*A/N: Yay! three monsters, two pots of coffee, and three new albums later, you get a chapter!

It's all my fault. It's my fault their dead. I failed. Its all my fault. They're dead and it's my fault. I should have been the one to die. It's my fault.

These are the thoughts that circle Dean Winchester's mind every day. The only thoughts that ever go across his brain. It was his fault Sam and Bobby died. It was his fault that they got in that car crash. It was his fault because he hadn't told them not to go. And now they were gone.

There was nothing left for him. He spent his days fixing cars and pushing himself to the breaking point. He wanted to die. He had nothing left. But he couldn't kill himself. He had to run the shop.

AC/DC's Highway to Hell blasted on the radio as Dean fixed up an old Mercury Topaz. There were blisters on his hands from working so hard and some of them were bleeding now, but he didn't care. He ignored it and kept working, swinging the wrench back and forth, back and forth, tightening a bolt.

His back stung with sunburn and some nasty scrapes from the sharp rocks on the garage floor. His shirt was piled in the corner, gathering dirt and oil. He was also pretty sure he had been wearing these jeans for three weeks. But again, he didn't care. He hardly cared about anything now. He was numb inside and nothing could fix it.

Dean took another long pull from his drink and set it down on the hot concrete floor of the garage. Warm beer was disgusting but drank it anyway. The sun was beating down on his back and heating him. Probably dangerously so. It was 105 degrees out and he was in direct sunlight. It was getting later though.

Once Dean was done on the top of the engine had to get under the car. Getting a jack, he propped the car up. He did it carelessly though. "Maybe it'll fall and kill me," he though bitterly and slid under the vehicle.

His back was scraping on the floor and he could feel the cuts on his back opening up. As did the one just above his hip on his side. He had stumbled and cut himself open on a jagged piece of metal. Dean picked up the wrench, metal heated from the sun, and started working.

He wasn't sure how long he worked but he knew it was long enough to finish three beers. Eventually, he was done with the car and he slid out from underneath it, throwing the wrench across the garage floor. He was a mess. He knew it too. He couldn't bring himself to care though.

He pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead and pulled them away quickly after realizing he had blood dripping down his hands. He sighed and let them hang at his side. He would probably have to clean himself up. He irritably grabbed his beer and finished it off, tossing the empty bottle into a far corner of the garage. It landed with a clatter and a piece of the neck broke off.

"You should probably take more care of yourself you know," said a voice. And oh god the things Dean wanted to do to whoever that voice belonged to. "Yeah, but what's the point?" He asked, looking up at the man who had walked to stand above him, and oh god, the things he wanted to do to that man.

The sex hair, blue eyes, the way his shirt clung to his frame suggested he was small and weak but Dean could see how muscular he was from where he was sitting, and those /kissable/ lips. This was the first person, first /thing/, Dean had taken interest in since the accident months ago.

"The point? Well, living," the man answered. Dean chuckled and grabbed another beer, only the have the man take it out of his hands. "Hey," Dean protested, not taking any real action to get the drink back.

Mystery Man tilted Dean's face up and studied the scrapes and large cut he had acquired from slamming his cheek on the edge of a car. His blue eyes were narrowed in concentration and Dean found himself wanting to see more of that brilliant ocean gaze. "What's your name?" The man asked. "Dean Winchester," the mechanic answered. Mystery Man had a look that flashed across his face but it was gone just as fast.

The stranger dropped his hand but Dean kept looking up at him, entranced by the contours of his face, his expressions, the way his lips twitched and head tilted when he thought very hard about something. It fascinated him. This man fascinated him.

"Do you have a first-aid kit?" Blue Eyes asked and Dean took a second to answer. "I've got old tank-tops, whiskey, floss, and a suture needle," the mechanic suggested. When he said it out loud it sounded pathetic but he didn't have the time or money to run to the hospital for every tiny scrape and he hadn't died of infection yet. "Though I prefer drinking the whiskey," he added as an after thought.

