were looking for someone to save you, and you were in luck. You found me. I didn't give you anything except what you asked for: an excuse to get out of your relationship and a fuck buddy for the night, though I had no intention of actually engaging in the second. However, you were clearly in no state to head back here alone, so I came. I was going to drop you off and leave but you begged me not to go. You were crying. And kept calling me Bass, which was just awkward."

"Get out," Dean mumbled. Cas made a sound suggesting he hadn't heard, so Dean repeated, "Get the fuck out of my apartment, Cas. Who the fuck are you make those kinds of decisions for me?"

Cas sighed. "If that's what you want, Dean." I don't even remember telling him my fucking name. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

Cas lingered on the bed for a minute, but Dean didn't move, didn't relent, couldn't bring himself to say anything, and with a sigh Cas rose and left the room. A few minutes later, he heard the front door close.

Dean should be upset. He should be crying. He'd just had his heart broken – or, more accurately, he'd just acted stupidly with the result that he'd broken his own fucking heart. He'd wanted to marry Bass, right? That's why he'd bought a ring. Instead, he felt disappointed in himself, angry, incredibly guilty, and a little relieved. He was glad he'd never have to face Bass again and pretend that he was as into Bass as Bass was into him. He was happy that Bass was gone. The more he caught twinges of relief, the more he noticed that he breathed easier and the more guilty, angry, and disappointed in himself he felt. God, he was such a fucking asshole. He moved through his day as if through a dream, made coffee, grabbed a beer, sat on the couch and watched bullshit TV as he cycled further and further into misery. It wasn't until he went to the kitchen to make dinner and he chanced to glance at the table by his front door that he saw the slip of paper with Cas' number held in place by the engagement ring. It wasn't until he crawled into bed again, drunk and lonely and cold and definitely, definitely not crying about what a worthless excuse for a human being he was that he was reminded of the lube and the mystery object tangled in his sheets.

The thing he hadn't been able to identify was a plug and it definitely wasn't his.

What the fuck had really happened last night?

I ruined everything. I ruined everything with Bass, and then I ruined everything with Cas. Typical.

"What I don't understand, Dean, is why you didn't just tell me if you wanted out," said Bass sadly. "I always knew you weren't as into me as I was into you, but that was one hell of a way for me to find out."

"I'm sorry," Dean said for the sixth or seventh time. He'd really meant it the first couple times, but now he repeated it because he had no idea what else to say. Bass had been owed this face to face conversation, especially in light of the slew of hurt text messages he'd sent Dean over the course of the previous day. "You'll find someone else, I know you will."

"You really don't get it, do you?" Bass shook his head. "Of course I will. I know my worth. But I didn't want someone else. I wanted you but you haven't got a clue what your worth is. I'm gonna go – don't think there's much else for us to say – but...take care of yourself, Dean. Stop looking for someone else to take of, someone to distract yourself with, and take care of yourself. Okay?"

Take care of yourself, the words echoed in Dean's head in Cas' luscious voice.

"Yeah, Bass," Dean smiled wanly, falsely. "I'll do that. Bye."

"Bye, Dean." Bass smiled back and gave Dean that adorable wave and eyebrow waggle that had first attracted Dean to him, rose and walked from the table and out the door of the coffee shop where they'd decided to meet to talk things over.

Well, there goes the best thing that ever happened to me.

For no reason he could think of, a vision of Cas popped into his mind.

God dammit, Winchester, you are such a disgusting, two-timing asshole.

Alright, booze and one-night stands, here I come...

Dean intended to debauch himself. He intended to lose himself in bullshit and self-medication. He intended to drop off the grid for at least a few weeks. He intended to ignore his phone and not talk to Sammy and do the absolute bare minimum. He intended to fucking wallow as if there was no fucking tomorrow. Cause, really, there wasn't. Not in any way that mattered, anyway. Tomorrow would be exactly the same as today, exactly the same as yesterday, exactly the same as next week and next month and next year. He intended to do whatever he had to in order to ensure that he passed as many of those days in a chemically-induced haze as he could.

