Sam Winchester watched his brother break down on the other side of the passenger side window. Dean had slipped out when Sam started to doze off, but the slamming of the driver's door had brought him back into conciousness.

Something ached in his chest as Dean broke down in sobs, but he was frozen in place. He elder brother would kill him if he turned this into a chick-flick moment, and even though Sam wanted nothing more than to run outside and envelop him in a tight hug, his mind told him no. Let him have this one moment of weakness.

Dean never let his guard down in front of Sam anymore. He'd even gone so far as to put on an apathetic front about everything, claiming nothing really mattered to him anymore. He didn't care. But Sam knew the truth; Dean cared far too much for his own good. All of the pain and the misery and blind rage inside of him had been building up these past few weeks and Sam supposed now was as good a time as any for his brother to snap.

Dean was talking, but Sam couldn't hear him through the thick glass. He strained to make out some words, any words, but all he understood was "Why".

He turned away.


The rain rolled down his face and pooled on his eyelashes, but Dean numbly blinked them away. He had been staring at the sky for what felt like hours, desperately begging for some sort of sign. What kind, he wasn't sure.

All he knew was he couldn't do this anymore.

Sure, he had Sam, but it wasn't the same. He and Cas had a "profound bond" (he chuckled at the phrase) and judging by the stabbing pain in his, well, everything, that bond had been severed. Dean had always imagined it to be a clean break, something effortless that left him with a feeling of finality. Instead, all he was left with was desolation. The angel was his, and he was the angel's, even if the last few times they were together left a sour taste in his mouth.

If that son-of-a-bitch didn't answer him, he'd start shooting.

He glanced at his hands, only to see how badly they were shaking, but whether it was the rain or his anger he wasn't sure.

The truth was, Dean didn't know how to feel. He was never really good at dealing with death (ironic, since it followed them everywhere), usually opting to shove it back into the recesses of his mind until a night of heavy drinking brought it into his dreams. Sam was always better with the hallmark crap. And he had tried his usual routine of forgetting, if anyone asked. Castiel was out of sight, out of mind. Whenever he had to tell Sam that, it almost felt true.

Dean couldn't enjoy even eat a burger anymore. A single look at one brought back bittersweet memories of Cas stuffing his face with an impossible amount of them, much to Dean's delight and Sam's disgust. Every bite made him want to blow chunks but he fought through it if only to save face in front of his brother. Because Sammy didn't know, couldn't know, how annihilated he really was.

The only things that kept him going anymore were these nightly chats. He used to make lists of what his motivation was to keep doing what he did, no matter the cost, but he had no real need anymore. There was only really one thing. The fact that Sam needed him used to be on those lists, but Dean took that off. Gigantor didn't need him. Not really. As much as Dean hated to admit it, he was a grown man now. He could fight his own battles, protest as he might.

He almost felt obselete.

Did anyone really need him anymore? The apocolypse was averted. Sam was self-sufficent. Lisa had no idea who he was, and he doubted she ever really did more than pity him. A sickening thought crossed his mind: he was the oldest Winchester alive, and he was only 33.

"The hell is wrong with you?" he yelled to the clouds. "You think this is funny? Huh?"


Next chapter up will be Castiel's point of view :3 Sorry if it's not that good, my skills are a little rusty. I'll get better, I promise.