If youāre reading this, youāre probably lying in bed looking like a half-dead zombie. Typical. Youāre so weak itās annoying.
Anyway, I wrote this so you donāt do anything stupid while youāre sick. First off, donāt even think about getting up unless itās for something important. And by important, I mean actually important, not your dumb ideas of 'important.'
Second, drink water. Not soda. Not coffee. Water. You better have a glass next to you already, or Iām gonna kick your ass when youāre better.
Third, rest. No overthinking. No stressing. Just sleep and get better. Youāre no use to anyone if you donāt recover fast, especially not to me.
...And fine, I guess I donāt want you to feel like crap. But donāt get all sappy about it, okay? Just do what I said and get better.
-Katsuki
P.S. If you donāt follow these instructions, Iāll personally come over and yell at you until you do.
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Accept the reality that doubts and vulnerabilities will crop up everywhere when you are facing challenges and focus on your personal commitment to courage, effort, and forward momentum. One day, youāll look up and see how many situations that you once feared now feel well within the bounds of your comfort zone. But you wonāt ponder on it for long because by then, your commitment to courage, effort, and forward momentum will be such that youāll be off in search of the next challenge. Enjoy the ride.
ā Dr. Julie Smith, Open When: A Companion for LIfeās Twists & Turns (HarperOne, December 31, 2024)
When a few years into their relationship Bernie is asked to go back to the army and deploy Serena isn't sure how she's going to get through the nine months without her girlfriend. What she doesn't expect is for it to be her girlfriend who has the perfect set of surprises to get her through both the best and the worst days.
Canon divergent - Elinor lives (well actually the accident never happens), Raf lives, and Cameron isn't a total ass! The staff of AAU also probably didn't all work on there at the same time in canon but do in this!
The fic is already fully written with the first few chapters having already been Beta'd. 27 chapters including the epilogue. Hoping to post every Monday and Friday!
Chapter 1
Open when you get thisā¦
Serena always knew sheād go to work the day after Bernie had deployed. In some way, she can make herself believe that this is just like the times when Bernie has gone away for a few days for a medical conference or to visit an old army friend. But deep down she knows itās not, knows that she wonāt see Bernie in person for nine months.Ā
She walks into their office and there on her desk is a beautiful floral box full of what look like ivory envelopes. Serena sits down in her chair and pulls it close to the desk, noticing one delicate envelope propped up against the front of the box.
She stares at it, eyes fixed upon Bernieās messy writing on the front: Serena - Open when you get thisā¦
She stares at it a little longer, wanting to commit this image to memory before complying.Ā
My Dearest Serena,
The main reason for writing these letters is because I love you! I love you so much and I want to be able to remind you of that as much as I can. In your moments of weakness. In your moments of joy. When you need to feel loved know that I will always love you. These letters are just here to remind you of that while we are apart for the next nine months. Put them somewhere you will see them often, or carry them around with you if you have to, so you always remember to Open When Youā¦āĀ
I love you and miss you so much already.
All My Love, Bernie,
Your Big Macho Army Medic xĀ
She knows she doesnāt have time to respond instantly, sheās got ward rounds to do, and a short surgery scheduled but she promises herself this is the perfect excuse to write Bernie her first bluey.Ā
She plans to write to her on her break but of course, all the best laid plans always go wrong. Bernieās red phone rings just as sheās about to go and get herself a pastry from Pulses. Sheās missing her girlfriend, so who can blame her if she wants a bit of comfort food?
She goes into surgery with Raf, naturally taking the lead. Heās a good surgeon and she knows it, but itās going to take her some time to be able to give up control to him in that way. Sheās so used to working with Bernie in that respect, where neither of them really takes control, they just work side by side effortlessly without there needing to be a lead.Ā
After surgery she updates the patientās family and is just thinking that sheāll have a break now, and maybe actually write to Bernie, when Sacha comes onto the ward to remind her that sheās ten minutes late for the clinical leadsā meeting. Thankfully, she can blame it on the emergency surgery.
