Love is Always Enough
**DISCLAIMER** The characters in this story are not mine. Only the plot is.
A/N: Please R&R, this is my very first Destiel fic.
In the moonlight, the black haired man stared out of the balcony window, watching the street. His electric blue eyes almost seemed to crackle. It was his one year anniversary of waiting, and every day he watched the street, waiting for him to reappear. A year was far too long, it should've taken six months at the latest… And, of course, it had happened only a year after they'd gotten together.
They hadn't even been able to spend their anniversary together. He could remember it like it was yesterday. Too late, he realized he'd been pulled into a flash back.
"Dean, are we still going to dinner?" he asked in his rough voice. Dean chuckled, "Of course we are. As long as I can get some pie." Cas laughed, "I'm not dumb enough to deny you pie. I'd rather live." He faced his beloved—the man he'd turned human for, and, as always, admired his sharp jaw, tousled dirty blond-brown hair, and his six o'clock shadow. He wanted to lick Dean's jaw line, but just at that moment, he heard a crash and saw blood spurting from Dean's femoral artery.
"Dean!" he cried out, "You cannot do this to me. You promised me! You promised me dinner tonight, and you promised me an always. You are a man of your word and that is not allowed to change." Dean lie on the floor, gazing up at him, and giggled slightly, "there will always be an always with you and me. Remember? The first time I died, you gripped me tight and raised me from perdition?" He gasped in pain as he tried to reach for Castiel's hand. Cas held his hand and propped Dean's head on his lap. "I love you, Cas. I'll be back, I promise. You don't have to wait for me. But I will come back. I love you." Dean's eyes glazed over, and he lay still.
Pieces of glass had embedded themselves into Castiel's skin, but he didn't feel them. Hot, prickly tears soaked his face, but he didn't notice, nor did he care to. He felt anger, washing over him so strongly that he would have smote anyone in his presence had he still been an angel, but he, regrettably, was not. If he had been, he could have saved Dean like Dean had said, oh so casually. Had he been an angel, he could have found the sniper and smote him on the spot, or he could have stood in the path of the bullet, which would have simply shattered into microscopic fragments against his skin. But he could do none of it. All he could do was weep, and scream, and hold his dead beloved.
Cas thrust himself back into the present. He focused on the street again, struggling to maintain normalized breathing, rather than hyperventilating. What if he'd missed him? And what kind of idiot was Dean, exactly, to think he wouldn't wait for him? He'd searched for six months, and gotten severely ill doing so, so now, he waited at their apartment. Suddenly, he heard a knock. His heart leapt. He had missed him! He bound across the room, and jerked open the door knob, grinning like a fool.