"Dean."

Dean sighed, preparing himself for whatever was coming. Sam sat at the table across from him, cradling his mug of coffee. He sighed, giving him a puppy eyed Sam–look.

"What," Dean snapped, avoiding his eyes.

"I really don't want you to end up where you were, Dean."

"That's cryptic," Dean muttered.

"All right, then. I don't want you to end up a fucking drunken idiot like you were when you were 25. I don't want to have to take the fucking silver bullets out of your gun again because I knew you were going to do it," Sam snapped.

"Then why did you leave?" the latter snarled. He then took a deep breath. "Forget it."

"Look, Dean, I know you'll never forgive me for leaving –"

"I said forget it. You came back, so it's done."

"Dude, I came back four years ago and we still haven't talked about this properly. If you'd just stop being so emotionally fucking constipated we could actually talk about our issues!"

"You wanna talk about it? Fine!" Dean barked. "You left me when we needed to stick together most. Dad dies and you just fucking disappear a week later?! We were supposed to be a team, Sam, and you left me! That year –" He broke off, swallowing. He looked down.

"Dean," Sam said quietly. "I needed to leave. You were drunk all the time.. I couldn't handle being your mom and your nurse and your cook and whatever.. I was 21, and.. selfish, and grieving. I just needed to escape."

"For a year?" Dean said bitterly.

"Yes, for a year. I was in college, Dean! I was doing great –"

"Being a lawyer, yeah, I know. While ignoring all of my calls and messages."

"Not your last message," Sam said quietly.

"No, no. Not my last one. But if I had seriously killed myself you would have been all alone, wouldn't you?"

"You reminded me of Dad. I couldn't handle that," his younger brother said.

Dean's eyes flashed black with shock. They both stared at each other for a few moments, before Castiel waltzed in.

"Dean, did you really hide all the knives just because –" he paused when he saw the brothers sitting at the table. "Oh."

"Good morning to you too," Sam said tiredly.

Cas slowly started walking backwards through the door.

"No, it's fine. I was just leaving."

Dean just sat there, staring at the tabletop. His eyes were black and his jaw was set. Sam walked past Castiel, giving him a nod, before stopping at the door opening. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then just sighed and left. Cas raised an eyebrow, then went to sit opposite Dean at the table.

"I didn't know demons could be so emotional."

"Oh, fuck off, you winged dickhead," Dean snarled. His voice cracked.

Cas just stared at him, eyes narrowed. Then he folded his hands on the table, and examined them as if they were the most interesting things in the world.

"I need a knife to make breakfast."

Dean didn't reply.

"So I want to know where to find one," Cas continued, his voice light.

"You gonna try and off yourself again?" Dean then asked, leaning back and crossing his arms. He was tired. So, so tired.

Castiel scowled. "Just give me a knife."

"I'll get it. You stay here."

Dean left the room, heading upstairs to the bathroom. He opened the cupboard under the sink, then unlocked the box within with the key from his pocket. John used to stash some alcohol there, and Dean had found the key and emptied the whole thing when he was younger. He picked up a butter knife, locked the box and went back down to Cas.

"Here ya go." He handed him the knife.

The angel rolled his eyes and went into the kitchen.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Castiel came downstairs in a T – shirt and jogging trousers, which were both too big for him. Dean was sitting at the kitchen table, wondering what he should have lunch, wondering if he should have a drink, then wondering if he should just skip lunch completely and just having the drink. He glanced over to Cas when the latter walked into the kitchen. His hair was still wet, dripping onto his shirt, and Dean found his eyes following a drop of water that rolled down his neck. Castiel needed to shave, his stubble becoming thicker, but Dean wasn't so stupid as to leave razors anywhere near him now. Then he wondered why the fuck he cared, and made himself angry all over again.

"Dean, I want to ask you something," the angel then stated.

Dean sniffed. "What."

"Why do you feel as if the angels are oppressing you?"

Dean did a double take. "Was that a serious question?"

Cas nodded, eyebrows raised. "I mean, your lives are fine. You have schools, public transport, even recreational stuff like museums. It's not our fault we happen to be superior, more powerful and more intelligent in every way. We're leaders for obvious reasons."

For a while, all Dean could do was stare. Then he jumped from his chair, storming over to Castiel.

"Are you fucking kidding me?! You dickheads treat us like fucking filth! Yeah, we have schools, which are fucking shit because the wages for teachers are fucking shit because you make them fucking shit! Demon kids aren't even allowed to be in the same place as angel kids. Their playgrounds usually consist of a large bucket and a piece of rope tied to a tree, while your playgrounds have fucking pools. If an angel beats up a demon, the demon gets arrested. How are you so fucking blind?"

