Dean sat up in the bed. He looked over to where Sam lay asleep at the table; he walked over to him and shut down the laptop. He closed his eyes and stretched. He swiped the keys of the table and went out to see his baby. He locked the door behind him and started the engine. He pulled out of the dusty old motel and left Sam behind him. He drove his knuckles white from gripping the wheel to hard. He swerved out of his lane and into the oncoming traffic. The horns blared but he still drove unflinching into traffic. It was then that he heard the voice. "Dean." the gruff voice said softly and dean swerved back out into a deserted field. He cut the engine, and sat there. His body shook and he punched the dash. He slammed the door of the impala and sat down on the hood. "Dean." he heard again softly, softer than the breath of a new born kitten.
He closed his eyes and remembered that night
When his angel fell from the sky. When the war was fought, and when he lost his only hold on life. He was back to that night, when Cas had thrown himself in front of the blade. When he cradled the angels head and watched the life drain out of his blue eyes. Dean let a tear slip down his cheek. He remembered taking the blade out of Cas and using it to kill every last angel on that plane. Every single one that had watched as Cas, as Dean's angel fell. He opened his eyes and for a second he saw that trench coat before him. He let the tears fall as heavy as they pleased. He pulled the gun from his coat pocket, and flipped off the safety. He closed his eyes and held it up. Waiting for the courage to pull the trigger.