Its Me

It's not a conscious decision. He's been on autopilot since Chuck's defeat, going through the motions of living while feeling completely hollow inside. The last thing Cas did was die so Dean could live, so Dean's gonna pretend until it's true, because he can't let Cas have died for nothing.

The enormity of his grief is overbearing and he can't even put into words everything he's lost. How can he explain what they were to each other when they never spoke it out loud, not until Cas' last, awful speech that didn't even allow Dean time to respond?

The silence is swallowing him up, everything he didn't get to say.

And then Dean sees the ring.

It's a battered thing, shining dully in the glass counter at a pawnbroker's just outside of Topeka. It's one of a pair, and Dean snatches both of them, stuffing one far into his pocket and the other on his left hand.

The weight of it settles something in his chest.

People start treating him differently. Well-meaning strangers will start conversations in friendly, cheerful tones, catch a glimpse of his ring and the flatness of his eyes and put two and two together. Their voices will go soft, their whole demeanor shifting to a gentle carefulness. Like Dean has a terminal illness.

Good, Dean thinks. He doesn't want to be pitied but it brings him some type of satisfaction, knowing that the grief gnawing at him from the inside has become visible.

If his love couldn't be acknowledged while Cas was alive, at least it is now.