I do not own Supernatural. I own only the plot to this story and perhaps a couple of OC characters in future chapters.

AN: I'd like to start out by saying that I do have a direction for this story if people end up liking it. Please read and review and follow/favorite to let me know if I should keep writing this.

I've never left a story uncompleted, but it may take me a bit to update since I'm on vacation.

Thank you, and please enjoy! (P.S. sorry for any weird spacing between paragraphs. weird glitch with ffnet and I can't seem to fix it.)

They say time heals all wounds. A skateboard scrape fades, replaced by new skin in just a couple days. A broken arm is mended in a few weeks' time. But did they ever take into consideration what it takes to heal a wound of a different kind - of a mental and emotional kind?

God knows I've had my share of injuries in my lifetime. Sure, time mended them all eventually, but this was different. Was it possible to be healed when there was no true injury? When something was just... gone?

I certainly didn't think so. Four months came and went without an ounce of healing touching my battered soul.

Perhaps there was no coming back from this one. Perhaps this was how the great Dean Winchester would fade from the spotlight. Not by singing and dancing until the curtain closed, but by lumbering slowly off the stage and disappearing into the crowd while the music still played.

I had to admit, it all sounded so nice right about now. After all, who wants to dance without a partner?

"Hello, Dean."

I couldn't help jumping slightly as the deep voice the rumbled across the room to my ears, interrupting my thoughts rather rudely. An instinctive curse fought it's way free of my lips as I turned to the visitor now standing in the doorway to my bedroom.

"Cas! Why don't you learn to knock?" Even without his wings, the fallen angel somehow managed to make his way around with the stealth of a teenager sneaking into the house after curfew.

"I... sorry." Castiel's gaze flicked from me to the open door. Slowly, his fist rose, then pounded against the door three times before his eyes once again met mine. "Is that better?"

The only response I could manage was a slight, exasperated sigh. "What do you want?"

"How..." The angel's voice halted a moment as he took a small step into the room. Upon entering, he quickly started over with his question. "Dean, how are you holding up?"

The sympathy and curiosity was painfully lacking in Cas' voice, but, though I'd never admit it to anyone but myself, it felt nice to see him making the effort.

"I'm fine, Cas. I told you, what? Like yesterday? All things considered, I could be worse." The words almost felt honest on my lips after saying them as often as I did. The truth was actually quite the opposite, but that wasn't important right now. This was just another thing to get through, and as long as I kept telling myself - and everyone around me - that I was okay, it'd eventually be true, right?

"Your... relationship with Sam isn't something I understand fully. You're brothers, but... you care more for each other than my brothers do for me." The angel paused for a moment, seeming to try and find the words to match his thoughts. "I... don't understand what pain you are feeling, but it doesn't seem like you should feel 'fine'."

Am I really that easy to read? Even Cas could see that things weren't alright, and he was by far the very worst at reading social cues.

"Maybe I shouldn't be fine, but really, Cas, I'm okay. I'm... dealing." That was the simplest way to put it. The more accurate phrase would be "I'm drowning." But there was no way those words would ever come out of my mouth. I didn't even fully understand why. They just... couldn't. Every time I felt like I was getting close to saying what I truly felt, I'd open my mouth only for a poor quality joke to pop out of it instead. I just couldn't talk about it. I had to be strong. Though for whom I was being strong, I didn't know anymore. By now, strength was instinct. The wall holding back my emotions was so reinforced over the years that knocking it down now seemed nigh impossible.

Again, Cas was silent for a few moments. Sometimes conversing with him could kill, but I had to admit it felt nice to be using my vocal cords for something other than singing Kansas songs alone in the bunker.

"I've heard," Cas began at last, breaking the short silence. "That it's good for humans to talk about their pain. Perhaps you should consider it. It could help."

"Look, man, I appreciate the concern, but I really don't feel like it right now." I could feel my tone turning a little less nonchalant and a little more stern.

"Of course," Cas said, the only change in his expression being the slight twitch of his eyebrow. "I just thought that with Sam gone-"

"Cas! I'm fine." It came out harsher than I'd meant it to, but I didn't take it back. "I can deal with this," I said in as much hopes of convincing myself of the lie as convincing him.

There was another long silence before Cas opened his mouth, then shut it again, seeming to think twice about whatever he was going to say. After another long moment, the angel finally turned to leave.

It startled me how mixed my feelings were toward such a simple action as that. Part of me wanted so badly to call him back and just talk to him about something - anything to distract myself. The other part of me just wanted him gone so I could deal with the feelings in peace and quiet.

Quiet. It was so wrong. There should be sounds of life in the bunker. Clanging of pans in the kitchen as I try to sleep in in the morning, the "click clack" of computer keys as I sit to drink my coffee, and above all else, there should be Sam talking my ear off about things only he understands and cares about.

But there wasn't any of that anymore. And it seemed there never would be again. Could I really just walk off the stage before the second verse had even come to a close? No. The story couldn't end at that. At very least, future generations would hear of the great Dean Winchester and how he avenged his fallen brother, even if his curtain closed in the process. Heck, I even hoped that it did close, because then the pain would be over.

"Cas." The name left my lips just before the angel could step out of view. Tan trenchcoat rotated until I was faced with that plain, night blue necktie again.

"Yes, Dean?" With how emotion-lacking his voice was, I was surprised to find real concern, real care, and a genuine desire to help deep within the angel's softened, blue eyes.

"Find those demons who murdered my little brother. It's about time they saw the monster they awakened."

AN: I know, I know. How DARE I, right? Just bear with me on this, alright? At least till chapter 3.