Hey guys! Finally back with another multi-chapter fic for you :) I'm finally getting some time to write again! So this one is another S11 AU-ish fix-it fic that is surrounding Cas' PTSD issues in the aftermath of Rowena's spell. In this story the Winchesters actually notice something is wrong and they try to help him.

I also wanted to address Dean's lack of issues. Because, come on, it's Dean. There's no way he would have no repercussions after the removal of the Mark, so I go into what I think his mental state should have been like too which was totally blown off in the show. (I feel like most of my recent fics have just been fixing S11 LOL)

So essentially Sam is the one who has to take care of both of them. This story is set directly after 11x4 "Baby" and follows canon up to that point.

Enjoy! And please review if you are so inclined :)

He Ain't Heavy

A Supernatural Fanfic

Chapter One

Castiel sat with his back against the door to the bunker, trying to calm the trembling in his hand that he hadn't been able to stop for what seemed like hours. He looked down at it, the slightly bruised knuckles—the only thing that hadn't healed yet as if taunting him, and the appendage only trembled all the more. Images flashed behind his eyes every time he closed them of his fist slamming into Dean's face, throwing his friend around the warehouse. The violence, the fact that he only recognized Dean as a threat and nothing more. He hadn't been himself and it had scared him.

And then Dean hadn't let him heal the injuries, even though the hunter walked stiffly, and one side of his face was completely swollen—the bruises still visible even now after a week. Castiel wondered vaguely if his own bruised knuckles hadn't healed either in some subconscious show of guilt.

He knew it hadn't been Dean's intention to cause Castiel more pain by choosing not to let the angel heal him, but now Cas had to see what he had done every time he looked at Dean. Castiel knew the truth of why Dean had refused healing; that he thought he had deserved it, that he thought, maybe, they were even now… Castiel's eyes darted toward the library where Dean had nearly killed him not so long ago and swiftly looked away. He raised his trembling hand to his mouth and bit down hard on his knuckle to stop the shaking, closing his eyes.

It was not that simple. He wished it was. He certainly didn't blame Dean for what he had done under the influence of the Mark, especially now when he had felt something so similar from that spell Rowena had cast on him, but now he couldn't rest without thinking of everything he had done under the influence of the spell, what he had wanted to do. It could have been so much worse and that was what scared him most. His grace, even returned to him, was weak, only partly there, and that was the main reason the spell had been able to affect him so badly. It probably wouldn't do much, if anything, to a full-powered angel. The fact that this had been able to happen to him now, made Castiel realize that perhaps he was only a danger to the Winchesters. That it might be best he leave, even though he had nowhere else to go.

But therein lay another problem. Castiel couldn't leave the bunker.

He had tried. Sam and Dean had left for a case two days ago, telling him he should stay and rest up. He'd done a little research when Dean called him, but once he had finished with that he had been planning on leaving. Partly it had been to hunt Metatron down and see if the former Scribe could answer any questions they had about the Darkness, but the other part was that he didn't want to endanger Sam and Dean again. The spell might be gone, but what else could happen to him that could potentially cause harm to his friends? After everything, he couldn't bear to risk it.

So he had tried to leave, but he just… couldn't. He didn't know how else to describe it. He had climbed purposefully up the stairs to the door, but the second his hand fell on the latch, he froze. He stayed that way for a long time, but couldn't make himself open the door. The more he thought about it, the more he started shaking, his breathing ragged, and his sight darkening around the corners. He had no idea what was happening to him. Was it another spell? Was it some strange side-effect of the attack dog hex? He didn't know, but eventually, he couldn't even stand to think about going outside as images of himself beating Dean into the floor of that warehouse flashed behind his eyes and he simply sank to the floor, and sat down against the door, trembling and pulling his knees up to his chest.

And that was where he still sat, not knowing how much time had passed, as he finally managed to get control of his breathing again. His head ached dully and he felt vaguely sick to his stomach with all the emotions gnawing at him. Sam and Dean were right. He probably just needed some more rest; still weak from the spell. He pulled himself to his feet and decided to go back down the stairs now that he could make his body move again, and felt better with each step he took, even if his body was still a little shaky.

