Well, in a fit of writing I found this little prose-like piece digging inside my head, desperate to be written. It's my first attempt at anything Destiel related, and a little odd, but it needed to be done. No spoilers, of course.

Also - no idea when this would be taking place, and although it could be argued that it happens during the events of 5x22, but honestly I see this being something that happens well after the current season.

I highly recommend listening to "The Lightning Strike" by Snow Patrol as you read this; it was a huge inspiration for the emotional state of this piece.

Oh, and of course, nothing Supernatural belongs to me.

You could swear it's the end of the world around you, brick and paper, rock and dirt, salt and fire, floating and flying, ash smearing across your body, coating your mouth and choking your mind.
You fall to your knees, dread and desperation filling every fiber of your being as the loss crosses your heart and dances across your lips. The world shifts focus, shades of grey drowning out the vivid colors of the world, every last red, green, blue and yellow and all that's left is the cerulean of his eyes, piercing deep into you, curious and wondering, hurt and longing, overwhelming and heartbreaking.

But he is gone, like the echo of a supernova, sharp silver dagger pressing forth into the very grace of him, tearing apart his essence to save your soul.
And like magic it's over, and the quiet rushes in, oppressive and demanding, deafening and chaotic.
There is nothing left, he's gone, they're all gone, dead to save the world, to save your brother, to save your soul, your pathetic little life and you're all alone now.

You look at your hands, these killers hands, and you can swear the decades of blood has stained them straight to your soul, that same soul that he burnt to pull you out of hell, that same soul he died to protect, the same soul that intertwined with his overpowering grace and beauty, like a fucking ant trying to become one with a god.
The weight of this, of your loss, drowns you, crushes your chest like the deepest parts of the ocean until you can't bear it anymore and you choke out a sob so broken it tears apart the heavens.

You have to move, you have to go on, but you can't go on because there's nothing left to keep you going, nothing that can fill the void he left behind.
You can feel the tears streaming down your face, the terror and utter fear staining you, shaming you for your selfishness.
He gave his life for you, for this moment, his very essence for you, just for you.
But you're paralyzed with this fear of a life with nothing, with no one. So you bow your head and pray, you pray to a god you never had faith in even when his very child came forth to save you, to protect you, to love you.
You pray for him to come back, for another miracle, for another chance, for another life, for something more than this hollow sham of an ending that he designed for you.

And lightning strikes, like a halo of chaos and question, thunder rolling across the expanse of your world, golden wisps of grace surround you like feathers of your angel in a night of passion, of slick skin and whispered vows, of chapped lips and furtive gazes, of nimble fingers that dance across your skin.

You hear nothing, you see nothing, you feel nothing of the world around you as your fervent pleas fall upon deaf ears of the world, silent and unmoving against the weight of your guilt, but they light up the heavens brighter than your sorrow.
It is beyond you, above you, beneath you, and you heed nothing of this portent, this moment of clarity and answered prayers trying so desperately to dig deep beneath your anguish and into the heart that died with him.
So you grieve, curling deep inside yourself as you lay your face upon the cold, hard world, wanting nothing but to become one with the earth and forgo the shell of humanity so hard and unyielding against the hole inside you.

And you are unaware of the blinding light above you, the answer to everything you've ever needed, ever desired.
He has answered your prayers.
But you weep, as your lament crosses the expanse of the universe until you feel it, the warmth of his grace embracing you, circling you and comforting you.

As you look up with eyes torn asunder by the sight before you the silence in your heart is broken by the promise of him, the meaning of his return.
And as you take his hand, the world shifts, rights itself again like a myriad of colors through the prism of your heart when you hear those two words once again.

"Hello Dean"

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it!

I am currently working on a companion piece from Castiel's point of view, which will be up soon-ish.