{{Hey guys. I wasn't thinking when I posted this that it was originally an rp so... The first bit is half mine, half someone else's but I never got their contact info/name so I can't credit them. If you are them or know them and they want me to take it down, I will... But the entire second part was from my own head so idk... Whatever.}}
Completely strung out for the fifth night in a row Castiel found himself stumbling up the stairs to Dean's apartment. It had been three years and he swore to himself he'd never come back here, not like this, Dean would be so ashamed. All those years ago Dean pushed him out, threatening a choice between him or the drugs, so Cas left him, intending to fight this battle alone. He could give him nothing the way he was, already starting to lose his war on drugs, he'd thought he could fight it better on his own, that he wouldn't have to put Dean through it, but he was so wrong. Castiel soon after fell into pieces, into ruins without him. And right now, after popping yet another amphetamine, he couldn't care less, he just needed to see Dean one more time before he died of this addiction. The bottle of gin in his hand was dangling loosely in his grip and threatened to fall down, but the worn out man hauled it up again to take another swig. His jacket was torn and hanging limply off his shoulder, his shirt long over worn and loose on his frame of bones. Wiping his mouth and running a hand through his completely unkempt hair Cas blinked a few times to clear his blurry vision. His entire body felt like it was on fire and running ice cold, he'd never been this high before and the trembling was unbelievable. Perhaps that was what gave him the courage to drag himself up to Dean's door, banging on it heavily before leaning in the door frame. "Deaaaannnn!" He slurred, sounding to him like he was too loud when in reality he was mumbling. "I know you're in there!" He hissed again, slipping to a kneeling position. Castiel's mouth was fuzzy and dry, and he tried to drown it out with some more gin.
Dean had just been laying on the couch watching Star Trek re-runs, bottle of beer in his hand. It the knocking he sat up and rubbed his bleary eyes, setting the bottle down and walking towards the door. He was about to open it when he heard the voice, the voice he had been missing since three years ago. Castiel's voice. He bit his lip and opened the door, expecting the worst. He got worse that he was expecting, to be honest. Castiel was terrible, his eyes red and his clothes filthy and Dean but his lip hard. Castiel used to be and Angel, for Christ's sake. Now... Now he was this. "Jesus, Cas," he muttered, all but dragging him inside and onto the couch. He was drunk, maybe high as well, and Dean sighed, his breath shaky. "What... What happened...?"
The human stumbled along with Dean's dragging, clearly trying to walk, but his legs wouldn't support him. They felt like static and nothing in his toes, sensation fading in and out with his pulse: too much and nothing all at once, almost sobbing as his feet dragged along the carpet, every fiber of the fabric running between his toes like a needle. Sprawling on the couch as Dean put him there, even as Castiel tried to lean back towards Dean and take in the scent of beer and cinnamon that seemed to follow him. "Jus' wanna say bye, 'kay? Didn't... didn't say bye las' time." Too thin. Shaking. Shaking hard enough that the couch trembled somewhat as well, breath coming in wheezes more than actual inhales, still clinging to the gin bottle like it would save the world. It fell to the ground, rolling for a few inches, before coming to a stop, fingers unable to properly grip anymore. Something was so very wrong. "N'more time."
Dean watched Castiel, his eyes wide and laced with panic. He knew what was going on and he tried to force the thought down. Overdose. The word had been haunting his brain for months. He bit his lip and kneeled down next to Castiel, his hands ghosting over his face as he tried not to cry. He had never forgiven himself for not being able to save Castiel, and now, to see him like this... It was like a slap. Worse than a slap, really. "Fuck," he muttered. "Cas, it's gonna be alright, okay? I'm going to call the ambulance and they'll take you to the hospital. You're going to be alright." His voice cracked and he cursed himself for being so weak. "This is not goodbye, you understand me. We're going to fix this." He pulled out his cellphone, ready to dial 911.
Eyes blown black went wide. Too much light, yet too weak to raise a hand against it, too weak to curl away. His muscles weren't responding to him, just spasming slightly. "No, no, no hospital..." A hand raised in a clumsy attempt to grab Dean's wrist, instead just landing awkwardly on it, not enough force behind his grip to be able to make any form of impression. Black was edging in on his vision. He couldn't feel the pain in his back anymore. "No hospital... no." Not the doctors, they would grab and poke and prod and he'd been through this before, Castiel would NOT do it again, he couldn't. He wasn't strong enough for that. They'd just fixed him up and thrown him back on the streets again, back in the gutter to rot. Somewhat like Dean had. But that was alright. He had forgiven that. "Jus' need t'say... m'sorry..." Raspy voice getting somewhat more breathy, weaker as more effort was put in. "M'so sorry, Dean..." His words were slurring. Tongue too heavy for his mouth. "Fucked up real bad."
