Author's Note:

H'ok, ello all! This is the first time I've sat down and actually written anything in oh, four years! Blech! It hasn't been edited, I have NO idea where I'm going with it, just wrote it in French class! (stay tuned for French version, lol) Again, no idea why I'm posting, let me know, be honest, and remember I haven't had anyone else read it. Congrats to the first! Dean/Cas don't like don't read. Rated T just because it's so sad!! :(

I, sadly, own nothing because if I did then the show wouldn't be NEARLY this depressing. Yeah Eric, we all love you please let the boys be back together and make Dean happy!!

3 Chloe

Dean Winchester's End of the World Drabbles

I know the best was to deal with it is to just move on. Move on from the pain of 1,00 deadly mistakes, failures and ever growing pit. That pit in my stomach and the one I seem to be falling into that slowly swallows the last slimmer of light. What is so important about feelings? Hope, love, faith, empathy, understanding, do they serve us any more than the ones we deem negative? John always beat emotions out of me, " no good," he would say, "only going to get you trouble." And I tried, god knows I tried (this is he would if he existed) but why is it, we are considered an empty shell of a person when we don't poses them?

My sanctuary has been destroyed, along with everything else on this bastardized version of Earth. Have I been kidding myself; thinking I could take on a monster in a cage—a poorly constructed one getting weaker by the second—like Lucifer? Well he seems to be rising through the chains and now only mocks my false sense of security I once held. It is a strange sensation—that of failure. That I should want to fight it, crawl my way back to the top where everyone would love me again—where I could love me again—and yet in the same breath take the easy route. To fall. To fall back into the strangely warm and comforting arms of my fears. Why would I—for that matter why SHOULD I—fight what is infinitely and indisputably easier? The devil tempts with lies that are truthful and nonetheless worthy offers, and where is "god?" where is "god" in all of this? No doubt this is his test, his determination of worthiness—no wonder Lucifer fell. Well I want no part of his of his "warmth", where was HE in all of this, huh?! No holy smiting fire, no wings of glory. To hell with him!

I would laugh at the irony, except I lost my ability to laugh years ago. When you never have a sense of innocence, no one can tear it away from you, but Sammy…oh god Sammy. He had a chance at a normal life. Now? Well now he's "gone dark side" ah shit, I'm becoming coherent again. I open another bottle of Jack Daniels. The thought that what I'm doing isn't any better than what Sam is doing briefly flits through my mind, but the sting of hard liquor quickly solves that. Everything is lost and yet for the past three days I haven't cared. Why should I really? I mean, there's nothing I can do about it. What's done is done. I couldn't be the man they wanted me to be. How could I? They wanted perfection, something I have proved all my life not to contain. Well fuck them! The tears hardly surprise me now. I've just accepted them for what they are: a show of weakness.

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"NO Dean!" he flinched, "I gave up everything up for you! Everything! And for nothing! I believed in you, I…"

"'Griped me tight and raised me from perdition' yeah I KNOW it's not like you would let me forget it!"

The smaller man squinted his eyes in a warning, that one was a little too close, "Dean Winchester, you have got to pull it together. God did this for you, he gave you a second chance and a reason for living!"

"Oh you can shove your mission, your 'god', your holier than thou routine cuz' I'm done okay? DONE! Can't you see this, you got the wrong guy Castiel!" the shorter man grimaced and almost shrugged away at the use of his full name. Dean never called him Castiel, always Cas, save for the few times they were truly happy. Like when they were basking in the after glow in the Impala, or in a different motel, Dean would always draw out each syllable, "casstiell" almost reverent like a prayer. That was the closest Dean Winchester ever got to praying, it was always to and angel—his angel. But this time was different, this time it was meant to hurt and it did just that.

A strangled sound escapes my lips (I'm not sure what to call it, maybe what's left of my laugh, maybe the bark part that comes from "barking mad") when I picture Chuck in this same position; drinking away the pain and images. That's exactly what I plan on doing, although my body seems to be repenting against that idea; damn all my years of drinking allowing me to be immune. I briefly consider that I'm bordering on alcohol poisoning, unsurprisingly it doesn't bother me too much. Not exactly the "hunter way to go" which is fine because I no longer consider myself a hunter.

"Godammit Cas!"

"Don't take the Lord's name in vain Dean" The trench coat clad angel said in his usual monotone voice, but this time with a playful glint in his eye. Dean shot him a bitch face look, "..time. for lectures Cas!" the taller man broke down, giving in and falling into the not-so-unsuspecting arms of the stout man. He instantly moved them to the bed of the most recent shabby motel and began stroking the other man's hair in a soothing manner.

"I don't want this anymore, I can't do this, I won't do this!" The angle gave a sad smile.

"Dean, you can do this, you are the best hunter on Earth, rivaling even my brothers and sisters in Heaven." It was meant as a complement but set off the now crumpled man even more. "That's just it Cas, I don't want to be a hunter anymore, that's all I am to people."

"Dean, you are so much more to me. So much more…."

ENOUGH! I screamed at the voices and images swirling in my over crowded brain. This was going to be a long night...

Well folks, there it is. Like I said, love it hate it honestly review it! (kinda' catchy!.. no? ok, worth a shot. Never been edited feel free if you want. Wrote it in one class period! GO FRENCH!!!