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Dean knows he's pretty.
Been told as much since he wasn't even double-digits. By diner waitresses and Dad's creepy hunter buddies.
Sometimes by his dad while he's staring at Dean across the room, his eyes drunkenly glassy and voice sharp as a razorblade. Too pretty. Too soft. Too much of everything his dad hates.
He's pretty and fuck if he's not gonna use that to his advantage.
*****
"C'mon, baby. I'mma make you feel so good," Dean whispers, dipping his hands inside Cas' boxers and gets a sharp intake of breath in return.
It's been three days since Dean dragged Cas' ass out of the empty and things are still fucking complicated and Dean still can't say it back.
But this, this he can do.
Cas panting breaths are hot against Dean's neck as he takes Cas apart with his hand. It's messy and sloppy and there's an abyss in his gut and nausea keeps crashing over him like tidal waves.
"Come for me, baby," he purrs in a tone he hasn't used in over two decades.
And Cas does.
Dean wipes his hand on his shirt, and gently removes Cas' hands away from his zipper as he tries to reciprocate.
"You don't have to. I'm all good, babe," he says, voice hoarse from the bile setting his throat on fire.
Cas frowns and Dean kisses him to avoid further questions. He tries to keep his breathing leveled, fights the instinct to push Cas away because no kissing on the mouth.
He can do this.
He can do this.
Right? Right.
*****
Dean stands in a dark motel lobby and desperately tries to explain that his dad will be back tomorrow with the money so please let them stay another night.
"I'm sure we can work something out, kid," the motel manager grins and shows two rows of nicotine stained teeth.
*****
Sometimes, they find him and not the other way around. He can be shooting pool in a bar that doesn't care too much about ID's and suddenly there's someone by his side, asking 'how much?'
Like there's a neon vacancy sign above his head.
Capital A sewn onto the lapel of his leather jacket in scarlet thread.
*****
It shouldn't be like this. It shouldn't affect him, twenty or so years after the last time. Because he never fucking did anything he didn't agree on. And this isn't some sweaty trucker who is leaving finger shaped bruises in his wake.
This is Cas.
The most important person in Dean's life besides Sam. The love of his fucked up life.
It shouldn't feel wrong but it does.
Cas is on top of him, moving his hips agonizingly slow. Despite the sheen of sweat covering Dean's body, he feels cold.
Cas' eyes are filled with reverence. Like he thinks Dean is something holy when the truth is that he's the complete opposite.
Used and full of sin.
With robotic movements he pushes Cas away and gets up on all fours instead. This way Cas can do his thing and Dean can bite back the tears and think of England or some shit. He fakes the moans but not the unsatisfying orgasm Cas manages to wring out of him, leaving him feeling even filthier than before.
*****
Dean stumbles back with fifty bucks burning in his pocket.
Dad had shoved two twenties in Dean's hand before he left three weeks ago and told him to make it last.
And he tried.
He really fucking tried.
Sam looks up from his homework and stares at the purple bruise on Dean's neck and huffs something that sounds like 'gross'.
Yeah. Gross.
Forty-five minutes later Sam yells at him for using all the hot water. Throws a temper tantrum like he's two and not twelve. He calls Dean selfish and slams the bathroom door shut hard enough for it to almost fall off its hinges.
Dean wants to scream.
I'm fucking sorry for having to scrub off an entire layer of my skin after making sure you will have enough money for your stupid field trip.
He remains silent.
*****
Dean and Charlie are hauled up in the Dean-cave with an empty bottle of tequila on the table.
On the TV screen, Richard Gere is offering to buy an apartment for Julia Roberts. The knight in shining armor comes to save the damsel in distress from a life covered in dirty fingerprints.
"Where were those johns when I needed 'em, huh?"
It's not until he sees Charlie's wide eyes in his peripheral he realizes he said it out loud.
*****
Dad takes off just two weeks after Sammy. Says he has something to take care of in Minnesota and walks through the door without even bothering to give Dean a look.
All Dean is left with is a dark void inside his chest and the change in his pockets.
But he'll scrape by.
He always does.
*****
There's an angel with a hangover sitting outside the motel. A neon sign is shining above his head like a mockery of a halo.
It's almost poetic.
Dean tosses the bottle of painkillers in the air and Cas catches them in his hands without even looking.
"How many should I take?"
"You? Should probably down the whole bottle."
Dean watches as Cas does as he says. Funny enough, instructing an angel of the lord to OD on painkillers isn't the most fucked up thing that has happened this week. Hell, not even today.
