Dean

Another wave of brown alcohol landed with a splash in the small glass. Was emptied in one sip, burning down his throat, warming his stomach, and restored immediately with new liquid from the big bottle with the dark label. Dean moved back towards his bed, where he had spent the last couple of hours. Sleep was not to think of, even when he hadn't slept in several nights. There was so much speaking against it, over sounded the tiredness. Too many thoughts crossing his mind. Too much guilt. No matter what the others said, no matter what anyone said. No matter what he would say, if he was still here. Dean blamed himself for all of it. For all that had happened. He should have prevented it. He could have saved him. If only he had put his own feelings behind. If only he hadn't reacted the way he had. All of it wouldn't have happened. He would still be here, still alive. Still with him.

He sank down onto the bed and took another sip. The alcohol numbed him. Though, wasn't enough to push away the sense of guilt. And even less was it enough to help him over the grief. He had lost him. He would never come back. He is dead.

Dean closed his eyes. Pictures built in his mind. Memories. Memories that became weaker and blurrier by the day. At the beginning they were sharp, clear and full of light and colors. But with time they got more and more grey and toneless. It was as if even the last bit of him would disappear as well now. As if Dean would slowly forget, how he looks, how he had looked. His scent and how his voice had sounded.

A small, silver tear made its way across his heated cheek. He squinted his eyes over the realization, that he was crying again. Every day. And everyday Dean wondered, when it would finally stop to hurt so much. Already knowing the answer. The truth is, he didn't believe, that it would ever get better. He had been sitting in this filthy motel room for weeks. Alone, without any contact to the outside world. Without any contact to Bobby or Sam. Obviously they were searching for him, but Dean knows how not to be found. He had replaced his phone with a new one, had chosen a motel as abroad as possible and stored his beloved Impala in a rented garage. He wanted to be alone.

He wouldn't be able to bear his brother's words that tried to console him and the pitiful looks. He didn't want to talk about it. Of course he was aware, that they would find him at some point, they just knew him too well. But he hoped, that it would took them another little time.

Another sip made him realize, how drunk he already was. One or maybe two glasses had always been enough, getting drunk dissolutely had never been his way. But since Cas was gone, nothing was like it used to be. Dean had changed. The lack of sleep and his current life style had changed him. Every day was like the next, he always did the same. If he slept, he got up very early in the morning, mostly because he couldn't sleep anymore or didn't want to. The first thing he did, after peeing, was going to the fridge to get a beer. At least that's how it was at first. By now he didn't feel bad about starting with hard alcohol right away, instead of beer. He left his room only in case of emergency, so when he ran out of alcohol. Alcohol was pretty much the only thing he ingested. Every now and then he could bring himself to order pizza. Still, you could see he was barely eating anything. He is thinner than before.

Dean also didn't think about his looks anymore. For what now? He was sitting in his room all day and all night anyway. The usual jeans had been replaced with more comfortable dark grey sweatpants, his former perfectly shaved face with a beard. His tired, glassy eyes darkly shaped.

He put his emptied glass on the dark brown side stand next to the bed and rubbed his face tiredly. It started dawning outside already and the room got darker and darker. Dean starred out of the small window opposite to him and watched the couple, that lived two doors over since a few days ago, how it walked across the parking lot hand in hand. For a short moment he wished to be that man, but stopped himself right away, when he realized, how pathetic he was.

He put his gaze back to the floor. A dark wooden floor, which had had its days. Looked at his naked feet. They were ice cold. They were always ice cold. But he didn't care. Like in trance he starred at them without thinking about anything, his head was completely empty of thoughts. Until he suddenly felt a warm drop on the cold back of his hand that rested on his thigh. He winced, then looked at his hand. The small drop glistened by the reflecting light of the sundown. As beautiful as this drop looked, it made Dean even sadder. Again his eyes had filled with tears and again he hadn't been able to stop it. His chin began to shake, which made it all much worse. A half oppressed sob pushed out of him, before he tried to stop the upcoming tears from burning down his cheeks with a hasty as rough hand move.

He jerked back to a stand and hustled to the table with the bottle of whiskey on it. He had to drown the pictures forming before his inner eye like a bad movie as fast as he possibly could. Too painful were they, he couldn't bear them. Not today. Not again. So drink. Drown. Hastily he grabbed for the bottle, skipped the glass, killed the last bit of its content. Banged the empty bottle back onto the table, what he regretted right away, the sound of it cutting into his head, that hadn't stopped hurting for weeks. But this bit of alcohol didn't help. Not this time. For that it was too little. He would have to buy more tomorrow.

Desperately the heels of his hands pushed against his eyeballs, as the pictures shot into his head one after another. Pictures he didn't want to see. Pictures of when they had first met. Pictures of fights they had fought together. Pictures of moments, where they had just been together. It was his fault. He should have stopped him. He should have prevented Cas taking in all those souls. He should have tried to understand him, instead of giving free rein to his disappointment over the betrayal. He could have saved him. He could have. It's his fault.