Instead, he just...didn't.

He went to work. He came home. He had a beer and watched some TV. He told himself to go out and get laid. But he didn't do it. Being alone felt appropriate, felt deserved. He was done hurting other people because he couldn't handle his issues like a mature adult. Bass wasn't the first person he'd hurt. Dean had tried to do right by Bass, tried to be what he deserved, but it had been futile to begin with. Even some poor innocent one night stand of a dupe in a bar deserved better than Dean. The least he could do was keep his issues to himself. No one wanted to hear about that shit anyway.

...one person did. Cas talked to me about it. Cas listened. Cas said he could relate. Or at least, Cas said he did those things. I was so fucked up I can't even remember.

...more proof that I should never get in touch. All of that is more than I would do for him.

The phone number and the engagement ring sat precisely where Cas had left them a month before.

Shit, I forgot to take the bread out of the freezer. Why am I such a worthless excuse for a human being? I am such a fucking idiot.

Wait, what?

It's just a loaf of bread. It'll defrost if I pull it out later. It's not that big a deal. Why does forgetting that make me worthless? Why does making a simple mistake mean I'm an idiot?

Do other people think things like that?

Dean reflected on the thought all day. As he went about work – changed the oil, replaced the filter, switched out the tires – he noticed things he never had before.

Great job, Winchester, you got oil all over your uniform again, what a fuck up you are.

Fuck, Ash, why'd you offer to get me lunch? Is it that obvious I'm a worthless jack off? I never offer to do shit for you. What a selfish douche bag I am.

I could afford that nicer cut of meat, but why bother? I'd just burn the fucking thing anyway, it'd be a waste.

Everything he did, every thought he had, got twisted around. He'd never noticed before. God, that was sick.

Dean (7:24 PM): Sam I think I need help.

No, no, what the fuck am I doing, why am I inconveniencing him, why am I bothering him, why do I think I need help, why do I think I deserve help? I'm just a waste of space and time. Everyone has more important things to do than worry about my whiny bullshit. Man up, Winchester, and...

Sam (7:25 PM): Anything Dean. What happened? You need a pick up? Everything okay?

...no, no, Sam is busy, shut up, cope with it alone.

Dean (7:25 PM): Never mind. It's all good. Have a good night bro.

Sam (7:26 PM): If you say so. Take care of yourself.

He tossed his phone aside without replying. Part of him screamed to get drunk, to pass out, to do anything to distract himself from the cacophony of shit flooding his head. He couldn't bring himself to move, though. Instead, he sat on his couch, his head in his hands, wondering when the fuck he'd started to cry. Judging by the liquid pooled on his hands, it must have been a while ago. He'd been sitting there at least an hour. His thoughts were so loud it was impossible to keep track of the passage of time.

Cas said I cried, too. I wonder if Cas can help me. No, I don't even know him, how could I ask him something like that? And that was like a month ago, he probably doesn't even remember me.

The lock clicked as someone used the key, the door opened with a squeak of hinges, muffled footsteps crossed the floor, and Dean's asshole of a brother sat heavily on the couch beside him.

"You want to talk about it?" Sam asked.

He shouldn't have come. What is he even doing here? Why does he care? He's the good son, he's the successful one, he's the one they're proud of. I'm just a fucking loser who can't do anything right.

"No," Dean replied.

An arm wrapped around Dean's shoulders. He shuddered – no, don't touch me, I don't deserve that – but the contact felt so nice he couldn't bring himself to shrug it off. Selfish, selfish, selfish. When Dean didn't make a move to win free, Sam nudged Dean forward, drew them together, and without knowing how it happened Dean found himself slumped over, his head on Sam's shoulder, eyes dripping with tears that made dark stains on his brother's jeans.

"I think I hate myself, Sammy," Dean whispered, hoping his brother wouldn't hear, hoping he would. "What do I do with that?"

"You get help, Dean," said Sam, adjusting his hold around Dean's shoulders, holding him tighter. "I'm glad you texted me."

"I'm not."