Cas looks devastated. Small. Nothing like the powerful creature who threatened to throw Dean back in hell. Now he's just broken.
"I've been there," Dean says, "I'm a big expert on deadbeat dads." The words feel sharp like glass as they crawl past his lips. The truth hangs heavy in the air between them.
"How do you manage it?"
Dean gives Cas a smirk.
There's a letter to be written. A yes to be said. A life to be ended.
"On a good day, you get to kill a whore."
*****
Dean is sucking bruises into the stubbled skin right below Cas' jaw. Dean straddles him, ignores the sharp twinge in his hip, and trails kisses down Cas' throat all the way down to his chest. For once it feels right. He wants this. Needs it.
Cas places two fingers under Dean's chin, tilts his head up so their eyes meet.
"You are so pretty."
Dean's body goes rigid and he flies off the bed. His hands tremble as he puts his shirt back on, it's inside out and back to front but he doesn't care. He needs to get out before he suffocates.
Cas reaches for him and he flinches away from the touch.
Cas calls out for him as he heads for the door, voice broken with hurt and confusion.
Dean doesn't look back.
*****
"Dean, you head over and ask for a ride and when you get inside the truck, you take him out, silver knife to the heart. Are we clear?"
Dean swallows hard, "Yes, sir."
Playing the wide-eyed hitchhiker isn't new for him. What's new is doing it without getting paid.
*****
Dean had seen the terrified look on Claire's face as Cas brought her down the stairs. It was like staring into a mirror.
He saved Randy for last. Took his sweet time, used the twenty plus years of suppressed rage channeled through the Mark to fulfill some kind of twisted childhood dream.
Now, Sam won't look at him. The metallic tang of blood hangs heavy in the car and Sam's knuckles are white from the tight grip he has on the steering wheel.
Sam talks about ways to get rid of the Mark. That Dean has to keep fighting it.
Dean wants to tell him to shut the fuck up because this had nothing to do with the Mark. This was all Dean.
Instead, he digs his nails into the palm of his hands and stays quiet.
As always.
*****
Cas is gentle with him, like he is made out of glass. Brushes his thumbs against Dean's cheekbones when they kiss and slowly runs his fingers through his hair when they are curled up on the couch. Holds him in his arms when the nightmares haunt him through the nights.
It makes Dean's skin crawl. He's the one who's supposed to provide comfort and pleasure. Not be on the receiving end of it.
*****
Dean is panicking. His hands won't stop shaking.
Sam is gone.
The motel room is empty, the bed Sam is supposed to be asleep in is neatly made, just as their dad has taught them. Sam's duffel is missing along with Dean's wallet.
The sweltering Arizona air is thick like tar in his lungs as he frantically runs around the parking lot like he's expecting Sam to hide behind one of the bushes.
Dean spent two hours down by the street corner across the road to make a quick buck.
His father's words echo through his mind.
Watch out for Sammy.
Dean tried to obey his father's order by defying it.
Because watching out for Sammy means more than acting like a prison guard. It's getting money for food because he's always fucking hungry and he needs new shoes and lunch money and what the hell is Dean supposed to do?
Now Sam is gone because Dean tried to do his damn job.
*****
Dad told the cops to let him rot in jail. Wonder what he would've said if Dean had been busted with a guy's cock down his throat instead of tucking away a loaf of bread under his shirt. Guess he should consider himself lucky.
Sonny is not that bad and Dean hates him for it. It would've been easier if he just didn't fucking care.
But he does.
Sonny doesn't get angry the days the words are lodged down his throat. He doesn't call him greedy when Dean eats until he's nauseous because who knows when he gets the chance again. Sonny helps him with his homework and it turns out Dean knows more math than just solving blowjobs for food equations.
Dean just waits for the other shoe to drop. For Sonny to realize where Dean's true value lies.
Dean has been awake for hours and the anxiety crawls like insects under his skin. He can't take it anymore. He sneaks down the creaky stairs. When his hand curls around the door handle, a voice coming from behind startles him.
"Where are you going, son?" Dean stops dead in his tracks and takes a shuddering breath.
"Needed some air, sir." Sonny walks up to him, places a hand on his shoulder and Dean flinches. Waits for the strike to hit.
"Let's get some air then. And I've told you not to call me that, okay?"
They sit on the old patio bench, looking out over the farm. The fields are bathing in gold from the rising sun.
"You wanna tell me about those bruises now?" Dean looks down on his arms, the purple marks have shifted into a brownish yellow. He wraps his arms around his waist. Tries to make himself small.
