A Soldier I Will Be | Destiel and Sabrifer |

Grief

Disbelief is a powerful tool of the mind. It creates a world for yourself when things are just too overwhelming, providing a chance for your mind to slowly edge back into reality as you begin to connect the dots and accept that things cannot be great all the time. For some, however, it becomes a trap, something that can not be escaped.

Castiel was an example of such.

For three weeks, he was forced to remain in that bed, which he soon realized was in St. Kingsley, a mental hospital only thirty miles from town. For each and every day of the first three days, his mind slaved away, playing his head over and over again the precious memories of he and Dean that always remained in his heart.

Without the outside world as a reality check, nothing stopped his mind from roaming free, his arms and legs no longer bound, his body untouched by the real world as he cooked breakfast with Dean in his head, playing music that made them laugh and dance, their echoes reaching through the whole house and leaving Castiel full of joy.

But, those three days melded, becoming nothing as they faded from his mind, and forced Castiel to come back to the dank reality of the white room.

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Denial. From lying to your parents about sneaking out, to denying that the incident ever happened. Why do humans need to deny? Why must they pretend as if nothing had ever gone wrong in the first place? Castiel wasn't sure, but even he had fallen prey to the second stage.

Even with no one else to talk to, as no visitors were allowed during this mental breakdown stage of his first week, he denied Dean ever getting shot. When the nurses came in, he would ask them how Dean was dealing with his job while he was here, how he was getting Mike to and from school with his busy schedule. The nurses, of course, just turned the other cheek, but it didn't stop him, not one bit.

This cherade only lasted for two days though. After all, even Castiel could not fight with himself with what he remembered.

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Next came bargaining. Bargaining was one of the worst ones for Castiel. Sure, denial and disbelief had left everyone thinking he was crazy, but they were nothing compared to the things that Castiel had begged for, things that he offered to trade away for Dean's safety.

At first, it was the simple, 'I'd give anything for Dean to come back.' That was to be expected. No, it was the time when he began begging for the nurses, the demons as he called them, to take his soul in exchange for Dean's life that they began to grew concerned.

The only thing worse was the fact that the more medicine they gave Castiel to keep him sedated, the worse his begging grew. Soon, he was bargaining his blood, every nerve in his body, everything. At one point, one of the nurses had walked in on him struggling in his bonds, screaming about how he had to gauge out his eyes for Dean to come back to him.

Thankfully, this stage only lasted two days.

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Guilt was the longest one of all the stages. For an entire week, he cried, he blamed himself. He told himself that if he had just waited an hour when he actually needed the stuff, or got the groceries the day before like he had been planning to do. If he had known, he could have saved Dean's life.

Guilt, however, does not ever truly go away, but it grew dimmer and dimmer, allowing for the new stage of anger to make it's way through. But the guilt will always be there, because he would always remember that he was the one that sent Dean and Gabriel to the supermarket.

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Anger comes next in the stages of grief, and Castiel definitely let his anger out. For two days he struggled in his bonds, tearing at them with his teeth, shouting at every nurse that came in. He even made one of the doctor's bleed with he got just a little too close to his mouth, the taste of bood staining his tongue and reminding him of iron for rest of his time in the hospital.

In the few times that he was allowed up -mainly for bathroom and eating - he flung things to and fro, causing such a ruckus that he had to be sedated everytime he got up. He couldn't help it. He was hurt, and nothing but Dean was going to help him.

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He was in the middle of his depression stage when he got released from the hospital, and although he still thought of suicide daily, he reminded himself that Dean was not yet gone, and strived to struggle through this harsh time.

Mike became his temporary crutch with Dean gone. He made sure that Castiel ate, slept, bathed, or even survived at all. Sure, the Novak wouldn't call it living, but he was still making his way through the days, and that was all that he could ask for.

It was when he came to visit Dean that his depression grew worse, building and multiplying in his chest, leaving him borderline hyperventalating. He didn't know if he could do this, but he had to see his husband, which might be for the last time for all he knew.

So, he looked at Dean as he entered the room, biting his lip as he stared at the pale skin of Dean, a white bandage wrapped firmly around his head. Castiel took a seat, letting his hand shakily slide into his husbands, and squeezing it tightly.

"You need to come back." Castiel said, his voice cracking as he looked at his husband's peaceful face. Already, he felt tears forming, and he had to hold back a whimper as he leaned forwards, letting his fingers brush over Dean's face, letting the tears slide down his cheeks.

"I want to live, not just survive."

After those words passed his lips, Castiel let out a shuddering breath, letting his forehead rest on top of Dean's head as he began to cry. He would live, for Dean. He wouldn't give up, because he knew that Dean wouldn't want that.

"Then live." He heard someone say, a warm hand resting on the back of his head. He looked up, his gaze meeting the green eyes that he had been dreaming of for three weeks.