It was only when he got to the bottom that he felt shame wash over him for his cowardice. How could he not do something so simple as step outside? But another part of him, the part that was very tired and sick and in pain that had little to do with his physical form, told him it was okay—he didn't have to do it if he didn't want to. After all, no one really expected him to be anything but a coward and a screw-up.

He shuffled into the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea before he looked down the hallway to the dormitory ward. He had taken Sam and Dean's advice last night and watched "Netflix" surprised when it took his mind off things for a little while. Perhaps he would do that again. Sam and Dean weren't home yet, so he wouldn't bother anyone with it, after all.

He took his tea to Sam's room and turned on the TV, finding the right setting to get to Netflix. Then he sat up in the middle of Sam's bed and lost himself for several hours in television dramas until he eventually dozed off.

Sam and Dean both groaned as they hauled themselves out of the Impala, back in the bunker's garage. Baby looked just as worse for wear as the two of them and Dean stroked a hand over her roof.

"I'll patch you up soon, Baby, don't worry. We'll be taking a few days off after that hunt."

Sam grunted in agreement as he leaned against the side of the car until Dean came around and offered him a shoulder to lean on. Not that Dean was in any better shape, but at least he hadn't had his leg screwed up by Ghoulpires so he could still walk. Mostly.

He shoved open the garage door, instant relief washing over him at the familiar feel of the bunker.

"Hey, Cas!" he called, wondering where the angel was. "We're back!"

He hauled Sam over to the map table and helped him sit in one of the chairs, turning around as footsteps sounded behind him.

"Sam, Dean?" Cas called as he shuffled into the room in sock feet. Dean narrowed his eyes at the angel, who looked a little rough—and that was being generous. He had forgone his coat and tie, wearing only his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and his trousers just as rumpled and creased as his shirt. His hair was mussed and his eyes were slightly red and puffy, looking very un-angelic all around. But then, Cas was still recovering from the spell, so he was allowed to look like he hadn't slept for a week.

"Are you alright? What happened?" Cas asked then, breaking through Dean's musings, as he fully took stock of the Winchesters' appearance and hurried over to them.

"The Ghoulpires," Dean said, ignoring the bitchface Sam shot him at his nickname. "They weren't very happy."

"Here, let me heal you," Cas said, already stepping forward, hand outstretched.

"Only if you can, Cas," Sam said quickly, holding up a hand, and Dean shot him a frown, before looking back toward Cas. Sure, the angel looked pretty bad, but he still had his mojo, right?

"Sam it's no trouble, I can tell your injuries aren't exactly superficial," Cas said. "It will keep you from an uncomfortable recovery. Please." There was a strange note of pleading in his voice that made Dean frown slightly, wondering what this was about. Hopefully not because Dean had refused to let Cas heal him after their bout in the warehouse. He was sure Cas understood his reasoning behind that. Didn't he? Dean bit his lip as his eyes went to the library and his hand instinctively wrapped around the spot on his arm where the Mark had been. He wasn't going to forget that one anytime soon.

Sam grunted and brought Dean out of his dark thoughts and he turned to see Cas press two fingers to Sam's head, the wounds sluggishly disappearing. It seemed slower than normal, but when Cas pulled away, Sam was completely healed and he smiled gratefully up at Cas, as he stood, testing previously bruised limbs.

"Thanks, Cas, I appreciate it."

Cas nodded before he turned to Dean with some hesitation. "Dean, let me heal you as well."

Dean was about to protest, afraid that Cas might expend too much of his batteries when they still weren't charged all the way, but Sam gave him a look, and Dean finally sighed and nodded. "Fine."

He closed his eyes as Cas touched his forehead and winced as he felt his injuries knit back together more slowly than usual. He heard a slight exhalation of breath from Cas as he finished, and opened his eyes to see the angel sagging slightly.