Sam was smiling widely, a hand on his shoulder as he nudged Dean forward. Dean wanted to punch his fucking teeth out.

"Dammit, Dean," Sam muttered, tone belying his eager expression.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going," Dean sighed. Rising, shrugging Sam's hand off, he walked to the front of the community room. The air was dull and under-circulated, the walls were hung with projects done by the children who attended after school there, and the podium reminded Dean of nothing so much a chopping block waiting for his head. When he took a position at it, gripping the edge with shaking hand, he had a view of the rows of chairs filled with people of all ages.

"Hey y'all, I'm Dean," he said gruffly, staring at the pale wood beneath his fingers.

"Hi, Dean," chorused the assembly. Knowing they were all paying attention to him felt like a punch to the gut. Why the fuck would one person give a shit about me, much less an entire room full of people? What can I possibly say?

"Uh…this is my first time here," he continued. "I don't have a fucking clue what I'm doing. My brother said something like this might help? I dunno. The religious stuff kinda bugs me, honestly, but I gotta stop drinking and I guess this might help. Thanks."

Dean hurried back to his seat without looking up once and tried to ignore the resigned eye roll Sam gave him. Dean had came to the fucking meeting, he'd stood up, and he really did intend to try not to drink. All the stuff they'd said about taking it one day at a time made sense to him and he thought he could do that, even if he wasn't about to start fricken praying or any of that bull. Sam was the religious one, not him. Dean might even come again the following week, though he'd be damned if he was going to stand up and open his big mouth again.

The rest of the meeting passed slowly, people standing up and sharing their experiences and strategies and good news and bad news. One man was celebrating five years sober, and everyone applauded him and praised him. That might be nice. Except it's fucking impossible, there's no way I could do that. Yeah, he was off to a great start.

At length, they adjourned and everyone rose, talking amongst themselves. It was obvious most were regulars and knew each other, but a lot of people also went out of their way to introduce themselves and say hello to Sam and Dean, which weirded him out even more. They don't know me, they don't know shit about me, why would they waste their time? He tried to ignore the thought. A few long conversations with Sam had helped him see that such thoughts were counterproductive. That didn't make them less true, but he was doing better at pushing past them.

"Hello, Dean," said a voice from amidst the hubbub.

"Right, and what was your name…a…?" he rounded, annoyed, only to be confronted by a wryly smiling familiar face. "Cas." He was better looking than Dean remembered, which was saying something, casually dressed in worn jeans, a flattering t-shirt, and a loose scarf draped around his neck. His dark hair seemed black in the crappy fluorescent lighting and looked like he'd just gotten out of bed. Or as if he just had sex. Which, hot as he is, would make a lot of sense. No one like him stays single.

"Told you we had similar problems," Cas said. "I started coming here a few months ago. It kind of helps."

"That's about what I'm expecting, yeah," Dean nodded, leaving Sam to be social enough for the both of them with the others trying to say hello. "That it'll kind of help. A couple months, huh? Guess I didn't meet you on one of your better days."

"Some go better than others," agreed Cas. "The one we met on wasn't actually that bad. I only had a couple of drinks. I was sober. Mostly sober."

"And you went home with me anyway?" Dean laughed.

"Yes, I did," Cas said with an intensity that cut through Dean's humor. He snapped his mouth shut and swallowed. "You never called me."

"Didn't seem to be any point," muttered Dean. "I'd just fucked up with Bass, I'd only fuck up with you, too."

"So if I asked you to get coffee with me now…?"

It's a terrible idea. Someone like him, someone like me, what would we even have to talk about? What if…?

"Like, right now?" Dean said lamely, interrupting his own spiraling thoughts. Focus on right now. Focus on what he's actually saying and actually doing and try not to read too much into it.

"If you want," Cas shrugged. "I'm not doing anything else tonight and it'll keep my mind off other things."

Why even bother starting when I know it's all going to go down in flames?

"Same here," said Dean. "I could use a distraction. Lemme just tell my brother, okay?"

"Tell me again," whispered Cas, his voice heavy with arousal. Dean cupped his cheeks, adoring the way Cas' stubble rubbed against Dean's calloused skin, and kissed him.

