Just a short re-write of a scene from Season 7. Straight from the transcript, so absolutely nothing original except maybe for the thoughts inside Dean's head.
I don't know I just had to.
Crowley doesn't show up even after they do the usual herb-fire dance and Dean can't say he is that surprised. Tired, mostly. Sam is looking aghast and broody on the other side of the cabin, and Dean rubs his eyes. Sam suggests that Crowley can't come because something went wrong. Dean shrugs and says, "maybe", even though he's been thinking the same thing since minute one. There is a knock at the door. Sam immediately crouches a little, darting a glance at Dean and stalking to the door with the gun raised. Sam can be quite stealthy for a giant. Dean raises his eyebrows. "Maybe it's good news," he says. Sam just shoots an incredulous look at his brother and Dean shrugs again.
Sam peeps carefully through the tiny hole in the door. Whatever he sees there, though, makes the strain in his shoulders splatter like water. Dean sees his brother roll his eyes and twist the doorknob, and doesn't know whether to feel hope of despair. Because he thinks he knows who will come through that door.
"You deal with him, I can't anymore." Meg declares before she is even fully in the room, sweeping a glance across Sam and then walking straight up to Dean. Meg's expressions are usually dead and neutral even for a demon, but Dean can see exasperation and frustration have carved new lines on her face.
"You might want to be more specific." Dean acts like he doesn't understand exactly what Meg is talking about. Meg's eyes narrow.
"I was laying low halfway across the world when emo boy pops up out of nowhere and zaps me right back here."
"Why?" Dean asks, because he has to. It's just what he does. Trying to save people even if he thinks he can't. Trying to find dad even if he thinks he might be dead; trying to understand even though he thinks, deep down, that it's too late now. Even though the sight of Castiel fills him with hope and despair, conflicting emotions that tear at each other in his heart and leave it battered, confused.
"Go ask him," Meg jerks her head outside. "He was your boyfriend first." She says flatly. Dean just rolls his eyes. He thinks he doesn't want to go, to see Cas and face the dirty end of the mistakes rotting but his feet are already taking him to the door. Sam squeezes an encouraging hand on his shoulder as he passes and Dean is too tried to flick it away.
It's a clean and gray day outside. Cas is sitting in Meg's car, staring ahead at the windshields that need cleaning, and Don MacLean's Vincent is playing on the radio.
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul, MacLean sings, and Dean has to fight back a flinch.
Castiel is sitting in the driver's seat. Dean leans down into the open passenger's side window, hoping that Meg didn't let Cas drive.
"Hey, there." Dean says. Castiel doesn't reply, doesn't look his way but raises a hand in greeting. Dean had done and seen that gesture a thousand times before but it looks odd on Castiel. He straightens up, closes his eyes and lets out a soft sigh before he can lean in again.
In colors on the snowy linen land…
Dean can't tell if Cas is concentrating on the music or the parking sticker half-torn on the window.
"So, Cas. What's, uh." Dean falters. "What's, uh… What's the word?"
Dean thinks he sound retarded. Not that Cas would notice.
Now I understand… the song continues. Understand, my ass, Dean thinks. But he is going to try. It's what he does.