Mystery Man chuckled and pulled Dean to his feet, steadying him as he swayed a bit, working to get his footing. Once steady the mechanic lead the way to the bathroom, grabbing his 'first-aid' kit on the way. There were beer bottles scattered everywhere and a few shirts on the couch. He couldn't remember when or why he had put them there.

The way the garage was set up was that there was a small reception/waiting area with an office where the paperwork was stored and a computer was on a desk. There was a door that led to the garage through that room as well as the big garage door. In the back there was an inconspicuous door that led to an apartment-like living space. It had a bedroom, small bathroom, and the small kitchen and living area were connected. It wasn't much but it was home and had enough room for Dean.

They made their way to the bathroom and Mystery Man made Dean sit down on the sink before shrugging off the tan trench coat and throwing it haphazardly to the floor. Dean decided it should be illegal for this man to even wear clothes because god damn.

The thin white dress shirt stretched over the man's chest and Dean could see smooth panes of muscles. He just wanted to lick and touch and kiss and run his hands over this man. He wet his dry, chapped lips and looked into blue eyes, his favorite color. Sam had liked to wear blue. So had Bobby. Sadness flooded his eyes.

"What's your name?" The mechanic asked, trying to distract himself from the thoughts that had been crushing him ever since he heard the news. "Castiel," came the gruff reply. Cas, no, Castiel, Dean corrected himself, tore some fabric off of an old tank top and put it under warm water.

The mechanic was, honestly, impressed by the man's strength and watched his muscles ripple under skin and thin fabric. He wanted to just watch this guy all day, study how he moved. touch him. feel him.

Dean kept his head still as Castiel pressed the cloth to his face and clean the blood and dirt from the cuts. He used one hand to tilt the mechanic's head up. Dean kept thinking, "No. Why am I letting him do this? Why am I not pushing him away?" He told himself it was because he didn't care what happened to him. Deep down though, he knew it was because he needed it.

Castiel worked slowly, gently. He made small, soft circles on Dean's skin, washing the dirt and sweat and blood from him. Eventually, his face was cleaned up and Cas had him tilt his head back so he could stitch the gash on his cheek. It hurt a little but it was just an insistent, small, stinging scratching at the back of his mind. Hardly noticeable.

Once his face was done Castiel made Dean lean back against the wall and over the sink a little. The smaller man grabbed the whiskey and poured it over the cut on the mechanic's hip. Dean hissed and jerked away, eyes widening. The mechanic got control of himself though and held still. Castiel pressed one of the old tank tops to his side and stopped the bleeding before looking up at Dean with his absolutely amazing eyes.

"Do you have any sports tape?" He asked, voice gravelly. Dean had to consciously stop himself from shivering. "I've got electrical tape," the mechanic offered, pulling a small roll from the cabinet to the side of the sink. He probably had at least one roll in every room of the place.

Castiel taped the fabric to Dean's hip, the tape going all the way around his torso. Dean shivered and restrained himself from pressing into that skilled touch. He could feel the heat radiating off of Cas and he wanted more. Next came the scratches and cuts on his back.

"This'll sting but stay still," was his only warning before a rag doused with whiskey was pressed to his back. He gasped and flinched away but a large warm hand on his shoulder stopped him from getting too far.

Dean groaned and hung his head, panting. It felt like his back was being whipped and set on fire. Cas stayed behind him with a hand on his shoulder, comforting him. The man washed Deans cuts out as his hand ran up and down the mechanic's arm. Dean pressed lightly into that hand and tried to keep his breathing steady.

Warm breath was suddenly ghosting over Dean's shoulder. "Done with that now stay still while I bandage this up," Castiel murmured and the mechanic turned to look at the man. Castiel looked into his eyes for a moment before moving again.

