I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters (unfortunately) and I never will (dammit). Absolutely no money is being made from this either.

So this is a Destiel story that takes place at the end of the episode 'My Bloody Valentine'. The first part is just the end of the episode, but for the people who just don't remember it as clearly, I put in my interpretation of it. This is my first fanfiction so please be nice! Comment and Review!


Dean couldn't believe this was his life now. Hunting demons, fighting horsemen and most of all trying to stop the damn Apocalypse. Was this really it? His destiny? He knew he'd probably never have a wife and a mini-me, but hey, a guy's gotta dream! He stood outside the door of the locked Panic room at Bobby's house in South Dakota . He could hardly stand up hearing Sam scream his lungs out, hoping to god that help will come. Castiel stood only a few steps away from him, giving him his personal space that Dean always required but close enough that Dean knew he was there for him.

"Help. Help. Dean! Cas! If you're out there please! Help!"

They both ignored Sam. Cas knew that if he said anything, Dean would yell at him. Dean on the other hand, just didn't know how to response. There was a lump in his throat. It was made up of frustration, fear, anger and sadness. He took a sip from his bottle of drink looking at nothing in particular. His brother continued to scream. Dean was barely hanging on.

"That's not him in there, not really" Said Cas, trying to make Dean somewhat better.

"I know," lied Dean. He didn't want to show his real emotion, especially not to Cas. He wasn't weak, especially not with issues around his brother, right?

Cas could see Dean's facial expression. He knew him too well. He knew he was holding back, trying not to let tears roll down his cheek.

"Dean, Sam just has to get it out of his system, then he'll be –" Cas said, continuing to try to make Dean feel better, but was cut off mid sentence.

"I know, I just, ah," Dean paused for a minute trying to find the right words but failed. "I just need some air," was the only thing he could manage to get out, though that fact was true, he needed to get out of this place.

Cas looked over concerned as Dean left the room.


He walked outside to the cold air. His safe haven, the impala, was parked only a few feet away so with his bottle he walked over and stood, leaning on the side door, his side door, to stop from collapsing on the ground. It was like his whole body was crumpling from the inside. He was shaking, Tears streaming down his face uncontrollably. His body felt so weak and tired he couldn't even take a sip of his drink. He felt ill. He thought about everything. He couldn't do this; live this life, save the world. Whose stupid idea was this? To put the world on his shoulders? Hadn't he been through enough?

He didn't know what else to do. He looked to the sky. He didn't know if he even believed in god but he knew this much; He couldn't do all this on his own.

"Please. I can't –" He shook his head choking on his words. "I need some help. Please." Somewhere inside of him he knew no one was listening. He felt sick at the feeling of the world ending. Why was it even ending? He still couldn't understand. No one could.