Author's Note: New chapter already? Yes, I'm on a roll, aren't I?

Dean just about wept with relief when the agonizing day finally ended. Well…at least he would have if he hadn't been granted the responsibility of driving his hammered father home after the funeral while Sam and Bobby worked out the details of the burial (though it was more like while Bobby worked out the details as Sam just stared numbly off into space like he always did these days).

Despite his secret reluctance to be left all alone with his father, Dean had been the first to volunteer to babysit him as Bobby sorted everything out. After all, he was still his dad, you know? Under that bitter, drunken exterior, he was still the father Dean had worshipped and idolized his entire childhood life. He had to believe John would eventually get over this, that one day he would just bounce back and be the strong, reliable parent he and Sam desperately needed.

"Dean..." He slurred, his son's name almost incoherent on his heavy, numbed tongue, "I need—I need to tell you somethin'."

Dean kept his gaze trained on the road in front of him, but he could still see his dad's limp body slumped over in the passenger seat out of the corner of his eye, "It's okay, Dad. Just tell me in the morning." He kept his answers short and blunt when his father spoke, trying to discourage any further conversation with the man. Over the past week, he'd learned to avoid his father when he was drunk (which was practically twenty-four/seven nowadays) because he knew that even though a sober John would at least have the goddamn courtesy to keep his mouth shut when it came to his newfound hatred for his eldest son, a drunk John didn't have as much self-control.

"No, no, Son...listen to me," John said, raising his head enough to look at Dean as he spoke, "Ma—Mary...she—she wasn't killed, o-okay? She was...She was murdered."

Dean almost swerved into the ditch at his father's declaration.

"Dad, you can't say shit like that." Dean gritted out in warning once he swallowed down the lump that had took residence in his throat, his already knuckle-white grip on the steering wheel tightening even more in barely contained anger and frustration.

"I know what I'm talking about," John proclaimed, his glazed over green eyes flaring up in exasperation, as if Dean was being the difficult one, "A demon killed her, Dean! A yellow-eyed demon—"

"Shut up," Dean exclaimed, what little self-control he had left crumbling to ash as all his bottled up fury burst from its container, "Just shut the fuck up, Dad! You think Mom would want you to act this way? You think she's up there with God praising your name for all the shit you're putting everyone through? I mean, seriously, grow the fuck up and get over yourself. Yea, I know you miss her, but guess what? Everyone else does too, okay? But they're not ruining their own life and destroying their relationships with the people around them. So for fuck sakes, just suck it up and be an actual father to..." He trailed off when he glanced over and found John already passed out.

Dean scoffed bitterly, muttering to himself, "Typical."

After he somehow managed to drag an unconscious John out of the Impala and into one of the guest bedrooms, Dean collapsed onto Bobby's couch, letting his tense body finally turn boneless as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He was only allowed a few moments of peace before his phone rang, shattering the silence of the room and causing him to almost jump out of his skin. Slightly grumbling to himself, Dean fished the device out of his pocket and contemplated the unknown number that flashed across the screen, curiosity and hesitance fighting for dominance in his mind.

Finally, curiosity was deemed the winner as Dean decided to just screw it and answered it, saying tentatively, "Hello?"

"Dean," Anna's distraught, trembling voice bombarded his eardrums, "Oh my god, Dean, it's Cas. He's..." She broke into a sob, not even able to finish her sentence.

"What?" Dean demanded, all tranquility leaving his system as gut-wrenching terror took its place, "What do you mean? Is Cas okay?"

"Dean, he did it again." Anna cried, "He—He swallowed some pills. Dean, they say it's worse than before. He's at the hospital. Please just—hurry."

Dean had already piled into the Impala and began speeding down the highway by the time she finished her onslaught of words.

As soon as Dean burst through the hospital's doors, he immediately rushed to Missouri's front desk, demanding in a panicked voice, "Is he going to be okay?"

Missouri's eyes widened at the sudden ambush, saying in a steady, soothing voice, "Calm down, Boy. You ain't helpin' him any by having an anxiety attack."