"You're wonderful," breathed Dean, punctuating the words with another kiss against Cas' soft lips. "You've overcome so much." Another kiss. "It's okay that sometimes you feel like shit." Another kiss, and Dean caught Cas' lip between his teeth, nipping gently. Cas' shivered and whimpered, slid his hands tantalizingly down Dean's sides to settle on Dean's hips. "It doesn't mean you are shit." Yet another kiss, Cas' mouth opening to Dean's tongue, Cas' hands pressing their hips close, rutting their erections together gently. Dean breathed a moan into Cas' mouth and lengthened the kiss. "You don't have to be strong every day." The words were for both of them, even though Cas was the one who had woken up feeling so worthless he'd scarce been able to get out of bed that morning. "The things you struggle with today don't define how tomorrow goes." He ground his cock hard against Cas' through his jeans and Cas' pajamas, the high of pleasure surging through him better than anything he'd ever felt high or drunk.

"Oh, Dean," Cas ground out, his voice deep, the breath he exhaled against Dean's lips sultry and tinged with the taste of tea and cloves.

"It's okay, Cas," whispered Dean, kissing him fervently. Cas rolled his hips off the bed, wrapped his legs around Dean's ass, pressed them together more closely. Slipping his hands to the mattress, Dean lowered himself until their chests were pressed together, bliss hot in his thoughts, his eyes sliding shut. Satisfied that Dean had picked up the rhythm to work their bodies together, Cas wrapped his arms around Dean's back, rubbing hard.

"It's okay," Cas echoed like a prayer. "Oh, fuck, I don't…you shouldn't…"

Dean didn't need to hear the end of either sentence to know what Cas held himself back from saying. Every word was familiar, because Dean had said them so many times, because he'd heard Cas say them so many times.

"You do," Dean whispered. "And you don't get to say what I should or shouldn't do. You're worth this, Cas." Panting, Cas arched from the bed, rubbing himself against Dean desperately. Dean sucked a kiss against the base of Cas' ear. "Fuck, you are worth so much more than this to me."

"Dean," moaned Cas. The desperate noises filling the air might have come from either of them, Dean couldn't tell any longer, all he knew was that Cas was shaking he was so close, his entire body tense. Dean knew how that tension felt when Cas' mouth was wrapped around Dean's cock, knew how it felt when his cock was buried in Cas' hole, but he loved it most at times like this, when he wasn't so gone himself that he couldn't savor Cas' pleasure.

"Stay with me, Cas," murmured Dean. "I want you with me."

"Want you," Cas groaned, hips bucking against Dean. "Want you…want…oh shit, oh…" A choked noise marked Cas coming, his body seizing against Dean's and then relaxing against the bed. "You gonna come for me, Dean?" he asked weakly, hips thrusting erratically against Dean's.

"Yeah." Tears squeezed out of Dean's closed eyes as he pressed into Cas harder and more insistently. "Christ, yeah."

"Good," Cas said encouragingly. "My good boy." Biting off a moan, Dean rolled his hips hard into Cas and came, soaking his boxers.

God, I should not find it hot when he calls me that. I am so busted, I am so…

"Stay with me, Dean," Cas whispered. They both knew that he meant so much more than just Dean's physical presence. "You're so beautiful, you know that?" Dean moaned, hips jerking again as a second surge of pleasure washed through him, another burst of release dampened him. "I love you."

"Don't say that." Shaking his head against Cas' neck, Dean went cold, post-orgasmic glow draining away. There was no way he could say those words back. In the past, when a significant other had said they loved him he'd said it back automatically, felt he was being cruel if he didn't. What he felt had never mattered, it was more important that they be comfortable and happy, that he not cause them to worry. The lie had grated, had hurt, but the sacrifice had been worth it, or so he had thought. He couldn't lie to Cas. He had no idea if he loved Cas or not, all he knew was that he couldn't bear the thought of Cas leaving, couldn't bear the thought that he might say something that would cause Cas distress. If Cas loved him, and Dean didn't reply in kind…

"What's the matter?" asked Cas, tensing with alarm.

