It was a warm July evening as Castiel began to walk to the mall from the parking lot. It was packed today, strangely. It usually wasn't so busy. As he walked, he saw the most beautiful car. Sleek, black, 1967 Chevrolet Impala. She was absolutely stunning.

He stopped and admired until the driver stepped out of the vehicle. He blanched, suddenly embarrassed. But when he caught sight of the man's face, he thought he'd swoon. The greenest of eyes, a flurry of freckles across the bridge of his nose, a jawline that could cut through steel, this man was as beautiful as the car he drove.

He quickly realized that instead of staring at the Impala, he was now staring at her driver, and that made him even more embarrassed. He felt like he needed to say something. He couldn't move anyway. He was immensely flustered and couldn't think properly. What could he say?

"Hi." He croaked out lamely. "S-sorry. I just - I really like your car. Please don't call the cops." Nice move.

The man gave a crooked smile, and Castiel's heart fluttered. "Thank you, she was my dad's. Um, I'm Dean. You are?"

He forgot his name for a moment but eventually gathered himself. "Uh, C-Castiel. I was just going to the, um, the Hot Topical. I - I mean Hot Topic. I-" He blushed furiously, looking away before he could embarrass himself more. He mentally kicked himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Dean just smiled that crooked smile. "Hey, don't sweat it. I kinda suck at first impressions too."

"Really, 'cause you're doing a lot better than me right now."

He paused for a moment, remembering a really embarrassing moment. "When I met my first girlfriend, it was at school, and I was at my locker. She walked up to me and started flirting. I couldn't stop stammering and fumbling over my words, and I thought I was gonna die. When we were done talking, I turned around to go to class, and suddenly I hit my face on my locker door that was still open."

Castiel tried not to laugh, but that was pretty funny. "Oh my god, that sounds really bad."

"It was. My nose was bleeding so much and it was awful."

"Wow. That sucks. I've never broken my nose before."

Dean grinned slightly, his candy apple eyes twinkling. "How about I escort you to the Hot Topical?"

Castiel rolled his eyes at that. "I would love that."

~

Cas dug his nails into his flesh, horizontally across his right wrist, hoping to draw blood. His nails were always incredibly short so that didn't help much. He stood in the bathroom, door locked behind him, trying desperately to feel the pain that he missed so much.

He stopped, tears beginning to flow. He let out broken sobs, trying to stay quiet so no one heard his pathetic wailing. This happened too often, the anxiety attacks. They came and went as they pleased, causing him nothing but agony and suffering. He sobbed uncontrollably, his heart pounded in his chest, he felt the need to cut vertically as deep as he could, and he felt physically nauseous and almost always vomited. It was mental hell. And physical.

He breathed erratically, trying to keep it together. He couldn't stop hyperventilating, but he needed to calm down. He tried grounding; five things you can see, four things you can hear, three things you can smell, two things you can touch, and one thing you can taste. Or something like that.

Five things he can see. The color blue, a broken lamp, mountain peaks, a sports car, and concert lights.

Four things he can hear. Soothing voices, pouring rain, buzzing bees, and slamming doors.

Three things he can smell. Pink carnations, freshly cut grass, and chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven.

Two things he can touch. Kitten fur and smooth silk.

One thing he can taste. Orange chicken from Panda Express.

This helped to relax him a little, and he stopped scratching. He took deep relaxing breaths, finding his center. The grounding really helped him, especially when he had no other options.

He decided to stay in there for a few minutes and just breathe. He thought comforting thoughts. It helped to hear them in the voice of his favorite celebrity. So whenever he needed a pick-me-up, he got to hear Brendon Urie tell him that everything will be okay. Another method of self esteem boosting is whenever you think bad thoughts about yourself, you imagine the voice of your least favorite person ever. So whenever Donald Trump said to him that he was absolutely worthless trash, it was easy for him to say "Fuck off, you racist cheeto."

He leaned against the sink, breathing in and then breathing out, and then repeating the process over and over until he was at peace. He was glad this helped today; it didn't always work. Most days it did, but there were days that he just needed to take some kind of medication to relax. Unfortunately, he had no access to medication, so he cut himself until he thought he'd bleed out. He usually stopped himself before it got too bad, or called Dean. Dean really helped.

Once he felt content, he slowly unlocked the door, opening it and sucking in another deep breath. He walked back to Dean's room, finding the door was slightly ajar. He pushed it open slightly finding Dean sitting at the foot of the bed, his head in his hands. Cas felt bad for storming out of there the way he did, but he was mad. If anything, he had every right to be.

"Dean?" He spoke softly, Dean's head snapping up at the sound of Cas's voice.

"Cas." He stood up. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't want us to fight, I was just worried about you, okay? I always worry, you know that."

"Dean, it's okay. I shouldn't have stormed out like that. I just got mad. I don't think a lot when I get mad."

