Top Posts Tagged with #angsty-angstweek

Open When You Need Me

NOTES: 5.8k words. Not a happy ending. This is for ANGSTY-ANGSTWEEK. So, proceed only if you’re prepared. Warnings: Major Character Death, Suicidal Thoughts, Loss.

On September 15th, Dean Winchester buys a stack of Open-When cards from Archies.

They’re blank, but lined.

He knows Cas isn’t the biggest fan of his birthday, because it brings back sullen memories of a past he’s left behind - but he can’t just do nothing for his best friend’s birthday.

Ergo, he’ll just gift Cas those letters, and keep it mellow.

*

Come September 18, Cas wakes up to Dean holding a cake in his hands, giant grin lighting up his face.

Before Cas can even put on a shirt, Dean’s fixed a wobbly conical birthday hat on his head, struggling with the string until he just gives up and perches the hat indignantly on Cas’s unruly bedhair, and it stays.

“Happy birthday!” He beams, handing him the gift.

Cas smiles, not wholly because he feels the need to match Dean’s enthusiasm, but also a little bit for he can’t help it - as Dean waits expectantly for him to unwrap the now-thoughtfully-filled-in Open When cards.

“Oh!” Cas exclaims, when he understands what it is. “Thank you.” He adds, distractedly, starting to look through, without reading the contents.

There are three categories, and each has five cards. On top of the first, the ‘Open When You’re Sad’ bunch, is a handwritten birthday wish in pink. Cas flips to the second without opening the cards in the first, carefully, and that’s ‘Open When You’re Tired’. The last one says, ‘Open When You’re Lonely’. And there’s a red heart in the corner, which Cas stares at, with his cheeks warm, as Dean starts to speak.

“Y’know,” He mumbles, insecure. “I wanted to get you a gift which you don’t crumble in pressure, opening. No scope for awful, old memories with this one.”

Cas purses his lips.

Dean goes on. “So, there. You don’t even have to open these right now.”

“Thank you.” Cas repeats, feeling an overpowering rush of happy settle heavy in his chest. His eyes fall on the title, once again. “I really don’t.”

And then he scoots over on the bed so that Dean can sit down, and the first thing Dean does once they’re back in a huggable height range, is slide his arm around Cas, and squeeze.

“Of course you don’t. Happy birthday.” He repeats, as well.

They do eventually get on to cutting the cake, and later, while Cas tries to paint Dean with the blue icing, the latter briefs Cas about their minimalistic, yet also everything-Cas-like itinerary.

It’s a good day.

*

On November 6th, a truckdriver drives through the outskirts of Lawrence, Kansas. As his shabby radio plays Green Day, hooked to the local station, he curses at himself for spending all of the previous night in a bar. He knows he can’t afford to take a break either; delivery is due on the 8th.

When he hits the black Chevrolet Impala, emerging from an intersecting road into his lane, sidelights blaring exactly as they ought to - he swears out loud and immediately slams his foot on the brakes.

But it’s too late.

Within the very second of contact, the smaller vehicle had suffered damage beyond repair. Stuck in that moment of dread, it takes him a second to realize what just happened.

For a moment, he considers getting down to examine the wreck. Maybe someone was still -

No, that was ridiculous. The car was completely battered. If the crash had smashed the sturdy metal skeleton of the Chevy so horrifyingly, the driver must be in Heaven already.

He puts his head on the wheel. Muttering a prayer under his breath, he silently decides to keep driving.

After all, it’s an adequately busy road. Someone would get to the site sooner or later. There was no need for immediately medical services, either - or he tells himself, that he would’ve made an anonymous call. He has a family. He can’t risk the chance of being put away for this. And court always costs too much, as it is.

He drives on.

*

On November 6th, a few hours later, Cas receives a call from the General Hospital of Lawrence.

A serious voice informs him, punctuated by formal apologies and grave pauses, that Dean Winchester had been killed in an accident.

And in the next breath, he’s asked to confirm if he knew the man, since Castiel Novak’s listed as one of his emergency contacts, and the other, a Sam Winchester, is only in highschool, and cannot possibly be summoned for the purpose of identifying the body.