"I don't know," Dean moaned miserably. No, please, don't leave me, you said you'd stay, I thought you understood…

"We can talk about it." Cas' arms tightened around him. "We can figure out together what's bothering you, just like always, just like…oh, God, Dean, I didn't mean to…please don't…no." Cas took a shuddering breath and released his death grip, tried to wiggle out from under Dean. "If something isn't alright, it's okay. It's okay if what I said upset you. You need to take care of yourself, Dean, you have to take your own needs into account before you consider mine."

"I don't know if I…if I feel that way about you," confessed Dean. "I don't know if I'll ever feel that way about you, if I've ever felt that way about anyone. All I know is that I don't want you to let me go. Please, Cas?"

"I don't want to let you go," Cas murmured, his wonderful embrace returning. One arm wrapped around Dean's waist, the other cradled his head to run soothing touch over Dean's scalp. "If you want the same, that's all I need."

"Thanks, Cas," Dean exhaled and was surprised and relieved to find that he believed Cas' words, trusted him implicitly, at least today. On a day when he felt worse, on a day when he was low, he might doubt, but for now Cas' words were enough to put his fears to rest.

We can worry about tomorrow when the time comes.

Adrenaline surged through Dean, bringing with it a wave of fury and hurt that he couldn't control, didn't want to control. The bottle made a shower of shards of glass and dark liquid as it struck the wall and exploded with a loud shattering bang. Cas stared at him wide-eyed, cheeks pale, hands shaking, but he hadn't dodged, hadn't budged even though the bottle passed within inches of his head.

"You're drunk, Dean," a quaver in Cas' voice betrayed how upset he was, though he held steady and tried to put on a brave front.

See, there's all the proof that you are the world's biggest son of a bitch, Winchester. Look at Cas – look at him – he's terrified. You did that.

"I cannot do this shit anymore!" Dean roared. "Get out!"

...when you look at me like I matter, when you act like you care, when you touch me as if I deserve you in my life, when you pretend that you love me...

"Is that really what you want?" asked Cas. His expression was impassive and his eyes shone with fearful tears.

Nothing I said ever hurt you. Nothing I did ever hurt you. You're such a fucking idiot, Cas. You refuse to see. I'll show you, then you'll know, and this will stop hurting all the time. Being with you will finally stop hurting so fucking much all the fucking time.

"Save your touchy-feely bullshit for your fucking meetings," snarled Dean, looming threateningly close to him, raising a hand aggressively. God, no, I can't hit him, I can't do that, don't ask me to do that, don't make me… "Get the fuck out of my house – get the fuck out of my life!"

"Okay," Cas muttered, taking a shallow breath, shoulders tensing and then releasing. "Okay, I'll go. Dean, I—"

"Now, Cas." He hefted his shaking fist higher.

No, no, no, no, no…

Cas shot an intimidated glance at Dean's hand and then walked with impressive dignity to the front door. With his hand on the knob he stopped, glanced back, met Dean's eyes, and Dean fucking shattered at the pain and trust and affection and sadness somehow encompassed in Cas' gorgeous, dark gaze.

"Go," he breathed out, but he needn't have bothered. Cas was already moving, opening the door, stepping out, letting it click shut behind him.

It couldn't have hurt more if someone had torn through his chest and ripped his heart out. With an agonized wail Dean collapsed, clutching his stomach and sobbing.

He's gone, he actually went, why did I—?

It's for the better. It was always going to end this way. How much more would it have hurt in another month, another year?

His stomach heaved and he retched, choking on his tears.

How could I do that to Cas? I deserve to hurt like this, I deserve to suffer, I deserve…I deserve to die. No, no I don't. That's far too little punishment for all the pain I've caused.

I'll live. I'll live a very long time with this hole inside me. Just like I deserve.