"Cas?" Dean reached a tentative hand out to the angel, but Cas started away the instant he touched his shoulder. Dean pulled back as if stung, and Cas' look of fear turned sheepish. Dean swallowed hard. Okay, so Cas obviously hadn't forgotten the scene in the library either. It wasn't like Dean deserved any different.

"You good?" he asked after a long second.

Cas nodded. "Yes. Just a little tired. Sorry."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, me too. But, uh, thanks for healing us. How about we get some food okay? I think I've got burger meat in the bridge. Sammy?"

"I'm starving," Sam replied honestly. "I'm gonna go take a shower before dinner."

As he left the room, Dean was left with Cas, and an awkward silence ensued. Dean finally cleared his throat and headed toward the kitchen. "Well, I'm gonna make dinner. You wanna help?"

Cas shrugged but followed him and Dean set him to work slicing onions and tomato as he mixed up the burger meat with some diced onions and a little barbeque sauce—his secret ingredient. He slapped three huge patties into the pan and turned to see how Cas was doing with the toppings.

He frowned though as he saw the angel just staring at the knife, a half-chopped tomato on the board in front of him. "Cas?"

The angel started and the knife clattered from his fingers onto the counter as he spun around to look at Dean, eyes blown wide. The elder Winchester held up his hands, not sure what was going on with Cas lately but figured he was entitled to be a little weird after getting hexed and then tortured by his own brothers—not to mention betrayed by one of the few angels he had counted as a friend. But still, Cas wasn't normally this jumpy and Dean wondered if there was something else going on.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," he said calmly and offered a smile. "Just wondering if you had finished chopping."

Cas looked back at the board and reached out to take up the knife again. "Oh, yes, sorry, I was just thinking, that's all." He went back to slicing as Dean watched him for a little longer before turning back to the burgers, a new worry gnawing at his insides.

Yeah, something was definitely wrong with Cas.

Castiel wasn't sure what had come over him, just like he hadn't known his reasons earlier for being unable to leave the bunker. One minute he had been slicing the tomato for hamburgers and the next, all he could see was the knife in his hand, which turned into memories of him slamming his blade into Crowley's back. Of course, killing a demon wasn't what bothered him about that, even if Crowley was a pseudo ally; he had killed plenty of demons. No, the thing that bothered him was how much he had needed to kill. In that moment, it had been all he could think about. The smell of blood, the feel of his knife slicing into a body, it had overcome him to the point he couldn't resist. He never wanted to feel like that again. Ever.

He saw Dean's face when the elder Winchester called to him, the worry, the confusion. Castiel felt guilt. Guilt from earlier when he had unconsciously flinched away from Dean, not because it was Dean he assured himself, but because he hadn't been ready for his friend to reach out to him and it had startled him. And guilt also because all these things only made him a burden to the Winchesters when they needed to be concentrating on figuring out how to stop the Darkness. They had already spent valuable time tracking down Rowena to cure his hex, and he couldn't afford for them to waste any more time on his issues that he didn't even understand himself. It would be best if he just headed out on his own but he couldn't leave so he really didn't have any options left.

He finished chopping the tomato and onion with no more flashback images and tried to convince himself he was hungry after smelling the burgers cooking. Of course, now with his grace, he still didn't technically need to eat, but he was weakened, and a little human sustenance couldn't hurt even if it just told the sad story of his condition all the more.

Sam came into the kitchen freshly showered, hair still damp, as Dean was just finishing toasting the buns and Castiel had set out all the fixings on the counter. The younger Winchester inhaled appreciatively.

"That smells amazing, I'm not even going to say anything about the lack of vegetables."

"There's lettuce and tomato," Dean shrugged as he slid a patty onto one of the buns before handing the plate to Sam. "Besides, you deserve a juicy piece of meat, brother. After fighting those Ghoulpires all day."