Cas cannot utter a sound for a few beats, but when his voice returns, it does so all at once; all that comes out is a strangled sob, which is supposed to be, “No!”

*

On November 8th, Castiel agrees to spend the night in Charlie’s apartment, after Dean’s funeral.

Ellen absolutely insists upon it.

All the way to her place, Charlie tries to talk to him. She’s gentle about it, but she needs Castiel to say something back; for she lost a friend, as much as he did.

Except, in a sway of feelings threatening to drown him, Castiel knows that she didn’t.

Nobody lost Dean as much as he did.

Because nobody had had him, as much as he did. Even before, they’d spend their days entwined with the other’s. And ever since Dean asked him out - September 20th - it had been even better. Dean had been everywhere, and Cas had loved it.

Castiel was the one who woke up next to him, and he was the person Dean first smiled at in the morning. Castiel was who kissed Dean at night, and hugged him in his sleep. Castiel was who shared an apartment with Dean, and had been doing it since the last three years. Castiel was his best friend, and his boyfriend, and -

Castiel was who’d lost him the most.

Tears start to prick his eyes, without a word said out loud - goddammit, he’s always so close to tears now.

Charlie notices. She’d been avoiding mentioning Dean - though ironically, he was the reason they knew each other. But now, it’s like she wants to address it. She looks the kind of crushed Cas feels.

“Cas? Are you okay?”

Cas doesn’t even bother to nod, as the tears start to fall.

During the funeral, he’d sat in the first row, next to Sam, who’d cried entirely through Bobby’s, and then Ellen’s eulogy. He’d even cried after, red-faced like Dean used to get, while shaking Castiel’s hand before he had to leave. Before Ellen packed him off to Charlie’s, worried about him spending the night all alone at his and Dean’s place. For the first time since it happened.

Castiel didn’t cry at the funeral. He was afraid he wouldn’t know how to stop. But now he does, and he still doesn’t know how to stop, but he can’t care anymore.

“Cas,” Charlie pleads. “I know it hurts, and I know you miss him, but we’ve got to -”

“Charlie, stop.” Castiel lets out, cutting her off. He knows it hurts, too. He knows he misses him, too. But he cannot hear her say the same things again.

He knows she cares, and he knows she’s doing it because she thinks it might help, but he doesn’t want to hear how they’ve got to be strong. About how they’ve got to hold up, because he can’t, he really fucking can’t.

“The car?” She asks, her voice trembling as well.

Castiel changes his mind. “Yes. Please, stop the car.” She does it, pulling over to the side, and turning her face to look at Castiel with red, teary eyes. Castiel knows she knows what he’s going to do.

“Cas, don’t go there.”

“I have to.” Castiel draws in a breath, and it somehow makes his chest feel more constricted. Like the air’s demanding space it doesn’t have anymore, for the heart has taken up all of it. “I - there’s some things I need to get, and I need to do this right now, Charlie, I have to go.”

He unclicks the lock open, and gets out of the car. But then he leans in, and looks back at her. “I’ll be at your flat by night.”

“Promise me you will.” Charlie bites her lip, and a tear rolls down her cheek. It’s awful to see his friends in pain. Everything’s awful, now. All of it.

“I promise.” Castiel swears. “Please drive safe.” He says, and those words make him lose the last bit of restrain he had over his emotions, and as he straightens from the waist to stop looking through the car window, his tears fall freely.

Drive safe.

“It was an accident.” The police officer had admitted. “Clearly a truck. We’re looking at camera footage from a mile ahead. I’m sorry, sir. It wasn’t his fault.”

Dean had been driving safe, too.

Castiel inhales, painfully.

Cheeks hot and neck hotter, his sleeves constantly dabbing at his eyes, and trying not to think, he takes off in the direction of their apartment.

