Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd been sober. It'd been a rough ride lately, after all. Hell, it was always a rough ride for a Winchester.

Especially for the people closest to them.

Dean stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom.

He was in the bunker, he was home. He'd found that lately, he was having to remind himself of that more and more; that he was home, and he was safe. For now.

Dean stared at his reflection in the mirror.

He saw his disheveled, unshaven, and drunk-yes, definitely still drunk-self staring back at him. He drew in a deep breath.

"Well, shit...I look like a million bucks," he said, letting his burning lungs exhale.

He didn't know what time it was. It was definitely late, but he didn't care to check. Time hadn't mattered to him much lately.

The eldest Winchester gazed down at his arm. The Mark of Cain.

What a prize it was, right? The insanity it gave him, the adrenaline, the urges...the blood it craved-no, the blood it made him crave.

What a bargain. The best art of the deal was, the god-damned thing wouldn't leave well enough alone.

Dean dared for a moment once more to make eye contact with himself.

The god-forsaken mirror that shone his reflection back at him like a slap in the face was only taunting him.

Sam had run off for the next day or so, rambling on about a witch he was meeting with who might be able to help them with the Mark.

He hung his head, and clung to the bathroom sink with both hands.

This was going to be a long night.

Castiel sat at the diner that lay only half an hour away from the Winchesters' bunker.

He had been perched in a booth for nearly an hour, alone with his thoughts, for the most part.

The diner was nearly empty, exempt from a few truck drivers stopping in for a few cups of coffee and the high hopes of a one-night-stand with the cute waitress that worked the night shift.

Cas envied the humans surrounding him inside the tiny diner. Although few in numbers, they were certainly carefree.

It was just past 2 A.M. The Angel hoped his friend-no, his best friend-was sound asleep, because God knows he needed it. Cas had been searching a way, day and night, to free Dean of the Mark.

No such give.

It was only today that he realized the time he had with the eldest Winchester wasn't much, if he didn't do something, and fast. It was his fault, anyhow...right?

There were so many scenarios he kept playing over and over in his head, thinking of all the things he could have done differently, all of the evil that came to play because of him. Leviathan. The Angels.

Yes, it was definitely his fault. It just had to be.

Cas had received a call earlier that day from Sam, he was telling him about a witch on the East Coast he'd been speaking with.

He sounded hopeful, talking about how the witch may be able to help them with the Mark of Cain. Cas had tuned him out on the details, though...he didn't trust witches.

All he heard was that no one would be there with Dean at the bunker, and that Sam needed him to look in on him.

Cas felt as though he couldn't rely on Sam anymore. Of course he trusted him, but when it came to Dean...Sam was reckless. Then again, so was he.

He adjusted his hands around the warm mug of coffee that he had no gain in drinking. It was comforting though, and he could finally understand its appeal to humans.

It was time to go, to check on Dean. He half suspected he wouldn't even be at the bunker anymore...that he'd bolt mysteriously and go haywire, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

Worst case scenario, right?

Cas tossed a couple of crumpled dollar bills down on the table. Scooting out of the booth, he pulled his trench coat tighter around him, fixing the collar of the coat and adjusting his tie just the way Dean usually did. He began to memorize the way he did that, and he wasn't sure why.

Maybe it was because it had been so long since Dean had done it for him.

Dean was laying on top of his bed when he heard the bunker door squeal open. He rolled his eyes in protest.

He wasn't necessarily doing anything of importance to have been disturbed, besides clenching and unclench his fists repeatedly-just because it was something to keep his mind in the moment.

He sat up and rolled his neck from side to side, finally deciding to stand and make his way to the main room in the bunker to confront whatever interruption had just let itself in.

"Sam, I swear to God if you're gonna try to shove more of that damn rabbit food down my throat..."

His voice trailed off as he saw Castiel making his way down the staircase, box in hand.

"...Hey, I thought you were Sam." Dean said, turning the other direction and heading to the kitchen.

There was a beer in the refrigerator with his name on it. Dean heard Cas's footsteps hit the landing behind him.

