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At first Dean didn’t pay much attention.
He’d initially entered Cas’s cabin looking for some bandage for a deep wound on his leg he’d gotten after his last mission. Cas’s body was sprawled on his bed, angled oddly towards the night table, some needles and pills scattered across the surface.
Without a second thought, Dean walked towards the end of the room to rummage in some of the cabinets where he knew Cas kept extra first aid supplies just for him. But something out the corner of his eye something drew his attention.
Cas was too still.
He turned to look over his shoulder and focused his stare on the other man’s back, not perceiving any movement. Thinking it was the poor lighting of the room he stood up and limped the few steps to the bed.
Cas was lying on his chest, one arm hanging loosely from the bed, a spoon just some inches away from it. Damn asshole. Dean made a mental note to send Cas on a run tomorrow, just so he’ll regret doing that shit.
Still no movement.
Feeling suddenly cold, Dean extended one hand and reached his fingers just above the other man’s slightly open lips, holding his own breath as he waited.
Nothing.
"Shit, fuck." Dean shook Castiel’s shoulder and was paralysed by how cold he felt. The hunter was terrified to see no response, no stirring, no groggy eyes opening, no sharp intake of breath. None of it happened.
"Cas." He breatheed and turned him onto his back. Cursing under his breath, he looked for his pulse, pressing his fingers to his neck and feeling nothing but lifeless skin beneath his fingers. Hurriedly, he leaned and put his ear just above Cas’s chest; vividly reminded of a night ages ago when he did just the same and listened to his Castiel’s heartbeat. He heard nothing this time, though.
"Fuck. Cas!" He yelled, looking at the other man’s face, putting his hands on his shoulders and shaking furiously, "Cas! Don’t do this you fucking asshole, wake up!" He was nearly screaming, voice a fraction away from breaking, and he barely registered the sound of someone hurriedly entering.
"What’s going on?" He heard Chuck’s voice ask.
Dean couldn’t answer; his legs gave out and he kneeled heavily at the side of the bed, feeling the sharp pain from his wound. But it didn’t fucking matter. He could only look at Cas’s face, cupping his cheek with one hand, and slapped him a few times. “Wake up you son of a bitch.” He muttered.
"Dean." Chuck was just behind him now, "Dean, what’s going on?"
And before he’d even registered what he was doing, his arm flew out to the side, knocking the bottles and pills from the nightstand and he was screaming at Chuck, “he’s fucking dead, that’s what’s going on! The fucking asshole killed himself! Overdosed and left me here, alone, the bastard!” He turned, standing up and glared at the lifeless body lying on the bed while he collected himself, taking steady breaths.
Then he just left the room, leaving Chuck alone to rush to Cas’s body, checking for vital signs.