He knows how it must look, a fully grown man running on the footpath, unable to stop crying, but he does not even think about it. He thinks about getting home. Castiel seeks refuge in all the shortcuts Dean’s ever taught him. He was so good at navigating, in even the newest parts of town. And at remembering directions. And roads. Driving safe -

Castiel forces himself to stop thinking, at once. He just allows his legs to take him, mostly functioning on muscle memory.

It’s not very far away.

Within minutes, he’s standing in front of their apartment building, and he’s buzzing himself in, but the elevator’s on the third floor - it’s useless to wait, so he sprints up the stairs to their fourth floor apartment.

When he’s panting in front of their door, somehow he remembers he has the keys in his pocket, and somehow his hands do the twisting in the lock, and some-fucking-how, Castiel is back inside this apartment and -

He has no idea what he’s been expecting, but Dean’s not here.

If anything, his absence strikes Castiel even harder here. There’s a lack of Dean in every nook. When Castiel locks the door behind him, there’s a lack of Dean by his side, maybe crowding him against the door with a teasing wink, and when Castiel turns, there’s no Dean on the couch, sprawled out, yet in the middle, so that whichever side Cas picks, they’re at least brushing knees.

When Castiel looks around, getting desperate, there’s no Dean in the kitchen, and no Dean in the hallway. There’s none of his bright smiles, or his awful jokes, or his ridiculous lines, or his full-body laughs.

There’s absolutely nothing of him at all. But yet, it’s all him.

Everything here’s his.

The couch, he’d bought, before Castiel moved in. The other furniture, they’d shopped for, together. The walls which they’d painted over summer, had Dean’s taste in color all over them. The curtains, if he listened hard enough, would probably complain about the millions of times Dean walked into them distractedly, and made the dreamcatchers jingle. Castiel can even bet there’s still leftovers in the fridge which Dean had saved.

And Castiel? Well, he’s Dean’s too, isn’t he?

Dean used to call Cas, his everything, sometimes.

Castiel lets out a sound of anguish, stranded in the middle of their apartment like he’s being held hostage by the memories, and gripping onto a chair to keep himself on his feet.

How is it fair that there can be so much of Dean around, but he can just be gone forever?

“Forever.” Cas repeats, the word pinning him down to that frame of time, but also making him want to fall to his knees and sob for the rest of his life. “Forever.” He says again, weaker, and it hurts even more. It pierces every inch of him with an icicle of despair, and it wrings his insides, and he doesn’t know what to do, and he can’t move.

He’s unbearably sad, and it nags at every fibre of his being like nothing ever has, and he’s tired, he’s tired of it all - he’s tired of missing Dean, and he’s tired of crying, and he’s tired of hurting, because it’s overpowering and it’s never going to subside - and of course he’s lonely; he knows he has friends and he knows he maybe even has a family, if he were willing to go back home - but truth is, he’s got nobody left in the world, for Dean is gone and -

Castiel suddenly remembers why he was here.

The letters.

He abandons his knuckle-white grip on the dining table chair, and rushes to their bedroom. Castiel doesn’t look at the bed - because he will never be able to get Dean out of his mind if he looks, and he doesn’t look at the photograph of them on his bedside table - though it takes a huge piece of his restrain to not do so.

He just pulls open the bottom drawer, and shuffles through things like flashlights and emergency coffee, until he’s found the Open When letters.

He picks up all three categories - because of course he needs all of them right now, and he gets up shakily, clutching all three bundles to his shirt and spends a moment to think of where he should do this.

(He can’t just settle on the bed, or the couch, or anywhere else they used to spend time together, because that’d be more harm than not.)

So, he decides to do it in their balcony.

Dean wasn’t a fan of that place.

“The air, dude.” Dean crossed his arms. “It’s so fucking chilly. And the floor’s freezing, all times of the year.”

He didn’t like being cold.

Castiel does not need to think about Dean wearing his coat right now. Or holding him under the blanket, and kissing the top of his head.

He convinces himself he cannot be thinking about any of it.

Castiel rushes out to the balcony, and the wind blows wintry, but it doesn’t matter, and he just sinks to the floor.