Dean cursed those goddamn blue eyes and that fucking sex hair. And holy thin shirt this man would be the death of him. And those fingers Jesus Christ. Just...damn. He sucked in a sharp breath when he felt a cold rag against his back but didn't say anything, just stood still, knuckles white gripping the sink.

"Relax," Castiel murmured, running his oh-so-soft fingers against Dean's tense ones. The mechanic was forced to relax, taking a deep breath. "Good," the dark haired man praised, continuing to wash and dress the cuts. Once he was done he tapped Dean's shoulder, making the mechanic wince.

"Anything for sunburn?" He asked. "Nope," came Dean's short reply. Castiel sighed, "you really don't care do you?" He asked. Dean shook his head. The lack of water was making him dizzy and he was pretty sure Cas could tell. "C'mon," the man said, tugging Dean into the kitchen.

Castiel made Dean sit on the counter and started rummaging through the fridge. "Geez just make yourself at home wouldja?" Dean muttered. Cas turned to him, anger cold in his eyes. He grabbed Dean and pressed him up against the wall. "You should show some respect, Dean. I don't have to save you. I don't have to care," he snarled. Dean glared back with as much intensity, "Maybe I don't want to be saved," he shot back.

Castiel's eyes widened a moment, "Deep down you DO want to be saved or else you would've ended your wasted life already," he growled, and Dean realized that was the truth. Deep down, he didn't want to die. He just didn't have the courage to carry on. "I can't keep going," he whispered brokenly. Castiel's eyes softened, "you've made it this far," he whispered back.

Dean shook his head, " and I'm trapped here. Alone," he murmured, choking back tears. Cas kept looking into Dean's eyes. "They're gone," the mechanic continued quietly. " and it's my fault." He voice was hoarse and eyes wet. Cas shook his head. "No. It wasn't. Your brother was Sam Winchester right?" He asked and Dean let out a quiet gasp. "How did you-"

"Shhh," Cas cut him off. "I read about it in the papers and had a class with him in college and It wasn't your fault. It was a drunk driver. You KNOW that," he said fiercely. Dean shook his head, "I should've-"
"You should've done a lot of things but it's too late now and you have to let go and not look back," Cas's voice cut him off again.
Dean shook his head, "I can't. I've got no one," he said, brokenly.

There was a look in Cas's eyes. Sadness? Pain? Disappointment? Dean didn't know. The man sighed and released the mechanic, "let's get you water," he murmured, shuffling through the contents of the fridge. Eventually he pulled out two water bottles and set them on the counter.

Dean kept his eyes glued to his lap the whole time. Cas walked to him and tapped his knee, "C'mon," he said, tugging the mechanic to a standing position. Dean leaned lightly on Castiel as the man led him to the couch and made him sit. Dean winced as the scratches in his back rubbed against the fabric.

Castiel kneeled in front of him and opened a water bottle. "Drink," he commanded and pressed the bottle to his lips. Dean closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and opened his mouth. Cas slowly poured the water into his mouth and Dean swallowed mouthful after mouthful of the cool liquid. The water rushing over his tongue felt so, so good.

After about half the bottle was down Castiel pulled it away. Dean opened his eyes and looked toward Cas. "When's the last time you ate?" The man asked. Dean shrugged. Castiel's eyes widened, "seriously?" He asked. Dean fidgeted nervously, eyes darting everywhere but the man in front of him.

Castiel let out a frustrated noise and got up from kneeling on the tan carpet. "Stay here," he said and Dean watched him go into the small kitchen, searching the cupboards. A wave of tiredness hit the mechanic and his eyes dropped. He hadn't realized how exhausted he had been. Dean laid back on the couch and let his eyes droop shut. Castiel came back with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

The man saw Dean let his eyes flutter shut and he darted over, setting the plate on the coffee table. "Dean," he growled, shaking him roughly. Dean shot up, groaning at his headache. "Food," Castiel said, calmed now. Dean shifted and Cas handed him a bit of the sandwich. "Slowly," he said.

