Rain
—ж—
Dean choked back another sob and hugged the torn, filthy trench coat closer to his chest. Tears danced in white streaks down his dirtied cheeks as rain battered the outside of his beloved Impala. It wasn't right. This…feeling of emptiness, like someone had torn his heart from his chest and left him to bleed, it was wrong; utterly and completely wrong. Burying his face in the coat, Dean inhales. He smells earth, and fire, leather and something else, something that was uniquely Castiel. Something that Dean had come to miss in his everyday life. But it was too late. Cas was gone, and it was his entire fault. He had driven the angel away, forced him to carry out his every beck and call and had failed Cas when the angel had needed Dean the most. This was his fault, all of it. Another breath and Dean let the last of his walls crumble. 'Carry on My Wayward Son' played softly from the Impala's radio.