Dean

Stupid, stupid, STUPID Dean!!
Dean mentally chants to himself as he lies in bed that night, staring at the wall in front of him. He wants to literally smash his head in with one of the bricks lining the campus walkways because he is so fucking STUPID!!!
He had a chance, and he missed it. He had a reason to tell Cas he loved him, and what does he do? He fucks it up.
Dean had long since accepted he was not 100% heterosexual, roughly at the same time he admitted that he was head-over-heels, hopelessly, way-too-gay-to-function in love with Castiel James Novak. But what to do about it?! Just because Cas was gay doesn't mean he reciprocated his feelings for him, Dean knows this.
Dean sighs. He would give literally anything short of selling his own soul to the king of Hell to reclaim that moment when Cas was in his bed, lying next to him, sleeping peacefully for what was probably the first time in weeks.
Dean's thoughts begin to wander elsewhere at the notion of him and Cas in the same bed, but he brings his mind back to the present when he hears poorly stifled sobs drifting into his room through the thin dorm wall that separates him and Cas. Dean debates for a half second between allowing Cas his space or going in to investigate the cause of his crying, then heaves his six foot frame from his creaky bed and ventures to the door.
He knocks on Castiel's door softly twice with his first two knuckles, and the sobs were quickly but ineffectually silenced.
"Cas?" Dean's voice comes out gravelly with concern and trepidation. "Can I come in?"
Dean hears nothing.
"No," Cas finally says shakily. "Please don't."
Dean's pulse quickens, because that is not the thing you say when everything is hunky-dory.
"Well, I'm coming in anyway. Make yourself decent." Dean tries to throw in a joke to ease his nerves, but regrets saying anything the instant he spoke.
"Dean..." Cas protests weakly as Dean opens the door, spilling silver light from the nightlight Cas insisted on having in the hall into the darkened room.
"Cas..." It was Dean's turn to utter the other man's name when he saw Cas sitting in the middle of his floor, blood spilling from his forearms and onto the carpeted floor.
Dean rushed forward and takes Cas's arms gently in his own, his heart twisting painfully in his chest as he feels the depth of the cuts and the tackiness of the partly dried blood on Cas's unhealthily thin arms. Dean notices distractedly that Cas's hair is wet and his clothes are damp.
Cas is silent, his eyes staring blankly at his mutilated arm. This concerns Dean, because if it were him, he'd be flipping the fuck out. But Cas remains as motionless as the stone his face seems to be carved from.
"Cas, buddy, we gotta stop the bleeding," Dean says, searching his face for some kind of emotion.
Cas slowly nods, his eyes remaining downcast.
"Alright, sit tight, I'll be right back," Dean gets up to find a towel in the bathroom to staunch the bleeding with.
Dean freezes when he steps in something sticky and wet. He fumbles for his phone to to light up the carpeted floors, and his light reveals a trail of blood leading to the bathroom. Dean's heart plummets to the floor as he hurries to the bathroom.
The bathroom is a mess: blood blossoms like a crimson flower on the floor; a trail leading from the shower stall to the toilet seat to the door highlights the route Cas presumably took after his shower; there is a dismantled shaving razor sitting on the sink edge, one of its blades sitting alone and bloody on the tile floor. The shower is still on, washing the still-wet blood down the drain in a watery orange stream.
Dean's heart is racing into overdrive; he had severely underestimated how badly Castiel was hurt. He also realizes he had forgotten to get the blades Cas had told him about, sending a pang of guilt through his stomach. Dean turns and bolts back to the smaller man huddled on the bedroom floor, and bundles Cas's insubstantial weight into his leanly muscled arms and races to his Impala parked outside.
Dean sets Cas gently in the passenger seat, not able to care less about the blood pooling in his Baby's pristine vinyl seats.
The drive to the hospital was agonizingly slow, despite no one being on the road at 12:14 am and Dean blowing through every red light and ignoring every stop sign.
"Cas, Cas, you gotta stay with me buddy, okay? Please, Cas..." Dean was full on crying now, one hand on the wheel, one hand clutching at Cas, whose head was nodding as he slid in and out of consciousness.
"Stay awake, stay awake, please Cas, I love you, please stay awake..."
Dean curses himself for leaving behind the towel in his haste, and noted that the bleeding is slowing down by itself--Dean isn't sure if this is a good sign or a bad one.
Dean risks a glance at Cas's face and his world comes crashing down around him when he sees his roomate's face.
His lips are colorless, his face is ashen and pallor, and any and all life has been sucked out of him and drained through the frighteningly deep cuts on Cas's forearms.
Dean chokes back a sob, and turns his gaze back to the road, too late to see a pair of headlights headed directly at the Impala.
Dean's eyes fly wide as the semi truck collides with them head on, sending his world into unwelcome blackness.