"Dammit, Missouri, cut the crap." Dean snapped, "Now just answer the damn question: Is. He. Going. To. Be. Okay?"

Missouri sighed, her warm gaze sliding down to rest on the tiled floor, "I don't know, Dean. You never know with overdose cases. I mean, he's lucky his sister found him in time." Dean felt a sob build in his throat, but he refused to be weak. Cas needed him to be strong. After all the shit he'd put him through, he could at least do that for him.

So blinking back tears, Dean let out a shaky sigh and asked breathlessly, "Where's Anna?"

"In the waiting room," Missouri answered, pointing to the familiar left wing of the hospital, "Just go through them doors and then take a right."

Dean sent her a grateful look before taking down the hall, only slowing down when he heard Missouri call after him, "And Dean?" Dean threw a questioning glance over his shoulder, silently beckoning her to continue, "Just have some faith. He's done it before; he can sure as hell do it again."

Dean let those reassurances wash over him as he smiled weakly at her before taking off again.

He wished he could say he wasn't surprised when he busted into the waiting room and found Balthazar, Meg, Gabriel, and Crowley there. He wished he could say that. But of course, Dean kept forgetting that he wasn't the only person that cared about Castiel (even though the blue eyed boy stubbornly believed otherwise).

He was also surprised when Balthazar shot up out of his seat as soon as he saw him enter the room and punched him in the face.

"Fuck, Dude," Dean exclaimed, cradling his jaw as he felt the patch of skin already darken into a forming bruise, "What the hell was that for?"

"You have some bollocks showing up here," Balthazar sneered with a scowl, "After all you did to Cas, I'd think you'd have enough sense to stay the bloody hell away from him—"

"Leave him alone, Sebastian," Anna's quiet voice silenced the boy as everyone turned their gazes to her, shock replacing the fury that had reflected in their eyes at the sight of Dean, "I called him." A look of betrayal flickered across the others' faces at her words.

"Why?" Meg demanded tightly, glaring at her.

Anna sighed, "Because I know he cares, Guys. At least in some way or another."

"I care in every way when it comes to Cas," Dean argued strongly, a brief flicker of annoyance trickling down his spine when Crowley rolled his eyes at his declaration, "Look, you gotta believe me…I didn't know he was going to do this…" But shouldn't he have? He didn't take into account that Castiel might have taken his sacrifice as rejection. He didn't think Cas—beautiful, scarred, perfect Cas—would ever try to take the easy way out again. He didn't—or more like didn't want to believe Castiel could feel so utterly alone that he'd rather suffer in Hell than be cursed with his lonely existence.

Dean should have known better. He should have realized Castiel—even with those months of pure bliss that they spent together—was still only barely hanging on by a thread.

And Dean just might has well had cut the thread himself.

"I didn't mean to." Dean didn't realize he was speaking his thoughts aloud until he heard his weak voice croak out in a hoarse whisper, "I'm so sorry, Cas. I-I broke you." If he hadn't been wrapped up in his own guilty subconscious, he would have seen the pity that crossed Balthazar's face, the softening of his blazing eyes.

"They're pumping his stomach now," Balthazar informed him quietly as he led Dean over to the plethora of chairs, "It might take awhile, and even then, if it were a combination of certain pills, he might slip into a coma."

"He'll wake up," Dean declared stubbornly, but he wasn't sure if even he believed himself, "He always wakes up…right?" Everyone exchanged a worried look yet none responded.

Dean sighed and raked a hand through his hair, flopping down into the chair next to Anna. With a sorrowful expression, Anna extended her hand to him, as if physical contact with another person who cared for Cas almost as much as he did could console him. Worth a shot, I guess, he thought hazily to himself, gripping the girl's hand hard enough to cause her to bite her lip in response at the abrupt surge of pain.

He chewed on his bottom lip worriedly and kept his gaze trained on the clock, watching numbly as the hour hand slowly ticked forward.

Dean could play the waiting game; even if the game dragged on until his own death, Dean would wait that long for Cas. He was worth it.

Author's Note: This chapter was a little uneventful, but the next one will definitely make up for that ;) Trust me.

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