A/N: First story in a long time and first Supernatural thing that I've actually published on here. Reference to Dean/Cas/OFC. No flames please, constructive criticism only. Comes from conversations and some personal roleplays between my friend and I. I own nothing, Supernatural and all its characters belong to the great Eric Kripke. The slightly mentioned original female character belongs to my friend.

The world had gone to hell.

Not just an expression this time, but a literal fact. Demons ran rampant, Satan walked the earth and the world was slowly becoming one gigantic Croat hot zone. It seemed hopeless. Hell, it was hopeless, but there were still people resisting, still people fighting. That was the thing about people; even when the chips were down or damn near gone, somehow they still found a way to keep going, keep surviving even when all logic said they should roll over and die. Surviving sucked hardcore right now but Dean had come to terms with that. As overwhelming and hopeless as it all was he could deal with it, keep fighting and looking for the Colt so he could finally end this huge freaking mess.

Until today that is.

His jaw was clenched so tight it made his teeth ache but it was the only way he could walk through the camp without breaking down. His stomach churned and he tasted bile but he kept his mouth closed like a steel trap. He walked quickly but he didn't run, his whole body rigid and stiff, stretched so taut that it looked like he might snap any second. It was definitely plausible but he wouldn't do it in front of the whole goddamn camp. The dirty refugees kept out of his way, something about the look in his eyes must have sent them scurrying. His own soldiers watched him uneasily even though there was sympathy shining in their eyes. Hands clenched into fists at those sympathetic looks but he kept his arms pinned to his sides. He'd start swinging if he didn't. What right did they have to look at him like that? What did they know about the thing he'd just done? Swells of comforting rage radiated through him and he held them, let the darkness take over. That hole that he'd come back from Hell with, the one he'd ignored for so long, sprang to the surface and consumed him radiating cold through his limbs, settling an icy stillness over his heart and soul.

It was better than the alternative.

He used the coldness, the darkness, the anger to get through the camp, to get back to his cabin. Their cabin. No, he couldn't think that way.

Finally he got there, his boots thudded up the stairs and he flung the door open, walked in and just stood there. She was everywhere. There was one of her T-shirts half under the bed, a pair of pants by the night table, a hair brush by the sink. She was walking towards him now, making a wisecrack before slipping her arms around his neck and he could feel it, he could feel the weight of them for a moment before it was gone. Now he could see her over by the sink, suppressing her laughter as she tried to teach Cas to dance. Now she was yelling at him about Sam, falling on the bed and dragging him with her, waking up and mocking him, laughing and teasing, calling to him, worried...

He heard someone yelling and realised it was him, a furious primal roar of pain and rage. Then he was moving and the nightstand fell with a crash. Random objects flew off the table's surface with one swipe; dishes broke and smashed as he flung them off the counter. He tore pictures off the wall, ripped gashes in posters, and threw, smashed or destroyed anything else he came into contact with. Nothing was safe from him.

In a handful of minutes, it was an absolute wreck and he stood in the middle of it. His chest heaved and green eyes darted around wildly. No ghostly images now, nothing but the utter chaos of what had been their home. The blood pounded fiercely in his ears and he looked for something else to destroy but there was nothing. His limbs started to shake suddenly, his knees gave out and he sank to the floor, shards of glass and dishes crunching under his weight. His head fell forward and his features crumpled, anger gone for the moment. Now, there was just the emptiness and the indescribable pain that rushed in to fill it.

Dean had been through a lot in his life. Fate, life and pretty much everything else loved to kick the shit out of him. He'd been able to bear it though. Somehow, he'd always come through, always maintained some hold on himself, come close but had never actually broken. But this...this wouldn't be the same. This was too much. He'd reached his breaking point and shattered.

The salty wetness of tears trickled down his face and he made no attempt to stop them, kneeling in the debris of their life and the last remnants of his humanity.

"Dean."

He heard the quiet, unsteady voice but he made no move to acknowledge it, made no move at all just remained where he was. There were arms around him a moment later, arms that shook just as much as Dean's own body but he still didn't move, didn't even lift his head. He wouldn't understand, no one could. In spite of his efforts, Cas couldn't comfort him. There was no comfort for him. The fallen angel didn't seem to understand that, however, his arms tight around Dean's chest, body warm against him as he knelt there amid the debris. Neither spoke as the tears continued to fall and the ex-angel rested his head against Dean's shoulder, trying his best not to shake too much.

Cas thought he hurt. But he didn't know. He didn't know what it felt like.

That thought sparked the rage again and slowly Dean raised his head, tears ceasing now as he gritted his teeth again. "Cas." The head lifted from his shoulder and he knew he had the other's attention. "Back off."

Cas was startled by the coldness in the tone but he didn't move. "Dean-"

"I said back off." It was more of a growl now and slowly the arms fell from around him. Dean got to his feet and turned to face Cas who stood slowly, watching him carefully. No more trench coat and suit for the ex-angel, it was regular jeans and shirts for him now, boots and a nondescript jacket. Dean had gotten used to the change some time ago so he merely regarded Cas with narrowed green eyes. Blue eyes stared back at him, confused, pained, with a touch of his own anger.

