Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit made.
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Timeline: Season 7 before 'How to Win Friends and Influence Monsters.'
Summary: Dean finds something in the trunk. Drabble
A/N: This is a really short little thing, my first attempt and Destiel, though I should warn you, Castiel isn't in this fic :P
"Sam, where the hell did you put my Glock?" Dean yelled, rather unwisely considering he was outside where anyone could hear him. But he didn't care, they where leaving any minute to go hunt down a werewolf in Michigan, and he needed his damn gun.
The voice that answered from inside the motel room sounded almost as exasperated as Dean's, "It's in the trunk, like I already told you."
"Yeah well, you know what I'm doing right now? I'm looking in the trunk. You know what I don't see? My damn weapon." Dean growled.
He was routing through the spacious trunk of the blue abomination their Leviathan-induced circumstances forced them to drive and after a moment, he just gave up and started throwing the various items occupying the trunk out onto the street in the hope of uncovering his gun.
Out went a mostly empty duffel bag, followed by a few blankets and a jacket or two. Continuing his motions it took him a second to pause. Leaning heavily, hands clenched on either side of the open trunk, he frowned at the sudden clenching in his chest.
Turning slowly, he looked down and the sight made him want to punch himself. There, strewn carelessly on the dirty ground was Cas' trench coat. In his frustration he had discarded it along with the rest of the meaningless junk, not considering it different, special.
He took the few steps over to it quickly and scooped it up. The feel of the material in his hands was still odd. When Cas had been around, touching it, touching him, while not entirely rare an occurrence, always felt to Dean like some kind of treat. A special gift just for him. His whole existence had always revolved around the safety and well being of Sam, a responsibility he was happy to have and would never give up.
But, there had always been this feeling with Castiel. The feeling that no matter what happened, he was there for Dean. He had been ordered to be there for him at first of course, but it had, over the years become so much more than that. He had fallen, given up many of his powers, at one point losing them all. He gave up on a millennia of training and instinct to fight against everything he had been taught his whole life. He had died for them, for Dean. And he certainly hadn't been ordered to do that. Cas' words rang in his ear 'I did it, all of it, for you.'
The dark and cold gnawing he got in his gut whenever he let himself think about this was back and he tried to swallow it down, he wasn't the guy that did this, he didn't fall apart. Cas had been a friend and nothing more, it was inappropriate to react this way, he didn't care that much.
With a sigh he wondered if he could make anyone else believe that when he couldn't even convince himself.
He gently, 'reverently' his mind so unhelpfully offered, rolled the jacket up and placed it back in the corner of the trunk. He didn't know why he kept it, a piece of Cas? A show of faith? Hope? He didn't know. All he did know was, if accidentally throwing it to the ground could eat at him like this, throwing it away didn't really seem worth considering.
Dean was still resting a hand on the coat when he heard a slight sound behind him, he spun to find Sam giving him that look. That furrowed eyebrows, lips in a thin line, hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulders shrugged up 'I empathize' look.
Dean clenched his jaw, spread his arms wide and asked, "Well? Come find it genius. Cos it aint here."
Sam seemed for a second like he was going to say something but, much to Dean's relief he sort of shook himself out of the moment and said, "Yeah, sorry. It's actually in the room." and gave Dean a tight smile that said he knew exactly what Dean had been doing. He hated how easily his baby brother could read him sometimes.
Figuring the big lug knew anyway, he spared one last glance back at the seemingly meaningless piece of material, the piece of material that meant more to him than he could ever describe because it was all that remained of his angel, he turned, briskly walked back into the room and gruffed an "I told you."