The Police Officer and The Addict // destiel AU

Chapter Two.

I wake up the next morning with a pounding headache, terrible morning breath, terrible alcohol smell radiating off of me, and under a very comfortable blanket. Where the hell am I? 

I sit up quickly, looking around me. There's nobody in sight and I distinctly remember someone with me at some point last night. "Hello?" I yell, wincing at my own voice. It sounds like my voice was going through eight megaphones at the same time. 

"Hi." I hear someone say, obviously a man, obviously familiar. I see a guy walk into the room, he has dark, messy hair, bright blue eyes covered with some round glasses, a tight white shirt on, and some blue pajama pants. If I didn't know who this was, I'd almost think he's hot. 

"How'd I get here?" I ask, confused. Is that Cas? 

"Dean, do you know who I am? What do you remember from last night? Do you feel better?" Cas asks, quietly, but still too much for me to comprehend. 

"Cas, shut the hell up, will you? So damn loud." I mutter, fingers to my temples. 

Cas nods, handing me a glass of water. "Drink up, you're not feeling well, I presume." Cas says formally. Since when is he such a dork?

"Will you explain to me what the fuck happened last night?" I ask, laying back in the bed and shielding my eyes from the sunlight coming through the window behind me. 

"I found you in the park, wasted, and I took you to the hospital to make sure you were okay. You were severely dehydrated and out of consciousness for much of the time. The hospital gave you fluids and sent you home and instead of taking you to that dirty park or the station, I brought you back to my place so you can try to get clean in a stable environment." Cas explains, everything coming back to me piece by piece. 

"Why didn't you just bring me to the station?" I ask, taking another sip of my water and almost spilling it everywhere since I'm shaking so bad. 

"Because I knew they wouldn't take care of you there. I needed to make sure you were going to be alright." Cas says, swiping a hand through his messy hair. 

"Look, Cas, thanks for taking care of my dumbass last night, but I'm not staying here. I don't even know you and you don't know me." I say, standing up from the bed and almost falling. I'm now in new clothes, clean ones, that are undeniably nice. 

"You're Dean Michael Winchester, 29 years old, your birthday is January 24th, and you are a struggling, homeless, addict who I would like to help." Cas says, blocking the door so I can't leave. 

"You know that from my record." I say, defeatedly. The only thing this guy knows about me is that I'm a low life, homeless, addict who can't hold his liquor without throwing up all over the place.

"So what? I want to help you get clean." Cas says, backing up for each wobbly step I take towards the door. 

"I don't want your help." I say spitefully. I'm not going to live in some random cop's house while getting clean. No way in hell. 

"Dean please." Cas says, blocking the front door of his huge apartment. "Let me help." He begs. 

I push Cas out of the way and walk out of his apartment, tripping over my feet as I make my way to the elevator. I hear Cas sigh and I do too. I feel bad, but I had to do it. I pick pocketed him as he was trying to block me from the door. I have no idea where I am but I need something to take the edge off. Now. 

I make my way to a random, sketchy looking alleyway and find myself a dealer. I pay whatever it is that he asks, probably much more than it's worth, and pocket some he-oin, looking for a quiet place. It's like I can't live without it now. I hate it. 

I push the needle into my skin, looking at all the tiny bruises from when I have in the past few days. What the fuck am I doing with my life? 

I finish pushing the drug into my veins and I pull the needle out, tossing it somewhere random. 

A few minutes later, I find myself thinking, then I find myself walking, then jogging, then full on running to the apartment building that I came from this morning. I run up the stairs, breathing heavily and pound on the door reading 221B. I know it's Cas'. 

Cas opens the door, gun pointing at my head as he does. He sees me and lowers it, opening the door wider, allowing me to come in. "Dean, what did you do?" Cas asks me, setting his gun on the counter. He sees that I'm still breathing hard, and he puts his hand to my chest. "Breathe," he says in a soothing voice. 

I sit down, his hand still flat against my chest, my skin turning fire red. "What did you do?" Cas asks again, squatting down to meet me face to face. 

"Heroin." I admit, scratching my arm where I injected it. It's so red and there are so many bruises. 

"Calm down, it's okay, Dean. Why'd you come back?" Cas asks me, stilling my hands. I feel so anxious right now but I don't know what to do. It's not my normal anxiety, it's being caused by the dr-gs. That doesn't happen a lot. 

"I-I-I." I try to say, I take a deep breath and start to cry. "I'm sorry." I mutter, trying to wipe away my tears. All I can think about is how disappointed my family is going to be when I show up to the wedding looking like an obvious junkie. 

Cas presses his body against mine, sitting on the couch, and pulling me into a hug. He runs his hand along my shoulders and spine, and I feel goosebumps forming under his soft touch. 

"I-I have to go... go to my cousin's we-wedding in a few weeks. They're gonna- they'll hate m-me." I sob, pushing my head into Cas' chest, probably staining his white shirt with my tears. 

"Let me help you, then. I want you to be better to yourself. Please." Cas says, pushing my head back from his chest and making me look into his eyes. 

I nod and Cas smiles a relieved smile, pushing my head back into his chest and holding me tightly until I doze off into a sadly peaceful sleep.