**Spoiler Warning: contains plot from season 5, up to "Swan Song" **
SINGER SALVAGE YARD - NIGHT
Dean crossed the yard from Bobby's back porch to the garage. He could hear the sound of a synth keyboard coming from somewhere. An echoing voice. It was Debbie Gibson, singing "No More Rhyme." Dean felt himself becoming nauseated. He didn't have time to dwell on it, however, as an empty whiskey bottle dropped into his path, nearly landing on top of him.
"Hey!" Dean barked. He looked up at the roof of the garage.
Castiel was up there, sitting on the ridgepole, legs dangling over the drip edge of the roofing as he opened a bottle of Wild Turkey. Perched precariously beside him on a shingle was an old battery-powered cassette player. There was an aluminum ladder propped up against the overhang.
"What the hell are you doing up there?" Dean said. "Bobby told me you were out here super-sizing a liver. Seeing as he was wasted, too, I wasn't sure what to think."
Castiel raised his bottle to toast Dean, then took a long swing. He made lemon face and grunted. "I'm-." He had to stop and clear his throat. "I'm on the roof."
Dean grinned through his frustration. "You don't say. Let's just jog back to my original question. What the hell are you doing up there!"
Castiel smiled, somewhat lost in thought. Feeling sorry for himself. "Have you ever been in the depths of despair, Dean?"
Dean looked at him for a moment. "Get your ass down here," Dean said. "Now."
Castiel chuckled to himself, then stood up on the ridgepole. "You mean now?" he asked, teetering slightly. "As in, right now?"
Dean put a hands up, anxious. "Okay, not that quick, Cas. Just... calm down, alright? When was the last time you slept?"
Castiel scoffed. "That's not an imp art, Dean."
"...A what?" Dean said.
"What?" Castiel echoed back.
Dean sighed, losing patience. "You can't go on like this, Cas."
"I know," Castiel said. "The end is at hand. I can never return to paradise. My grace is... noticeably diminished. I'm in the depths of despair."
"Yeah." Dean's nostrils flared. He was really starting to get annoyed. "It's the actual end of the freaking world, I think it's harshed everybody's mellow!"
Castiel shook his head hard, getting upset. "You don't understand. How..." He found himself getting dizzy, and sat back down on the ridgepole. "I'm referring to the ultimate blaspheme: the complete desolation of the spirit. To despair is to turn one's back on God."
"Considering you gave heaven the finger weeks ago, I think blasphemy is the least of you worries, man."
"That's right," Castiel groaned. "What's it matter? It's only an eternity of endless torment for me. What's that got to do with you and your gargantuan brother?"
"Cas!"
"Isn't that how you see everything?" Castiel asked. "In your Deany brain, I defected from the axis powers, made the right decision. But in objective reality, I went against The Almighty. I kill my siblings for you, something you couldn't do for the fate of the planet. I've damned myself so that you could reject your destiny, and now we've all but failed. And that is why," he hugged his booze, "I'm a hopeless drunkard."
"You think I don't know how you feel?" Dean asked. "Cas, you know what we've been through. I've lost everything-."
"You never had anything worth losing," Castiel hissed, finally getting angry. "You're an apostate with a precious towering monstrosity for a family. That, and an exaggerated respect for the grizzled lunatic who raised you."
Dean thought about it for a moment. "Uh, which... grizzled lunatic?"
"Doesn't matter. That feeling of family and connection, feeble as it was, has never left you. And you can ignore it whenever you want, it's a human luxury. But I was built to eternally love and obey the maker of all things. To feel his presence in my every cell, at every moment. Perfectly. And I did, Dean, for a millennium. Now I'm cut off and alone, for the first time in my life. And I can't ignore the emptiness either. So stop comparing you're misery to mine. It sickens me."
"Okay," Dean said, "you wanna win the pain-out contest? Fine, yours is bigger than mine. But you're not alone, Cas."
Castiel scoffed again. "This isn't about you," he said. "Not everything is, if you can believe it. I can't live anymore." He took another swig.
"Weren't you the one kickin' my ass," Dean asked, "because I was about to give up? We've all been on a ledge. Now more than ever."
"That's not why I 'kicked your ass'," Castiel said.
"Sure," Dean said, "okay. But you know you can't liquefy yourself by jumping off the garage, right? For one thing, you're only two stories up. It's not exactly the Chrysler Building."
"It's high enough to break my neck," Castiel pointed out.
The song that was playing ended, and an acoustic version of "We Could Be Together" began to play. Yes, also by Debbie Gibson.
"Is that an album?" Dean sighed, as if it were physically painful to listen to.
"You're making me want to find a higher roof," Castiel grumbled.
"Fine," Dean said. "You wanna paint the driveway? Do it. But just do one last thing for me."
"I can't do anything anymore," Castiel said.
"You don't need your power for it," Dean said. "Just... one thing."
"What?"
Dean smirked. "Do redrum," he said.
Castiel glared at Dean. "No."
"Come on," said Dean. His tone had become cajoling. "One last time? Nobody does redrum like you, Cas."
"No!" Castiel shouted. "I will not use my last moments on this earth to debase myself for your entertainment."
"Remember when we made Bobby sing 'Venom Wearin' Denim'?" Dean asked. "It's the same thing."
"You told me it would cheer him up," Castiel said, standing up on the ridgepole again. "He hit me with a book, Dean."
"No one's perfect," Dean said, looking a little embarrassed. "You know, you have pretty unrealistic expectations of people?"
Castiel gave him a wry look. "My dad was God," he said.
Dean thought about it, nodded. "That'd do it. Alright. Go ahead." Dean shoved his hands in his coat pockets and moved so that he was standing directly under Castiel.
Castiel made Sulky Teenager face. "What are you doing?" he growled.
"Oh, I'm in the way," Dean said chipperly.
"I'll crush you," Castiel said.
"Alright," Dean said, his tone suggesting a warning.
"Why did you say it like that?" Castiel asked.
Dean shrugged innocently. "No reason."
Castiel steeled himself. "I'm jumping anyway."
Dean grinned, folded his arms. "Try it," he said. "But if I catch you, I'm gonna drive you into the grown like a tent peg. I still owe you for that beat-down the other night."
"If I jump," Castiel said, "and land on you, you'll be the one that's sorry."
Dean just smiled. "Alright. It's just, you weigh less than my laundry. I'm amazed the wind hasn't carried you off already."
Castiel was beginning to wear out. "What do you want from me?" he whined.
Dean put up a finger. "One day," he said. "That's it. Twenty-four hours to try to turn this thing around. If it doesn't happen, I'll climb on the ledge next to you."
Castiel thought about it for a moment, not knowing what to say. "How do I hold out that long?"
"Take it an hour at a time," Dean said gently. "Or a minute. You don't have to know how, just hold on."
The fight had gone out of Castiel. "Why?" he asked.
"Because I'm asking you," Dean said. "In the meantime, ride it out. Watch 'Beaches' and weep manfully. Or - here's an idea - you could get some friggin' sleep."
"Angels don't sleep," Castiel said. There was something profoundly sad in his inflection.
Dean's face was all sympathy. "I know," he said quietly. "You, uh... You want a turnover?"
Castiel looked angry for a moment, his gaze wandering away. When it came back, his expression was somewhat sheepish.
Dean nodded, and gestured with his hand for Castiel to come down. "Come on, buddy. Let's get you a chocolate pie."