"I can relate," Dean grinned slightly, hoping to keep things light. He noticed Cas's arm, his long sleeve wasn't long enough to cover his whole wrist. Dean could see the scratch marks. "Cas... what did you do?"

Cas saw where he was looking and went pale. "Dean-"

Dean looked him dead in the eye. "Why? Why? After... after you tossed the blades."

"I know, Dean, just let me explain-"

"What is there to explain? I just - I can't really comprehend this right now."

Cas felt hot tears brim his eyelids. "Dean, please, I didn't... I didn't mean it, it just happens when I have an anxiety attack. I don't have much control, so I do stupid things. I'm sorry, Dean."

They both stood there in silence for a few moments. Dean thought things through, taking a few moments to sort through his thoughts. Cas thought too, and he saw no reason to be sorry. Dean shouldn't have any reason to be pissed off, so what was his deal?

"Cas-" He couldn't get a word out before Cas began to speak.

"You know something, Dean? I don't even know why I'm sorry. You have no right to be pissed off. You know how bad my anxiety is, and how bad my attacks can get. How dare you get mad at me for something I can't control. I don't want this any more than you do, but let me tell you, it's not your skin that's fucking ruined forever. It's mine. Think about that for a minute, you...-" He stormed out before he could finish, walking out the front door and sitting on the porch steps, letting the tears flow.

It wasn't anxiety this time. Now he was just upset. Dean can be such a jerk sometimes, and Cas couldn't stand it. He hated him so much right now. But he still loved him. He knew he was just worried about him, and he appreciated that, but when Dean is worried and has his head up his ass at the same time, this happens. They fight. All they seem to do these days is fight. When Cas isn't cutting. But now that his razors are gone, he couldn't cut. Which left more room for the fighting.

He didn't want to fight, and he knew Dean didn't want to either, but that was all they were good for. They did forgive each other in the end, but then a little while later, they were at it again with some new topic. There was rarely any time between arguments in which they were a real couple that talks calmly to one another.

So there Cas sat, bringing his knees up to his chest, crying his eyes out. He missed the summer days with Dean when everything was going great with the two of them. He missed going out for ice cream, taking walks and holding hands when no one was looking, talking for hours on end until there was nothing left to talk about. He missed that. But now, there was so much fighting, and so much drama and they were an old married couple in ten seconds flat.

He wanted to go back to the summer days with Dean. He'd give anything.

He heard the front door open, and he turned around expecting to see Dean. Instead, he saw Mary standing there with a look of sympathy. He turned around again, wiping the tears off his face with his sleeve. "Oh. Miss Winchester."

"Please. Call me Mary." She sat down beside him. "So. You and Dean fighting?"

Reluctantly, he nodded his head. "Yeah. We do that a lot."

"So I've been told. You wanna talk about it?"

He really wasn't sure. He didn't know Mary all that well yet, and he wasn't sure what exactly he was willing to share. "I dunno."

She nodded slightly. "Okay. Well... do you wanna at least talk about what you two are fighting over? Saying something might help a little."

He considered it, and decided to talk. "Me, really. Some... stupid stuff I've done."

"Old stuff, or new stuff?"

He thought about how to answer that. "A little of both, really. Something I've been... doing for a while now."

"What have you been doing? If you don't mind."

He did mind. He really did. But he needed to vent. He subtly rolled up his sleeve a little, showing his scars. "Like I said; stupid stuff."

She nodded, beginning to understand the situation. "I see. And Dean is mad because you keep... hurting yourself?"

He sighed, pulling his sleeve back down. "I honestly don't know why he's mad. He has no real reason to be mad. It's my skin that's scarred, not his."

"Well, maybe he's mad because he feels helpless. He's trying to help you, and... he knows how difficult it is. Not that I'm blaming you for anything, believe me, I know how hard it is to give up something like that. Something you've become addicted to. That's what it feels like, right?"

He considered her words. "Kinda." He looked over at her. "You've never... have you?"

"No. Drugs. It was during college. I got hooked on cocaine for seven months. Around month seven, my parents stepped in. Got me help. Because they cared."

This was a waking moment for Cas. He understood now why Dean felt the way he did. Because he cared. He just never knew to what lengths he cared. He felt like such an idiot. How hadn't he seen it before?

"Oh my god. I'm such a moron."

"Don't sweat it. You wanna go talk to Dean?"

Cas sighed, honestly not feeling up for it. "Not really. I feel like we'll just start another argument. Like we always seem to."

Mary nodded. "Do you want me to talk to him?"

"That's okay. Thanks though."

"No problem." She put a hand on his shoulder. "You're a good kid, Castiel." With that, she went back inside, leaving Cas to his thoughts.

And he thought about Dean. How much he worried like a lovesick idiot.