She spends more of the meeting thinking about Bernie than actually paying attention. Wondering how Bernieās flight was. Wondering exactly where Bernie is now. Wondering how she is ever going to get through the next nine months without her girlfriend.Ā
Normally after a meeting, Bernie will spoil her with coffee and a pastry and kisses if there is time, but she knows she isnāt getting that today or for the next nine months and she canāt help but feel a little deflated at the thought.Ā
Sheās professional enough to offer her opinion a few times to make it look like sheās paying attention to the meeting but doesnāt really stretch herself. Sheāll make up for it another time but today isnāt it.Ā
After the meeting she grabs her own coffee and pastry from Pulses and is this time determined to write Bernieās letter, so she walks back onto AAU and locks herself in her office. She takes her time thumbing through the envelopes in the box, allowing herself to glance at whatās written on some of them, from love, to sorrow to anger, although sheās not convinced, sheāll need to use that last one. She then turns to her own bag and gets out one of the blueys she has in thereāshe and Bernie had picked up a stack from the post office before her deploymentāand her favourite writing pen before sitting down at her desk. She knows she could use the INtouch electronic mail service to send Bernie an email but she wants the first letter she writes her girlfriend to be a handwritten one.Ā
Dear Bernie,
How!?! How did you ever get time to think so much about my needs while doing all the things you had to do? The idea of the envelopes has filled my heart with joy and all I can say is Iām so damn lucky that I am the woman you want to share your life with.
I had a quick look through the other envelopes, and I cannot believe all of the different occasions you have managed to cover. I do not have the words to tell you how loved this gesture of yours has made me feel. And you say that you donāt think youāre very good at romance!
Iāve got so much more I want to write but Iāve got to cut this letter short as your red phone is pulling me away from my break, but I promise to write again soon.Ā
All my love, darlingā¦
Stay safe, soldier.
Serena x
The red phone call leads to a complicated surgery. Serena stays with the trauma patient and completes the surgery, even if it does mean that itās two hours past her shift when she finally finishes. By the time she gets home and into bed sheās at least so tired and in need of rest that she doesnāt have as much time to miss Bernie, so she falls asleep much more easily than she had the previous night.Ā
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NOTES: 5.8k words. Not a happy ending. This is for ANGSTY-ANGSTWEEK. So, proceed only if youāre prepared. Warnings:Ā Ā Major Character Death, Suicidal Thoughts, Loss.Ā
On September 15th, Dean Winchester buys a stack of Open-When cards from Archies.
Theyāre blank, but lined.
He knows Cas isnāt the biggest fan of his birthday, because it brings back sullen memories of a past heās left behind - but he canāt just do nothing for his best friendās birthday.
Ergo, heāll 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, Deanās fixed a wobbly conical birthday hat on his head, struggling with the string until he just gives up and perches the hat indignantly on Casās unruly bedhair, and it stays.
āHappy birthday!ā He beams, handing him the gift.
Cas smiles, not wholly because he feels the need to match Deanās enthusiasm, but also a little bit for he canāt help it - as Dean waits expectantly for him to unwrap the now-thoughtfully-filled-in Open When cards.
āOh!ā Cas exclaims, when he understands what it is. āThank you.ā 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 āOpen When Youāre Sadā bunch, is a handwritten birthday wish in pink. Cas flips to the second without opening the cards in the first, carefully, and thatās āOpen When Youāre Tiredā. The last one says, āOpen When Youāre Lonelyā. And thereās a red heart in the corner, which Cas stares at, with his cheeks warm, as Dean starts to speak.
āYāknow,ā He mumbles, insecure. āI wanted to get you a gift which you donāt crumble in pressure, opening. No scope for awful, old memories with this one.ā
Cas purses his lips.
Dean goes on. āSo, there. You donāt even have to open these right now.ā
āThank you.ā Cas repeats, feeling an overpowering rush of happy settle heavy in his chest. His eyes fall on the title, once again. āI really donāt.ā
And then he scoots over on the bed so that Dean can sit down, and the first thing Dean does once theyāre back in a huggable height range, is slide his arm around Cas, and squeeze.
āOf course you donāt. Happy birthday.ā 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.
Itās 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 canāt 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 itās 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.Ā
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, itās 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 wouldāve made an anonymous call. He has a family. He canāt risk the chance of being put away for this. And court always costs too much, as it is.Ā
He drives on.
*
On November 6th, a few hours later, Cas receives a call from the General Hospital of Lawrence.Ā
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, heās asked to confirm if he knew the man, since Castiel Novakās 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, āNo!ā
*
On November 8th, Castiel agrees to spend the night in Charlieās apartment, after Deanās funeral.
Ellen absolutely insists upon it.
