This is my first story here, and it's just a bunch of Destiel-AUs. I'm not a native English speaker, so please forgive any grammar or spelling mistakes. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

Into You Like A Train

He's used to waking up next to girls of whom he doesn't even remember the name by now.

Today, it's a strawberry blonde one with two angel wings tattooed on her back. She's still fast asleep, and he's grateful for that. It makes it much easier to slip out of the house unnoticed.

The day is barely dawning as he walks home, but people still stare at him. He doesn't really know if it's because he looks like a mess – he was busy doing everything but sleeping that night – or if it's just the usual looks.

"Your heart is broken, and people notice.", Charlie had once said. "They have to stare at you, even if they don't want to. You're a goddamned train wreck." He hadn't said anything, but silently, he'd agreed. He felt like a train wreck, too. He felt like Cas had slammed into him, and now there was nothing left but dust and metal.

When he walks up the stairs to his apartment, Charlie's waiting for him at the door. Her red hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she looks at him with eyes full of sympathy and disapproval all at once.

She doesn't even say hello, she just asks: "What was her name?"

Dean shrugs and walks past her, unlocks the door and prays that she won't follow him inside, but of course, she does anyway. She goes straight into the living room and sits down on the couch, feeling more at home in this apartment than he will ever do.

"You can't keep doing that.", she says, matter-of-factly.

"Doing what?", he snaps.

She rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean! You're using them! You don't feel anything for these girls!"

"Maybe I do. How would you know?", he answers, one eyebrow raised.

She laughs a dry, joyless laugh. "You wouldn't leave them every morning then."

The words leave his mouth before he can stop them, full of anger and pain and so many unsaid feelings. "Well, he told me that he loved me all the time, and he still left."

Immediately, her face softens. Her voice is sweet and quiet when she says: "Dean, he did love you."

He turns away so she can't see the tears in his eyes. "Then why did he leave?", he asks, his voice shaky and hoarse.

"He loved you, I know that.", she answers.

A breathe, a pause, then she says: "He just wasn't ready for it to hit him that hard."