This story was partially requested/inspired by a song I discovered by Of Monsters and Men (the title of which is Sinking Man wow, ikr, the title is so original)

Anyways, essentially a suicide story filled with depression and sadness and death and all the horrible things in life jumbled into one.

That, in case you didn't notice, was your warning to read no further if those things are a trigger for you.

In any case, enjoy (?)

The hotel room was utterly trashed. The furniture had been toppled over, the lamps and lights broken and laying amongst the shards of glasses peppering the floor. The emptied bottles of alcohol were the only things mildly in order amidst the chaos as they were all grouped on the bed, what little of the liquid was left was staining the while mattress. An impossible amount of noise was made in the process of ruining such a fine room and yet no one had come.

Dean sat on the frame of the open window, his legs dangling into nothingness as he stared at the moving lights bellow him. There was always traffic and life in New York City – the city of dreams. For the most part, Dean was drunk but not as much as he would have liked to have been. He supposed it made sense though. He had been drinking like a deranged alcoholic since he was seventeen and now that he was thirty, he had built some level of tolerance to the poison. At one point he had thought he was unable to get drunk anymore though the given night proved him wrong.

He leaned his head against the frame to his right and sighed, enjoying the tingling of the warm breeze tickle his face. He closed his eyes and savoured the sensation. It almost felt like what a mother's touch was meant to feel like – heartfelt, loving and gentle. It almost beckoned him—

He was pulled out of his thoughts quickly as the broken alarm clock – which doubled as a radio – went off and slowly faded to the radio station it had been programmed to before Dean had had his way with it. There was silent for a moment and Dean wasn't sure if a song had ended, was beginning or if the machine had died again. Suddenly, it began to sing a slow, melodious tune:

Cold, dark sea

Wrapping its arms around me,

Pulling me down to the deep.

All eyes on me.

Dean laughed and turned his gaze to the buzzing life taking over the streets of New York. For some reason, he had hoped the song would sing something about keeping hope or to not let go of life. Instead, the song mimicked exactly how he felt and hinted to things that had happened not long ago. He wondered if it was a sign. Perhaps it was time to let go and finally go to sleep. He had done enough, hadn't he?

I pushed you away

Although I wished you could stay.

So many words left unsaid,

But I'm all out of breathe.

Dean remembered Castiel – his best friend, his lover. They had first met when Dean had initially sunken into depression for the first time. He was trying to get drunk at a bar and it wasn't working in his favour which had made him aggressive. Castiel had approached him and began to speak to him. At first, Dean had been very unresponsive and mean though the other never lost courage or abandoned, he stuck by his side and stayed with him. Eventually, Dean abandoned his quest to get plastered and gave Castiel more of his attention. From that moment on, he never stopped giving the other man his attention. Castiel was smart, kind and strong. He always knew what to say, when to say it and was always there for Dean.

Was.

As fairy-tale-like as their life had been once Dean had recovered from his depression, new obstacles appeared on the road. Dean supposed he was used to it seeing as his life was simply a series of horrible hurdles to overcome but it wasn't as easy as it had once been. He wasn't sure if it was because of the lasting impression of his depression or if he had truly just had enough, but tolerating the shit the world threw at him suddenly became impossible.

First Jo and Ellen – two women who had had a lasting impression on him and whom he considered family – had died in an explosion. Later, Sam's girlfriend had fucked them both over – estranging him and getting him addicted beyond the point of return to this drug referred to as: Demon Blood. He had tried to get Sam help but his brother had pushed him away and, eventually, he overdosed. That had been a hard hit for Dean but the one he felt had truly done him in was Bobby's death.

Bobby was like a father to both Sam and Dean. The man had been more of a father than their actual father who had been involved in illegal affairs which had eventually taken his life. Bobby had always tried to set them both on the straight and narrow and give them opportunities for a better life. He had saved Dean on more than one occasion and had always been there for him when he needed him. But, one day, Dean had received a call informing him that Bobby had been the victim of a random drive-by shooting and, after being shot in the head and carried to the hospital, passed away.

The grief of having lost all of his family had been too much for Dean and he had begun to push Castiel away. However, as the song had said, though he pushed Castiel away, he wished he would have stayed. Perhaps Dean wouldn't be on the point of committing the irreversible if he had. But he didn't blame Castiel. He couldn't have known just how bad he suffered what with constantly putting on a façade.

Now that he thought about it, Dean wasn't quite sure he pretended to be happy and content. Castiel had told him to tell him if anything was wrong and they would figure out some way of fixing it. But Dean had never taken him up on the offer because at some point, someone told him: "Decide to be fine till the end of the week. Make yourself smile because you're alive and that's your job. And do it again the next week." And though Dean had no reason to listen to those grim words, he had.

So, go, go, go

Get out of here.

Go away,

Get out of here.

Dean looked back down at the life below him. There was a certain charm to New York City at night, though he found himself unable to feel it. Perhaps it was because he was looking at it from God's perspective.

Go, go

Get out of here.

Go away,

Get out of here.

The song and the warm breeze seemed to beckon him. He leaned forward, almost testing what he knew he would eventually do. He was an inch away from plummeting to the cement and yet, Dean had never felt more at peace or safe in his entire life. He supposed there was a certain safety in Death. The things that haunted him, knowing he had been powerless to save those he loved and living without them would disappear. He didn't know what came after Death but he supposed there was still a decent chance of seeing Jo, Ellen, Sam and Bobby again.

Cold, dark sea,

Your waves are rocking me.

Dean's fingers curled on the frame and pushed him further. His bare feet were pressed against the brick wall and his body was, for the most part, entirely hanging off the building. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath before looking down again. The life below still moved at its original pace, maybe, even, a bit faster. No one seemed to notice him or, if they did, no one was bothered by his dangerous position. Perhaps he truly wouldn't be missed.

I close my eyes and fall asleep.

Dean closed his eyes again and felt the breeze. It was as soft as a mother's touch and, for a moment, he was reminded of the kind woman that died in his brother's nursery – his real mother whom he had only known for four years. It was as though she was speaking to him, beckoning him to let go.

He had suffered enough.

He had done enough.

He barely heard the thumping on the door. Dean was somewhere far away in his mind. Somewhere safe. Somewhere where the horrible things of his life couldn't reach him. Somewhere where he was at peace with himself and everything around him. Somewhere he could love himself.

The door finally gave in, falling off its hinges. Castiel entered the room hastily and froze upon seeing Dean so close to Death. "Dean—" he called out, horrified by what could easily happen.

It had been a bad move on his part.

All eyes on me,

Startled, Dean whipped his head back to see Castiel but the brusque movement had caused one of his hands to slip and the other hadn't been holding on hard enough to keep him from falling.

Your eyes on me.

Do you think he would have done it if he hadn't fallen?