Dean shook his head urgently. "Cas, yes. We need to get you to the hospital you..." He swallowed and pulled Castiel's hand off of his wrist. "You're dying," he whispered, the words falling from his mouth though it didn't sound like it to him. It sounded like someone else was saying it, hovering around them and muttering things Dean didn't want to think about. This wasn't going to happen, not when he at least had a chance at saving him. He could not lose Castiel. He had lost everyone else on this godforsaken planet and if Castiel though he was going to leave him to die... He was stupider that Dean had thought. "It's okay, Cas. Don't be sorry. It's okay." There was no time left, Dean could see it. Castiel was dying right in front of him and fuck everything if he wasn't going to do something. His hands were shaking as he dialed 911, on hand desperately clinging to one of Castiel's as he waited for an operator.
"That... was kinda t'point..." Castiel slurred out with something that might have once passed for a laugh, even as it warped to a protesting mewl at the sight of Dean dialing, trying to raise his hand again, but it only made it about halfway. What, did Dean think this was an accident? Maybe the first time with too much whiskey and too many rows of little, circular, orange pills? Of course not. It had been three years, three lonely, painful, horrible years on the street with nothing and no one to ever even consider going to for help. Sam wasn't an option. He wouldn't... he wouldn't go there. Dean had told him to go. Bobby was gone. Everyone was gone. Castiel had nothing, was Dean really so naive to think that he would have been okay? "No, nooo, no, c'mon... m'okay... got 'bout... half n'hour 'fore I go. Just wanna sleep, 'kay?" Just want to go peacefully. With you.
Dean was breathing hard by then, tears threatening to fall no matter how hard he pushed them back. This was not happening. He will wake up and these past three months will have all been some stupid dream and Castiel would be okay and Sam won't have walked out on him and... And... And Castiel wouldn't be here... Practically begging to die. But... When was he ever one to believe in crazy shit like that. He had been wrong, he had thought Castiel would sort himself out. He was so wrong and he regretted it every day for three months. His voice was shaky. "Castiel, you are not going to sleep you hear me" He shook him a lot harder than he meant to, but he wasn't risking this. Castiel was going to be fine. He just kept telling himself that.
"Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?"
"H-hello, yes... My friend... He's dying of overdose right now..." Dean could barely get the words out. He didn't want to believe what he was saying. He wrapped and arm around Castiel's back - he was a lot skinnier than before - and tugged him into a sitting position, climbing up to sit beside him on the couch.
He hurt. His chest hurt so badly. Aching, burning, lungs straining to even function with rasps of breath choppily struggling to simply expand. Blinking blearily with the shake, eyes beginning to become unfocused, pupils too wide, drinking in any light they could register. "Jus' wanna sleep..." In all of three months, he had slept maybe two times per week. There hadn't been anywhere safe. He'd woken up once to a strange, elderly man reaching for his pants and that had been the last time he tried a gathering of homeless tents. Sleep in alleyways, dumpsters, rooftops, anything, but not easy places to find. He'd lost his dwindling money more than once that way. He'd starved. Any money he got went to water and the odd cheap meal, scarfing it down like it would save him. There was nothing. The things he'd done for the drugs... The voice over the speaker interrupted.
"Sir, where is your location? We can send an ambulance right away."
"No! No, please, D'n, please..." The small man forced out in a whimpering plead, stomach beginning to turn in the way he knew meant that his body was trying to reject the drugs. Just want sleep. Please.
Dean couldn't see. Everything was a blur as the tears fell. Castiel wanted this. He wanted to die. This was the worst thing that could have come out of this. That Castiel, the wonderful man he once was, his Castiel, would be reduced to this. He ignored Castiel's pleas and told the operator his address before handing up. He just needed to keep Castiel awake for five more minutes. He could do this. He /would\ do this. He was going to save him and then he would never let Castiel go again. Never. "Castiel you have to listen to me. You have to hang in there buddy. You have to hang in there." He sniffed and breathed in, his body shaking as he held back sobs. "I need you, Cas. I- You can do this."
Once, he'd smiled. He'd stood straight, wore ties, weighed enough, ate and slept. Once he'd been sober. There had been a picture that Sam had taken of the two of them long ago, and both of them had been smiling, even if Castiel was just starting to get a bit too thin. Tired. He'd taken the fall hard, just as one might expect. Castiel had lost his entire identity that day. The depression had lasted... well, apparently even until now, but the time when he couldn't get out of bed had been weeks after. He had smiled once. Now, he was hunched over and tiny and sick and disgusting and he just wanted to sleep. It was better than knowing. "Can't breathe." The man wheezed out, allowing himself to curl into Dean's side, drinking in the fading scent of cinnamon.