He paused for breath.

"You're more intelligent because you have the chance to be. We don't get half the education you do. We aren't given the fucking chance to prove ourselves, because as soon as you smell the sulfur, your minds are made up. Demon trash. Black eyed shit. Whatever. It's seriously time for you to open your damn eyes, buddy, because a demon is the only reason you're even alive right now."

He stopped, panting. Cas just stared at him, his eyes narrowed. "A demon is also the reason I was going to be killed in the first place –"

"Cas, you're such a piece of shit." With that, he left the room and went into the living room.

Before he'd even had the chance to switch the TV on, the angel was sitting down on the couch. They were coldly silent, neither of them saying a word as Dean zapped through the channels.

"Perhaps I should not be so quick to judge."

The demon paused, still not looking at Castiel but listening.

"These are things we're taught in our schools. That demons are below us."

Dean turned to look at him. He was staring at his lap.

"To be fair, you are kind of proving everything I've been taught by this situation, never mind your profession. But.."

Castiel took a deep breath. "I suppose you aren't the most horrible of kidnappers. You could have chained me up in the basement and fed me only bread and water."

Dean decided it was for the best to not say that it was actually Sam's idea to be humane. And that was only because he wanted to ease the angel up so that he would give more information.

"You're damn right," he said, and with that it was settled.

An hour later, Dean and Castiel were silently watching TV when the demon's phone rang. He panicked, thinking it was Jo, or worse, Ellen, and hesitantly took out his phone. He let out a breath when he saw it was Sam.

"Yeah."

"You alone?"

Dean glanced at Castiel, who was looking at him suspiciously. "No."

"Well, be alone."

Dean grunted and left the room, going into the kitchen. "I'm alone."

"Dean, I just got a call from Crowley. He said he has to delay the appointment."

Dean didn't know whether to feel relieved or not. "Why?"

"You know that chick he injected with Castiel's Grace?"

"The super–demon? What about her?"

"Well, she, uhh.. exploded?"

Dean frowned. "What?"

"Yeah. I don't know, man. Apparently she couldn't handle the mojo or something."

"What about his Grace?" Dean found himself asking.

There was a slight pause. "Crowley managed to collect it. He said it sort of.. seeped out of her before she blew up."

He refused to let out a sigh of relief. "So.. what now?"

"Well, Crowley's gonna make some adjustments, something like that. He's experimenting. He'd let us know when he was ready."

"All right." Dean hesitated. "Where are you?"

"I'm at a restaurant. I'll be back later."

"Okay."

"Dean, we need to start thinking about getting rid of the angel. What are we benefiting from him, exactly?"

"I'll start interrogating him soon."

"Okay, but why? He's not gonna tell us shit, and you know it." He heard Sam take a breath. "Dean, I'm starting to feel like this is something personal."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he spluttered.

"I don't know. You seem to.. like him."

"Don't be a fucking idiot, Sam. Of course I don't. He's an angel, for fuck's sake!"

"Okay. So when do we kill him?"

Dean paused. "I.. soon. Soon!"

"This is the shit that worries me, Dean."

"Fuck off, Sam. You know what, I'm really not in the mood to even talk to you right now."

He heard the "Dean, wait – " and ignored it before he ended the call.

"God fucking damn it," he growled, massaging his temples.

"You do realise you sound like you're fighting with a partner instead of with your brother, right?"

"Holy shit. I have fucking had it with your smart little comments and your constant fucking snickering. Will you just leave me the fuck alone?" Dean barked, his eyes flashing black.

"I am so sorry for not being nice to my kidnappers. From now on, I shall make sure to kiss the ground you walk on," Cas retorted.

Dean knew he was right, and that made him even angrier. He shoved past him, heading straight to the liquor–cupboard. He took out a bottle and started chugging it down, slumping down on the couch as he drank. He didn't even know how long he'd been drinking, just that he was finally being left alone and it felt like bliss.

When the first bottle finished, he opened another one, and kept on going. At one point he heard the door opening, and he ignored it. He heard a sigh, and the next thing he knew, the bottle was being pried from his hands.

"Stop," Cas said, gentler than Dean had ever heard him speak. Or maybe that was just the alcohol.

"Get the fuck out," he mumbled, trying to push him away while simultaneously trying to pull the bottle back.

It resulted in him tumbling onto the floor. He lay there for a second, thinking that it was actually quite comfortable. Then he was being lifted up, and manhandled back onto the couch.

"You're pathetic," Castiel said, his voice rough as he tossed a blanket over the demon.

"Your face is pathetic," Dean slurred, his eyes already closing.

"Stop talking. Sleep."

Dean did just that.