Hi, friends! This was written kind of on a whim, so stay with me here, and let me know what you think!
Disclaimer: I don't own these guys!
Warnings: Angst, slash, character death
Castiel loved Dean from the moment he gripped the hunter tight and raised him from perdition. It sounds cliché. It sounds overdone. But it is true.
Cas loved Dean from that moment and every moment after.
Castiel loved Dean from the moment he drew the sigil with his own blood and gripped Dean for the second time—but this time, it was Castiel who was lost and confused and needed to be found.
Castiel loved Dean from that moment to every other moment they spent together, and even the ones they didn't. Whenever he was away, his thoughts always roamed back to Dean. Sometimes they were sweet and gentle—accidentally stumbling in on the hunter sleeping, or making Dean laugh, or just being in the same room together. Sometimes the thoughts were rough and passionate—lips on lips, heat, fire, burning. Both thoughts scared Castiel. He wasn't used to this kind of emotion. He wasn't used to caring so deeply about someone—he wasn't used to the way his vessel's heart would jump and the way his stomach twisted in knots. And he certainly wasn't used to feelings of passion and heat and fire.
Emanuel had strange dreams sometimes about a man with hazel eyes and freckles spattered across his nose. Once again, these dreams changed—sometimes sweet, sometimes so powerful they jerked Emanuel from his sleep, sweating and breathless and just a little bit scared.
And so this went on for years. Cas loved Dean. Cas did everything and anything for Dean. From helping him with the simplest of fights to holding him as the hunter screamed and yelled for Sam. Sam, who said yes. Sam, who wasn't Sam anymore.
Castiel's love for Dean was what first led him to the drugs. Sam was gone, and then, suddenly, so was Dean. No matter how hard Cas tried—and he did, he tried so hard—Dean could never look at Cas. And the pain was excruciating. This is the reason Cas never wanted to be human. Heartbreak. It was the one thing Cas had never felt before this. He didn't know how to handle it, like he didn't know how to handle his first feelings of love and lust. Dean started to grow distant, and then cold. And then hostile. Most days he talked to Cas, but there were those days he didn't even look at him. And those days hurt more than anything. So one night, when Dean left for some new girl's cabin, to have with her the intimacy Castiel had been dreaming about, Cas found an old bottle of pills left behind by a guy who just got infected the past day.
When he picked up that bottle of pills, the memories struck him and he found himself suddenly breathless. The first time he took pain pills was when he lost his wings. It was painful, to say the least. It started out as a tingling between his shoulder blades, and before he knew it, the angel was writhing on the ground, screaming and tearing at his hair as two bloody lines curled down his back. It wasn't long until Dean burst through the door of his cabin and dropped to his knees beside his friend.
"Cas?" He said it with fear and concern that showed in his eyes. Just like he used to. It was like nothing had changed when Dean gathered Cas into his arms so he could get a better look at the angel's back. It was like nothing changed when Dean ripped off the shirt, helpless, but still trying so hard. It was like nothing changed when Dean curled his fingers through Castiel's dark, sweaty hair and held the angel close, whispering quiet comforts into his ear. Soon there were others who came into the cabin with bandages and pills and medicine and every other imaginable resource to help Castiel. While they did this, Dean held Cas tightly, and Cas sobbed, pain ripping through him and a bright white light in his eyes. When he heard the hunter's voice break through the whispers, Cas was almost…happy.
Happy.
Because right then, in that moment, Dean actually cared. He cared enough to cry out. To feel pain for his friend. To feel lost and hurt and helpless, like someone would for a loved one. He was happy because he had Dean back. Dean who cared. Dean who loved him.
The night he lost his wings was one of the happiest nights of the angel's long life.
But Cas shouldn't have gotten ahead of himself, because after the pain had stopped, and his breathing evened out, Dean gently took his hand out of Castiel's. Cas didn't even know they were holding hands. He wished he did know, so he could have remembered it better. And then Dean got up, patted Cas once on the shoulder—gently, but still foreign—and left the cabin. And Cas turned over on his side, tears already brimming in those blue eyes, so humanly hurt and pained, and saw the bottle of pain pills. He took some, and they eased the pain.
