Better than Family
The brick wall looks smooth in the blinding orbs cast out by the Impala's headlights. Dean stares at the whitening bricks, mesmerized for a moment, like a bug to a humming bulb. He clicks his tongue on his teeth, feeling it stick, and peel off the arid roof of his mouth. He lets his arm lead out and fish in the passenger seat for the last remaining bottle of beer; continuing to stare out the windshield. Returning victorious, his hands quickly twist off the cap and Dean sucks down the thickening liquid. He closes his eyes for a moment, letting the reverse image of the bright bricks flash against his lids. He watches as the white hatched lines flicker; between them, something more colorful starts to show through.
Two blue circles look back at him, creasing at the edges, turning into tear-filled corners. Black pupils form in the centers, somehow screaming voiceless questions at him. The bright, lighted lines of the bricks slash and cut mercilessly through the tortured spheres. Dean eyes burst wide; his head is spinning and a familiar burn starts to crawl over his skin. He shakes his head, trying to lose the sight of Cas's glare; but the image sticks to him like a magnet, refusing to let him forget what he did and what he attempted to do. This guilt! A whole new animal from the type he felt after seeing Lisa's and Ben's house burn to the ground. Dean knew, even though all the blame fell on him, it was never his intention to harm the only woman to ever really care about him, and the only child to ever worm his way into Dean's heart. Even after they were fed up with his closed off personality—no longer wanting to scale the endless walls Dean always built, they still cared. They still allowed him to find importance in their lives, to find a little worth. They didn't turn their backs on him, like so many have before.
Their backs—their backs weren't forcibly turned by Dean's own hand, not like Castiel's.
Dean screams.
The feeling of Cas's quivering skin still aching on his finger tips. Of all the things liquor has allowed him to forget, it's maniacal planning was perfect in making sure these memories stayed. Every sense pounds with the images, the smells, the feeling—no, this was too sweet for the devil-liquor to let go.
Dean's voice bounces off the bricks. The Impala's suspension rocks and squeaks as Dean punches the steering wheel and thrashes about the cab. Screaming curses and spitting beer stained fury all over the windshield.
The light leaps from the wall and sear into his eyes, beckoning him closer, Dean pants heavily as the Impala's shaking slows to a stop. His trembling fingers reach down and strum the dangling keys in the ignition. He thumbs the flat face of the inserted car key, glaring at it through the cutout of the steering wheel. He lets out a grunt and grinds his teeth until he hears a crack. He turns them, feeling the familiar roar of his prized car beneath him. He lifts his head and eyes the bricks once more. He slides both his feet onto the pedals, one revving the engine, loud growling and spitting a white exhaust cloud behind him. The other foot holds tight to the brake pedal, letting the wheels spin helplessly in place. Dean blinks; sweat dripping off his brow and into his eyes, blurring the image of the wall and the thoughts of Castiel, crumpled and unconscious on the floor.
The car bucks a bit as Dean lightens the weight on his left foot, the glow of red brake lights disappearing out of his peripheral in the review mirror. The motion sends a wave of panic flooding through his body. He slams hard on the breaks again, this time with both feet, before softly rubbing his hands along the steering wheel. He quickly reaches down and turns the ignition back towards him. The Impala shudders to sleep, the engine giving off little clicks and exhausted pops.
"I'm sorry baby." Dean coos, fingers molesting the shiny leather on the wheel.
Cas's face returns to his mind, motionless but asking every question Dean has been trying to avoid. Dean looks back to the wall, an inch closer than it was just moments ago. A scorching pain floods his face as he realizes, he took more mercy with his car than he did with his family—his friends; his best friend, someone who has talked more sense into Dean than his own brother. Castiel has never done anything to warrant that kind of anger, except what? Keep him from catching a venereal disease from some bony hooker? He lost it over that? He lost his best friend over that? He lost Castiel?
He lost him?