All the way to her place, Charlie tries to talk to him. Sheās gentle about it, but she needs Castiel to say something back; for she lost a friend, as much as he did.Ā
Except, in a sway of feelings threatening to drown him, Castiel knows that she didnāt.
Nobody lost Dean as much as he did.
Because nobody had had him, as much as he did. Even before, theyād spend their days entwined with the otherās. 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 whoād lost him the most.
Tears start to prick his eyes, without a word said out loud - goddammit, heās always so close to tears now.
Charlie notices. Sheād been avoiding mentioning Dean - though ironically, he was the reason they knew each other. But now, itās like she wants to address it. She looks the kind of crushed Cas feels.
āCas? Are you okay?ā
Cas doesnāt even bother to nod, as the tears start to fall.
During the funeral, heād sat in the first row, next to Sam, whoād cried entirely through Bobbyās, and then Ellenās eulogy. Heād even cried after, red-faced like Dean used to get, while shaking Castielās hand before he had to leave. Before Ellen packed him off to Charlieās, worried about him spending the night all alone at his and Deanās place. For the first time since it happened.
Castiel didnāt cry at the funeral. He was afraid he wouldnāt know how to stop. But now he does, and he still doesnāt know how to stop, but he canāt care anymore.
āCas,ā Charlie pleads. āI know it hurts, and I know you miss him, but weāve got to -ā
āCharlie, stop.ā 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 sheās doing it because she thinks it might help, but he doesnāt want to hear how theyāve got to be strong. About how theyāve got to hold up, because he canāt, he really fucking canāt.
āThe car?ā She asks, her voice trembling as well.
Castiel changes his mind. āYes. Please, stop the car.ā 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 heās going to do.
āCas, donāt go there.āĀ
āI have to.ā Castiel draws in a breath, and it somehow makes his chest feel more constricted. Like the airās demanding space it doesnāt have anymore, for the heart has taken up all of it. āI - thereās some things I need to get, and I need to do this right now, Charlie, I have to go.ā
He unclicks the lock open, and gets out of the car. But then he leans in, and looks back at her. āIāll be at your flat by night.ā
āPromise me you will.ā Charlie bites her lip, and a tear rolls down her cheek. Itās awful to see his friends in pain. Everythingās awful, now. All of it.
āI promise.ā Castiel swears. āPlease drive safe.ā 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.
āIt was an accident.ā The police officer had admitted. āClearly a truck. Weāre looking at camera footage from a mile ahead. Iām sorry, sir. It wasnāt his fault.ā
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 Deanās 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.
Itās not very far away.
Within minutes, heās standing in front of their apartment building, and heās buzzing himself in, but the elevatorās on the third floor - itās useless to wait, so he sprints up the stairs to their fourth floor apartment.
When heās 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 heās been expecting, but Deanās not here.
If anything, his absence strikes Castiel even harder here.Ā Thereās a lack of Dean in every nook. When Castiel locks the door behind him, thereās a lack of Dean by his side, maybe crowding him against the door with a teasing wink, and when Castiel turns, thereās no Dean on the couch, sprawled out, yet in the middle, so that whichever side Cas picks, theyāre at least brushing knees.Ā
When Castiel looks around, getting desperate, thereās no Dean in the kitchen, and no Dean in the hallway. Thereās none of his bright smiles, or his awful jokes, or his ridiculous lines, or his full-body laughs.
Thereās absolutely nothing of him at all. But yet, itās all him.Ā
Everything hereās his.
The couch, heād bought, before Castiel moved in. The other furniture, theyād shopped for, together. The walls which theyād painted over summer, had Deanās 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 thereās still leftovers in the fridge which Dean had saved.
And Castiel? Well, heās Deanās too, isnāt he?
Dean used to call Cas, his everything, sometimes.
Castiel lets out a sound of anguish, stranded in the middle of their apartment like heās 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?
āForever.ā 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. āForever.ā 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 doesnāt know what to do, and he canāt move.Ā
Heās unbearably sad, and it nags at every fibre of his being like nothing ever has, and heās tired, heās tired of it all - heās tired of missing Dean, and heās tired of crying, and heās tired of hurting, because itās overpowering and itās never going to subside - and of course heās 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, heās got nobody left in the world, for Dean is gone and -
Castiel suddenly remembers why he was here.Ā
The letters.