The three bundles are still clasped to his chest - he’s really counting on these, they’re his last option, and they have to help somehow, don’t they - so he leans back against the door, crosses his legs, and picks up the first bundle.

Open When You’re Sad

He flips to the first card. The handwriting is small, and fills every line of the 5x3 card.

Mostly, when Dean wrote notes to put up on the fridge as reminders, it was all uppercase. But this was a tidy sentence-case - distinctly Dean’s, as it were. It’s black ink, and the background is a faded peach, and Cas hangs onto every word.

“I guess you’re sad right now, Cas, and that’s no good. So here’s how I say you should deal with it. Often when we’re sad, we forget how many reasons we have not to be. How bout you think about something that makes you smile, something that gets you fuzzy, something that feels like pie?”

That’s all the space there is on the card, and Cas takes a moment to curse at the thick embossed floral boundaries, which take up so much of the space where Cas could have had words from Dean instead.

He rereads the card, for it feels surreal to have Dean with him for a moment again, but then he lets out a staggering breath. This isn’t working.

There’s no reason for him not to be sad, right now. None at all.

Dean was who made him smile, Dean was who got him fuzzy, and Dean was who felt like pie. This doesn’t help, it just makes Cas miss him even more. And it’s not like he needs that. He cannot get Dean out of his head for a single second, and -

He desperately flips to the next card.

“I hope you’re not just flipping through all of these at once. Okay, I’m going to assume that you’re not. And that implies that you’re sad again, so here’s what I suggest you think about: the happiest days of your life. I know you’re ridiculously indecisive, hence, the plural. Go back to those days in your head, Cas. Leave the sad behind. (Hey, am I in it?)”

The last question - now, although a rhetoric - makes Cas want to scream.

Had there been any doubt of it, in Dean’s mind? Of course, Dean was in it. Who else could it even be?

Cas may have been indecisive before, but he was sure now. His happiest days were all the ones with Dean at his side. All of them. From the birthdays to Christmas, and from being sick to panicky about a deadline.

Dean wasn’t just a part of his happiest days. It was all him.

And the irony is that he cannot do what Dean says, and think about those days, because that’ll break him down again, and he’ll end up crying all over these letters and ruining them.

Which he’s not going to let himself do. He’s saving these, forever.

He breathes in through his mouth, and swallows - maybe that way, he’ll not feel like he’s being choked, an inch closer to his life with each passing moment. And he tries not to pay attention to how this card doesn’t help either. Not at all.

Still hopeful, he flips to the next.

“Cas, remember the thing we did last time about your happiest days? Well, I want you to realize, this time, that the next one is never far away. There’s even hope for tomorrow, to make it onto that list. All of this shall pass. There’s always going to be hope. Ps. it’s probably because you’re not right in front of me, that I’m spouting Dr Phil lines. Well, I can’t throw away this card, but if you flip to the next, I’ll forgive you.”

This won’t ever pass.

There’s no hope now, and there’ll be none tomorrow, and with each day, Cas will have a little less of Dean with him, and that will make it worse, not better. With each day, the sound of Dean’s voice will grow fainter in his ears, and that hurts to even think about.

Cas doesn’t think he could ever bear losing Dean’s voice. He loves it.

He’s going to lose it.

He’s going to lose everything.

No, he’s already lost everything. It’s just going to be taken away from him, soon.

Cas bites his lower lip hard enough that it stings. Stings so hard, that he’s pulled out of his reverie.

Dean, this time, gave him permission to move onto the next card. So he does.

“Hey, again. This time, I want you to remember how much all of us love you, okay? And people who’re loved by this many people aren’t sad, buddy. You’re brilliant, and you care, and I know your heart. It’s so kind, Cas. You’re a great listener, and have a really nice smile, and you’re tall and hilarious and all kinds of awesome. You’ve got good taste for a nerd. And you’re loved by us all for exactly who you are. (Wow, I did a lot better in this card.)”

Cas sighs, pulling his knees to his chest and dropping his head on his knees.

How is he ever supposed to even begin to stop thinking about Dean? Dean, who says these things; Dean, who always knows just how to make everything okay -

Except for now.