So when Castiel stood there, pills in one hand and alcohol in the other, he hoped that they would ease the pain, like they did that first time. The night was a blur. There was dizziness and confusion. There was anger and self-pity. There was pain. There was so, so much pain that started in his chest and flowed through him until every inch of his body hurt. Ever since the night he lost his wings, Dean couldn't even stand to be around Cas. Cas guessed that Dean blamed him. For Sam, for Sam's choices, for Dean's life now. Cas guessed that Dean was angry because, now that Cas was human, he would never be able to fix it. But it was okay, because Cas loved Dean and he knew that Dean never really meant it.
He knew that Dean never really meant it when he spat out harsh words at Cas, berating him as an angel and as a friend. He never really meant it when he didn't speak to Castiel for days, let alone look at him. He never really meant it when he first struck Cas, straight across the face, leaving a black eye and tears brimming in the angel's eyes.
And the worst part was, Dean never really meant it when he stumbled into Castiel's cabin that one night, drunk and staggering and needing someone. He never really meant it when his hands wound their way around the angel's waist, pulling their chests together and rendering Castiel breathless. He never really meant it when he pressed his lips up against Castiel's, hard and hot and so, so right.
Cas couldn't say no. After all those years, Cas couldn't say no.
And the next morning, when Dean rolled off the bed and left the cabin without a word, the pills helped to ease the pain. As did the alcohol. As did the company of a new, hot-headed woman with green eyes and freckles who also happened to find her way to the cabin.
Of course there were plenty more girls—and men—who wanted to…help Castiel in this time.
Cas couldn't say no.
He lost himself. He lost Dean. He lost everything that used to be.
So instead, he decided to lose himself in sex and drugs and alcohol. With every pill he swallowed, he thought of Dean and the night his wings were lost. With every drink he had, he thought of Dean laughing as Cas tried his first sip of alcohol and spit it all over the table. With every stranger he pushed roughly against the wall, he thought of Dean and that one night. But no matter how hard he tried, Cas still hurt.
He soon came to realize that the pain would not end until death.
And Dean's pain ended soon enough.
When Castiel heard of Dean's death, he didn't yell or scream. He didn't destroy his cabin, or Dean's cabin. He didn't drink himself to unconsciousness or choose to kill himself by taking too many pills. Instead, he pushed the girls out of his cabin, closed the door, and sat in his creaky bed, staring at the wall and shaking slightly as memories flooded through his mind.
"We talked about this. Personal space?"
"Cas, buddy. I need you."
"It's been a long time since I've laughed like that."
"Don't ever change."
Don't ever change. Cas almost laughed, a bitter taste in his mouth and wetness forming in his eyes. He had changed. Dean was dead. And he would never see him again.
It suddenly occurred to Cas that his last memory of Dean was with past-Dean. Riding in the car with him. Knowing that death would come soon for at least one of the Deans. And it struck Cas that he didn't know which Dean he would want to die. Of course, past-Dean didn't torture people. He wasn't as rough or angry. He had never hit Cas, or shoved him against a wall, or spat harsh words at him. He loved Cas.
But so did this Dean. Cas knew it. He had to. He never really meant it, right?
A few months passed since Dean's death and Cas was out on a hunt with a few others. There was the snap of twigs somewhere behind them, followed by a snarl and a growl and sudden footsteps running after them. The battle was short, as far as Castiel could tell. He woke up to someone telling him that they were gone—and they should keep moving.
As they walked, Cas thought of Dean. He couldn't think of anything else. Those thoughts were back—of old love and lust and friendship and warmth.
He didn't see one of the members of the group raise a gun to the back of his head, right above the spot where Cas got infected.
Castiel's pain ended.
It ended from that moment and every moment after.