Author's Note: New chapter!
Every time Dean closed his eyes after that night, he hoped he'd never wake up. It would be easier that way—that God would grant him this one small act of mercy and just end his life for the sake of everyone else's safety, but God was a sadistic bastard. Dean was learning that firsthand.
"Dean," Bobby's soft, quiet voice echoed in the silent room like a bolt of thunder, "Get up and get dressed. We're leavin' in twenty minutes."
Dean paused, reluctantly opening his eyes to stare numbly at the old, wooden ceiling of Bobby's guest bedroom, "Bobby, I don't think I should go. It...It wouldn't be right." His voice was raw and hoarse, and it was almost as painful to use it as it was to hear it.
He heard Bobby sigh, his gruff voice gentle and tentative as if he were afraid if he spoke too loud, Dean would just shatter completely, "Dean...it wasn't your fault."
Dean sighed and sat up, ignoring the other's declaration as he said curtly, "I'll be out in a minute." Bobby lingered in the doorway for a few more moments—so long that his presence caused Dean to shoot him a look that would have made the Devil cringe—before he finally left, shutting the door silently behind him. Once he was sure he was alone, Dean buried his face in his hands and let out a shuddering breath, not entirely sure he'd be able to make it through today with his battered heart still intact.
Just wait until I have to look in the coffin...
Willing tears back, he slipped out of bed and slowly got ready, his movements resigned and mechanical as if he were nothing but a wind-up toy. As he changed into his brand new suit, Dean tried to think positive thoughts to at least appear half-alive in front of all those people, but all he could draw was a blank. He couldn't see any bright side of what he was being forced to endure today.
His mother's funeral.
He dressed as slow as possible, dread and guilt dragging down his limbs and slowing his motions. It was only when he was sure he couldn't prolong the inevitable any longer did he eventually open the door and walk sluggishly into the living room.
His heart broke as he caught sight of his hollow-eyed brother, his face gray and shoulders slumped. Sam hadn't said a word ever since it happened; not even to Dean. But he supposed that was his fault as well. If Dean had stayed and at least tried to understand, he knew this could have been avoided. If he had done something instead of running away like a coward, then maybe...
No, he couldn't keep thinking like this. It wasn't healthy, and it served no true purpose except to torture himself. Even though he deserved it, Dean shouldn't let himself be swallowed up by the countless what if's and what could have been's.
He sighed as he walked over to his brother and sat down on the couch next to him, his heart aching when Sam immediately turned to lean his head on his older brother's shoulder. Dean sighed again—just for the sake of reminding himself that he was still breathing despite how much he felt otherwise—and laid a hand on Sam's knee, squeezing it for all the heartfelt apologies and deep regrets that Dean couldn't say and Sam didn't want to hear.
He felt a chill run down his spine when his father entered the room, who pointedly ignored Dean altogether and sent a sad glance at Sam before sitting as far away as possible. His father couldn't even look at him—hadn't spared him not even a single sideways glance after that dreadful night. That night. If Dean closed his eyes and breathed in, he could still smell the smoke...
Dean remembered a lot about that night. The flames that devoured his house, the flashing lights of police cars and firetrucks that flooded his driveway, the stench of fire and death that poisoned the air and drowned his lungs...
Dean remembered Sam letting out a heart-wrenching sob as he buried his face into his leather jacket and gripped bruises into his skin. Dean remembered his father glaring at him, like he was the one that lit the match.
With distaste, Dean caught sight of yet another beer in John's hand, though he wasn't surprised. Hell, one hadn't left his grasp in the miserable, numbing week that they'd stayed at Bobby's.
"Goddammit John," Bobby growled as soon as he walked into the room, striding over and snatching the beer can out of John's hand, "Can't you go one day without drinking?"
"My sobriety won't bring her back, Bobby." John said flatly with a sort of numbed resign that everyone else truly felt but never addressed, causing Bobby to glare at him as he walked over and threw the can in the trash.
"Let's go, Boys." Bobby said gently as he spoke to Dean and Sam, blatantly ignoring their father who swayed slightly as he stumbled to his feet.
Dean gave Sammy's knee one last reassuring squeeze before standing up, his ever silent little brother following suit. As they left the house and piled into the Impala (Bobby was driving since John was already too hammered to do so and Dean flinched every time he looked at the car), he tried to assure himself that the blame wasn't completely his. After all, he hadn't been the only one to desert her that night. After Dean's meltdown, Sam had fled to Jessica's house in search of the same escape as his older brother. John had left right behind him, yelling at Mary that he was going to work when she'd asked him to please stay.
But Dean started it. His guilt and self-hatred refused to see it otherwise.
The hours felt like centuries as the whole town of Lawrence swung by the funeral home to pay their respects. Dean and Sam were at the end of every sympathetic glance, every tear-soaked apologies, every superficial reassurance, every too tight embrace. Occasionally, a brave soul would go up to John Winchester and mutter out a weak "Sorry for your loss" before the strong stench of alcohol became too much to bear.
