Cas was woken up in the middle of the night by a loud ringing. He groaned, fumbling for his phone, which he had left on the nightstand. It was about three in the morning. Why would anyone be calling him then?

Most likely it was just a scammer. He would turn off his ringer, roll over, and fall back asleep.

Cas' hand closed around his phone and he held it up, squinting tiredly at the bright screen.

Call from Dean

Dean wouldn't call him at this time, would he? Unless- there was a spark of fear- something had happened.

Cas did his best tamper down the spark before it became a blaze, and answered the call.

"Dean? Dean, are you okay?"

Dean's voice was shaky on the other end of the phone. "I screwed up, Cas. I- shit, I screwed up so badly."

This was doing nothing to ease Cas' worry.

"What happened?"

"I called Sam," Dean said. "I was drunk and thought that if Sam knew I wasn't straight then I wouldn't have to worry about him finding out when he came, so I called and- fuck. I told him, point blank told him, and then hung up."

"Has he tried calling you back? Or texting you?"

"No. Dammit, Cas, what the hell am I supposed to do?"

He sounded so small and afraid. Cas hated it. Dean shouldn't have to feel like that.

The words were out of his mouth before he fully realized what he was saying.

"Just stay there, Dean. I'm going to come over, okay? Don't drink any more alcohol. Have some water, you're probably dehydrated. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Cas ended the call, felt his way to the apartment door, pulled on his trench coat, and hurried down the stairs and to the street. The keys to his Lincoln were accessible in his pocket.

Cas drove a little bit over the speed limit as he raced through the dim streets of Sioux Falls. He knew Dean wouldn't do anything stupid right now- nothing dangerously stupid, at least- but it didn't mean he was going to leave him there alone to agonize over what had happened. Not for any longer than it took to get there, which was still too long.

Less than ten minutes after the car had sputtered to life, Castiel was pulling onto the street with Dean's apartment. Since they had seen Star Wars, he had been there once, but he remembered where it was.

Dean was waiting in the front hall, and when Cas came in, he collapsed against him, letting Cas simply hold him tightly. Cas could feel, from the way Dean melted into him, the tension in his body dissipating, how upset he was. How terrified he was that his spur of the moment, drunk decision, that this was going to estrange him from his brother.

"It's going to be alright," Cas said quietly.

Dean buried his face deeper into his shoulder.

They stood like that, Dean leaning against Cas, enveloped in his arms, for a long while.

"Probably should head upstairs," Dean mumbled into the trench coat.

Neither of them moved.

Eventually, Dean pulled away reluctantly. "Sorry for getting your coat wet."

Cas looked down. The fabric where Dean's face had been nestled on his shoulder was damp.

"It's fine," he said.

Dean nodded, eyes on the floor.

"Dean-"

"No chick flick moments. C'mon." Dean took his hand and led him upstairs to his apartment.

Dean's steps were steady, but Castiel could see how much effort it took to keep them so. (He had, Castiel suspected, had a decent amount of practice. Since Cas had gotten to know him, he had learned that Dean was a master at taking care of others before himself, and burying everything to do so.)

The apartment was messy, as it had been the last time Cas was there, but now in a less homey way. More cluttered and unkept. There were a number of empty beer bottles on the small kitchen's counter, and judging by the way the pillows were bunched up against one of the armrests, Dean had slept on the couch.

"Did you have any water yet?" Cas asked.

Dean shook his head.

"I'll get you some." Cas moved towards the kitchen.

"I can get it," Dean said.

"You could, but you're not. Go sit down."

It was a moment before Dean nodded, then went to collapse on the couch.

Cas joined him there a minute later, passing him a glass of water.

Dean took it wordlessly.

What had he done? What the fuck had he done?

It was only after Dean could think straight that it hit him what had happened.

Sam knew.

The words kept repeating in his head over and over and over until his chest felt like it was collapsing, and the oxygen was being caught before it entered his lungs.

Like he was drowning. It didn't help that the room seemed to be shaking. As though it was going to come down around him and bury him.

It was a few minutes before Dean realized that the room wasn't shaking- he was. He willed himself to stop, to get a grip because the world wasn't ending, even if it felt like it.

Dean clenched the kitchen counter hard enough that it hurt.

Fuck, he had told Sam- he had told Sam- and judging by the timestamp on the call, it had been hours since he had called, and Sam hadn't responded. There were no missed calls, no messages or emails, nothing.

What if Sam never called back? What if he never wanted to speak to Dean again?

Don't think about that, he told himself. Don't think about that.

Dean's lungs still felt waterlogged and useless. He had to get a grip, he had to breathe.

The only thing Dean could think of that calmed him down without fail was Cas. He should call Cas. Even if Cas didn't answer, he could at least hear his voice on the voicemail.

The phone was in Dean's unsteady hands for some time before he punched in Cas' number. It was the middle of the night, he didn't want to bother him. Cas had his own problems, and he didn't need to have to worry about Dean on top of that.

Selfishly, Dean called anyway. Surprisingly, Cas picked up.

He had been worried when he answered, but regardless, Dean was relieved to hear his voice.

It was like a dam breaking- with Cas on the other side of the line, everything came tumbling out, the words falling from his mouth, as Dean stumbled over what had happened, what he had done. When Cas showed up in the lobby of Dean's apartment building not fifteen minutes later, clad in his trench coat and bee pajamas, something warm had flared in Dean's chest. He had collapsed into his touch, grounded. Cas was there. Cas shouldn't have had to be there cleaning up Dean's mess and Dean felt guilty about that, but he was there and Dean was glad.

Now, they were sitting on his brown, lumpy couch in silence. If Dean had been alone, he knew he wouldn't have been this relaxed. Not that he was relaxed,but at least with Cas next to him he could breathe.

His thoughts were racing, and the silence wasn't helping. Dean tried to fill it.

"I, uh, I like your pjs," he said. "There a reason you're wearing bee pajamas?"

Cas didn't respond for a moment. He looked at Dean, concerned, before the smallest expression of understanding flashed across his face.

"When I was little," Cas said, "I wanted to raise bees."

Dean managed a faint smile and said quietly, "Huh. That why you have all those flowers on your balcony in the summer? So the bees come?"

"Yes. I find that they make good company," Cas affirmed.

"Do you still want to have a hive?" Dean asked.

"It's impractical," Cas said thoughtfully, "but yes. I would like that."

Dean nodded, and they lapsed back into silence.

Somehow, Dean found himself leaning on Cas' shoulder and Cas' head on his, and thinking maybe things could turn out okay.

The phone rang from the coffee table. Dean tensed. He picked it up.

Call from Sammy.