Until the End | A Supernatural~Destiel Fic

Chapter 4

A/N
Just a foreword...the first time you see: »--->, it means "flashback." And when you see <---«, it means "end of flashback." Thanks for reading and enjoy! :)

~~~

Dean was utterly silent for months. He rarely got out of bed, maybe once or twice a day to use the restroom or get a small amount of food he wouldn't finish.

Sam has been recovering over time, but he will never fully heal from the piece of himself the mist took from him.

He feels absolutely horrible about what Dean had to watch happen to Cas, and he'll never be able to repay the debt of Cas saving his life.

He spends every waking moment researching and looking for someone or something that could bring Cas back.

He's been unsuccessful for 17 weeks.

His hope that Castiel will come back is fading every day. Now, he's mostly looking for someone to tell Dean what exactly happened and tell him what Sam could not, that Castiel was never coming back.

Dean, when not at the bunker, spends his time grieving at a bar. The magnificent green of his eyes has since faded, no sign of life.

Many would often see this, a bar tender with a few free moments or a drifter just passing through.

"Who'd ya lose?" They'd often ask, if they got the courage to bother this poor man.

"My best friend." Dean would respond after several careful seconds.

"What was his name?" a persistent man once question.

"His name was Castiel. Castiel Winchester." Dean would say, to which the man simply nodded and lay a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, it could be worse, right?"

Dean wasn't thinking clearly enough anymore to respond to the stranger, but he heard him.

No, it couldn't, Dean thought. It will never be any worse than this.

One day, dark and dreary like most days since Cas left the Winchesters, Dean was feeling...different.
He thought to himself, Cas wouldn't want this for me.

Castiel may be gone, but Dean knew that the best way to honor him was not by spending every waking moment enveloped in guilt and sorrow, but rather in respect.

So Dean gathered himself, showered, combed his hair, shaved. He nearly cut his face with the blade, and the feeling it produced he knew all too well.

A month or two after Cas had left, Dean had reached lower than rock-bottom. He saw no escape to the pain. He nearly plunged his razor into his left wrist. Sam found him just in time and soothed him to sleep.

»--->

Sam was growing worried. The music in Dean's room had stopped, and he couldn't hear anything that would suggest motion in the room.

He knocked on the door, but heard nothing.

"Dean?" He called.

Silence.

"Dean!" He called again, more concern in his voice now.

Silence.

Sam pounded on the door with his fist until it was bright red; it was surely going to be bruised tomorrow.

And that's when he heard it. Dean was crying.

Not just a few stray tears that escaped in the midst of something much bigger. He was sobbing.

Uncontrollably letting streams of tears fall down his face, he cried out, and gave in.

Sam took down the door after colliding his shoulder with it 11 times. He ignored the pain and scanned the room for his brother.

Dean was huddled in the corner, the blade inches away from his wrist.

Sam ran to him, and fought him for the blade.

"Dean, let go! Please!"

"No, Sam! I can't be here anymore!" Dean choked out. "There is nothing for me here! Let...me...die."

And then Sam saw it. Already on Dean's left wrist was a C, carved deep.

Sam didn't notice this, but the tips of Dean's fingertips were also scarred and cut up from taking the blade from his razor in and out again.

After several seconds of connecting dots and carefully analyzing what was happening, Sam realized that Dean was planning on finishing the job tonight. He was going to bleed himself dry, and that alone was enough to stop Sam's heart and bring tears to his eyes.

But as sorrowful as the image of Dean Winchester had become, Sam continued to fight him for the blade.

"Sam...please!" Dean said, but soon realized what he was doing. He began to breathe rapidly and heavily. He dropped the blade and began crying again.

His head fell forward in agony but Sam caught him and brought him close. He pressed Dean's head against his chest and held him, let him cry.

"Castiel wouldn't want you to grieve his death this way, Dean. It's okay to be sad," Sam said. "But there's a difference between being sad and being broken. You're broken, Dean. Castiel was the only one who could fix you...and now that he's gone, you have to do it for yourself. And you can't do that if you...kill yourself. Just, don-"

Sam couldn't get out any more without choking on his tears. He fought for his words...Dean needed to hear this.

"It's okay, Dean. Everything will be alright."

<---«

But on this day, Dean would work through his emotions, which, for him, was pushing them down as far as they could go. It may not be the best way to go about how he feels, but it's always worked before.

He walked out of his room to find Sam asleep, head down on the table next to his computer. He was reading about angels.

It saddened Dean deeply to realize how hard and how long Sam had worked to bring Cas back. He even quit his job to spend more time researching.

Dean, obviously, quit working at the repair shop, and Sam had sold Castiel's car long ago. Dean couldn't bear to be near it. It still smelled like the angel Dean had come to love, and Dean lost himself whenever he thought of Cas.

Dean closed the computer and threw a blanket over Sam, careful not to wake him.

Then he grabbed an apple and his keys, took a deep breath, and opened the door with as much confidence as he could muster to rejoin the world and face the day that laid ahead.