Sam didn't know it, but Dean snuck out to the hospital Castiel was at. He was sitting on his bed again, staring at the blank wall with the same pathetic look. It sickened Dean. It was Castiel's fault he was like this.
"Damn it," Dean muttered. "Answer me. Why the hell won't you answer me? Why?" Dean shouted. He was lucky the walls were soundproof, or he would have the security team on his ass. "Why the hell did you destroy everything? Did you want to see me in pain? Because I always am! You don't have to change things to see that! Not that you care a bit. You'd be happy to see me dead, wouldn't you?" When he didn't respond, Dean screamed. "Gah! What the hell is your problem?" He got in his face and Castiel didn't flinch. "Wouldn't you? Of course you would. I'm just a stupid human that's not good enough for you! Well, sorry that I wasn't born an Angel. Not all of us can be perfect!"
Dean collapsed to his knees and wept. His shoulders shook as he covered his eyes and ran a hand through his short hair. "God damn you, Cass. Why can't I hate you? Why? With all the crap you've done to us, I should. You probably hate me." He got off his knees and swept the water glass of the bedside table. It flew across the room and shattered against the wall. It felt good. He smiled. "That's the first time I've felt slightly okay in three years. And you don't help a bit with it. Not. At. All." He threw the lamp against the ground and felt a sick sort of glee as it shattered against the floor. It felt good. "Do you care?" He threw the three pillows from the bed to the floor and ripped off the sheets. It felt so good. Dean threw the TV to the floor and laughed as the screen cracked and flickered.
He threw his head back. "This feels so good!" He ripped the drawers out of the dresser and tossed them around the room, laughing as the wood splintered and cracked. It made him even happier when a piece of wood hit Castiel's shoulder, right where his handprint was on Dean. It pierced the Angel's skin and blood flowed freely. Dean didn't offer to help. He didn't want to. "Serves you right, bastard!"
Once the room was destroyed, Dean was out of breath. He wrote a letter to Castiel. And an apology note to Meg, so she would know who did it. She deserved to know. He turned to leave, but stopped. "I hate you," he whispered to the raven haired Angel.
As the heavy wooden door swung shut behind him, the Angel finally showed emotion. He opened his mouth and let out a scream he had been holding in for far too long. He slammed his fists into the mattress closed his eyes as he bashed the mattress, bruising his fists. Tears leaked out, ones that he didn't want Dean to see.
Dean hated him. He wanted him dead. Castiel may not be normal, but he could still read Dean's emotions. And Castiel still loved his friend.