Sunlight struck Dean's face and his thoughts screamed agony, eyes gritty and aching from his hangover and the tears that hadn't stopped until he finally fell asleep in a miserable ball on the living room floor. The air was cold and reeked of whiskey and vomit. No alcohol-induced amnesia protected him from his crimes. The night before came back in horrifically vivid detail, every word he'd said, all the rage he'd felt, all the stoicism that Cas had displayed that couldn't hide how profoundly hurt he'd been by Dean's action and words.

Way to prove that you are the most worthless piece of shit to ever draw breath. Good job, Winchester.

Liquid pooled against his nose, dripped free. He hurt too much to feel the tears as they fell but that didn't stop them. A gasping breath filled his lungs and triggered more pain than he could handle, wracked his chest, and with a groan, Dean rolled onto his stomach, got an arm under his face and cried as he never had before in his life.

"Is this really what you want, Dean?" asked a low, hauntingly familiar voice from somewhere far away.

This is a dream.

"No," he sobbed. "No, no, no, no, no, what I want doesn't matter, have to take care of you, have to protect you."

"I can take care of myself," the voice was firm and condemning and Dean choked and coughed, spluttering mucus and spit against the hard wood beneath him. "I can protect myself."

"I know," mouthed Dean, accidentally silent. "I know," he tried again. "I know you can, I know, okay? You don't need me at all."

I'm the broken one. Sometimes you act broken, but you're not, it's all me. If you didn't have to deal with my shit, you'd be fine.

Why can't I wake up from this dream? Why isn't he gone? I made him leave, he should be gone.

"Sometimes, I can." Cas' voice was closer now, but still infinitely far, unbridgeably far. "And sometimes I can't, and those times, you've always taken care of me – actually taken care of me – actually protected me. Sometimes, you can – sometimes, you can protect me and take care of me, sometimes you can protect yourself and take care of yourself. And sometimes, you can't." A hand came to rest on Dean's shoulder blade, hot and solid and undeniably real, agonizingly so. Dean cringed and shifted away, a broken sound he could scarce believe he'd made escaping through his lips. "It's alright if you need me to take care of you sometimes, Dean."

"No," he gummed against his arm, lips simultaneously raspy dry and grossly slimy.

That's not how this works. I take care of Sammy. I take care of dad. I take care of mom. That's my responsibility. No one has the time to take care of me.

"I hate watching you hurt yourself," Cas murmured, sliding one hand across Dean's back, adding a second. "Let me protect you."

No one wants to take care of me.

" 'm sorry," Dean gasped. He jerked his head up and took in his first view of Cas squatting beside him, tattooed arms seeming to sparkle in the faint sunlight, face streaked with tears, eyes red and shadowed with fatigue. " 'm sorry, Cas, I'm so sorry, so sorry." Something in him, small and desperate and frightened and wounded, screamed that the piece of him that was missing, the piece he had torn out the night before, was right in front of him. Maybe it's not too late. If I reached for him, would he… With a cry, he threw himself into Cas' chest hard enough to tumble them both back to the ground, arms around Cas' shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed into Cas' shoulder. "Help me, Cas – please, help me."

"I'll try, Dean." The embrace that had so often in the past clung to him was tentative now. Shaking and trembling beneath him, Cas pressed his face against Dean's, so close that Dean could feel the wetness on Cas' cheek. "I'm not going to be able to do it alone, though. Okay?"

"Anything," Dean whispered. I can't lose you again.

"You haven't lost me yet," said Cas. "But last night can't happen again."

"I know, I'm sorry, I—"

"Shhh, shhh, don't worry. We're going to get you help, Dean. I'll take care of you."

"I know you will. I trust you, Cas."

The arms around Dean tightened convulsively, and neither tried to speak any longer. They held each other close, both crying, both hurt, both broken, and for once all Dean could think was how grateful he was that he had another chance.

For the first time in his life, someone had cared enough to come back. Cas should never have had to. He should never have had to deal with Dean's shit, with Dean's self-destruction, with Dean's determination to do whatever he must to break anything good that came his way. Cas must know that he could do world's better, must know that Dean was a manipulative shit head, would always behave selfishly, unfairly, cruelly..

Cas had come back anyway.

I love you.

