Prologue
Rain. It was cold and mixed with his salty tears, as if he wasn't crying at all. It was appropriate for the occasion, the weather being the way it was. Rain seemed suitable for a 'funeral', and the sky was a dull, dark grey, everything was right. But it was so wrong; how could he be dead? He'd come back, right? He always did. Sammy would always come back to him, that's just the way it went. Dean went to hell and he came back. So why wouldn't Sam come back? He'd done it before, he could do it again.
Dean stood solemnly at the pile of dirt, his head bowed and holding a photograph. He slowly took the photograph to his chest and stifled a sob; he really was gone this time. It wasn't a real funeral, Dean didn't want that, that meant letting go, and it meant giving up. "Never thought you'd actually leave me Sammy." He said looking up to the clouds, Sam wouldn't be there, but the thought of him finally at peace kept Dean's nightmares at bay. He dropped the photograph on the dirt near the cross with 'Sam Winchester' engraved- Dean had clearly done it himself, evident from the poor craftsmanship and the number of splinters in his fingertips.
He closed his eyes slowly, sleep had not come for weeks now, he was an exhausted man. Slowly but surely, everything had become draining for him, he had lost Sam before, but somehow this was different. He felt closure, which was not something he wanted. He wanted to put up a fight; this wasn't what he asked for. He took in a long breath, treating it as his last, and began to turn away. Everything in his mind fighting back against his body, turning away meant a lot more than it seemed. There would be no bargains or deals to get him back, he really was dead this time, and there was nothing supernatural about it. It was just death. "Goodbye Sammy."
6 months later.
"Dean. Dean. You have to get up sometime this is getting absurd." Cas's voice went straight through one ear and out the other. Dean sat in the same armchair he had been sitting in for the past few months, a hollow, empty vessel. At first, his coping mechanism had been anger filled hunts, out of control violence and rage. But now it was as if his body and mind had given up completely. The hunting gig was over and now there was nothing left. Castiel always took care of him, though Dean barely recognised his presence. Sometimes Cas would just sit there and talk to him, well it was more like talking at him, about everything he feared and cared about. He knew Dean wasn't listening to a word, but somehow that made it easier. The one-sided conversations were the highlight of his day, a chance to let out every intricate thought and memory he could muster, considering his time in this world, there were a lot of things to say. He tried every day to switch Dean back on, create some kind of spark to jump start him, and every day he tried and failed. Dean just stayed there, staring, longing maybe, for something.
