A man is many things,
Let's count them all tonight.
You're letting go of strings, replacing them with light.
But they want the hit about the teenage take on pain,
There's nothing catchy 'bout the life of a saint
but I've got this song in my head,
'cause it's breaking me down to tears...

He had left Sam back at the library, he was too fed up with himself to sit in silence, festering in the fact that he could draw no conclusions from the multitude of information given to him. There was a blonde girl killed here, a brunette woman killed there, an elderly man killed next... None of it made sense, and making sense of things had never been his strong suit. Let Sam deal with the laptop and the encyclopedias, Dean had the much better plan of drinking until nothing was clear to him anymore.

However, nothing ever seemed to go according to plan anymore. He'd been a step away from walking into the motel room and drinking until he passed out, but his lovely bliss was interrupted by a call from his brother. "What's up?" He questioned, unlocking the door, balancing his cell between his cheek and shoulder as he shrugged his bag to the floor.

"There's another one, Dean. Her name was Megan Chantillily. Red hair, blue eyes, pale skin... I think I found a connection. I'm going to keep looking in on it." Beep. Not even so much as a goodbye for his older brother.

Dean sat on the end of the bed now, his legs straddling the corner. He cupped his face in his hands, his dark hair falling forward as he leaned towards the ground. Megan Chantilily. He had known that Irish girl. She had been in one of his high school's in some past year. She hadn't been popular, but she had been nice to him even when he was not nice to her. She'd even gone as far as taking the blame for burning a hole in one of the chemistry tables with a lethal chemical mixture. She'd gotten a week's detention for that, and he'd gotten laid for breaking her out one of those times.

Over the years they hadn't lost contact, they still emailed once or twice a year. There just wasn't time for relationships, romantic or otherwise, with Dean's constant hunting trips or Megan's new baby. Still, the emails had been a part of life. A reality he should have known was too normal to remain in his life.

He let a breath of air slip through his teeth, and he jumped to his feet, left arm swinging out and sending a vase on the nearby table crashing to the ground, the yellow daises inside loosing a petal as the glass shattered. He let out a weak scream, no one could have heard his near silent frustrations, and kicked at the bed, knocking the cheap frame from it's center and causing the mattress to go lopsided.

That wasn't enough for Dean though, not with another friend dead. Not with a friend dead on a case he should have fixed by now. No one should be dying! He should be saving them!

Without realizing it, he had stumbled into the bathroom, and hovered in front of the mirror. His hands gripped the sides of the sink as he starred into the mirror, lips twisting into a frown as his pained eyes starred back.

He let out another sound of frustration, for everything and everyone he had lost, for the things he would never gain... And his fist lashed out, smashing the mirror. It cracked down the middle and twisted out like a web, a shard or two fell into the sink. His hand bled profusely as he starred at his now warped appearance, his shoulders rising and falling as he took deep breaths.

He closed his eyes, just for a moment, just as water pressure began to build... When he opened them again, Castiel's reflection was also standing haphazardly in the mirror, his serious features set into a frown. "What do you need, Cas?"

"You prayed to me, Dean." He stated matter-of-factly. "To make it better. To make what better?"

Dean looked down, eyes moving rapidly as he starred at the sink, which was slowly collecting his blood. "This. Life. Anything. ...Everything." He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. He took a breath and spun to face his friend, easily composing himself, as was the Dean Winchester way. "I was just... I'm fine. Nevermind."

"You are not fine." Cas said slowly, his bright eyes falling to Dean's hand, which dripped red blood onto the floor. The angel reached his hand out, lifting Dean's injured one. "You are hurt. You should tell me when you are hurt. I am your... Friend. I can heal you." He stated, wrapping both of his hands around the Winchester's, starring at the human's eyes as he healed him.

"Thanks, Cas." He said, starring back at the angel, neither of them bothering to move their hands.

Author's Note- Thank you for taking the time to read my types! This has been a challenge for me, and I'm not as far into it as I should be (I should be finished ten times over by now!), however I want to keep writing some Destiel one-shots. I have just revamped some parts, and even deleted one I found rather suck-ish, and it is no longer a 30 Days of Destiel thingamabob, it is now a Days of Destiel thingamabob. I would love for you to send me songs or prompt ideas, as there is only so much my brain conjures up, and I am going to have at least thirty parts to this (though they will not be uploaded everyday, and on occasion not even every week, sorry!). Thank you again for reading, and please enjoy the next few days! Carr on my wayward readers.~