This was written with help from a close friend! Thank you so much!
Chapter 1
Sam had fallen into the pit. Dean went to live with Lisa, while Cas went back to Heaven to fight the war. It had been a few months, that's when Dean got bad. Getting drunk was normal, constant, and daily. When Liso became worried about what affect Dean was having on Ben, she kicked him out, sending a heartbroken and lonely Dean to a small motel in Kansas.
A bottle of Wild Turkey planted firmly in hand, Dean was already drunk. But, then again, he was never sober anymore. Hearing a rustle of wings behind him, Dean sighed, but didn't bother to turn around. "It's been a long time, Dean Winchester," said a gruff voice.
"Speak for yourself, Castiel," Dean slurred slightly, booze reeking from his breath. The angle balked at the smell emanating from the older Winchester. Dean turned to face the angel, just in time to see a worried expression cross his face. " What!?"
"You smell heavily of alcohol, Dean," Cas commented formally, back to his pre-Winchester self.
"So what?" Ean barked, causing Cas' eyes to widen, going tense.
"I understand the pain you are feeling from your brother's death, but..."
"You don't understand shit, Castiel," Dean interrupted angrily, spit flying from his lips. Castiel clenched his fists, trying to control his anger. "You haven't been here... since Sammy..." he trailed off, unable to finish that statement.
"I have a war to fight, Dean! I can not cater to your every whim." Rage was slipping into Castiel's voice with every syllable. "I am trying to teach Heaven what you have taught me, The fate of my home is in the balance, and you can not even pull yourself out of your own problems to worry about it..." About me, he thought silently. "What's happened to you?" he spat, and in a clutter of wings and a brilliant flash of light, he was gone, leaving the room feeling darker and emptier than ever before.
"Life!" Dean screamed as he threw the almost empty bottle where his former best friend once stood. Staring at the dark, empty spot in the room, tears beginning to pour down his face like rain on a window, and somewhere, Castiel felt that pain deep in his heart. The cap popped off Dean's next bottle of booze.
For three weeks, every night, Dean layed in bed, drunk, praying for Castiel to come back, praying for his forgiveness. Every night for three week, Castiel heard him, but he never came.
Finally as he spiraled deeper and deeper into a never ending pain, Dean stopped praying to Castiel, stopped his silent pleas. He didn't sleep, didn't stop drinking, instead he stared at the broken bottle, shattered like his heart and his only remaining friendship, thinking of Castiel. That night, he was past drunk, it had been six days since his eyes had last closed and his dreams had inevitably turned to the years he spent in Hell. As he gazed at the broken glass, as he always did, he thought that maybe if he simply held the shards he would feel the warmth of Castiel against his skin. When he looked up for just a moment, Cas was there, but he looked wrong, all the innocence obliterated from his face. Then, the yelling started. Every weakness Dean had was exploited, every doubt and fear was realized. Then, in the blink of an eye, Castiel was gone.
With a tear streaked face, Dean dropped to his knees in front of the glass, wondering what it would be like to feel Cas through his skin. Angry and bitter, he held the shard to his arm and laughed as it tore the barrier of inside and out. To his fading mind and altered sense of reality, dark Cas was there, urging him on, willing the glass to cut through layers of pale skin. When the blood started to flow, Castiel giggled, a twisted grin on his face. Time and time again, the ragged edge of the glass met beautiful skin, leaving deep red gashes, spilling crimson blood tainted with alcohol onto the tile floor. Unconscious, Dean didn't hear the flutter of wings, and the pained gasp as the real, safe Cas saw Dean, bleeding out on the floor.