A/N: Minor spoilers end of Season 5. My version of what happens between the graveyard and Lisa's house. One shot. Rated M for language. Reviews make the Plot Bunny grow!
Dean sits alone on the floor in the corner of the anonymous motel room. It's late. He's not sure exactly how late but it feels as if he's been sitting there for hours. Another town. Another motel room. Another piece of his soul screaming out for release. Sam's gone. Again. Failed. Again.
He tosses away the empty whisky bottle and grabs a fresh one from the bag next to him. The sweet oblivion that he used to be able to find in a bottle of Jack Daniel's has long ago found a way to elude him. Doesn't stop him from trying though.
He leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes for a brief moment. A moment is all it takes to remind him why closing his eyes isn't an option. In the darkness that comes with closed eyes he can hear the screams. Their screams. Who are they? He knew a moment ago…not important, he takes another swig from the bottle.
Sometimes, if he's lucky, when he closes his eyes he can hear Sammy. His screams are burned into Dean's heart. He's not sure which he hates more, hearing Sam's screams of torment or not hearing him at all.
He contemplates the cold steel of the revolver in his hand. Cold. He knows cold. It's all he can feel anymore. Cold blood in cold veins pumping a cold dead heart. He checks the chamber and verifies that the single bullet is still there.
He tries to remember the exact shade of his brother's eyes. For a moment the exhaustion and whiskey conspire to keep this detail from him. But then it's there, they were hazel. They sparkled when he laughed…he didn't get to laugh enough…my fault. There was supposed to be more time. Failed. Again.
He spins the chamber of the revolver idly. Raising the gun to his temple he isn't really surprised to hear the soft gentle voice from across the room. "Dean."
"Cas. Go 'way." The hand with the gun drops back into his lap while the other raises the whiskey bottle for another drink.
"Dean. You know I can't do that." Castiel doesn't come any closer. He sits on the floor across the room, a soft light emanating from within.
"Tired. Please Cas. Just leave me alone." He lets his head rest once again against the wall as his eyes slip closed. He listens long enough to know it's not Sam he's hearing. Saddened, yet relieved, he almost opens his eyes when he realizes that this voice…this scream is familiar. Not Sammy…but he should know this one…if he could only think…
"Dean. Don't you think that maybe it's time you got some sleep?" The voice seems closer. He opens his eyes to find that Castiel is still sitting on the floor but the room seems smaller somehow.
"Nope. Sleep is overrated. The only sleep I want is the permanent, non-dreaming, non-breathing kind. Now go away." Without thinking he places the revolver back to his temple and pulls the trigger. Click. Nothing but…click.
"Dean. Suicide is a sin. A mortal sin." Castiel's voice sounds calm and reasonable.
"Good. Send me to Hell. 's where I belong anyway. Shoulda just left me there in the first place. Damn you Castiel! Why couldn't you just leave it alone?" Another drink of whiskey, another spin of the chamber and another hollow click as he pulls the trigger.
"Dean. You had a destiny. You both did. There was no other way." Castiel is somehow closer and yet Dean can't remember him moving. Not important, doesn't matter, only the cold matters.
"Destiny fulfilled. Happy now? Sam's burning in Hell because of your damned destiny. That worked out real well for us didn't it? Fuck destiny. It's time I exercised a little free will." Again the chamber spins. He raises the gun back to his temple praying that this time will be the last. He almost laughs at the irony of praying for a mortal sin. Another quick pull on the trigger…another hollow click.
"Dean. You made a promise. Did you forget your promise to Sam?"
"Don't! Don't you dare say his name. You don't have the right to say his name Cas." He feels a twinge of guilt at the reminder. He never broke a promise to his brother…again his head tips back and his eyes drift closed.
This time he hears the sound he both longs for and dreads. He can hear Sam screaming. He feels the wetness on his cheeks and realizes that tears are running down his face…again…sadness over his brother's pain mixing with relief that the voice hasn't abandoned him.
He feels Castiel's arm slip around his shoulder and wonders when he moved next to him. Hating to let go of the screams he slowly opens his eyes. He's been fighting so long…alone so long…the touch of another person is enough to send a stab of pain through his heart.
He wants so badly to hate the angel but all of the hate he can muster is spent on himself. He realizes that the revolver is no longer in his hand…when did that happen? He can't be bothered to look for it right now, the effort would be too great…all he can think is to rest for just a moment…then he will find the gun and finish this…
His head rests heavily on the angel's shoulder. As his eyes close for the final time the angel touches him gently on forehead. This time, the darkness doesn't bring screams…this time he can hear laughter…Sammy's laughter. It's that laughter that drags him down into the dreamless sleep that his body is craving.
Castiel sits quietly on the floor in the corner of the anonymous motel room. He is not alone. In his arms he holds a broken warrior who will heal…with time. In his pocket is a single bullet that each night is placed within a chamber. It doesn't stay there long…only long enough to provide the illusion of risk before it finds its way back into his pocket. Dean has never broken a promise to his brother and Castiel intends to make sure he never does.