"That's your thirteenth one today," Sam said uneasily from across the room, watching his older brother with a pained expression. Dean, however, ignored him and chugged down the last drops of the whiskey before clumsily dropping the glass.
"I don't care," Dean growled, his voice heavy with liquor and weariness. The hunter buried his face in his hands, digging his nails into his scalp. Sam hovered by the door, hesitant to leave, yet also reluctant to say anything on the issue. Sure, Sam had also been negatively effected by Cas' death, but that had been three weeks ago; the pain of the loss had slowly begun to ease by this point.
But not for Dean.
Oh, no, no, not for Dean. After seeing the black remnants of his angel companion floating in the lake, moments after the Leviathans had been let loose into the sewage pipes, the loss had taken an extreme toll on the hunter. Cas was gone, and despite the fact that Dean was probably the last one to be of fault to this, the man acted as if he himself had gone and killed the angel.
At that point, Dean had lost all common sense and had bounded into the lake, shouting the celestial being's name. Once he reached the tattered, yet still-floating trench coat, the hunter grabbed it and pressed it close, at the same time searching the murky waters to see if there was any sign of a body, or even a limb. There was nothing.

"I'm heading to the store, I need to pick up some groceries," Sam stated at the doorway. "I'll be back real soon, so don't..." Sam trailed off when Dean looked up at him and met his gaze, his eyes bloodshot from sleep deprivation and constant drinking, "do anything stupid," Sam finished quickly, shutting the door behind him and taking off down the hall and out of the house.
Dean couldn't have given a rat's ass where Sam was going, not in the sense that he didn't care about his brother, but because he'd been worn down past the limit with all the stress of recent events, so worn down that he couldn't get himself to care about anything or anyone.
It was too overwhelming, and the reality of life seemed to be catching up. First, his dad, then he lost Sam for a day before selling his own soul to revive him, then went Ellen, and Jo, and Ash, and various other people and family friends that had died because of the Winchester's' interference with their lives. And in the end, Cas.
 "Cas..." Dean repeated, feeling a familiar burning sensation pushing at the back of his eyelids. The hunter couldn't help himself when silent sobs started to violently rock his whole body. He couldn't stop himself, he couldn't control himself. Dean was a mess.
Falling onto his back and resting against the couch cushions, the older Winchester wedged his palms painfully into eye sockets, trying to stop the tears that seemed to have no ending.
"Gone...gone...gone..." Dean chanted before managing to pull himself off the couch and staggering to the chair nearby. On it, hung Castiel's scavenged trench coat. The collar was still rimmed in tear stains from yesterday's breakdown, but Dean couldn't have cared less when he pulled the coat off of the chair and plopped back onto the couch, gripping the garment tightly as if it would disappear too if he didn't hold it tight enough.
Eventually, Dean managed to calm down and he unfolded the coat drunkenly, pulling it around him as if it was a blanket. And with that, the hunter laid down onto his side, nestling his head on the hard couch armrest as slumber dawned upon him almost immediately, the alcohol intake being too much that Dean could have ever handled. The man's heart rate sped up dangerously, and time seemed to slow down. Dean, however, couldn't react. He simply pulled the coat around him tighter as the air around him seemed to thicken.
Just as quickly as the sensation started, it ended and everything grew still and dark.
When Dean opened his eyes again, the room around him seemed to be glowing with radiant light, every single object in the room having the texture of gold and brilliance of diamonds. Dean himself didn't feel sluggish or emotional like he'd been feeling earlier. In fact, he felt amazing, his mind clear and his body feeling light; it was as if he was at the peak of his life.
Suddenly, the door to the room opened, and Dean had to raise his arm to block the intense energy that was standing in the doorway. Eventually, the hunter's eyes adjusted, to the point where he was able to put his arm down and simply squint to see through the rays of light.
But the object in front of him was not simply energy. Not mere light. It seemed to have an outline, which was starting to contort itself into a figure. A human figure. Then, as if someone had flipped the light switch, the room stopped glowing, everything went back to its original color. Dean was back at Bobby's. But the figure hadn't left. And, at same time, Dean was finally able to see what it was, well, who it was.
The breath hitched in the man's throat, and he felt his jaw slacken and his eyes widen.
Standing in doorway, was Castiel, looking polished and composed. He was wearing his trench coat, and when Dean looked down at his hands, he saw that the one he had been nestled in was gone.
"Cas?" Dean said slowly, standing up from the couch. He couldn't read the angel's expression, but he practically lunged towards him anyway, gripping him in a deathly-tightly embrace. Sighing with content and relief, Dean remained like that, until the hunter noticed that the angel seemed tense and uneasy. The older Winchester pulled away from the hug, but kept both hands on each of Cas' shoulders. He grinned widely, for what felt like the first time in years. "Cas!" the hunter repeated, feeling joy at the mentioning of the name, and being able to see its owner.
The celestial being, however, didn't seem to be sharing Dean's enthusiasm. Dean automatically recognized his expression as shock, as if the angel wasn't able to comprehend what was happening. The man didn't blame him, for Cas would presumably be in a daze after all of the events that had occurred. Dean's smile faltered and he squeezed his companion's shoulders reassuringly.
"You're alive!" Dean chimed, urging Cas to grin back, or at least realize the joy of the scenario.
"Dean," the angel began, his gruff and husky voice reassuring Dean about the situation even more. Another crooked grin broke out on the hunter's face. But at the same time, he couldn't help but notice Castiel's shaky voice and grave expression.
"What's wrong, Cas?" Dean asked, furrowing his eyebrows as his smile began to shrink away.
"Dean," the angel repeated, looking everywhere except Dean's eyes.
"Cas?" Dean repeated as well, growing more concerned by the second. Finally, the angel's gaze stopped avoiding Dean's questioning glare, and Castiel looked up at Dean. A variety of emotions seemed to be flashing in the angel's deep baby blue eyes, and none of them were happy in any sense.
"I am not alive," the angel said slowly, his voice growing quieter and more unstable with each word.
Dean's grip on Cas' shoulders slackened immediately as his companion's words started to sink in. His smile was now gone, and a cold hand began to grip the man's heart as realization wrapped itself around Dean's mind.
"I'm dead."