"Hello Dean, how are you feeling?" Cas asked him. He knew how Dean was, but the formality was the proper way to start a conversation about one's' well being, as he'd learned.

Dean stood in front of the refrigerator, beer in hand, leaving the door open just a second longer to feel the cool air hit his face. It refreshed him momentarily, and just long enough. He shut the door, taking a gulp of his beer while turning to face the Angel.

"I'm good, Cas. Hangin' in there, ya know?" He responded, walking towards the counter where Cas had placed the box he came in with.

Peering into the clear plastic top on the box, Dean saw Castiel had delivered. It was a pie.

Dean let out a grunt. He could feel that Cas hadn't taken his eyes off of him.

"I brought you pie, Dean...I thought since you hadn't been eating much of anything lately, well..." Castiel gestured to the box tiredly.

"I thought perhaps it would boost your appetite. Or spirits, or both."

Cas watched Dean carefully as he stared at the box. He only stared for a moment, and in a moment of Castiel's high hopes, he thought Dean would open it up and eat some. As he said, at least it would have been something.

"I ate already, thanks though," Dean sauntered away from the pie and to a chair at the table in the kitchen.

"Ya know, you really didn't need to come check on me. I'm sure Sammy asked you to and all, but I can handle myself. I am a grown up, ya know."

Dean took another gulp of his beer, this one seemed meaningful.

Cas took a few steps toward Dean.

"I know you are capable Dean, by it never hurts to have a friend," Finally, Dean made eye contact with him.

Cas dared to take a seat across from Dean at the table.

"Besides, there is no place with more resources that I know of to look for answers right now." He fumbled with his tie for a moment, waiting for Dean to respond.

God, he looked tired, Cas thought. If only he could make this right.

He folded his hands on the table. "How are you, really, Dean?" Castiel attempted to hold Dean's gaze for more than a moment, but failed.

All he could do was look at the Mark on Dean's arm. Dean only looked back down at the bottle in his hands that was constantly recapturing his attention.

Dean shook his head. "I'm ok, really. But thanks for the...ya know. Effort, I guess."

Cas lowered his head in...desperation? Was that what Dean was seeing? He knew he was acting like a jerk. Cas didn't have to be there, after all.

He could be leading the Angels, bringing revolution to the Heavens, for fuck's sake. But no, instead the Angel was here, with him.

The abomination with the Mark who people called Dean. He knew he was only trying to help.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment to gather himself, then stared back down at the visibly stressed, humanoid of an Angel sitting at his kitchen table.

"Hey, if you want a place to crash for the night...mi casa, su casa...or however the hell you say that."

Gaining Castiel's attention, he raised his head to meet Dean's eyes.

"I believe I will. Not crash, I mean. Just...I need to regroup my thoughts, is all. Thank you." Cas replied.

Dean nodded to his friend, but all while turning on his heels to head back to his bedroom. He was trying to rid himself of all distractions.

"Don't you catch feelings now, you son of a bitch." Dean said to himself, taking a swig of his beer while he closed his bedroom door behind him.

Castiel sat in the armchair in the library as the sun came up.

He wondered if Dean had even slept yet, but doubted it. Every once in awhile, he would hear the refrigerator door open, followed by the crack of a beer opening. He noted hearing Dean open a bottle of water at one point, which made him smile. At least it wasn't alcohol.

Book upon book lay open, disheveled on the floor in front of him.

There was just no clear answer. Cas rested his chin on his fist. Why was he so worried? Why did he need so badly to "fix" Dean? After all, in the grand scheme of things Dean was just the blip on the radar that stopped the apocalypse from taking place.

But Cas didn't think of him that way.

The Angel smiled, recalling the first time Dean had openly considered him a part of the "team".

"'Team Free Will'. One ex-blood junkie, one drop-out with six bucks to his name, and Mr. Comatose over there.'" He let out an unexpected chuckle from the memory, knowing he had been the "Mr. Comatose" Dean had referred to.

Although he certainly had been, he'd retained what Dean had said...and it meant the world to him.

