Chapter 33

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"Ebony hair, the color of my favorite scarf.

Pecan eyes, that reminded me of warm, sweet syrup.

but, there's a catch.

My teeth began to rot, cavities form, and that sticky syrup is torn out of my hands. My scarf is stolen, my neck gets cold, and my skin gets paler.

and now everything I saw in you, is nothing at all." -My Quote

~

Dean Winchesters' Point of View

Dean was promising to tell Castiel, but, he was afraid of the reaction...and it was the exact reaction he thought he would get. He was leaving in two days, and Cas was furious with him, not at all proud and caring.

Cas returned sluggishly around 3:30, door shutting and an exhausted man laying beside him. Dean shrugged his arms over him, pressing a kiss on his neck. But, a scent made his blood run cold. A cologne, strong and bitter, stung his tongue trailing to the very veins that raced with worry.

That was not Deans' cologne.

"Where were you?" Dean whispered-Castiel didn't turn back, his rigid body not moving an inch.

"Went for a drink," he parched out, "at a bar."

Dean shook away his worries-there was no chance his Cas could cheat on him. "I'm sorry."

"It's quite alright," Castiel slurred, "I'm sorry too,"

"For?"

But Cas didn't reply-he drifted into a deep slumber-leaving Dean alone with unanswered questions.

~

The next morning-Dean woke up at 9:45 sharp, making Cas a breakfast-eggs with toast and coffee-making special effort to slightly overcook the scrambled eggs, and smothering the bread in jam and butter; the way Castiel loved to eat his toast.

A memory flooded though Deans' head. A sick Castiel, with weak arms and brittle lips, fingers barely able to touch his dry, burnt toast. Dean had it-he called Megan to the room and ordered her to have the "lazy cooks" bring butter and jam.

She did as he asked...coming back with a perfect slice of bread with a side of strawberry jam and rich butter. Castiel had watched Dean spread the butter out, making sure it was covered evenly, topping it with a decent amount of sugary jam.

Dean fed Cas that day, saw those ocean-blue orbs light up at the taste...he was so beautiful, despite being so close to death.

Dean smiled softly to himself, carrying the tray to Castiel. He was awake, his glasses over his eyes. Dean paced over, pressing a kiss on Castiels' lips.

"Good morning," Dean greeted, setting the plates in front of him, the Advil and water on the nightstand. "How's your hangover?"

"Fine," Cas mumbled, looking down, twiddling the fork against the plain plate. Dean frowned, plopping down and caressing Cas' bare knee, when he noticed a bruise, large and purple.

"Cas-" Dean started, removing the sheets, seeing a bruise the size of a nickel on his inner thigh. "What is that?"

"It's um-" Cas paused, "A bruise I got."

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