Invisible.
"It's okay, you can tell me."
Dean laughs but it sounds more like a sob. The worst thing is, he wants to tell Sonny. He wants to tell him that no, it wasn't a goddamn werewolf. And It wasn't his dad either. It was Dean being fucking stupid, accepting a too good to be true offer, which ended with him tied to the bedpost and when the man was done with him, he left with Dean's dignity and his wallet.
When he finally got out of the bindings, he was too wrecked to give it another go so a quick five finger discount seemed to be the better option.
And now he's here.
Dean puts on his most convincing smile, uses it like a shield to protect Sonny from seeing the ugly, dirty mess that hides deep within him. Or maybe he's just trying to protect himself.
"Losing your memory, old man? Told ya; werewolf."
*****
It shouldn't be possible to get hard while crying but Dean's body is a fucking traitor and it keeps betraying him in the most shameful ways.
*****
Sometimes, when there's more booze than blood pumping through his veins, he can't stop his thoughts from spiraling out of control. Like a paper plane trapped in a tornado.
John never asked how Sam got new shoes or how the Dean managed to keep them both fed with the twenty he left before taking off for two weeks.
Sometimes, when the booze has dissolved the concrete walls of denial he has built around his childhood, he wonders if his dad knew.
He is sitting with his back against the wall, his numb fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle. The abyss inside him can't be filled no matter how much he drinks. It's still there, threatening to consume him at any given moment.
The door creaks as it opens and then there's a figure hovering over him. The bottle is firmly removed from his hand and he immediately misses the comfort of having it close.
"Jesus christ , Dean. Let's get you to bed."
"Do you think he knew?" Dean slurs as Sam helps him up from the floor. Dean leans his entire weight against Sam. It's all wrong. Sam shouldn't take care of him, that's Dean's job. Always has been. Always will be.
"Knew what?" Sam asks, words dripping with exasperation.
"I think he knew." Dean falls face first into his bed with a grunt. Sam roughly shuffles him around until he is on his side, knee bent up towards his chest and with a hand under his cheek. Dean believes he was seven the first time he dragged his dad's heavy limbs into this position and sat by his side all night, making sure he wouldn't choke on his own vomit.
History is bound to repeat itself. Vicious cycles can't be broken the way men can.
"What are you talking about?" Sam sounds tired. He should be asleep and instead he's taking care of his deadbeat brother. It's wrong. It's supposed to be the other way around.
"He never once asked how you got new jeans or how you could go to that… What's it called?" Dean searches for his brother's eyes in the dark, but his vision is too blurry to make anything out. "The space museum thingy. In… Seventh grade?"
"The Smithsonian," Sam replies, voice wary.
Dean hiccups. "Yeah. You were so damn happy. It made it all worth it, y'know?" Sam sits down by his side, the mattress shifts under his weight.
"What the hell are you talking about, man?"
A wet laugh bubbles up out of him. "Do you remember how hungry you were Sammy?" A hiccup, "you ate like a goddamn horse all the time. And Dad kept leaving a twenty or two. He must've known that wouldn't be enough. Right?"
The air has been sucked out of the room.
"I think he knew… and just didn't care," Dean's voice breaks at the last word and he hears Sam swallow, like a fish out of water.
"Dean, what are you saying…?"
Dean fumbles for his brother's arm in the dark and wraps his fingers tightly around his wrist.
"I just tried to watch out for you, Sammy," Dean mumbles before passing out.
*****
"Oh, like, rules? Like sexy rules?" Shaylene laughs but the smile never quite reaches her eyes.
"More an issue of payment." Dean's stomach drops to somewhere around his knees. The simmering arousal dies out in an instant. She talks about signatures and souls and Dean barely listens because he's stuck in a loop of endless motels and faceless men and bruises and scalding showers.
"I love my job," she says and Dean knows that line and he knows the seductive smile on her lips, masking the fear hiding underneath. And suddenly he's sixteen again and trying to calm a closeted first-timer because those are the ones you should be really afraid of.
"Do you?" His voice shakes, "'cause it doesn't look like love to me."
Because it's not. It's fear and hunger and disgust all wrapped up in a thick, scratchy blanket of shame. It's lies and scrubbing your skin raw and not being able to eat because the pizza rolls were bought with dirty money.
It's about as far away from love as you can get.
*****
"Dean, we need to talk."
Dean freezes and a heavy block of ice settles in his gut.