Dean shook his head. "Castiel, you are not leaving me you hear me? I can't..." He pulled Castiel into his lap and could hear the sound of sirens getting closer. "I can't do this without you. I made a mistake all those months ago. I understand that. I- You are going to get through this. We are going to get through this. We always do." He ran a hand through Castiel's dirty, sweaty hair but couldn't care less. His chest was barely rising and falling and his eyes were starting to close. "Cas, we can do this. Together." He rested his forehead against Castiel's and took a deep breath, stemming the tears for just a second. "You'll be okay," he whispered.
Castiel fell into a fit of coughs, the sound deep and sick and dry. His body shook with the force of it and he cried out in pain. He was barely able to get any breath between coughs, and he was about to pass out from lack of oxygen.
Dean panicked, unsure what to do. He wasn't a doctor, he couldn't fix this. He just hoped the paramedics would be here soon. When Castiel finally stopped coughing and continued wheezing for breath, he grabbed Castiel's face in his hands. His eyes were unfocused and glossy, but they were still the same blue as before, the same blue that would shine when he smiled and light up when he laughed. Now they were cloudy and rimmed red, but they were the same blue eyes, and he wasn't going to let them fade.
"D-Dean," Castiel barely managed, his body convulsing a bit when he tried to take a deep breath. "B'fore... 'fore I go... Need t'... Tell you somethin'..." He blindly reached out for something, anything to grab on to, his hands managing to find Dean's shirt and weakly bunch into it, the fabric falling from his fingers within seconds. "Please..." He was fighting for breath, he couldn't hold on much longer, at least not while conscious. He was exhausted and just wanted it to be done already. There was nothing left for him here, he was unneeded.
Dean swallowed and took a shuddering breath, swiping at his eyes to try and clear the water away. He was such a child, but he couldn't help it. His best friend was dying, just like every other person he'd ever cared about, and he was helpless to do anything, except listen. "What is it?" He asked, his voice no louder than a whisper.
Castiel forced himself to smile with the last of his strength, his arms falling down, away from Dean's chest. "I- I'm sorry," he murmured. "F-for all the... The shit I did, when..." He had to pause, his chest fighting to continue moving up and down. It hurt. It hurt so much but he had to get through this. He needed Dean to know, then he could go. "When I was 'n angel..." He coughed again, his eyes shutting. "Jus' wan'ed t' help..." He wrapped his arms around himself and moaned in pain, just barely managing not to throw up all over everything.
Dean smiled sadly and nodded, chewing on his lip. "Y-yeah... Yeah, good..." He sniffed and looked down, taking a deep breath before turning back up to look at Castiel. "I forgive you. I forgive you."
Castiel couldn't speak and the world was fading. Dean's voice was getting quieter and his vision darker. He couldn't speak anymore, but that didn't matter, because what he needed to say was said, and what he needed to hear was heard. With a final burst of strength, his voice quivering, he mumbled, "Goodbye, Dean," before the pain stopped and everything was black.
The tears falling from Dean's eyes weren't registering for him as he - against his better judgement - started aggressively shaking Castiel, trying to get him to wake up. "Cas!" He screamed, desperate now. "Cas, please." He shook him again before collapsing, laying his head onto Castiel's chest and sobs wracked his body. He barely noticed when the paramedics rushed in, pushing Dean aside to rush Castiel down and into the ambulance. He weakly followed them, allowed in the back of the emergency vehicle as the doctors rushed to keep Castiel alive.
Dean remembered back when everything was okay, when he'd caught Castiel napping on the couch in the bunker all those years ago. Years ago when maybe there was more between him and Cas than just friendship, a spark of hope for something more. Castiel was healthy back then, he wasn't sickly and boney like he was now, but his expression remained the same as he slept. The serenity of it was the same, and Dean could almost imagine he was then and not now, but that lasted only a couple seconds before another sob shook his body and he was thrown back into the present.
The next few hours were mostly a blur of him sitting in the waiting room. He had stopped crying after ten minutes and was now pacing, cursing God and Life and everything else in between. He called Sam and told him what was happening, and he said he'd be over as soon as he could, but even then it would take him almost a day to drive that far.
He came back inside and a doctor was waiting for him, and Dean braced for the worst. He bit his lip and approached the doctor with a blank expression. "So... How is he?"
The doctor took a deep breath and shook his head.
Dean's world crashed around him.