Dean Winchester is broken, alone.
Okay, his brother is on the next motel bed over, so he isn't technically alone, but it doesn't make a damn bit of difference.
Castiel is gone, and no matter how many times he tells himself such, no matter how many times he repeats the words in his head, he can't bring himself to believe it.
It's been weeks since the hellhounds came for Cas, but Dean hadn't uttered a single word since—not to Sam, not to Bobby, not to anyone. He simply sits, not sure what to do with himself, knowing that if he tries to do anything, to say anything, that he will snap, break entirely.
A slight smile tugs at his lips and a single tear runs down his cheek at the memory of his angel. It'd been four years since he realized the true extent of his feelings towards Cas, but he can still remember each detail vividly.
At the time, none of them were sure of exactly what was happening with the angel. Anyone could see that he was becoming more human every day, but none knew how accurate that sentiment would prove to be.
That was, until Castiel actually became human.
It was a haunting, a routine job, something the Winchesters had taken on to pass the time. There was nothing unusual about the hunt going in. A long abandoned house, rumored to be haunted for about fifty years, just as many versions of the story, teenagers making bets to stay the night, the whole shebang. They could tell as soon as they entered the building, however, that something was different.
They entered through a window, leading to a small first floor bathroom. In the tight quarters, Dean felt the angel stiffen next to him, and his breath hitched audibly.
"Something is here," Cas said, keeping his voice low and cautious.
"Yeah, we know," Dean replied, failing at keeping the sarcasm out of his voice. That's why we're here." The hunter could tell that Cas wanted to say more, but neither pushed the subject. Habitually, all fell silent, focusing on the job at hand as they moved through the decrepit house, salt-loaded shotguns at the ready.
Nothing out of the ordinary happened—they didn't even see any signs that the place was actually haunted!—until Castiel let out a choking gasp. The Winchesters turned and, in the dim light pouring through the dirty windows, they could see the angel pinned against a wall, thrashing helplessly, his feet dangling a yard above the scarred wooden floor.
"Cas!" Dean yelped, automatically running towards the angel. However, Sam clasped his arms around his brother, catching him in a death grip and barely pulling him out of the way before the knives flew. Castiel let out a horrified scream as three large kitchen blades embedded themselves in his torso, piercing right through to the wood behind him.
With some desperate thrashing, Dean broke free of Sam's grasp, running towards the angel once more, but before he could get to him, there was a blinding flash of light. He stumbled, unable to see, and fell to his knees next to Castiel, now slumped on the floor, unmoving.
"Cas!" he exclaimed again, attempting to blink away the dancing spots clouding his vision. No response came from his friend. He pulled the angel's head and shoulders into his lap, repeating the name over and over, "Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas…" as if it would make Castiel come back, as if it would make everything better. Tears were running down the hunter's cheeks as he cradled Castiel's head in his arms. Sam knelt across from his brother, hands fluttering uselessly across Cas's chest, unsure what to do.
Then, like a miracle, Castiel stirred and groaned, eyes flying open and staring up at Dean. The moonlight shone in through a broken window, showing bright, alert eyes, but the expression on his face wasn't one of relief. It showed only shock, confusion, and fear.
"Cas?" Dean spoke cautiously. "What is it?"
"Dean," he said, his voice quiet and strained. "I-I'm human!"