Cas sits down next to him on the couch and Dean's pulse thunders in his ears.
Cas is breaking up with him. It's so absurd he wants to laugh. They have been pining and longing for this for years and now, three months into their relationship – or whatever – Cas is breaking up with him.
"You don't enjoy having sexual intercourse with me."
It is like he is being set on fire and thrown into icy water at the same time.
"I'dunno what you're talking about, man. 'Course I do." He's cornered now, like a rabbit chased by a wolf. There's no way out of this.
So he does the only thing that makes sense.
"C'mere let me show you," he murmurs and practically throws himself over Cas. He kisses him rough and dirty, all while mumbling filth under his breath.
This, this he can do.
"Dean, stop!"
The edge in Cas' voice is sharp enough to flay him, leaving him raw with every nerve ending exposed.
The rejection and shame lights him on fire. He makes a move to get up but a firm hand on his shoulder stops him. Cas curls his hand around the faded handprint hiding underneath Dean's clothes. The only mark left on his body out of love and not out of malice.
"Talk to me," Cas pleads.
"Cas I- I can't ."
Cas wraps his arms around him. Holds Dean's head to his chest and brushes his fingertips over his cheek. He doesn't flinch away from the affectionate touch, instead he revels in it.
"It's okay. I just want to understand. But if you're not willing to talk about it yet, then I'll wait."
That's what Cas does, isn't it? He waits on the side of the road an entire night. He waits quietly for Dean to treat him better. He still waits for Dean to say I love you . He waits and waits and waits. Always for Dean.
Maybe it's time Dean, for once in their messed up lives, to not let him wait.
"My dad, uhm, he wasn't that good with money," Dean says while Cas continues to gently caress his cheek. His voice is rough, like he used to sound after an hour down by the truck stop in another anonymous town.
"I was thirteen and- and Dad didn't come back when he said he would and the motel owner wanted to throw me 'n Sam out because I couldn't pay for another night. But then he… he offered me a deal."
Cas draws a sharp breath but thankfully stays quiet. If Dean doesn't get this out now, he never will.
"And after that… I realized how big the market was for pretty boys like me so I just kinda went with it. It was easy money."
Except it was never easy. It was painful and terrifying. Dean closes his eyes, breathes in Cas' scent to keep him grounded.
"Sam was an angry kid, you wouldn't believe it today but he was. And he got so pissed when we had mac'n'cheese for the fifth day in a row or when he had to go to school with ripped jeans or whatever. So I did what I had to. I had to watch out for him."
"I am so sorry Dean. No child should ever have to go through that."
"I wasn't a child," Dean balks. Dean was a lot of things, a soldier, a guardian and a whore but never a child.
"So there you have it. The reason I'm so fucked up," he croaks.
"Thank you, Dean," Cas says, so sincere that a sob hitches in Dean's chest.
"For what? For telling you I used to suck dick for money so now I still act like a whore whenever we fuck?"
"For trusting me with this."
Dean buries his head in Cas' dress shirt, clings to it like a lifeline.
"I don't- fuck - I don't know how to do this, Cas," Dean whispers into the starched fabric. "What if I can never give you what you want?"
"Dean… do you think I only want to be with you for sexual reasons?"
Doesn't everyone?
Dean doesn't answer so Cas cradles his jaw and gently tilts his head up so their eyes meet. Cas' eyes are filled with love and warmth and Dean wants to drown in them. That would be a good way to go.
"I love you . I love every single part of you and nothing will ever change that. And I will still love you even if we never have sex again."
"I want to have sex with you. I want to be able to have sex with you. Y'know, like a normal person."
Cas continues to gently run his fingers through Dean's hair. For once, Dean allows himself to relish it without itching with the need to drop to his knees to make up for it.
"We'll take it slow, one step at the time. We have time."
Dean release a breath he doesn't realize he's been holding.
It doesn't really feel like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Instead he just feels empty, like someone has scooped out his insides with a spoon.
"It wasn't your fault Dean. None of it was," Cas whispers and places a kiss to the top of his head.
Tears start to roll down his cheeks, soaking into Cas' shirt. He doesn't really believe it but the words are still comforting.
"I love you," Dean breathes, "I love you so damn much. I'm sorry I haven't told you before. I just- I can't love you and lose you. Not again." Cas is smiling. Dean doesn't need to look at him to see it, he just knows.
"I won't leave you ever again."
Dean curls with his knees to his chest, head in Cas' lap. Makes himself small. Allows himself to be small. To be taken care of.
For the first time in years, he feels safe.