He abandons his knuckle-white grip on the dining table chair, and rushes to their bedroom. Castiel doesnāt look at the bed - because he will never be able to get Dean out of his mind if he looks, and he doesnāt look at the photograph of them on his bedside table - though it takes a huge piece of his restrain to not do so.Ā
He just pulls open the bottom drawer, and shuffles through things like flashlights and emergency coffee, until heās 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 canāt just settle on the bed, or the couch, or anywhere else they used to spend time together, because thatād be more harm than not.)
So, he decides to do it in their balcony.Ā
Dean wasnāt a fan of that place.Ā
āThe air, dude.ā Dean crossed his arms. āItās so fucking chilly. And the floorās freezing, all times of the year.ā
He didnāt 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 doesnāt matter, and he just sinks to the floor.
The three bundles are still clasped to his chest - heās really counting on these, theyāre his last option, and they have to help somehow, donāt they - so he leans back against the door, crosses his legs, and picks up the first bundle.
Open When Youāre SadĀ
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 Deanās, as it were. Itās black ink, and the background is a faded peach, and Cas hangs onto every word.
āI guess youāre sad right now, Cas, and thatās no good. So hereās how I say you should deal with it. Often when weāre 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?ā
Thatās 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 isnāt working.
Thereās 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 doesnāt help, it just makes Cas miss him even more. And itās 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.Ā
āI hope youāre not just flipping through all of these at once. Okay, Iām going to assume that youāre not. And that implies that youāre sad again, so hereās what I suggest you think about: the happiest days of your life. I know youāre ridiculously indecisive, hence, the plural. Go back to those days in your head, Cas. Leave the sad behind. (Hey, am I in it?)ā
The last question - now, although a rhetoric - makes Cas want to scream.
Had there been any doubt of it, in Deanās 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 wasnāt 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 thatāll break him down again, and heāll end up crying all over these letters and ruining them.
Which heās not going to let himself do. Heās saving these, forever.
He breathes in through his mouth, and swallows - maybe that way, heāll not feel like heās being choked, an inch closer to his life with each passing moment. And he tries not to pay attention to how this card doesnāt help either. Not at all.
Still hopeful, he flips to the next.
āCas, 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. Thereās even hope for tomorrow, to make it onto that list. All of this shall pass. Thereās always going to be hope. Ps. itās probably because youāre not right in front of me, that Iām spouting Dr Phil lines. Well, I canāt throw away this card, but if you flip to the next, Iāll forgive you.ā
This wonāt ever pass.
Thereās no hope now, and thereāll 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 Deanās voice will grow fainter in his ears, and that hurts to even think about.
Cas doesnāt think he could ever bear losing Deanās voice. He loves it.
Heās going to lose it.
Heās going to lose everything.
No, heās already lost everything. Itās just going to be taken away from him, soon.
Cas bites his lower lip hard enough that it stings. Stings so hard, that heās pulled out of his reverie.
Dean, this time, gave him permission to move onto the next card. So he does.
āHey, again. This time, I want you to remember how much all of us love you, okay? And people whoāre loved by this many people arenāt sad, buddy. Youāre brilliant, and you care, and I know your heart. Itās so kind, Cas. Youāre a great listener, and have a really nice smile, and youāre tall and hilarious and all kinds of awesome. Youāve got good taste for a nerd. And youāre loved by us all for exactly who you are. (Wow, I did a lot better in this card.)ā
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 doesnāt make him feel better. Heās trying to let the words help, he swears heās trying, but these are all the things Dean has written, and will never say again. In fact, he doesnāt care what Dean says, as long as he does. But he wonāt.
Cas shakes his head to stop himself from drifting away into the cruelest thoughts. He wants to read ahead, heās still holding out for something thatāll 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 canāt stop himself. He canāt stop a thing. Thatās 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.
āYou 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 Iām really not sure. I remember it being a few weeks of āsnarky, neat, supersmart roommateā but suddenly, Iād plunged into this thing, where we were best friends, and I could not imagine my life without you. I know this isnāt the kinda stuff one writes on these cards, but please donāt be sad, Cas? Youāre the kinda guy who should get to be happy forever.ā
āThen come back.ā Cas whispers to the page, and the tears are back. His vision clouds, and he tilts his head back against the wall. āCome back to me, Dean, and I promise I wonāt be sad anymore.ā
The pages rustle in the wind, as if they want Cas to keep flipping through them.