Except for fucking now, when Cas needs it more than anything else.

Of course, this doesn’t make him feel better. He’s trying to let the words help, he swears he’s trying, but these are all the things Dean has written, and will never say again. In fact, he doesn’t care what Dean says, as long as he does. But he won’t.

Cas shakes his head to stop himself from drifting away into the cruelest thoughts. He wants to read ahead, he’s still holding out for something that’ll help, he just has to keep reading -

Nobody will ever understand him like Dean did. Nobody can be anything like what Dean was to him.

And he can never be, to anybody, what he was to Dean.

He can’t stop himself. He can’t stop a thing. That’s just his life, now. Trying to stop thinking about Dean, and failing each time. Forever.

Cas flips to the last card of this bunch, and starts reading, clenching his jaw.

“You once told me I make you happy, so here goes nothing. You want to know when I knew we were going to be friends forever? I want to tell you, but I’m really not sure. I remember it being a few weeks of ‘snarky, neat, supersmart roommate’ but suddenly, I’d plunged into this thing, where we were best friends, and I could not imagine my life without you. I know this isn’t the kinda stuff one writes on these cards, but please don’t be sad, Cas? You’re the kinda guy who should get to be happy forever.”

“Then come back.” Cas whispers to the page, and the tears are back. His vision clouds, and he tilts his head back against the wall. “Come back to me, Dean, and I promise I won’t be sad anymore.”

The pages rustle in the wind, as if they want Cas to keep flipping through them.

“Any other time,” Cas says to himself, talking aloud to keep himself from crying. His voice shakes. “Any other reason I got to be sad, and these cards would’ve worked.”

But not this time, he doesn’t say. He still has hope. He has to have hope.

He’s finished the Open When You’re Sad bunch. The next was Tired.

Cas was tired. He was tired of this moment, this day, this entire week. And he was tired of desperately hoping these cards would make him feel better, while it just seemed like they broke his heart into more pieces. Each fragment perhaps seeps into the letters. Nothing’s working.

But he doesn’t care.

It’s better to be sad with Dean’s letters, than to be so, all alone. So he flips to the next section.

Open When You’re Tired

He cannot give up hope.

“Cas, you’ve been an overworked, overachieving idiot for so long now, you know I don’t mind it, but if you’re opening this card right now, it HAS to mean you need a break. I need you to get up. Get yourself a bowl of cereal or something. Go outside to the balcony, maybe. Look up at the sky, and the birds flying around aimlessly, and tell yourself that if they can do that all of their life, then you have earned yourself a fucking break.”

That’s very different from what Cas just read in the previous card, so he rereads it, hearing Dean’s voice clearer in this one, because that’s usually how Dean speaks.

He doesn’t know if it’s better or worse.

Birds don’t fly around aimlessly, but Cas knows Dean knew that - it’s just poetic licence.

He also realizes that Dean had thought that Cas would come to this bunch when he was drained from studying. From writing papers, and learning for exams, and not when he was trying to get himself to stop crying over the death of his best friend.

He doesn’t blame Dean.

Three days ago, Cas would have thought the same thing.

Tired just means something else, now.

Cas flips to the next card. And then the next. They’re all similar to this one. Reminds Cas of the existence of parks. Suggests channels for animal videos on Youtube. Describes how to best take a nap.

Cas tries to smile, even if it’s sad.

He feels oddly deprived of more meaningful words. He’d just assumed that there’d be more things about their friendship - their relationship, about Dean, and not just about midterms and finals.

He only wishes that that were the reason he was nestled on the floor with all these letters.

Cas stretches his legs out again. The floor’s so cold, he can feel it through his slacks.

Funeral slacks.

Cas hardly notices it.

He flips on. The fifth card’s a different take on ‘tired’. Still not what he’d been looking for, but again, he treasures every word he gets.

“This World’s an awful place to be, and I wonder if you’re tired of it being horrible. There’s racists and bigots, and evil billionaires and anti-feminists, and I know it can be too much sometimes. But the thing is, change will happen. Starting with good people like you, Cas, and activists, and dreamers, things will turn out fine. So let’s try to hang in there, and hang in there with hope.”