Dean didn't even try to stop the wave of tears, gave in, gave up. Sobbingly he leaned against the wall in the corner, with his face towards the greenish grey wallpaper, which seemed soberingly black in the upcoming darkness. With his forehead touching the cold, slick wall and his eyes shut, he let his pain wander, gave up on pushing it away. He hated himself. He hated his life. What should he do with it now? His best friend is dead. His best friend. His brother. His Cas.

His fist hit the wall beside his face with a loud burst. Cas had meant so much to him. He had been the best friend Dean had ever had. Had done anything for him. Had rebelled for him. Had fallen for him. And all of that only for him. Dean would have died for him. Even when he hadn't shown it so often. But Dean would have done anything for Cas, too. Everything. Cas was like a brother to him.

Inside Dean felt this pushing feeling that annoyingly reminded him of how he lied to himself with that phrase. He could lie to everyone. Bobby, even his own brother. He hadn't even hesitated to use this phrase towards Cas, whether he believed him or not. But he couldn't lie to himself. He knew Cas was much more than just a very good friend or a brother. So much more. But he hadn't been able to deal with it. He still wasn't. At first he had tried to deny it, but with time he got worse at it. Then he had tried to deal with it, tried not to show it, but he hadn't been good at that either and it hadn't particularly been fun. At some point Dean had decided to tell him someday, to tell Cas what he felt for him. But he had never planned when exactly. He had always thought that he would tell him someday, find the right moment for it. He had thought that the time for it would come. He had thought he had the time. But he didn't have it. Not anymore. Now it was too late. Cas is dead. Dean would never have the chance to tell him what he meant to him.

He braced both his forearms against the wall and ran his fingers through his hair. He was sick of it. He was sick of it all. He was sick of his life. His pathetic existence. Even more tears streamed out of his squinted eyes, when he heard himself say something in the inside, that he had hoped never to hear from himself. Kill yourself. Stop. End it. There's no sense anymore.

Just when he felt too weak to keep standing and wanted to sink to the ground, he suddenly felt something weird, that made him pause. Something had changed. Something was different. Something wasn't right. He pushed himself off the wall, moved his hand across his face. With half opened, only blurry seeing eyes - the alcohol took its toll and his tears weren't so helpful as well - he turned around almost in slow-motion. Someone was in his room. He couldn't see who it was. He was standing opposite to him and looked at him. Dean's gaze was much too blurry to see clear features. He blinked a few times and swept over his eyes again halfheartedly, he didn't care a bit, who was standing in front of him. No difference if he wanted to attack him or maybe even kill him. Tired and powerless he reopened his cloudy eyes, not caring about what would happen next. He wouldn't fight back. He wouldn't fight at all. He wouldn't do anything.

But what his eyes saw, wasn't an enemy, no attacker. His heart felt like it tried to make itself explode, so fast was it beating all of a sudden. Again he moved his hand over his face, when he realized, who was standing in front of him. Breathe. His breathing stopped. It was as if time would stand still for a moment. Breathe, Dean. Unbelievingly his body heated up to an uncomfortable, almost painful hot temperature just to cool back down immediately. Dean suddenly felt extremely cold and extremely sick, he felt like he would throw up any moment. He looked directly into the pair of eyes opposite of him, when he heard that deep voice, that made him wince: „Dean"

Even just this little word was like a sledgehammer that shattered his composure completely. Suddenly everything inside him seemed to break down. With his gaze full of tears and his lips trembling, trying to form words, he starred at him and absolutely didn't know what to do. The man moved towards him slowly. A kind-hearted, calming smile that didn't help a single bit. His trench coat waving back with the movement like usual.

When Cas finally stopped in front of him and looked at him with his akin blue eyes, new tears came out of Dean's eyes. Cas laid a hand on his shoulder and it all felt so real. Dean couldn't hold himself on his legs anymore. The lack of sleep of the past weeks, all the alcohol, he had hardly been eating anything. All because of him. And now he was standing right in front of him just like that. Dean couldn't handle it anymore. His legs didn't want to hold him any longer and gave in without any pity. Cas grabbed for him and stopped him from falling. And Dean clawed into the collar of his trench coat.

„Cas" he breathed with gravel in his voice „you're back?"

„Yes"

„You're back"

„Yes, Dean"

„You're…"

More and more tears ran down his face, heavier and heavier his chin was trembling, heavier and heavier his whole body was shaking. He couldn't believe it. It was as if his brain was resign, thinking just didn't work anymore. It was so illogical and still more than real. Moaning and needing all his strength, Dean brought himself back onto his legs. Only now a small, even when barely visible smile came upon his lips, as he finally realized it.

„Cas" Dean whispered again and put a hand to the angel's neck, who smiled at him soft and kindly. His other hand moved to his neck as well and he regarded his angel. His angel, that came back. His angel was back. His angel was back here with him. And he didn't even care, how it was possible. How it all could even be real. Just this one time Dean didn't want to be skeptical. Just this one time he didn't want to dig into something to finally find that there's a catch to it. Just this one time he wanted to be happy without any doubt or terms to it.

„Cas" Dean whispered once again „Cas, I love you"

Cas' eyes got even softer and a tender smile played around his mouth.

„I know, Dean"