Dean muddled through the occasion like he was in a fog, barely mumbling out a "Thanks for coming" as he stared at the casket numbly and replayed the last time he saw his mother, teary-eyed and heart-broken as her eldest son abandoned her in such a vulnerable state. His mind only somewhat cleared when he saw him.
Sam was the first one to point him out. He elbowed Dean sharply in the ribs, breaking his brother out of his reverie, and tilted his head towards the entrance. Dean furrowed his brow and followed his brother's gaze, breath catching in his throat when he caught sight of Castiel walking through the doorway. He hadn't seen or spoken to him ever since it happened, and with everything going on recently, he hadn't even spared him a second thought (which made him feel even guiltier, if that were even possible).
Anna was beside Cas, hand entwined in his as they slowly made their way to the front of the room. It was only seconds later that Cas finally glanced up and met Dean's wide, questioning gaze. His surroundings bled away as he found himself swallowed up by the ocean of the boy's irises. They stayed like this—frozen in time, the only important thing in the world being each other—until Cas looked away, casting his gaze at the hallway significantly with a silent request in his eyes. Dean swallowed thickly and looked to his brother for confirmation (he wasn't about to just abandon Sammy here just for his petty reasons). Sam smiled thinly and nodded, causing Dean to release a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Trying to make his departure as sly as possible, Dean slid into the crowd and wordlessly followed Castiel out of the room and into the hallway. Dean recognized a few people loitering in the hall but pointedly ignored their sorrowful glances as he followed Castiel. Finally, the blue-eyed boy slid into an empty room, leaving the door cracked for Dean to follow suit.
After looking around cautiously, Dean entered and closed the door behind him. Castiel looked as breathtaking as always, he couldn't help but notice. Even the heavy bags under his eyes couldn't take away his unearthly beauty.
"Hey." Cas said softly, finally glancing up from the floor to look at him shyly under his eyelashes. Despite himself, Dean's heart skipped a beat at the sight.
"Hey." Dean responded just as breathlessly, his pounding heart swimming in his throat. A silence fell over them, both having so much to say yet no words to say it. Eventually, it was Castiel who spoke first.
"You know, I've never seen you in a suit," Cas said, a corner of his mouth curling upward to form a wry half-smile, "I would say you look good, but I think that would be a little...inappropriate under the circumstances."
Dean let out a laugh—a harsh, brittle laugh that was ripped from his throat, a smile on his face despite the pain in his heart, "You always know what to say, don't you, Cas?"
Castiel shrugged half-heartedly, his bright, intense eyes boring into his as he slowly walked toward Dean until they were a just foot apart. Cas slipped his arms around his waist and Dean found himself melting into the embrace, burying his head into Cas' shoulder and breathing in the familiar scent. He never realized how much he missed this, missed the warmth and security Cas' arms brought that he was so starved for.
"I'm so sorry, Dean." Cas murmured in his ear, "Please forgive me. I didn't know. I swear, I didn't—"
"I know," Dean said, tearing himself out of his arms and turning his back to him, "Cas, it's not your fault. It's...It's mine. None of this would have happened if it weren't for me."
"Dean, you can't believe that." Castiel's voice was soft and astonished.
"Cas, have you looked around?" Dean demanded curtly as he spun around, his voice bitter and hysterical, "My mom's dead, my dad's turning into a drunk, my brother hasn't even spoken a word since it happened...
"I break everything I touch," He told him miserably, letting his fingertips only barely graze Cas' cheek, "And I won't break you. Please, Cas…I can't."
Cas sighed, shaking his head, "Dean..."
"Cas, if you really...loved me, you would listen," Dean said sternly before his voice softened, "Now look, I want you to find someone that makes you happy, that would never make you cry or hurt. Someone that can take care of you and love you like you deserve. Someone that can make you laugh and smile and fill your heart with so much joy, it threatens to burst. Someone that would never abandon you, no matter what the screwed up circumstances were. Someone…" He took in a shuddering breath, "Someone that loves you just as much as you do them."
Eyes glistening, Castiel caressed Dean's cheek, saying quietly, "What if that someone is you?"
Dean glanced away, unable to even look at him as he replied hoarsely, "Cas, trust me...it's not."
"I tend to disagree." Castiel whispered before he pressed his lips to Dean's. The kiss was soft and chaste, their lips saying what their words couldn't. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, Dean found enough strength to pull back, panting slightly.
"Don't let them control you," Dean told him, the last words he thought he would ever say to him, "For the love of God, don't let them win."
Dean left Cas with those words echoing in his head.
Castiel stared into the medicine cabinet for a long time, contemplation dancing around in his brain as the voices in his head screamed for the pills. Life isn't worth living without your strong, brave Dean Winchester, they chanted, so loud it rattled his ears, end it, end it, end it, end it, en—
"No." He growled, slamming the cabinet shut as he stormed out of the bathroom and into his room. He slammed his door shut and flopped down on his bed, burying his face in his pillow and sighing. Cas refused to go down that road again. His life with Dean might be over, but that wasn't the only life he had. He had his life, filled with people who cared about him—Anna, Gabriel, Meg, Balthazar, Crowley...they loved him, and he was sure Dean did too. He was just scared, and Cas didn't blame him. He was scared once, too...but not anymore.