Shaking himself out of the memory, he rubbed his temples with his middle fingers. He'd seen many people do this when under stress, and thought it might help.

But it didn't. If only he could start over. He could save Dean, mend his pain, and his suffering. If he could, he would take it all upon himself. If only that were possible.

Suddenly, Cas heard what sounded like glass breaking from Dean's bedroom. He ran heavy steps to Dean's door, trying the door knob with no luck.

"Dean?!" Cas banged on the door. Another crash sounded from behind the door. Was that a lamp? He backed up raising his leg, ready to take a powerful aim at the door that was keeping him from helping Dean.

As he did so, the door knob turned, just in time.

Dean stood in front of Castiel. His black t-shirt wrinkled, hair a mess, and a gaze in his eyes with a life of it's own.

Breathing heavily from creating the mess of broken glass and furniture that lay just behind him, Dean ran a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, what's up?" He asked Cas casually. He was trying to keep his cool.

Cas stepped forward to Dean cautiously.

"Are you...is everything...what happened in here?" Cas took in the carnage that was Dean's bedroom.

Dean shrugged. "I, uh..." Dean trailed off, trying to think of a good explanation for the angry fit he'd just thrown, but couldn't.

"...fuck. It's hard, Cas."

Dean voice broke, hands moving to cover his face as he was backing away from the doorway, lowering himself to sit on his bed. It was covered with shards of splintered wood and broken glass, but he obviously didn't care.

Cas approached him slowly.

"Dean...I know." Was all he could get out before he realized he was seeing Dean Winchester cry. Cas sat next to him, unsure what to do, unsure of how to comfort him.

He placed a hand on his shoulder as Dean lowered his hands.

"Dean, you know I'm looking. We all are. We will get through this, I know we will. It will just take a bit more time..." Cas said, unsure of what he was trying to say.

He didn't have any answers. Hell, Sam didn't either.

Dean attempted to gather himself.

"No, Cas. I don't-I don't see a light at the end of the tunnel on this one. I just don't." He shook his head.

Cas tightened his grip on Dean's shoulder. There was no way in hell he was going to let Dean give up on this. Not now.

"Dean, you have to fight it. The Mark, your anger-you have to control it! For Sam, for me! We'll find a way, we always do!"

Sensing the emotion in the Angel's voice, Dean turned to face him.

What a fucking idiot he'd been.

The way he'd treated him lately, the way he had treated the only person besides Sam who gave a damn about him. He felt ashamed.

He was so ashamed that he felt angry, and that was the last thing Dean wanted to feel, especially around Cas.

He was constantly worrying that he'd lose control of the Mark and hurt someone.

Dean clenched his jaw. "Cas, I-I'm sorry. I'm just not in the right mind to have you here..." Dean wasn't sure where he was going with this.

He cleared his throat and started over.

"Cas, I'm not doin' too great. I can't control it anymore," He gestured to the mess of broken furniture that littered his bedroom. "Okay? I-I need some space."

Castiel's brave facade fell as Dean shrugged his hand off of his shoulder, standing from his bed.

"Cas, I'm angry. This Mark, it's not goin' anywhere. There is no way outta this."

"Dean, that's not true-" Cas started to speak, but Dean cut him off.

"I don't wanna hear it, Cas!" He yelled, startling Castiel as he watched him grow more agitated.

"I want you to go. I don't want you here right now!" Dean barmed out, much harsher than he'd meant it.

Dean stared down at Cas, his arms folded across his chest, waiting for the Angel to stand.

Cas only folded his hands in his lap and straightened his posture. He wasn't going anywhere. He was here to help Dean, even if he didn't want it.

"I'm not leaving you alone, Dean." Cas stated matter-of-factly.

The anger in Dean's eyes grew as he realized Cas was protesting his demands for him to leave. He didn't want his help, or to be coddled by anyone.

Why the hell couldn't the Angel leave him the hell alone?! That was all he wanted. To be alone.

"No, you're not gettin' it man. I wanna be alone!" Dean was screaming at him now. Cas only sat watching him, which made it worse for Dean.

"I don't need you, I don't need anyone!" Dean yelled again.

