In the spirit of the end of Supernatural and the canonisation of Destiel I've returned from the grave to write again. I always meant to publish a Destiel fic to be a part of the culture. I have been circling the lamp for years, much like Dean. I hope I could get a glimpse of the mindset that Dean had after the "I love you", now die gay, debacle. I'm again consumed by the light of the Destiel stars, let them shine upon us one last time. Please enjoy this thing I wrote instead of sleeping (I have a lecture in 5 hours, it's 5am and I regret nothing).

He and his angel, they're going to die here. Death is knocking on the door, gunning for him. She will go through Cass to get to him, they'll be torn down. Everybody's gonna die.

"Cass. Everybody. I can't stop it"

"I know."

…

I love you,
IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouI—

Dean stares at the floor, what happened— it doesn't feel real and it's already fading. He buries his head into his hands. It's all fading. It's not even been an hour, it's not— Dean doesn't really know how long it's been, it's all a blur since he punched into the wall and hit the floor.

He should be well accustomed to ways of loss. Knowing all too well how quickly memories begin to fade, they change and they shape again. And the faces fade the quickest. All he can do is stare blindly into nothing and conjure up what he's lost, keep a hold of it and replay. In case this really is the last time he— His head is silent, or maybe it's so loud he's deaf. It's hard to tell the difference, words and images, silence, it's all the same white noise. The world is still ending but it feels like it's already gone. Nothing feels real. Death doesn't stick, he's more than used to walking it off. Death isn't the end in this life they live, death is an obstacle, it's not final. There is always a way.

The way Castiel looked at him, the way his eyes were shining. The things he had said. It felt like something else, something permanent. When you've faced death and overcome it as many times as Dean has there is an instinct that develops. Dean's instinct, he refuses to trust it now.

He won't forget god damn it, he will hold onto the look in Castiel's eyes. Replay what he said,
"The one thing I want... It's something I know I can't have",

Dean wants to, but he can't stop replaying the scenes. He's numb and so raw that it makes no difference which feeling is which. Maybe his mind is already playing tricks, the rewriting of memories has begun and he's reading things into them, things that never happened. He's already soiling Castiel's memory. That moment, what Cass said; Dean wants badly to believe it but it sounds more like his own thoughts. It can't be denied though, no matter how muddy Dean feels, his recollection is clear. Death was knocking but the world had stopped. There was so much he could've said then, what he should've said. But his insecurity, and at least 30 years of repression had another idea.

Is he talking about me? That had been his first thought. It got buried under the next 100.
What would've happened if he hadn't frozen, if he hadn't blurted out dumbfounded idiotic things. If his brain had worked just that once and what he meant and what he did had just— that was the moment when he could've stopped Cass, the final moment before the dam broke but he'd been too caught up in: does that mean what I think it means or am I crazy?

If he had said something, what would've he said, or could've said, or what should've he said…
He should've stopped Cass. Just tackled the dude and shut him up (with a kiss.) Dean sobs, what the fuck is he thinking about; his angel is dead and he's soiling his memory. He's thoughts are running in circles, now he can't stop thinking about—
Maybe Dean is overanalysing things (don't tell anyone, it makes him sound like a geek). He's projecting things to something that isn't there. Hell, he definitely knows what his true happiness looks like, if not before he's sure now that it's gone. There's an extremely painful black hole in his chest that reminds him of the fact.

Dean snivels like a brat. He's shaking like a leaf or more like a shell. If shells shake, which they probably don't. His head is empty but emptiness feels full.

It's all a mess, a jumbled up mess where Cass is staring at him, his eyes are bright with tears and the look on his face... Dean swears he will lock away the memory of it so deep within him that it's safe from all harm. Somewhere where he can't harm it either. Somewhere where he can't pervert the moment. He knows the gruff face of his angel, every grease and frown, the way his brows are expressive but his face is blank, how he's gotten more comfortable with his body over the years but the slight slouch, the minor awkwardness its all still there. Dean knows Cass, he's seen him at his worst, and certainly at his best, but how he had looked at Dean then, that was something unfamiliar. It was beautiful. Cass had been beautiful, in a sad and heartbreaking and confusing as hell way.

He should be pissed off, it's sure more productive than pining like a schoolgirl.

It's all a cosmic joke. How many times have their various friends and enemies sneered at him and Cass, called them boyfriends, lovers, and god knows what else. And every time he's caught himself staring at the angel for too long or every time Cass had said something hilariously inappropriate (which was a lot), he's brain would go on full "no homo" mode. Their "profound bond" was just another weirdly intense and blunt thing that Cass had just casually blurt out loud because hey, he's an angel, that's just how he is.

A profound bond— in a friendly way.

I need you— like a friend needs his dudes sometime…

It doesn't matter that every time Cass said something, or did something— anything really. Dean's brain would go on full panic mode, freeze up and then reboot to, "definitely still in denial mode".
After all that, here he is, body heavy like lead and stiff and achy. All alone with the words "I love you", haunting him. All of that and he's even more miserable than before. If that was Castiel's true happiness, then this is Dean's true misery; a flashback reel of 10 years of denial and missed opportunity.

But hey, at least they had both been in the unhappy-sandwich together. And at least Castiel was happy before he— No, that just makes everything worse. But it's not like people like them (and only half of them were people,) get a happy ending. Dean had tried it before, couldn't stick with it. Then there's the whole god hates fags. It'd crossed his mind several times over the years, if he was soiling an angel of the lord (not that he cared anymore, but god used to mean something) or if the whole sodomy thing was a human construction that no one upstairs cared to correct or if it was a divine ruling. Even if all that was fine, there was the human-angel relations issue— and now they'd never figure it out.