The office never changed. Sometimes, the odds and ends moved around or shifted – there was a new candle or fresh flowers or a family photograph had been changed out for a new one – but the lights were always low, the colors always muted and soothing, and Dr. Barnes always sat cross-legged in her armchair, legal pad in lap, pen in hand, a gentle smile on her attractive face. When Dean felt his worst he could swear the doctor was smirking at him and he wondered why the fuck he wasted his time answering bullshit questions for a condescending bitch. On those days, only the thought of Cas got Dean to go to his appointments, sit in the chair, pretend to try for an hour before going home still convinced he was a worthless piece of garbage.

The longer Dean had gone, the fewer days he'd had like that.

"How've you been feeling this week, Dean?"

"Mixed bag," Dean admitted. "Yesterday was bad. I almost called you. I kept thinking…" It doesn't matter...yes, yes it does. "Kept thinking I've got Cas fooled, that I'm lying to him all the fucking time about who I am and how I feel. The same shit we were talking about a few weeks ago. Today's been a bit better."

"Is this because—?"

Dean nodded. "I think so, yeah."

"Just remember: there's nothing wrong with asking," she said, as she'd said to him from the first time Dean had brought up his worries almost six weeks before. "Be honest about what you want and give Castiel the space to be honest about what he wants. You can't force him. You can't make him say yes or no to things he does or he doesn't want."

"I know," Dean huffed a breath out, nerves twanging. As long as he didn't think about things, he felt fine, but the minute his thoughts strayed in dangerous directions his spirits plummeted. The correlation was unmistakable and he'd been surprised over the last week that reminding himself of that connection and reassuring himself that he wasn't useless trash actually did help. He'd come a long way. "I, uh, I actually feel pretty good about that part."

"That's great, Dean," said Dr. Barnes brightly. "So, tell me how your interview on Monday went."

"Not bad," Dean answered. "Could have been better, could have been worse…"

They talked of other matters for the rest of his session, and when Dean left, he looked to the day and the week ahead.

I can do this.

There was no better feeling in the world, not even being with Cas.

We can do this. We got this shit.

Dean was too nervous to watch. He pulled the envelop from his pocket, shoved it into a startled Cas' hand, turned and walked away. The sound of tearing paper told him that Cas was opening it, and Dean tried and failed to breathe while he waited for any hint of what Cas thought of the contents.

Heya Cas, read the note that Dean had written, it's the right size now. And I got your name right this time. What do you think?

The silence stretched out agonizingly. It was a brief note, how long could it possibly take to read?

Oh, fuck, I blew it again – did I make the same mistakes without even realizing it? Is this like Bass? Am I asking just cause I'm too much of a fuck up to realize what a fucking terrible idea it is? Shit, shit, shit, shit—

"I've been under the impression we were engaged this whole time," said Cas blithely from behind him. Dean wheeled around to see Cas, the plain band on his ring finger, holding his hand out and admiring it in a gesture that Dean recognized from the first time they'd met almost two years before. "After all, I did say yes."

"…oh," said Dean, feeling exceptionally stupid. What does that mean? What do I do with that? Does he not want to? I should never have brought up that first time, it just reminds him of what a shallow idiot I am, and now he's responding like he can't even take me seriously, and how can I blame him? I wouldn't take me seriously either.

With lazy, unconcerned strides, Cas closed the space between them and draped his arms over Dean's shoulders. "You're terrified, aren't you."

"Yeah," Dean nodded, licking his lips in a vain attempt to get some moisture in his mouth. "Yeah, just a bit."

Cas brushed a dry, soft kiss against his lips. "Yes," he whispered. Eyes widening, Dean felt a flare of hope, hot and heartening, loosening the tension in his chest. Cas gave him another kiss. "Yes, Dean." He deepened the kiss, pressed their bodies together, ground his hips against Dean's. Through the cloth of their jeans, he could feel Cas' cock hardening. "Yes, I'll marry you." Arms stiffening, Cas trapped Dean against him, kissed him with passionate urgency. Thank fucking God I decided to do this in my living room. Dean's relief and hope and happiness were rapidly transforming into arousal on a level he didn't think he'd ever experienced before, his body aching, his cock hard. "Yes, I'll stay." Suddenly desperate, Dean threw his arms around Cas, rubbed every inch of his muscular back as their lips came together, parted, came together again. Cas tasted like heaven and Dean was fucking starving for him.