āAny other time,ā Cas says to himself, talking aloud to keep himself from crying. His voice shakes. āAny other reason I got to be sad, and these cards wouldāve worked.ā
But not this time, he doesnāt say. He still has hope. He has to have hope.
Heās finished the Open When Youāre 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. Nothingās working.Ā
But he doesnāt care.
Itās better to be sad with Deanās letters, than to be so, all alone. So he flips to the next section.
Open When Youāre Tired
He cannot give up hope.
āCas, youāve been an overworked, overachieving idiot for so long now, you know I donāt mind it, but if youāre 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.ā
Thatās very different from what Cas just read in the previous card, so he rereads it, hearing Deanās voice clearer in this one, because thatās usually how Dean speaks.
He doesnāt know if itās better or worse.
Birds donāt fly around aimlessly, but Cas knows Dean knew that - itās just poetic licence.Ā
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 doesnāt 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. Theyāre 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.Ā
Cas tries to smile, even if itās sad.
He feels oddly deprived of more meaningful words. Heād just assumed that thereād 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.Ā
Cas stretches his legs out again. The floorās so cold, he can feel it through his slacks.
Funeral slacks.
Cas hardly notices it.
He flips on. The fifth cardās a different take on ātiredā. Still not what heād been looking for, but again, he treasures every word he gets.
āThis Worldās an awful place to be, and I wonder if youāre tired of it being horrible. Thereās 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 letās try to hang in there, and hang in there with hope.ā
Dean was so good with words.Ā
His sentences make Cas want to nod, and agree, and applaud - but also shout at the top of his lungs, the harsher questions. Whereās 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?Ā
But Cas doesnāt utter a word.
Everything hurts.
Heās finished flipping through this second bunch too, and decides heās no closer to feeling less sad and tired. In fact, this bunch wasnāt even particularly satisfying, because now he was getting closer to the end, but Deanās 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. Thatās what should count.
He picks up the last bunch, and lets out a huff of a laugh, mocking his own predicament. Heās 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, heāll not be able to stop - and then heāll not be able to move, and heāll probably end up unconscious on the floor.
Itās getting really cold.
The tears havenāt stopped the entire time, though he isnāt sniffling. They just keep on rolling down his face, like thereās a button which was pushed so hard that it canāt come back to normal. Ever.
He wonders for a fleeting second if heāll ever stop feeling this lonely, in every way heās ever felt anything, as he starts reading.
āCas, you know youāre 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 canāt stop gushing about you. May feel like it, but youāre never really alone. Youāre my family.ā
That was a long block of text, and Dean seemed to have squeezed in the last bits in tiny scrawl, and it makes Casās 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.Ā
āJust like a few moments of silence doesnāt mean youāre all alone, sometimes it feels like thereās nobody around you, but all theyāre doing is waiting outside the door. Donāt be nervous to reach out. Weāre all here for you, but you have a fucking stellar poker face, so itās hard to tell youāre lonely unless you come out and tell me, so please donāt keep it bottled up. What am I here for?ā
The āweā had eventually become an āIā.
Cas wets his lips. That isnāt entirely true, because while Cas likes to think heās good at hiding his actual feelings, itās never really worked with Dean. Dean could always see right through him.
Probably why heās never had to open these cards before when Dean was always right there.
He wishes Dean was right here.
Thereās no falling stars in the sky. So his tears oblige.
āIām lonely, Dean.ā 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. Heās going to have to pay more attention.
He reads on.
āThereās this song, Cas. Simple man, by Lynyrd Skynyrd. I like to listen to it, when Iām lonely. Maybe because itās one of the only songs I can play. I hope itāll 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. Thatās cool)ā
Cas has heard the song before. But itās never quite struck him so hard.
āWhen the man in black, comes to cash his check;
And youāre holding on to your final breath.
When you walk out the door, know that I will too.
I hope they build coffins for two.ā
Fuck, he misses Dean so much.Ā
He misses holding him, and he misses cupping his face and he misses kissing his lips, and he misses every bit of Dean heās ever gotten to have, and is never going to, again. Cas needs him. He cannot imagine not having him here, forever.Ā
Cas doesnāt know why he does it, but he reads on. He has to finish this.
āYou really deserve to be so, so happy, Cas. I have said that before, but obviously you wouldnāt just have read it, so I get to say it again. Youāre one of the best people I know, and youāre my best friend, and thank you for being a part of my life. I know it feels like youāre alone right now, Cas, but youāre always going to have me. I promise Iāll be there.ā
āYou wonāt.ā Cas shakes, starting to cry all over again.