Dean was so good with words.

His sentences make Cas want to nod, and agree, and applaud - but also shout at the top of his lungs, the harsher questions. Where’s Dean now? How does he expect Cas to hang in there, without him? How is Cas supposed to live in this world, already terrible, now made infinitely more so, by the loss of his best friend?

But Cas doesn’t utter a word.

Everything hurts.

He’s finished flipping through this second bunch too, and decides he’s no closer to feeling less sad and tired. In fact, this bunch wasn’t even particularly satisfying, because now he was getting closer to the end, but Dean’s words were just as casual, and inconsequential as -

As anyone would expect them to be.

Cas braves his heart, and resolves to not give into greed right now. He resolves to not seek out the intense emotionality which fiction had made him believe he would receive.

He gets to have Dean around for a little longer. That’s what should count.

He picks up the last bunch, and lets out a huff of a laugh, mocking his own predicament. He’s never been more lonely. Not even when he rode a bus across America, landing up here, freshly after cutting ties off with his own family. For, you see, there had been hope then.

Now? He was not just lonely, he was hopeless.

The wind blows with an almost eerie whisper, and Castiel decides to not give himself time to think.

The more he thinks, the more unbearable the pain became - so he will just read through all the cards; the last five cards Dean had written for him to read when he got lonely, and he resolves to not waste time thinking about how each of those was awfully ironic in some way now, because if he does, he’ll not be able to stop - and then he’ll not be able to move, and he’ll probably end up unconscious on the floor.

It’s getting really cold.

The tears haven’t stopped the entire time, though he isn’t sniffling. They just keep on rolling down his face, like there’s a button which was pushed so hard that it can’t come back to normal. Ever.

He wonders for a fleeting second if he’ll ever stop feeling this lonely, in every way he’s ever felt anything, as he starts reading.

“Cas, you know you’re one of the bravest people I know, right? You left your family because you wanted to follow your passions, and I respect you so much for standing up for yourself. But I know that makes you feel all alone sometimes, so I just want to remind you that you have a family here too. Ellen and Jo? They love you like one of their own. Bobby let you ride his frigging motorcycle, dude. Charlie, Kevin, all of them, they can’t stop gushing about you. May feel like it, but you’re never really alone. You’re my family.”

That was a long block of text, and Dean seemed to have squeezed in the last bits in tiny scrawl, and it makes Cas’s heart smash against his ribs. He knows how much that line meant to Dean. So it means a lot to him too.

He flips to the next.

“Just like a few moments of silence doesn’t mean you’re all alone, sometimes it feels like there’s nobody around you, but all they’re doing is waiting outside the door. Don’t be nervous to reach out. We’re all here for you, but you have a fucking stellar poker face, so it’s hard to tell you’re lonely unless you come out and tell me, so please don’t keep it bottled up. What am I here for?”

The ‘we’ had eventually become an ‘I’.

Cas wets his lips. That isn’t entirely true, because while Cas likes to think he’s good at hiding his actual feelings, it’s never really worked with Dean. Dean could always see right through him.

Probably why he’s never had to open these cards before when Dean was always right there.

He wishes Dean was right here.

There’s no falling stars in the sky. So his tears oblige.

“I’m lonely, Dean.” Cas whispers, and for the very first time, a teardrop actually falls on the paper.

He recoils, tries to rub it off, and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that the rest of the cards are fine. This one just got a little smudged. He’s going to have to pay more attention.

He reads on.

“There’s this song, Cas. Simple man, by Lynyrd Skynyrd. I like to listen to it, when I’m lonely. Maybe because it’s one of the only songs I can play. I hope it’ll make you feel better. And, uh, I told Sammy I was doing this thing where I write you these cards for your birthday? And he suggested I suggest Coffins. By Bohnes. (Huh, just noticed the name thing. That’s cool)”

Cas has heard the song before. But it’s never quite struck him so hard.