Dean looked at Cas then the food and took a small bite, a mighty feat for him. Cas nodded approvingly once he finished the piece and the man handed him another, not giving him the whole sandwich for fear or him eating it too fast. Dean ate that too.

"Hey Cas," he said as the man handed him the next piece. There was about a fourth left. "Yeah Dean?" He asked. "Thanks," the mechanic said. Cas smiled, "no problem Dean," he said. Dean let a half-hearted smirk tug at the corner of his mouth and he took a bite.

They continued this, Cas giving Dean bits of the food to make sure he didn't eat too fast and get sick. Then little sips of water in between. Once the food and one water bottle was gone Dean yawned. Cas gave him a look, "Dean, no offense but before I let you sleep you need to change," he said.

Dean looked down at his jeans, covered in dirt and blood and sweat. The mechanic nodded in agreement. The two made their way to Dean's room where he grabbed a pair of sweatpants, boxers, and a tank top. Then, Dean walked to the bathroom and changed, Cas staying in his bedroom. The mechanic walked back, feet brushing against the soft carpet.

Once in his room the mechanic spotted Cas sitting on his bed and god did that do things to him. He suddenly wished he wasn't wearing sweatpants. Dean swallowed thickly and Cas looked up. Dean felt that those piercing blue eyes could see right through his soul. "Better?" It was more of a statement than a question. Dean nodded, not trusting his voice. Castiel gave him a weird look but got up fidgeting nervously. Dean was suddenly struck by a thought.

"You don't have a place to stay tonight do you Cas?" He asked. Now the man looked scared and that made Dean scared. He'd only ever seen the strong, commanding, side of Cas. "No," the man said. Dean frowned, "you can stay here," he offered quietly. Then remembered his couch was covered in beer bottles and dirty clothes. Fuck.

Castiel shook his head. "Yes. I'm not letting you go out on the streets," Dean said, tone offering not argument. And the he saw his chance to get that sexy bastard in bed with him. "My couch is totally destroyed so I'll sleep on the floor," he said, knowing what the other man's reaction would be.

"What? No! Dean! I just finished fixing you up! Take the bed!" Cas said. Dean smirked internally. "No, Cas. You're the guest so you take the bed," he insisted. "Dean, no. Don't be stupid," the dark haired man retorted. Dean faked anger, "Damnit Cas! Either I sleep on the floor or we share a bed!" He said. Cas seemed taken aback but nodded. "Fine. We share the bed," he admitted defeat.

Dean did a mental fist pump and nodded. "Alright," he mumbled and turned off the light. It was about ten at night now. The mechanic walked over to the lamp on the bedside table and turned it on, realizing how close he was to Cas.

Dean stared a few seconds. The light cast shadows on Cas's face and if that wasn't the sexiest thing ever he didn't know what was. He had to restrain himself from just jumping forward and attacking the man's mouth with his tongue. Dean coughed to cover up his staring and moved to the other side of the bed, totally missing Cas's self-satisfied smirk.

Dean crawled into bed and ducked under the covers. Cas knew exactly what he did to Dean and he took it a step further, slowly stripping off his shirt then leaning down and kicking off his shoes and socks. Dean's mouth went dry and he swallowed thickly because damn. Inch after inch of pale skin was being exposed and Dean's sweatpants felt about three sizes to small suddenly. Fuck fuck fuck. Abort. Abort. This was a bad idea. Too late now.

Cas crawled under the blankets, "Okay just a warning I cuddle and toss and turn in my sleep, just a heads up," he said, looking into the mechanic's eyes. Dean's pupils were blown wide. Mission accomplished. Dean nodded and Cas reached over, plunging them into darkness.

Dean had trouble falling asleep and when he did he slept fitfully. He hadn't slept in a long time, opting to fix cars all night instead. He had nightmares of Sam and Bobby in the crash, the scene playing over and over in his head.