He really wonāt.
āIāll text you, and Iāll call you, and Iāll wait for you right here, but youāre not coming back, Dean.ā Cas grits out. "Why arenāt you coming back?ā His voice breaks with the last words.
All he can do is turn the page and start to read the last words heās ever going to have, from Dean.
āCas, if you really made it all the way to the last card of this bunch, youāre probably going to need more than words. Go (come?) into my room, okay? You need a Dean Winchester hug, buddy. Iām pretty much Iām the only thing that can make this right ;) Love ya.ā
In the words of the love of his life, Sonuvabitch.
That hurt the most. He agrees, of course he agrees, Deanās the only one who can make it better. And thatās the thing.
He canāt.
That was the last letter.
āNo, no, no -ā 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 itās over. Thatās the last thing Dean ever said to him. It was his last suggestion. āNo, no -ā
His last words had been love you. Theyād 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.Ā
āI love you.ā Cas cries, and he actually cries too. āYou canāt be gone, Dean. Please donāt be gone, I -ā 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, itās so fucking cold.
āI need you, please!ā Cas begs, but he knows itās of no use at all. Dean Winchester is gone. Heās dead. āI need you, Dean. I need you to come back and make this better like you just said you would.ā 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. āHow can I live without you, Dean? How will I even get up in the mornings - youāre it for me, Dean, please -ā
His voice breaks again, and he starts to cough.
āI,ā He chokes out, as if for the last time ever saying it as though Dean is before him. āI love you.ā And how his ears ache to hear it back, and how his skin tingles with the fading memory of Dean being near. āI love you so much.ā He breathes out, screwing his eyes shut, and simply falling silent.
Heās run out of words. And he waits until he runs out of tears.Ā
Itās 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 canāt think anymore. Heās numb.
Heād stopped feeling, almost an hour ago, but the tears hadnāt stopped.Ā
So heād just stood there, unmoving, thinking endlessly about how close heād been to jumping. How tempted he was to do it. He wasnāt even scared - in that moment, he had nothing to live for. The only reason he didnāt, was because he was struck with the intensity of the guilt heād leave her with.Ā
*
On November 8th, Castiel wouldāve killed himself, if heād not promised Charlie that heād be back.Ā Ā
He gets to her flat in another hour, and when he knocks, itās like she knows. She just says, "Iām so sorry, Cas,ā and wraps her arms around him tight, pulling him close to her warmth. Itās almost like sheās sorry Cas isnāt with Dean right now.
Cas hugs her back, trying to comfort her. After all, he wonāt be away from Dean too long.Ā
Just shut up!ā Robin chucked a batarang with full force, the weapon barely passing by Nightwingās head before striking the cave wall behind him, the blade wedging itself into the stone. The young teen was seething, anger flowing off of him as he glared at his older brother through his mask.Ā
The outburst had drawn the attention of the others in the cave as well. Cassandra and Duke, who had been enjoying post-mission snacks, paused mid-cucumber sandwich to turn their heads. Even Alfred, who had been passing around a tray of much needed coffee, halted what he was doing, more likely than not to avoid becoming the victim of a runaway blade. The only person who didnāt turn was Bruce ć¼ of freaking course he didnāt ć¼ who was inputting notes into the mission file at the main computer.Ā
Dick raised his hands in defence. āWoah there. Damian, calm downć¼āĀ
āNo!ā The thirteen year old ripped his mask off, before slamming it to the ground. āI didnāt do anything wrong! You know I didnāt. They know I didnāt!ā He gestured towards the other member of Batman Incorporated, this sorry excuse for a family. āSo why the hell canāt you just admit I did a good today?ā
āThereās always room to improve, Damiać¼ā
āImprove, my ass!ā He grit his teeth together. This was ridiculous. It had been a simple mission; pop into a warehouse, beat up some drug smugglers, turn them in to the proper authorities. Easy fucking peasy. He's gone, he followed orders perfectly. He didn't step out of line, didn't cross boundaries, even when it would have been so easy to. He was a perfect Robin today. Which meant this absurd lecture he was getting right now was not only out of line, but downright insulting. "What more could you possibly want from me, Grayson? I did everything you asked tonight, with zero complaints, and a miniscule margin of error. Just admit that I did good, and leave me alone!"
