Here's an angst desitel story about Dean suffering the loss of Cas. Reviews are like pie, and Dean loves pie! Make Dean happy, leave some pie. Enjoy!
Dean stared up at the artistically blank ceiling, silent tears traveled down his cheekbones and across his nose. He lay in his unmade bed, blankets lying lazily in uncomfortable heaps beneath him. He didn't care. He paid no attention to the way his well-worn jeans were digging painfully into his hip. None of that mattered. Not now. He'd lost everything at this point. Sam had left him. He'd made a life for himself, found a nice girl, had a few kids, he was happy. Dean was happy for him, but that never stopped him from worrying constantly. What if a demon found him? A shifter? A vamp? Anything?
This wasn't the reason for his tears tonight. He'd stopped really thinking about his baby brother a long time ago. It'd become pointless. He couldn't protect Sammy anymore.
No. The reason his gut wrenched and his throat stung tonight was because he'd lost the one good, pure thing he'd finally got his unworthy hands on. Castiel, Angel of the Lord. The love of Dean Winchester's painful and violent life.
He should have died instead. Dean knew it, and it was killing him inside. He didn't leave the bunker now. He didn't hunt anymore. He'd lost all contact with the world, and he didn't give a shit.
He'd suffered the worst pain he could ever imagine. It was worse than hell, worse than any physical pain, worse than anything he'd ever felt before.
A small, agony filled whimper left his lips. He couldn't help it. It should have been him.
That damned demon… It killed Cas, his Cas, with his own angel blade. It had come after Dean initially, if only for the simple pleasure of causing the infamous hunter pain. It had intended to simply torture him. Slowly peel away his flesh. That was something Dean could manage, something he could stand. But it had decided to do something so much more painful. It killed the only person Dean ever dared dream about.
It slowly and meticulously ripped Cas's dignity away from him. It's snide comments and harsh groping that Cas didn't deserve at all stole the angel's self worth, slowly . Cas deserved exactly the opposite. He deserved all of the luxury the world could offer. He deserved someone better than Dean, and that's why Dean could never fathom that Castiel, the most beautiful thing Dean had ever laid his eyes upon, could possibly love someone like him. Broken and shattered, burnt beyond recognition.
He knew this. So why had Cas, in his last dying breath, looked upon Dean with such undeserved admiration, and dared to utter those four simple words that absolutely broke Dean inside.
"I love you, Dean." He'd said it so calmly, his voice so steady that to any blind passerby it sounded like any other love confession. But beyond the calm veil broken and bloodied angel had cast, there was great emotion. Sadness and joy and relief and every other pure emotion available to mankind and whatever lurked about in the dark, but most of all was true and unfaltering love.
"No! No Cas please…. Please… I love you Cas. I love you, please Cas. Don't leave me. Don't." Is what Dean should have shouted. He should have begged, pleaded, for Cas to stay. For Cas to hold on.
But instead he'd only managed to squeak out his angel's name, and nothing more. He hated himself for it, among other things. Why couldn't he have just said it back? Given his angel at least something to live for. But no, Dean was too slow for that. Too stupid. He'd never forgive himself.
The only time he could be happy was in his dreams, and even they too were laced with pain. He dreamed of Cas every night, without fail. He was always happy in his dreams. They'd be laying together, under warm blankets, cuddling, or watching a movie, throwing popcorn at the screen when the main character did something rash, or just smiling, joy filling every crease in their faces, laughing at a joke Dean would never get to hear. It was so very simple it hurt.
What hurt worse was when he would inevitably awake from his happy little bubble, and be shoved back into the freezing cold sting of reality.
It only made his heart suffer more, seeing what he could have had if he'd just grown a pair. So now Dean just was, and did not want to be.
He'd thought about ending it all, even tried it, but every time he'd think of Cas. His little reserved smiles. The way his eyebrows furrowed when he tilted his head, questioning the stupid reference Dean had made.
The pain was unbearable, but the thought of disappointing Castiel was worse. Cas would never ever even let Dean think about ending his life. He'd want him to live. No matter how stupid it seemed, Dean clung to that idea. That thought of his beautiful angel comforting him. The thought of everything he could have had.
So Dean just laid there and waited for his time to finally come. Waited until he could look upon the face of the man he loved once again, and finally be content, even happy.
The constant reminder of the loss burned in black across his chest. The reminder of how it all started, sat, unmoving, upon his shoulder. He could never let go, never forget, and he knew that.
As he slowly slipped out of the harsh reality he called home, and into the warm comfort of his preferred one, he hoped, as he did every night, that this would be the last time he'd ever have to make that transition.