* This is my first attempt at writing ANYTHING, but I hope it isn't too shitty. If you find any errors pls pls tell me! Also, I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL (unfortunately) *
_
It was snowing heavily outside the bunker. Inside, even though it was warm – Sam had lit up the fireplace – Dean's heart felt as cold as ice.
It's been months since he felt the worst pain he could ever imagine in his life. Not even hellhounds had damaged him that much. The angel blade had pierced the heart of his loved one, and a bright light went through every hole of Castiel's face.
But to Dean, it felt like a knife was stabbing his own heart. With his sight blurried with tears and disbelief, he ran towards the angel in the trenchcoat laying on the ground. No, no, no, no! Wake up your son of a bitch. Don't you dare die in front of me. But it was too late. Black wings had already tattooed the snowy floor, and there was nothing left but the empty vessel that used to be Castiel's.
Castiel.
Cas.
His Cas. His friend. His angel. His family.
Castiel, the one Dean loved with every muscle and every cell, but never have had the guts to admit so.
Castiel, the one whom is now mourned deeply by Dean.
Castiel, whose blue eyes warmed Dean's whole body and made his heart dance in happiness.
The blue eyes Dean will never get to see again.
Of course, Sam was sad, too. They were great friends, after all. But it's not the same as Dean... Because Sam was not in love with Cas. Sam is not regretting every second of his life for not having told Cas how much he meant to him. Sam's heart is not broken in a million pieces inside his chest.
They made him the usual Salt-and-Burn funeral ceremony; but after Sam left, Dean allowed his tears to run free on his face, kissing every freckle on his cheeks. The pain became unbearable and the hunter fell to his knees. I'm sorry I failed you. I'm sorry. I'm...
Dean sighs. He lets his head fall into the palms of his hands while memories haunt his mind. Thinking about their hugs, their laughs, their awkard moments of personal-space-invasion; it all only made his heart ache even more.
Walking may be the solution – well, at least a temporary one – so he gets up and prepares to leave. When the door opens, a raging blizzard comes from outside, but Dean doesn't cares. He walks and wanders until his bones are freezing, but it turned out to be useless; nothing could make him forget how miserable he felt.
Entering the door, he swears he heard the familiar flaps of angel wings somewhere behind him, but doesn't turn around to search for it. After all, it was too cold outside for angels to fly.
Perhaps he was wrong.
Because then, almost unbelievably, he hears it.
Hello, Dean.