"Damian, it's not that simple."
"Like hell it is!" The teen snarled. He tore his gauntlets off his arms, throwing them both to the ground. Maybe it would prove a point. Maybe not. That was unimportant at this moment. Damian glared up, meeting his brother's eyes with a scowl on his face, before deciding this wasn't worth it. He knew he was in the right. "Forget this."
He didn't bother to stick around when Dick called after him. He didn't bother to see if his father was reacting in any way. Damian just left. He stormed out of the cave, as seemed to be the routine, fuming from the ears as he all but crashed his feet through the oak floorboards of the manor. Part of him secretly hoped he'd run into another one of his adoptive siblings so he could pick a fight. God, that's what he needed right now. He needed a fight. He needed to hit something; to smash something. He needed to grab his sword and turn every shrub and tree on this blasted estate into wood chips. Instead, Damian settled for slamming his bedroom door shut.
"Aaaaaaarg!" He let out a scream, and paced around the space. Part of his uniform rapidly flying all over the carpet, landing in random pieces of furniture, before he was left in nothing but his underwear. While the burst of anger hadn't exactly calmed him down, slipping into silk pajamas helped. Only slightly, but help was help. "Stupid Grayson." He muttered under his breath as he flung himself onto that king-sized bed.Ā
This sucked.Ā
Contrary to popular belief, Damian didn't like being angry all the time. It was exhausting. The chronic issue was that other people were simply infuriating, always catching his temper, setting him off in all the worst says. He was sick of it.Ā
By chance, be it out of a need for comfort, or the desire for a better way to breathe than face shoved into an overstuffed down pillow, the fourteen year old turned his head to the side, letting his eyes scan across his room; over furniture, his own art on the walls, until it eventually landed on his desk. More specifically, a colorful wooden box that was kept neatly tucked into the back corner of his desk.Ā
No. No it was stupid. Thereās no way this could helpā¦
Damian pushed himself up off his bed. This was ridiculous. He stepped over his desk, pulling the box closer to the edge and flicking the clasp open. He opened the lid and started flipping through the pile of letters his friend had left for him.Ā
Angry? No.
Crying? Definitely not.
Offended, embarrassed, hurt.
He didnāt know why he was even bothering, because there was truly no way there would be a letter forć¼
āOpen When⦠Youāre frustratedā
Huh⦠That was unexpected.Ā
Damian took the letter and went back over to his bed, climbing into it and making himself comfortable before cutting the envelope open.
Hey Dami!
Whatās up buddy? You doing ok? Well⦠I guess probably not, huh? I donāt know what happened or nothing but Iām whatever it is is bugging you. And you know what? Thatās pk ok. Sometimes you just got to let yourself feel all the crummy, upset, nasty stuff for a minute, and just let yourself be mad.
Dad tells me that when he gets all fustra frustrated that heāll go for a fly around the world. I do that too now that I can fly! Before I could fly I couldnāt do that though. When Mom gets upset she usually starts reading those girl magazines from the grocery store. I think the trick is to just do something that calms you down! Something that makes you forget everything else in the world.
What makes you feel better, Damian? Other than training because I think you need to do something other than punching and sword fighting. Also⦠Usually you get frustrated after fights or missions that donāt go the way you want them to go so that probably wont help too much anyways. Maybe you need some ideas. I know you like music, and you like painting, and you like your animals. So maybe if you think about those three things then it will help you.
Did ya think of something? I hope so. I hate it when youāre upset.
Take a deep breath. Relax your shoulders. Let yourself be not happy for a bit, then go do something fun. Youāll be alright soon. I know you will.
Youāre best pal,
Jon
P.S. Try not to take it out on people you care about.Ā
Damian let out a breath, letting his arm fall to the side, taking the letter with it. He stared up at the ceiling, letting his brain just think everything over for a minute. As much as he loathed to admit it, Jon was right. He needed to get out of his head space for a moment. Damian let his eyes fall shut, and just⦠Well, he did what jon suggested. He focused on his breathing, letting his lungs fill with air, holding it for a little longer than he normally would, and letting it out.Ā
Something to do⦠Something to do⦠What could he do?
He let out a sigh, rolling inwards towards the center of the bed, and looked at the letter in his hand, before letting his eyes fall straight. They tuned in to his violin, hanging delicately from itās wooden stand.