you don't have to say anything

It was impossible to tell how long Castiel had been sitting on the bed- his bed, cause that's what it was; his bed. It'd been his bed for the past three months, ever since his grace had depleted and all that was left was a soul he wasn't used to in a vessel that was supposed to be him.

It was him, had been him for years but without his grace it was all new. Well, not completely new. He'd been human before but it was easy to forgot once he got his grace back. Yet, here he was again, human, and completely unused to feeling of... well, feeling. Sure, he understood emotions and sensations as an angel and even enjoyed them but everything was different as a human. The sensations and emotions he'd taught himself to love as an angel only tripled as a human and it all became too overwhelming.

So, he sat there, on his bed, in his room, in the bunker, just around the corner from Sam's and two doors down from Dean. It should've comforted him the brothers were so close, he could just get up and knock on one of their doors, most likely Dean's, and confess he was having a problem... but he couldn't, couldn't get up, couldn't bother dean, couldn't stop the shaking in his limbs that caused his whole body to rock, couldn't wipe away the wetness that leaked from his eyes and made his cheeks sticky, couldn't calm the breathing that heaved his chest up and down erratically, he just couldn't.

It felt incredibly stupid. He was a warrior of heaven, leader of his garrison, an angel of the lord, and one simple panic attack was what immobilized him.

He wanted to get up, maybe take a shower, change into some lose comfy clothes so his skin wouldn't feel so tight but he was unable to move from his spot on the end of his twin bed. He tried using the grounding methods he'd read about online after making it through his first panic attack the first time he'd been human, he'd thought he was dying at the time, the knowledge of panic attacks unknown to him until a nice customer at the gas 'n sip had seen him crouched in the alley balling his eyes out and explained to him what was happening and different ways to help calm oneself down- none of those ways worked now either.

There something warm and sticky wetting his left hand, he wanted to pretend it was just sweat but the sharp prick of his nails digging into his palm told him otherwise and he supposed he needed to clean that up as well.

There's a hum added to the once dead silence of his room and he isn't sure what's happening when a gentle pair of calloused hands cradle the sides of his face. Only when a deep worried voice breaks from the indistinct humming does everything come into
focus, "Cas."

His tear blurred eyes are looking into a pair of bright emerald ones. He's seen these eyes before, memorized them like he has the words of his own language memorized, he knows these eyes, knows who they belong to. Dean. His Dean. Well, no, not his, at least not in the way he truly yearns for.

He blinks, trying to refocus of what was happening; Dean was crouching in front of him, concern furrowing his brow and his lips turned down in a frown. The hum that Castiel had assumed was his own fickle ears playing tricks on him had been Dean, attempting to get his attention.

"Cas? What's going on? Are you hurt?" Dean's voice is deep and filled with a sort of panic Cas can relate to. His thumbs tenderly rub circles against Cas' cheeks, wiping away streaming tears. And Cas is confused, so confused, how can a man who's spent his whole life killing walking nightmares be so calming? so gentle and soft? How could Dean, perfect Dean, waste his time on someone like Cas, far from perfect Cas?

"Cas?" He repeats, his eyes haven't left Cas' and he realizes he hasn't said anything, just left his mouth hanging open slightly in his attempt to respond.

"I-" he starts but his voice cracks and he has to stop to swallow down a thick sob. He blows out a slow breath as Dean continues to patiently wipe away his fallen tears, "I'm
not hurt."