"Dean, for the last time, they're not Ghoulpires," Sam groaned as he started to top his burger. Castiel watched as he and Dean bantered, just going about their every day routine with such ease, he was almost envious.

"Cas," Dean called to him, and Castiel realized he was holding out a plate. Castiel took it with a nod of thanks and put some toppings on his burger as well then the three of them sat down at the table in the kitchen and dug in after Dean had distributed a beer to each of them.

Castiel picked up his burger and stared at it for a long moment, vaguely unappatized by the greasy meat, the gooey cheese, and the dripping ketchup, but he forced himself to take a bite. He didn't want to offend Dean by not eating the food he had cooked. It wasn't the food that bothered him anyway, it was just everything else going on with him that was messing with his appetite.

Still, he could only manage half by the time Sam and Dean had woofed theirs down and didn't think he could finish. Sam cast him a slightly concerned look.

"Cas, how have you been doing? Feeling any better?"

No, of course not. He was having flashbacks, and panic attacks, and couldn't even leave the bunker; he was anything but better. Of course, he wasn't about to say that either.

"I am feeling better after getting some rest."

"Well, you look bushed," Dean told him honestly. "Maybe you should get an early night tonight. I know I am!" Dean downed the last of his beer and stretched before he got up to dump his plate in the sink to wash later. "By the way, I'm glad you were here, your research really helped on this one."

Cas smiled slightly, but inside, felt rather useless. Perhaps the only thing he was good for at all anymore was researching. If he couldn't leave the bunker, after all, what good would he be on a hunt?

"I was glad to be of service," he said and stood from the table. "And I do think I will turn in early. I am still rather tired. I spent most of the time you were away watching the Netflix. Thank you for the suggestion."

Sam smiled slightly at the way Castiel said it. "It does make for good relaxation."

Cas stopped and turned back around, sheepish. "Would you…um, mind if I borrowed a laptop to watch some more? I was in the middle of a show."

"Sure, knock yourself out," Dean told him as he yawned. "I'm not using mine tonight. I think I'm off to the showers and then gonna hit the sack. 'Night."

Sam stood too and offered Cas a small smile. "Glad you're feeling better. You need anything?"

Cas shook his head. "No, I'm alright." More and more lies piling up. Castiel wondered wryly if one day he would drown in them.

Castiel retrieved Dean's laptop from the library and went back to his own room. It seemed empty and unlived in compared to Sam's room since he only had his clothing draped over the desk chair and a couple books on the side table he had been reading. He swallowed hard, as he settled onto the bed, pulling a blanket over himself, not because he was cold, but because he liked the safe, comfortable way it made him feel. Then he turned on Dean's laptop and found Netflix and continued to watch the show he had left off on. He lay on his side and stared dully at the screen for a while before he dozed off, his weakened grace using his inactive moment to start repairing him.

The sleep didn't last long however. Images flashed over Castiel's eyes as he slept, beating Dean, Dean beating him, stabbing Crowley, killing the angels who had tortured him and killed Hannah. Chasing that woman through the warehouse and choking the life from her….

He gasped awake, covered in sweat, panting. He switched on the light again and tried to calm his breathing, but it took an inordinate amount of time to do so. Uncomfortable, he unbuttoned his sweat-soaked shirt and peeled it off, the sudden air on his skin making him shiver, but it was a shock to his system that he needed. He then opened a drawer in the dresser in the room and found a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt, some old clothes of Dean's that he had given the angel if he wanted to have something more comfortable to wear while he recovered. He then went to the showers and turned the water on cold before stepping under it. The icy water made him gasp, but took his mind off everything else for that brief moment, and washed the sweat off his skin as well. He stood under it for a few long minutes, just letting the water wash over him like a cold rain until he started shivering uncontrollably and decided it was time to get out.

He toweled off and dressed in the sweats before crossing the hall to his room and crawling back into bed, wrapped in his blanket. He looked at the laptop and saw the Netflix connection had timed out while he slept. He scrolled back to the episode he had left off on and settled in for a sleepless night.