Blood and Angels (a destiel fanfic)

3 - goddamn curfew

I woke slowly, becoming aware of my splitting headache long before anything else. Sensation gradually eased its way back into my limbs, sharper than usual: a cool draft brushing like a thumb over my warm brow. The weave of the couch, every thread uncomfortably distinct.

I struggled to sit up. A wave of nausea flooded over me. "Whoa there, buddy," said Dean - the sudden sound making my ears ring. He caught my shoulders, gently easing me back down. "Take it easy."

"Dean," I said. My voice sounded foreign, syrupy. "What...what..."

He sat back down, tying his boots. "You had a lot to drink."

"I was falling."

Dean frowned, not looking up at me. "Not that I can remember - you were passed out on that couch around two. Could have dreamed it."

But the memory was so vivid. Everything else was lucid up until that point. "Two?" I muttered, closing my eyes and rubbing my forehead. "That isn't indicative of a healthy sleep cycle."

Dean smirked for a very brief moment before his expression straightened out once more. "Yo go to bed at eight almost every night, Cas. I wouldn't sweat it." He stood, heading back into the kitchen, and as he did I caught a glimpse of the arm that'd been angled away from me.

Dried blood. The wounds weren't life threatening, but they certainly weren't insignificant.

"Dean!" I said, standing with one hand on the couch for balance, my knees barely supporting my weight. "You're injured. What happened?"

He glanced at me, then down at his arm and quickly covered it. "I was in between changing the bandages. I'm fine. Sit down, Cas."

"What happened? Who did this?"

"You did."

I stopped.

The words ran in a loop through my head, echoing, flipping, rearranging. They didn't seem real - they didn't make sense.

When I finally found my voice, it was low and hoarse. "I...?"

"Forget about it," he said, pulling leftovers from the fridge. "It's no big deal, you were drunk, I get it."

"No, Dean. What - what did I do?"

How could I ever hurt him?

He seemed uncomfortable discussing the incident. "You were really out of it. Threw a bottle. It busted - it wasn't your fault."

Of course it was my fault. I felt lightheaded, but somehow heavy at the same time.

"Sit down, Cas." A new note of concern had crept into his voice.

I sank back into the comforting embrace of the couch, overwhelmed. I could hear Dean heating up food in silence; the only sound was the routine, unsympathetic beep of the microwave. Finally, he got a plate and came over to join me.

"Regardless, look on the bright side! You've got a good arm - shit, Cas, are you alright?"

I touched my cheek. My fingers came away wet. I hadn't realized I was crying.

He put the food down and sat next to me. "Cas. C'mon. Don't beat yourself up. It's fine. I'm fine. It's no big deal."

"I hurt you." I stared at my palms, my eyes stinging. "I was reckless, and you were hurt because of my actions. I endangered you."

"Cas," said Dean. His voice was heavy with emotion. He stopped and put his head in his hands, burying his fingers in his hair. "Fuck, Cas. You didn't do anything."