"I loved her too Dean." Quiet, but firm, as if Dean really needed to be reminded.

It was exactly the wrong thing to say.

With something like a snarl, Dean's fist connected with the other man's face. Three years ago that move would have nearly broken his hand. Now, it sent Castiel stumbling off balance, tripping over a broken chair leg and crashing to the ground. Cas looked up at him frowning as Dean advanced, blood from the split in his lip starting to trickle down his chin. Dean was all rage now, couldn't seem to distinguish or care that this was also someone he loved. All he could see was a person who thought they knew what he was going through, who thought they understood when they really had no clue at all. Before Cas had the chance to get up Dean grabbed him and hauled him to his feet, slamming him into the wall. Cas let out a pained gasp but met Dean's furious gaze, clutching Dean's wrists.

"Don't do this." It was solemn, serious. "We've suffered enough. Don't do this to us."

"Screw you, Cas." He pulled a fist back, ready to punch him again. Castiel didn't flinch, didn't wince in anticipation or even tense for the blow. He just watched, a slow, humourless smile pulling at his features.

"I guess I've lost you both."

Dean stopped, fist still hovering in the air, ready to move forward at any moment but the words had a momentary effect on him. He looked at Cas, really looked at him now, pinned against the wall, lip bleeding, but mostly the hollow acceptance in his blue eyes, the resignation and ache in their depths. His fist dropped back to his side and his grip on Cas' shirt relaxed. There was still fury on his features but he didn't want to take it out on Cas anymore. Letting go completely, Dean stepped back and Cas pushed himself away from the wall, tugging his shirt straight and wiping the blood off his chin. After that he looked at Dean again. "You're not the only one in pain."

Dean clenched his fists but didn't attack this time. "It's not the same." His voice was gruff and angry but behind that echoed the same hollowness that had been in Castiel's eyes.

"How is it not the same?"

Dean's eyes blazed and the answer came out in a yell before he could check himself. "You didn't have to kill her!" Silence fell and the two men looked at each other. Dean's cold, seething fury was back full force, coursing through his body again and Cas had schooled his features into the unreadable angel look he used to adopt so often. Finally, he nodded and looked away.

"You're right, Dean. I didn't. But I couldn't save her. And that's the real reason you're angry with me. If I still had my powers, I might have been able to save her."

Dean didn't even try to protest because it was true. Unfair and irrational maybe, but true. If Cas had still had his mojo maybe he would have been able to reverse the Croatoan virus, maybe he would have been able to save her. Cas was little better than a human now though so he hadn't been able to do shit and Dean resented him for it. If Cas had stayed an angel, Callie might have been alive right now. It was a devastatingly hard idea to process and it threatened to push him over that brink again so he clamped down on it, iced it over with rage and darkness. He should have done this a long time ago, should have embraced the anger and the darkness. It didn't allow him to feel, wouldn't allow him to get hurt and he was damn sick of getting hurt. He would ice over the raw ache and the broken soul and do what had to be done.

He would find the Colt, kill Sam and then it would all be over. Dean was ready for it to be over.

Cas looked at him finally, heartbroken and desperate for a moment, half lifting a hand as if to reach out to him before he closed his eyes and dropped it. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. "I'll just go. And I'll move into my own cabin."

Dean nodded. He tried his best to ignore the part of him that screamed for him to stop Cas, the desperate part that wanted the other man to stay. If he listened to that, he wouldn't be able to survive it. If he listened to that, he'd still be feeling, still be broken. With the anger and darkness, he could be hard and he would get through. He would survive like he'd been doing all along. Still, something in the way that Cas picked his way through the remnants of the life the three of them had shared, the way his shoulders slumped in defeat and his head bowed, tugged at that desperate part of Dean, made it crack through the ice for a moment.

"Cas..." Soft now, the anger replaced with the ache he'd been trying to bury.

Castiel stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Yes?" So quiet it was almost a whisper, so sad that Dean took a step towards him. But he didn't know what to say, didn't know what he wanted to say or how he could fix it now. Still Cas watched him, just waiting, patient. Dean stared at him for a moment longer then shook his head.

"Nothing."

If Cas stayed, he'd never be able to do what needed to be done. There was a way he'd have to be now, a person he'd have to become, and he couldn't do it if Cas stayed here, if they tried to have what they'd had before. If he loved Castiel, he would still be vulnerable. He couldn't afford to be vulnerable anymore. He couldn't afford the luxury of feelings anymore. He knew that now. He'd reached his breaking point, broken, and now this was what was left.

Cas didn't seem surprised and just nodded, turning away again and walking out the door, leaving Dean alone once more. He'd have to get used to alone, have to embrace it.

It was the only way.