Another lead, and another dead end. The colt wasn't there, and he wasted an entire week on this one damned lead. Everyone felt discouraged. Bags were thrown down from the truck without much care, the few provisions they were able to snatch up from the Croatoin infected towns they passed were left to rot on the damp ground. Dean didn't even care that it was raining on him, and that he was soaking wet. He didn't care when Chuck came over to him, letting him know they're running low on medicine. Who cares. The world is going down the shitter and all Dean wanted was to get inside his cabin and drink a whole bottle of whiskey. And that was exactly what he intended to do, until he saw the light was still on in Castiel's cabin. The fallen angel had taken to drinking, drugs, and of all things, fucking orgies. Dean left him alone for the most part, and they didn't talk much. But he still felt a small comfort knowing that at least one of his friends was still alive. Castiel would follow him anywhere. Even doped up on whatever he was taking, Castiel would do as Dean asked, even attempt a suicide mission for the tiny possibility that they might win.
Dean wasn't sure why he wanted to check up on Cas. Maybe he was worried. Castiel didn't just take to drinking, drugs and orgies. He full-blown threw himself into drinking, drugs and orgies. When Dean opened the door, he wasn't surprised to be greeted with a face full of smoke.
"Cas, ain't it a bit late to get stoned?" Dean asked. Castiel turned to Dean with a dumb smile on his face. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a bottle of whiskey in his hand and a bong in the other.
"Did you get the colt?" he asked.
"No, it was a dead end. Again," Dean replied. Castiel nodded his head a little, his dumb smile fading. Then he outstretched his arm and handed Dean the whiskey bottle. Dean looked down at it, then brought it to his lips and downed half the bottle.
"You know," he began, sitting down on a small table by the door. "You've been really going off the deep end here. I mean, remember little virgin angel Cas? The hell happened," he asked, staring at Castiel critically while he bent over the bong.
"You've never asked me about this before," Cas replied, then coughed a little.
"Well, I'm asking now," Dean stated, his shoulders tensing a little. He held Castiel's gaze for a long time, until the former angel smiled and looked away.
"Lucifer has control over the earth, the Croatoin virus is spreading, and we might die tomorrow. Why not go off the deep end? If I die, at least I die stoned, and oblivious," Castiel said, beaming up at Dean. The man in question didn't seem convinced by Castiel's words. He gave his friend a stern look, not saying anything or moving from his position by the door. Castiel sighed, ran a hand through his shaggy hair.
"I just couldn't watch you anymore," Castiel admitted. "I've watched over you for so long. I watched you formulate the plan to beat Lucifer. I watched it fail and crash before your eyes. Dean," Castiel looked up at him, his eyes brimming with little red veins. "I watched you slowly lose it over your brother. I watched how you tried so hard to fix this mistake. Dean, I watched you lose hope." His voice broke a little, and he had to look away. Dean's expression softened, and the need to reach out to his friend and comfort him became overwhelming. But he didn't move. He couldn't even find a single thing to say.
"I just couldn't do it anymore. But I also couldn't leave you. I could never leave you," Castiel admitted, glancing up at Dean before reaching across the floor for a bottle of vodka.
"So you numb yourself with drugs," Dean stated, his hands lightly caressing the bottle of whiskey. He looked down, sighing. "Nice to know that your incoming overdose is on me."
"Dean," Castiel called, making Dean look down at him. He had that puppy-eyed look on his face, and Dean couldn't help but look away once more. He stood up, turning towards the door. Castiel didn't call out for him again. Instead, he brought the bottle of vodka to his lips, staring blankly ahead at the window. There was just nothing more to say. Castiel couldn't convince Dean that none of this was his fault. He couldn't convince Dean even of the simple truth that Castiel was here for him. Dean lived on the edge, everyday pushing Castiel away more, as if he was terrified of getting close. He was terrified of losing that one last person he had. The last person he cared about before the world disintegrated into nothingness. Castiel tried to be strong for Dean and help him through this. But he wasn't an angel anymore, and he couldn't save Dean. All he could do was act as a diversion while Dean went after Lucifer. All he could do was die for the small chance that Dean can set things straight. And that was good enough for Cas. But until the day they went after Lucifer came, Castiel just wanted his damn drink, and his drugs, and his whores. Anything to distract him from the fact that he failed to protect the only person he ever truly loved.