"Yes, I love you," gasped Cas. Every action showed him as needy as Dean, his fingers scrambling at the edge of Dean's shirt and tugging it up, skimming his nails over Dean's skin. Dean groaned, at Cas' touch, at Cas' words. "Fuck do I love you."

"Love you," echoed Dean. Hands closed fiercely over Dean's shoulders and jerked their bodies apart. The hungry look on Cas' face was breathtaking, his cheeks flushed from rapid breaths, his eyes dark and bottomless with lust. Cas shoved him back hard and Dean stumbled a step and hit the edge of the couch. His knees buckled and he fell backwards onto the couch. Cas was on him in an instant, tongue forcing Dean's lips open and flicking around aggressively in Dean's mouth, hands confidently tearing at the button of Dean's jeans, ripping the zipper down, closing around Dean's hard cock and jerking him off.

"Holy shit, Cas," Dean gasped, pawing at Cas' back, fingers somehow not finding purchase. Cas slid down his body, his lips kissed at the leaking tip of Dean's swollen cock.

"Say it again," growled Cas.

"I love you."

Cas mouth closed around the head of Dean's cock and he sucked painfully hard. Crying out, Dean couldn't keep his hips from bucking forward, couldn't keep his back from arching, couldn't keep his hands from gripping at Cas' head and urging him down.

"I fucking love you!"

Swallowing him down in a single, easy movement, Cas enveloped Dean in hot, wet, fucking perfection.

"Aw, Christ, Castiel!"

It was the last intelligible thing either of them said for a long time.

The room was pitch dark. Dean was lethargic and sluggish with fatigue, completely content and warm and happy. Cas nestled against his side, breathing steadily as if asleep, but his fingertips kept brushing over Dean's rough cheek, leaving a soft tingle in the wake of every touch. They'd had to cancel their dinner reservations for the night. After Cas blew him, he'd flipped Dean over, opened him up and fucked into him until Dean was hard again, kept going until they both came, the only sound in the room their gasps and moans and the slick slap of skin against skin.

Then they did it again in the shower.

And again in bed.

Exhaustion made Dean's thoughts dull and his body ached in a way that was thoroughly satisfying. He'd feel it in the morning but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Cas, there's one thing I've been wondering for the past two years."

"Oh yeah?" Cas' breath ghosted over his chest, stirred the light hair there. Despite all they'd done, Dean's nipple tightened and he leaked a light moan, fingers tightening over Cas' shoulder. "What's that, Dean?"

"Where did that plug come from?"

Cas' low laughter, wonderful and happy, warmed Dean through and pushed away every lingering doubt. He'd brought that happiness to Cas' voice. He'd brought Cas that comfort and joy. He was capable of more than causing pain and misery; his words and actions and presence could bring ease, pleasure, contentment. He wrapped an arm around Cas, delighted in how Cas snuggled closer and sighed, smile obvious where his face rested against Dean's chest. It seemed impossible, but maybe he, all by himself, was good enough.

Thank God.

So...the thought about the loaf of bread? Forgetting to take it out of the freezer? Is something that really happened to me. A few years ago, something happened and it was obvious in the wake of that event that I was severely depressed; about a week in, I forgot to take a loaf of bread out of the freezer and caught myself, in my head, chastising myself for being a total idiot over it. That was when I started to realize how deep the problems ran and that I was going to need a lot more help than I realized. I still deal with depression - it comes and goes - and the last week or so it's been a little worse than it's been in a while (but no where near where it once was, thankfully). The result has been two stories in a row that deal with broken, depressed Dean. This one is, as you can imagine, way personal for me. I hope you liked it, and that - if you're going through something, or if you've gone through something - you were able to get something out of this. Thanks for being awesome, y'all.

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