Hello my little hunters! You know what you should do? You should review this chapter. Please? I'll be your best buddy :P okay, well I must warn you the story gets a bit depressing from this chapter on... so enjoy!

Chapter 14

Dean was just coming home from the bar like any other day. But this wasn't any other day. As soon as he opened the door to his apartment he saw a familiar face staring at him from the couch. Dean stopped dead, dropping his keys onto the floor with a thud. "It's… it's you," Dean spluttered.

The familiar face answered in a deep, raspy voice Dean would know anywhere. "It's me."

Suddenly Dean's legs were able to move again. He dashed across the room to where Castiel sat and threw his arms around his neck. "God Cas, I missed you so much," Dean breathed into his neck. "You have no idea."

"I missed you too," Cas whispered, hot breath tickling Dean's ear. He pulled out of the hug so he could plant a deep, open-mouthed kiss on Dean's lips. Dean responded instantly, tangling his fingers in Castiel's hair. He had missed this so much. Cas pulled back, leaving Dean whimpering at the sudden loss of contact. "I love you Dean," Cas murmured, reaching out to caress his cheek.

"I love you too Cas," Dean smiled. "I'm so happy you're okay. For a while there I thought you might be…"

"Dead?" Cas supplied. "For a while I thought I was going to die. But here I am."

Dean grinned at him. "Here you are," he repeated. He glanced down at the amulet Sam had given him, still hanging from Castiel's neck. "You kept it," Dean breathed.

Cas looked down at the necklace. "Of course I kept it. I love it Dean."

"I'm glad," Dean said, inching in closer to Cas as he spoke. "Cas, it was awful here without you. Knowing what could be happening to you… all I know is that I'm never letting you go again. I promise I will never let anything bad happen to you."

Cas leaned in slowly until his lips brushed Dean's ear. "It's too late."

Dean pulled back in shock and a strangled cry tore from his throat as blood began to drip from Castiel's eyes, nose and mouth. Another spot of blood began to blossom on his stomach. "Oh god, no!" Dean yelled, horrified as Cas smiled eerily, blood dripping down his chin. "Cas!"

"Goodbye Dean," Cas replied, voice muffled with blood. Finally he collapsed onto the floor in a messy heap. You could barely tell it was Castiel anymore.

"Cas!" Dean screamed again, tears already dripping down his cheeks. "No, this can't be happening! Cas!"

00000000

Dean jolted awake, drenched in sweat and tears. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths before rolling out of bed and stumbling into the bathroom.

Dean had nightmares of Cas every night. He couldn't remember the last time he slept more than a couple of hours. It was starting to wear on him. You could see it in the huge bags under his eyes that never went away.

It had been two and a half years since Cas went back to Heaven. At this point, Dean knew he was never coming back. He should have guessed it. No one could ever love him. Everyone leaves at some point. It was bound to happen with Cas too, he just hadn't known when. He tried to brace himself for it, but nothing could prepare him for the way his heart seemed to shatter into small, irreparable pieces.

As Dean looked into the mirror, he could hardly believe that it was him staring back. His skin was so pale it was practically translucent and his cheeks were caved in. His hair was brittle and flat, falling carelessly into his face. His bright green eyes were replaced with dull ones, filled with pain and sadness. He had lost a lot of his muscle mass and you could probably count every one of Dean's ribs. He hadn't been eating much since Cas had left. What was the point?

Dean had his old attitude back since he realized Cas would not be returning. He had begun drinking every night once again, losing himself in the bottle until he was passed out on his bed, only to be woken by nightmares a couple hours later with a pounding headache. He also began smoking, starting with a couple cigarettes a day which quickly moved to a couple packs a day. The number kept increasing. His body was covered in cuts and scars, some deep enough to require stitching. Dean would always end up stitching it with dental floss, reminded of the countless times he had stitched Sam and himself up after hunts. There wasn't one day where he hadn't cut himself. He kind of looked like the walking dead at this point. Dean kept staring, anger suddenly rising in his chest. How could he be so stupid to think Cas would come back? Just look at him! He should have been the one to be ripped apart by those werewolves, not Sam. Dean pulled his fist back and sent it slamming into the mirror. He could already feel the blood trickling down his knuckles as the glass shattered and fell to the counter.

"Feeling violent, are we?" Dean heard a female voice coo from behind him.

He whipped around, coming face to face with a dark-haired woman, eyebrow raised and a smirk tugging at her lips. "Meg." It wasn't a question. He had grown to recognize her when he saw her. She had come back a few times over the past two and a half years. She had stopped trying to kill him long ago, enjoying this depressed state way too much.

"Hey there Deano," she drawled, giving him a quick up and down glace. "Not looking so hot."

"Get the hell out of my apartment," Dean snapped, reaching for the demon knife he kept in his pocket for times like this.

"Ah, ah, ah." Meg moved closer, ignoring the knife Dean now wielded. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"And why not?" Dean growled.

"I have demons watching your apartment as we speak sweetie. If anything happens to me, guess whose insides are going to paint the walls of this place?"

"Go ahead," Dean said a little too quickly, lunging forward.

Meg grabbed his wrist easily, twisting it until Dean dropped the knife. "Wow Dean, so eager to die aren't we? Sorry honey, as much as I would love to see you bleeding to death on the floor, I think this is much more gratifying, don't you?"

"Bitch!" Dean yelled, yanking his hand free of her grasp.

"Oh Dean, this is so sad. You can barely fight anymore. Is it the alcoholism? Maybe it's the smoking. Or the cutting? Possibly the fact that you barely eat? Oh, I know! It's the self-loathing. You don't care enough to fight, do you? Poor baby…"

"Shut up!"

Dean's fist connected with Meg's nose, cringing at the crunch. She stepped back a few paces, wiping the blood from her face. She smiled wolfishly before closing the distance between them once again, brandishing Dean's demon knife. Out of instinct he dodged the first few attacks, then stopped short. Why should he care if Meg kills him? Death sounds pretty good right about now. So he stayed completely still, closing his eyes as the knife came towards him… but it never struck. He cracked his eyes open. Meg was only inches away from him, knife poised to strike. "I see what you're doing," Meg said, stepping back. "You want me to kill you. Dean, I almost feel sorry for you. Almost."

"Come on!" Dean snapped, suddenly desperate. "Just do it!"

Meg met his gaze and Dean could have sworn he saw pity flash in her eyes. "Goodbye Dean," she said, flashing him a cocky half-smile. "You won't be seeing me again," she continued stepping back towards the door, still facing Dean. "You're no fun anymore," she winked before disappearing from the room.

"God damn it," Dean muttered, bending down to pick up the knife and set it on the counter. A quick thought flashed across his mind. How easy it would be to grab the gun he kept in the desk drawer, press it against his temple and pull the trigger… he shook his head as if he could shake away the thought. He looked down at his feet and sighed, reaching for a pack of cigarettes.