"Everything will be okay." Cas told himself, flipping over to lay on his back, "Everything will be o—" A sudden knock on his door caused a weak smile to bloom on his face. Anna's back, he thought to himself, relieved that he wasn't the only person in this godforsaken house anymore, "Come in." But instead of seeing the kind, familiar redhead, he saw her—with her stiff, formal posture and cold, merciless blue eyes.
His breath hitched as he immediately sat up, snapping curtly, "What?"
"Where are your manners, Castiel?" Naomi asked, her voice as cool and brittle as always, "I had thought I raised you better than that."
"You didn't raise me," Castiel said harshly, for once not fearing the woman—instead only feeling a burning, furious hatred at the sight of her, "You groomed me. There's a difference."
Annoyance flared in her eyes before they melted back into their unreadable exterior, "My, my, aren't we brave today? What, whoring yourself out to that hick again make you forget how to be grateful?"
"Grateful?" Cas repeated in a sneer, "I spent my whole life hating myself when I should have spent it hating you." He clenched his teeth, "And don't you dare talk about Dean. He's been through enough."
"Still defending him?" Naomi said, shaking her head in disapproval, "Even after he threw you out of his life?"
"Yes." Cas gritted out, utter certainty in his voice.
Naomi just stared at him for a moment, searching for any hesitation—any doubt in his steel gaze. When finding nothing, she sighed and walked further into the room, leaving the door open as she sat down on the edge of his bed. Castiel drew his knees up and scooted as far away from her as possible, watching her with suspicion in his gaze.
"You know, you were always my favorite, Castiel." Naomi declared smoothly, eyes boring into his, "You never complained, never rebelled. You understood that everything I was doing was for your best interest." She sighed, a hint of sadness in her voice as she continued, "Now, don't get me wrong, you had your faults. And I did everything in my power to help you correct those shortcomings. You were always so...subordinate to my helpful corrections." A scowl tugged at her lips, threatening to disrupt her passive demeanor, "But then you started hanging out with Dean Winchester, and you ruined all of your progress and destroyed your only chance at utter perfection." He was beginning to loathe that word: Perfection. He didn't know how other people could continue to believe in the concept—how they couldn't understand that perfection was only a lie concocted just to spread false hopes and too high expectations.
"What do you want from me, Naomi?" Cas demanded lowly, wishing she'd just get to the point already.
Naomi looked at him, a light shade of actual sorrow reflecting in her face as she reached over and gripped his wrist tightly, "I gave you chance after chance, Castiel, but you kept rebelling—it's like you didn't even want to help yourself." Her voice suddenly hardened, her expression darkening and grip tightening, "And you're just so weak, Castiel. For Heaven's sakes, you're so much of a screw-up, not even God wanted you anywhere near him." Cas flinched at the words, feeling a bruise blossoming under her rough grasp. He watched Naomi scowl dark and intimidatingly, the amount of utter rage and hatred that reflected in her dark expression and spiteful voice enough to make him shudder.
"You want to be free of this tragic existence so bad, Castiel?" She demanded harshly, blue eyes like heavy clouds of thunder, "Then let us help you correct The Lord's mistake." Cas furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to demand to know what she was going on about when Michael suddenly appeared in his doorway, an eerily calm, collected expression on his face and a dozen of pill bottles in his hands.
The color drained from Castiel's face as he gasped in realization and tried to wretch himself out of Naomi's grip. But before he was able to succeed, Michael tossed the pill bottles to Naomi and pinned him down on the bed, icy, vicious green eyes drilling into his.
"No, please! Don't! I-I'm—I'm sorry! Please, someone—anyone—help me!" He cried, but his prayers went unanswered. No one else was home. He was positive Naomi and Michael made sure of that.
"Abomination," Michael hissed, his pungent breath feeling like fire on Castiel's skin, "You will rot in Hell for tainting this family."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Naomi pour varying pills into her palm, and his eyes widened. He shut his mouth tight and shook his head violently, but Naomi just leaned over and forced his lips apart, shoving the pills down his throat. He tried to spit them back up, but Michael clamped a hand over his mouth and gripped his throat, forcing him to swallow. And just like that, he knew it was all over,
After the third handful, Cas felt all the fight drain out of him, the weight of his body lightening with each passing moment. Am I flying, he wondered with delirious bafflement, darkness gradually replacing his blurry surroundings, I must be an angel.
In his last fleeting moment of consciousness, he tried to remember his life before this but ended up only drawing a blank. In fact, all he could remember were glistening emeralds and radiant smiles.
Author's Note: I'm planning for next chapter to be kinda short, so thankfully you won't have to suffer through this dramatic cliffhanger for long.
If you like this story (or just want to yell at me for putting you through such trauma; I accept both), you should really consider reviewing. This fic would be nothing without all of you devoted (and tortured, as evident in this chapter [sorry about that]) readers.