‘When the man in black, comes to cash his check;

And you’re holding on to your final breath.

When you walk out the door, know that I will too.

I hope they build coffins for two.’

Fuck, he misses Dean so much.

He misses holding him, and he misses cupping his face and he misses kissing his lips, and he misses every bit of Dean he’s ever gotten to have, and is never going to, again. Cas needs him. He cannot imagine not having him here, forever.

Cas doesn’t know why he does it, but he reads on. He has to finish this.

“You really deserve to be so, so happy, Cas. I have said that before, but obviously you wouldn’t just have read it, so I get to say it again. You’re one of the best people I know, and you’re my best friend, and thank you for being a part of my life. I know it feels like you’re alone right now, Cas, but you’re always going to have me. I promise I’ll be there.”

“You won’t.” Cas shakes, starting to cry all over again.

He really won’t.

“I’ll text you, and I’ll call you, and I’ll wait for you right here, but you’re not coming back, Dean.“ Cas grits out. "Why aren’t you coming back?” His voice breaks with the last words.

All he can do is turn the page and start to read the last words he’s ever going to have, from Dean.

“Cas, if you really made it all the way to the last card of this bunch, you’re probably going to need more than words. Go (come?) into my room, okay? You need a Dean Winchester hug, buddy. I’m pretty much I’m the only thing that can make this right ;) Love ya.”

In the words of the love of his life, Sonuvabitch.

That hurt the most. He agrees, of course he agrees, Dean’s the only one who can make it better. And that’s the thing.

He can’t.

That was the last letter.

“No, no, no -” Cas begins to repeat in a frenzy, his eyes widening in horror as he got up to his feet. He tries flipping to the next page, but it’s over. That’s the last thing Dean ever said to him. It was his last suggestion. “No, no -”

His last words had been love you. They’d actually, unironically, been the words Cas most needed.

And also, the worst possible way to say goodbye.

Cas had started to walk, as he panicked. His breaths come out in ragged sobs, as he stares up at the sky.

Come find me, Dean could just have said.

“I love you.” Cas cries, and he actually cries too. “You can’t be gone, Dean. Please don’t be gone, I -” He keeps on shouting at the skies, until his throat closes up, and he stops, the cold metal railing of the balcony now against his hip. He freezes. The only thing between him and falling, is this railing.

Oh, it’s so fucking cold.

“I need you, please!” Cas begs, but he knows it’s of no use at all. Dean Winchester is gone. He’s dead. “I need you, Dean. I need you to come back and make this better like you just said you would.” His entire body shakes with his violent sobs.

He grips onto the railing tighter. And leans ahead, raising his eyes to the clouds, tipping his head back. “How can I live without you, Dean? How will I even get up in the mornings - you’re it for me, Dean, please -”

His voice breaks again, and he starts to cough.

“I,” He chokes out, as if for the last time ever saying it as though Dean is before him. “I love you.” And how his ears ache to hear it back, and how his skin tingles with the fading memory of Dean being near. “I love you so much.” He breathes out, screwing his eyes shut, and simply falling silent.

He’s run out of words. And he waits until he runs out of tears.

It’s dark, when Cas finally leaves the railing. When he stumbles back, his feet are unsure of where to go, but his breathing is finally even. Though even his eyes are tired. But he can’t think anymore. He’s numb.

He’d stopped feeling, almost an hour ago, but the tears hadn’t stopped.

So he’d just stood there, unmoving, thinking endlessly about how close he’d been to jumping. How tempted he was to do it. He wasn’t even scared - in that moment, he had nothing to live for. The only reason he didn’t, was because he was struck with the intensity of the guilt he’d leave her with.

*

On November 8th, Castiel would’ve killed himself, if he’d not promised Charlie that he’d be back.

He gets to her flat in another hour, and when he knocks, it’s like she knows. She just says, "I’m so sorry, Cas,” and wraps her arms around him tight, pulling him close to her warmth. It’s almost like she’s sorry Cas isn’t with Dean right now.

Cas hugs her back, trying to comfort her. After all, he won’t be away from Dean too long.

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