December, 2014
"Come on!"
His voice echoes through the camp, bouncing off trees and buildings before it quiets. The near empty beer bottle in his hand feels heavy as he waves it around, his arms lifting as he cries out once more. "Come on you sons of bitches, I'm here! Yes!" Dean's voice is hoarse, threadbare, and his throat is raw. He glances at his watch, the watch that stopped working three years ago, and lets out a low groan. He'd probably been out there for an hour already, just screaming.
It happened every few weeks. Generally on the nights when no woman's cot was available. He then turned to the small stockpile of alcohol the group had confiscated over the years. It wasn't much and they didn't use it very often, but about once a month Dean allowed himself to drink until he couldn't feel anything anymore.
But that dream never actually happened. Instead, his numbed senses seemed heightened to his failure. If only he had said 'yes' when he should have. If only Sam was still Sam. If only the whole world hadn't gone to crap. If only… if only.
"Yes!" The simple word comes out as an exhausted whisper as he leans against the shell of his old car. He doesn't look at baby, doesn't acknowledge the mess that she's become. It's easier that way. It's always easier to just ignore everything that he screwed up.
"Dean."
Dean jumps at the unexpected voice and turns, a near smile lifting one corner of his lips. Cas is the only angel that had ever come when Dean called. Every time Dean went out and called to the heavens, Castiel would walk out of his cabin and calmly bring Dean back to his own.
Dean's eyes are heavy and he blinks back tears as they blur his vision. "I failed you, man," he says in a flat tone. "I failed you and everyone else."
Cas shakes his head and smiles. "Come on, Dean, you're tired." He never talks about what Dean says in the moments that Dean doesn't remember the next day. He just puts one arm around him and walks him back, assuring him that maybe the angels will listen next time.