Suddenly, his head started pounding like someone was using it as a drum.

The Mark on his arm felt like it was burning with need.

Dean grabbed his head with both hands, wincing in pain.

He swore he felt his skin crawling, blood coursing through his veins at a relentless pace.

Dean drew a quick breath. He knew he had to ground himself before he lost it completely. He could feel everything. Every cell in his body was aching with rage.

"No no no. Don't lose it Dean" Dean thought to himself.

It had only been all but 10 seconds since the pounding in his head had begun, but it felt like an hour.

Dean was trying to talk himself through the Mark's fury in his head: "I've got this...I've got this...Breathe...Count to ten..."

He started to count to ten. That was what Sammy taught him to do if he felt like he was losing control of the Mark.

"...One...Two...Three...Four…"

Dean was still holding onto his throbbing head, hunched over now in a trance-like state.

Cas was shaking his shoulders and yelling his name, trying to break the Mark's hold on him.

"...Five...Six...Seven…"

Pain. All he felt was pain and anger.

Cas yelled at him, but he couldn't focus on anything but counting.

"...Eight...Nine...Ten…"

Still wincing in pain, through his lashes he could see Castiel's face in front of his.

Cas raised his voice.

"Pull it together, Dean!" Dean could hear him now, the pain in his head and arm residing just barely.

Finally making eye contact with Cas, he nodded an acknowledgment that he was here with him in the moment.

Cas moved his hands from Dean's face to his shoulders. He wasn't sure how that was helping...maybe it was making things worse.

All he knew was that it made him feel better. It comforted him by holding onto Dean, because he knew at least he couldn't run away.

Dean suddenly backed away, and angrily shook off the hold that Cas had on him.

Cas put his hands up. "Dean...I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help." He said hopelessly.

"Are you in pain?"

Instead of replying, he only stood there, eyes fixated on his feet looking confused. He was still attempting to regain control of his renegade breathing and pounding heartbeat.

"Cas," Dean started, coughing a bit as if to make himself seem more aware of his surroundings.

"You need to leave right now..." He spoke the words softly but dangerously. His green eyes piercing Castiel's, who's feet were still glued to the floor-he didn't want to leave Dean alone.

"What in the hell do I have to do, Cas?!" Dean took a step towards him.

"Do I have throw freakin' rocks at ya?! Do I need to spell it out?! Get out!" His words echoed throughout the bunker like a gunshot.

Dean had absentmindedly taken hold of the baseball bat that he had earlier hurdled at the opposite wall of his bedroom.

Cas only blinked. "Okay, Dean," His voice was shaky with anxiousness.

With his hands raised, facing Dean the way you would face a Mountain Lion, he started slowly towards the bedroom door.

He was defeated.

Dean only realized he was holding the baseball bat when he noticed that Cas was staring at it as he backed his way out of his bedroom.

He dropped it to the ground, and looked at his friend with guilt in his eyes. What the hell had he done?

"Cas..." Dean started, but Cas had turned his back on him after he noted that the baseball bat was no longer a threat to him.

He wanted to say he was sorry; hell, he wanted to say anothing that would fix what he'd just done.

Cas was the only person in the world besides his brother that Dean gave a single fuck about, and he knew that. Whether or not he did before, as he was watching him walk away, he knew now.

Dean also knew that the god-awful pounding in his head had returned, and the Mark was craving fulfillment.

Castiel was walking down the corridor slowly, almost in a daze. Dean wanted him gone, he didn't want his help. He didn't want to be saved.

He hung his head, stopping momentarily to brace himself against the cold wall with one hand.

Why did Dean Winchester always refuse to be saved? Cas could see his worth. The need the world had for both of the Winchesters was well known in Heaven; no other Angel but Castiel would admit it, though.

He closed his eyes, his face contorting as if he were in pain. He was in pain.

The Mark of Cain was going to take Dean Winchester away from him.

That was the last thing Cas thought before he felt the excruciating pain of a blow to the back of his head, and fell to the ground unconscious.

Chest heaving and out of breath, Dean stood over him holding The First Blade.