Castiel was troubled. All his life he was troubled. Dean, his boyfriend, knew this. He's had to talk him out of a few things. Castiel felt like a lost cause. He thought no one could help him. Even with Dean, he felt hopeless. It helped to have him, of course, but in the grand scheme of things, he knew he was too far gone.

One night, very late, Dean received a phone call. It was Castiel. "Hello?" He answered, his voice rough from his interrupted sleep.

"Dean," Castiel spoke gruffly. "Can you... please come over?" And he hung up.

Dean became worried. He didn't know what to expect, but it was almost three in the morning. It couldn't be good.

He lived fifteen minutes away, so it didn't take too long to get there. Especially since he sprinted as fast as he could. He would have taken his car, but it was rather noisy and most likely would have awoken Castiel's parents.

Dean climbed in through his window, as he usually did, into the dark room. "Cas?" He called in a hushed whisper.

"Dean," Cas replied, voice trembling. "I... I'm sorry. I... I hate myself for what I did."

Dean knew exactly what he meant but couldn't bear to believe it. "What did you do?" He asked, his voice breaking.

"I think you know." With that, the light was turned on, Dean blinking at the sudden brightness. What he saw shook him to his very core.

Cas's hand was at the light switch, his bloody arm visible, as well as the bleeding wound; an inch long vertical cut, accompanied by several smaller horizontal cuts, not to mention several scars from previous years of self-harm. There was drops of blood on the floor; most of it at the corner of his bed, and a small trail leading to the wall where Cas stood. In his other hand was a small razor.

Dean felt sick. He felt physically sick. Never had he seen Cas go so far, and it wasn't a pleasant sight. "Cas...." Not much else could be said. "Cas, I...."

"I know I'm disgusting. You don't have to say it." He looked away in shame, clearly regretting what he'd done.

Dean stared at his fresh wounds in disbelief. He knew Cas was in a lot of pain lately, but this was really bad. "You're not disgusting. Not at all. The exact opposite, actually. You're everything to me." His voice shook as he stared at the blood. All that blood.

"Look at me, Dean. I'm not anything. Just a fresh cut, bleeding out on the earth. Just let me die so I can become a scab that the world can peel off its skin."

Sometimes Dean couldn't stand his poet boyfriend. Especially now, when he's saying bullshit like this. "I'm not going to leave you."

Cas scoffed, shaking his head slightly. "I really wonder what's going through your head sometimes. Especially right now, while you're staring. Staring at the blade. The cuts. The blood. Do you love me? Do you hate me? Do you want me to get it over with and cut deeper?" He glanced at the vertical wound. "I mean, I really could've done this better, I mean really. Look at this, it barely scratches the surface."

"And that's why you're so strong to me." Cas laughed slightly at that until Dean continued. "Yeah, this is prevalent right now, the cutting, but you haven't cut it deep enough to... that's why I think you're being strong. At least as strong as you can be right now. I mean... I probably sound like a jerk, I know, but... to me, you still being here right now... alive... that's strength. Whatever's getting you through the day, however your day is going... to me, that is strength. And I know you probably don't see it that way, but... you're braver than you seem, stronger than you believe, and smarter than you think."

Cas appreciated the sentiment, but it was just too much for him. "Dean... I...." The crimson river gushing from his arm was too much as well it seemed. He was about to lose his footing until Dean grabbed him, helping him to the bed.

"Hey, just breathe. Okay?" He whispered. He took off his red plaid scarf, wrapping it around Cas's cut arm. "Just breathe. I'll stay right here, okay? For as long as you need me. It's okay, I'm here. Everything is okay."

"Everything is not okay, Dean." Cas murmured, feeling rather numb. "Look at me, I'm a fucking mess."

"We all are a little. Right? We've all got our demons. Just don't let them win. Don't let them control you. I believe in you. Fight the demons, Cas."

"I can't." He was near tears but held them in. "I just can't."

"I get it. Sometimes it's easier to give up than to fight back. I understand that. But with time, it gets easier. I promise. I'm here. You're not going to lose me. Cas...-" he paused, taking a deep breath to keep calm. "Always know that if you need to cry it out... there's nothing wrong with that. Sometimes it's good to get it all out. Everyone does, it's okay. Don't fight the tears. Fight the demons."