Damn, hell, shit, fuck. He couldn't stop sucker-punching himself in the gut with white picket fences, but it's not like he didn't deserve all this pain. Karma.

He can't even feel correctly. What ever ideas Cass had about him, whatever image he had conjured in his head and worshipped, that's not Dean. Here he is, fuming. His blood boiling, his hands shaking. The tears streaming down, are they sorrow or is he just so damn angry. Cass left him all alone. If they had to die, they should've died together like Thelma and Louise.

He gnaws the flesh of his palms, there should be a list by now, a book of all the damn times Cass has saved his ass. Hell, it's a whole series. And according the fucker Chuck, most of it was Cass going off script. Were they so— you know— for each other that they'd queered the whole story. He sure wasn't supposed to be what he probably was. Dean the ladies man, never looking behind, never settling, that was the script.

His best friend is dead and he's having an identity crisis, typical. Selfish fuck.

"I know how you see yourself, Dean. You see yourself the same way our enemies see you. You're destructive and you're angry and you're broken. You're - You're 'Daddy's Blunt Instrument.' And you think that hate and anger that's - that's what drives you. That's who you are. It's not. And everyone who knows you sees it. Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad you have done for love."

No one had ever talked about him that way, no one had ever looked at him without doubt and fear, not like Cass did. His shining eyes, like he was still here, Castiel's words quieted his spiraling.

"You raised your little brother for love. You fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are. You're the most caring man on Earth. You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know. You know, ever since we met, ever since I pulled you out of Hell, knowing you has changed me."

Cass had changed him, Cass kept changing him. It was always his angel, guiding him. Forgiving him. Dean's heart broke for the way he had treated his angel, how much anger how much hate and fear he'd projected on him and still, Cass had looked into him with those eyes and shattered Dean.

"Because you cared, I cared. I cared about you. I cared about Sam. I cared about Jack. I cared about the whole world because of you.
You changed me, Dean."

If he, Dean, can change someone like Castiel. If Cass believes that the loving being he is—was, is in anyway thanks to Dean, his broken ass, his sad and angry self… He wants to believe it. He has to. The sincerity in Castiel's words, is enough to break Dean into another fit of sobs. He saw Dean, he knew Dean. Perhaps better than anyone. Even Sam; at least in a different way than Sam. He never shielded Cass from the truth about himself, not the way he tried to do with his brother.

Cass knows—knew him inside and out. The darkest corners of his mind, his worst deeds. If this is who Cass saw him as, Dean will attempt to see himself through the eyes of his angel. Castiel's happiest moment, his truth, his loving words. His faith and love will be repaid.

Dean fucked up monumentally and unforgivably, freezing like he did. He will regret it for the rest of his life but he can't resent Cass for what he did, or how he left Dean (unless he finds a way to bring him back somehow, then hell hath no fury). Rationally he knows, If they'd both died, the game would probably be even more over. Castiel is gone. There's nothing to be done about it now, but hell if it will stop him from having a well deserved pity party right now. Dean really wants to scream, he really wants to trash the place, to claw his way through the wall where Cass disappeared. But he's numb, and he's exhausted. He's mind is going hundred miles an hour but his body feels lifeless. Everything he ever wanted to say but barely let himself even think, Cass put them in words,

"The one thing I want... It's something I know I can't have"

"I cared about the whole world because of you."

"You changed me, Dean."

Dean didn't gave a damn about the world before Cass, not after what he'd been through, he had been broken. Hell if he gave a damn now, his heart wasn't big enough for that, but he knew what was right and he had an angel on his shoulder. All these years...

He never got to say goodbye, he had barely got a word out, and could barely form a thought. In the most important moment his brain had been altering between, is Cass —you know— for me and we're so dead.

All Dean thought he could ever have, the love he knows and the love he trusts is familiar. Love of family. Cass was family, but their bond was something else. His angel had thought that Dean couldn't love him back, not like that. Cass had gone to his grave seeing his dumb blank face and still smiled at him like Dean was the most precious thing in the world. What ever Dean would've to said, his mind had gone blank the moment Cass had said,

"I love you."

and he couldn't say it back, his last words to Cass had been freaking, "What?" for fucks sake.

Realistically, it would have taken a while to work up to the whole "I love you", he couldn't even say that he might be you-know-what out loud, but he sure could carry the regret of not saying "I love you too", when it counted.

Because- I love you Cass. I love you.

Dean isn't sure if saying it out loud (in his mind), makes him feel better or worse. It is hard to feel any worse than he does already anyway.

Time feels surreal, he's replaying the scene over and over. It had felt like there was still time. Time to argue, to change, to something. Until the last moment he'd believed that they'd make it somehow, Cass would be fine. They'd live to save the day.
Except there hadn't been time and now he's lying here, now he's still here on the floor. He's alive and he's alone. What's the difference between sadness, a broken heart and regret or are they all just the same damn feeling?

An infernal buzzing forces him back into the room, into now.

Sam is still calling.

Dean is still crying.

Castiel is still dead.

How can someone lose as much as he has, and still lose some more. Every time he thinks, this is the worst it can get, and every time he's surprised. A sob or a laugh echos in the room, is he laughing or crying?

He can ignore Sam for only so long. The mourning can begin once the world is saved. Dean channels what energy he has, what sadness, what despair, what love he feels into burning anger. Determination for the next step forward. Rage will help him stand, to walk away for now. He will bury Castiel's words deep within him, until the world is saved or until he dies. He will be someone worthy of his angel.
For now, he repeats a well rehearsed mantra,

"We move on."
He will save what family he has left, and kill god. Definitely kill God.

Hard to believe that a show that's been with me from early teens to adulthood is at its end. It's almost like losing a slightly problematic relative that has always been there for you anyway.

xx