Author's notes: This is little one-shot for AlexHamato. Her request is something with a prompt from youtube. I'll post the original prompt in the end, because of...Spoilers :)
Dean's eyes are closed, but his trembling fingers easily dial the number. Follows a click and the voice spills like a wave in the empty room. Dean is shrinking even more, his eyes sting under his clenched eyelids, but he has no more tears. The floor is hard and cold against his numb body. But the voice is warm and soft, embraces him with its soothing timbre, touches his forehead with an invisible fingers and even for sixteen seconds Dean can pretend that everything is fine.
Sixteen seconds. As much lasts the message. Dean has heard it a thousand times by now. He knows every word, every pause, every little sigh. But he doesn't listen the words again and again, he listens the voice.
Because that is the only thing that is left of his dead friend.
No, not the only thing. He has also the scars.
One is fading on his left shoulder, handprint, marked deeply at his soul. The mark of Castiel. It is a symbol of faith. Promise. Salvation. It recounts about the celestial creature that fell to save humanity. Angel, who gave up everything for one human. Heavenly warrior who chose free will because of one man's friendship. This scar means eyes as blue as the ocean, messy dark hair, light, uncertain smile. Dean could almost see the angel in his mind. But the message lasts only sixteen seconds.
The other scar is pain. Guilt. Grief. It scorch his chest. Just above the place where his heart was before. Where now it's empty. It's a mark of wings burnt to ashes .
The memory is very vivid in his mind.
Suddenly he is there again, sitting on the ground at the Stull cemetery. How they always end up here?
The final battle is over. And it takes away his only friend. Dean is sitting on the ground with the lifeless body in his arms. Cas' back is resting against hunter's chest. The head of the angel lies on Dean's shoulder.
The man knows what will follow. He knows it will hurt like hell. And he knows that it will never stop hurting. But nonetheless he refuses to let Castiel's body. Dean just closes his eyes and embraces the pain, while the wings of the angel burn out on his chest.
The man sobs. His numb fingers are dialing the number again. Click. And the voice spills ones again, washing away the pain, the grief, the guilt and loneliness.
Dean hears his name from somewhere far away. Probably it's Sammy. Because Dean has no one else. Not anymore.
His little brother spends hours in front of the locked door of Dean's room. Sometimes he speaks. Sometimes just sits there. Dean can feel his presence. He can hear his breathing, the creak of the door when Sam changes the position of his body.
Sometimes Sam leaves food outside the door. Sometimes the sense of self-preservation wins and Dean forces himself to eat. But most of the time he just lies on the floor and listens to the message again and again. He knows that Sam can hear it too, because sometimes Dean hears his quiet sobs on the other side.
"Dean," he hears his name again.
He is not sure how many times Sam has called him before his blurred mind to register that. He wants to say to Sam to go away. Leave him alone. He wants to cries it out. But he can't. Because he has no voice left. Not after spending weeks shouting to the heavens, praying, begging anyone who could hear. Even Castiel's careless Father.
Bring him back.
Only those three words, over and over again. Up to complete exhaustion.
"Dean, please!" Sammy begs him once again, "Let me at least check your wounds."
Dean wants to tell him that everything is fine, there's no need. Burnt not even hurts anymore. Not physically. The wounds on his skin heal. But the imprint of wings burned into his soul will never heal.
The only time Dean allow Sammy to clean and bind up his wounds has been weeks ago. It's the day they bury Castiel. Sam wants to burn the body, funeral worthy of a warrior and a hunter. But Dean doesn't allow him.
The same day he and Sam returns to the bunker. The same day Dean breaks apart.
"Dean, please. It's been weeks..."
The rest of Sam's words are lost when Cas' voice fills the room again.
'Hello. You have reached Castiel's phone. I can't talk right now, but if you leave me your name and your number, I'll try to call you back as soon as possible. If it is urgent, please call Dean and Sam Winchester.'
Just sixteen seconds. Sixteen seconds in which Dean doesn't think that Cas will never call him back. And this message is all that will prevent him from forgetting the voice of his friend. He doesn't think about where the angels go when they die.
And then again.
'Hello. You have reached Castiel's phone. I can't talk right now, but if you leave me your name and your number, I'll try to call you back as soon as possible. If it is urgent, please call Dean and Sam Winchester.'
And the message should be over. But it's not. Dean's breath stuck in his throat. There're two more words.
"Hello, Dean."
Author's notes: Also thanks for 'Validation' by LaBohme for this image of Dean, curled and just listening to Cas' voice that I still can't get out of my head!
The prompt: Elina Kim :'imagine: it's been weeks since cas died. Dean wouldn't leave his room in the bunker ever since besides going out to get a beer. Sam tried to help treat Deans burns on his chest, but Dean wanted to keep those burns. The burns of Cas' wings imprinted forever on Dean's chest. it's the only thing Dean has to remember his best friend by.'