Cas was visibly shaking, still fighting tears. But in the end, he couldn't keep them in. A single tear slipped from his eye, rolling slowly down his reddened cheek. The rest flowed into a river pouring down his face as he sobbed into Dean's chest, Dean wrapping his arms around him. He rubbed his back up and down, trying his best to comfort him.

He couldn't stop thinking about what Cas was going through. He had shitty parents and shitty friends. He couldn't come out as gay because of the horribly homophobic school he attended, and on top of that, the one friend he did have, one that he met online, recently committed suicide. Things were rough for him right now, so he had every right to feel the way he felt. What Dean couldn't stand was the cutting. He wanted it to stop, he really did, but he didn't know how. He didn't know what to say or do or think and it killed him that he couldn't help. He wanted Cas to see a therapist, but he refused to tell his parents. He knew they'd disown him or something and he didn't need that on his plate.

They both remained silent, Cas still sobbing into Dean's chest, Dean not knowing what to say, but he eventually spoke. "Cas?" He murmured, voice cracking from prolonged silence. "Cas, you'll be alright. No one can hurt you now. It's okay. I'm okay, you're okay, we're okay."

"I'm not okay. I'm not okay and you know it. I'm so fucking far from okay. I want to die."

"I know," he whispered. "But while you're here, can you promise me something?"

"What?"

"Grow old with me. Grow to be as old as you can before you go. Whoever lives longest... wins."

Cas smiled briefly. "What... what do I win if I do?"

"A fancy new car," Dean grinned. "With built-in seat warmers. Zero to eighty in three point five. It'll have one of those... door things on the roof that you can open, like in a limo." He said this because he knew how much Cas loved cars. He was quite the enthusiast. It was because of Dean's car they met; Cas was impressed by his 1967 Chevrolet Impala.

"That sounds good. I love you, Dean."

"I love you. I'm going to protect you. You're not going to lose me."

"Protect me from what exactly? Myself? 'Cause that's the only thing I need protection from. I'm so fucking self-destructive, I'm so worthless."

"No, you're not," Dean said sharply. "You're worth so much to me. I love you so much. Don't let anyone tell you you're not worth it, because you are."

"My parents hate me. My friends don't care about me. I...." He couldn't finish his sentence.

"I don't care what they think. To me, you're perfect."

"I'm really not. I mean, really, your idea of perfection is some gangly, pale, emo, self-destructive, suicidal teen who can't keep it together for even a week?"

"What I see when I look at you is a troubled, beautiful, misunderstood, passionate, Stucky trash, Harry Potter fanatic. There's so much about you that I adore, underneath the scars and pain and self-loathing. There's so much inner beauty that it flows over to create a beautiful exterior. Don't ever forget how beautiful you are. I am so blessed to have you in my life. No matter how much baggage you're carrying. We all have baggage. But we don't have to carry it alone."

Cas listened for Dean's heartbeat, trying to keep calm. "I just have so much and it... I can't deal with it."

"It's okay. Hear my heartbeat? Just focus on that."

He listened to the rhythmic beating of Dean's heart, soothed by its gentle thumping. He closed his eyes, thinking relaxing thoughts. He thought of the sounds of the ocean, gentle waves crashing on the shore. He thought of what heaven may be like, imagining the times before his family fell apart and his life turned to shit. He thought of a relaxing cruise down the highway, in a convertible so the wind blew through his hair. He thought of his favorite song; Goner by Twenty Øne Piløts. He loved that song. He thought of the Fourth of July, with all the fireworks in the sky, the world turning blue and red and violet for that one night. He thought of when he first met Dean, on that fateful summers day. At the mall. It was a good day. Beautiful weather. These were thoughts he needed to think.

He realized that he fell asleep when he woke up in the middle of the night, a bandage wrapped around his arm, Dean holding him as he slept. His first thought was one of worry; what if one of his parents came in and found them like that? Then he realized that his parents never woke up in the morning, and he was always waking himself up. His parents didn't usually wake up until ten. His father didn't have to work until then. So he shouldn't worry. Not really. But he did. Because he always did. About everything. It was his nature to worry, it was part of his everyday life, and he chose to accept that.

He decided to rest in Dean's embrace, letting his soft breathing lull him back into unconsciousness.