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A million times I said,
A million times I screamed,
The sky and the ocean reminds me,
Of your blue eyes, I dreamed.
Wanted to tell you from the moment we met,
But you left me all alone,
And it was too late.
It was dark, the kind of dark you can’t see through. Absolute nothingness. For a few moments, Dean just stood stiff, his mind alert and his heart racing in his chest. The voice, faint but clear, familiar in its hoarseness, rang through the space:
This is your problem Dean. You don’t have faith.”
Dean gulped, at loss. Motionless, as if bound by the chain, he struggled to follow the voice. He twitched and groaned against the invisible restraints, desperate.
“ I do everything you ask,” came the same voice, the one he’d do anything to hear again, “I always come when you call.”
Shut up! Dean wanted to scream. You are not him!
He wanted to shout, let the pain pour out of him, but there was a rock in his throat and not a single word came out. Unable to move, his lungs contracting at the lack of air -- a fish in the nets, he squeezed his eyes shut, falling down to his knees not able to bear it anymore.
“ You are the most selfless human being I will ever know... ”
Something changed, shifted, he suddenly became aware of his surroundings - a floor his feet stood on, the walls around him, enveloping him in the fake sense of safety.
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in the dungeon of the bunker. The place he dreaded coming back to since that night. His heart faltered at the view in front of him.
Not real, his mind supplied. He can’t die, not again.
“ You changed me Dean.. ”
“No!” the word flew out of Dean’s mouth, like a bird finally set free. With it, half of the tension has lifted off his chest. He jolted awake in his bed, drenched in sweat, his eyes scanning the surroundings. He sat, breathing heavily.
It’s okay, said the voice in his head. Just a dream. You’re still in your room, safe and sound.
“Cas…” slipped from his lips, involuntarily.
He fell back on the pillow, drawing deep slow breaths in to calm down his racing heart. His eyes landed on the empty whiskey bottle still clenched in his hand, his knuckles white with effort. He opened his palm and let the bottle roll out of it and to the floor. He flinched at the sound of glass shuttering, hoping for it not to be loud enough to wake Sam up.
“Shit,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands.
Somehow he managed to stumble out of the bed and make it to the door. He pushed it open and left the room, liquor swirling in his head. He walked, and with each step he took, it felt like he was adding on weight. Dean suddenly froze, his eyes catching a long scratch on the wall.
Screeeeeeech .
The sound pierced through time, echoing in his ears. He stared, for a moment taken back to the night he’s lost what can’t be regained. He saw scythe dragged along the wall, leaving the dark mark behind. He heard the voice calling his name -- the voice of Death.
It should have been me, Dean heard himself think. It always was supposed to be me. Not him.
He held on the wall for support, the screeching still echoing through his head. If he knew this was destined to end this way, if he could go through it one more time from the top, he would never let Cas follow. He would have made him stay.
He hung his head between his arms. Drained, exhausted, he shook his head. He felt tears welling up and he had no power over them anymore. He closed his eyes.
The noise in his head stopped, but what came was worse. Dean felt warmth on his skin, through his heavy lids he saw the light. Cas was right there, right besides him, he knew. Cas, the sun bathing the darkest corners of his mind in light. Cas, his last spark of hope.
Dean straighetend and looked at him, knowing it would cost him more than he ever could afford.
“I love you, Dean,” Cas spoke, tears streaming down his face.
Dean clenched his fist, tears shining in his eyes, unbidden. It was all the same as that night. Except, it wasn’t. Nothing of it was real, and Dean’s chest filled with pure rage, threatening to choke him. Cas’s face faded, before it vanished completely. A faraway dream.
Dean turned and punched the wall. Once, then twice. Still not enough, still failing to clear out his head. He heard the distant creak of the door opening behind, but paid no attention to it. It didn’t matter. Nothing did.
“Who the fuck does that?” he raged, punching his knuckles bloody. “Who says all those things and then leaves?”
His voice was stern, but breaking, trembling as the words were tumbling out of his mouth.
“You gotta come back dammit...you gotta come back to me,” Dean whispered into the emptiness of the corridor, a sob clenching his throat.. “You got to face me, Cas... you cannot leave it there… you selfish son of a bitch!”
Something snapped in him, like a twig, and broke. And with it, the tears came flowing. He cried silently, as if ashamed of pain surging in his chest.
Sam felt his heart clenching into a knot, as he watched Dean through the slit of the door. His brother cried, his shoulders shaking with emotion, and for a moment Sam wondered if he was allowed to witness this vulnerability. He looked down to the floor, aching to soothe his pain.
Then, Dean exhaled. Long and deep, grounding himself. He straightened, as if gaining new purpose in that empty dark corridor. He walked away on unsure feet, and Sam followed him with his eyes, noting the small gentle touch of Dean’s right palm to his left shoulder. Mindless, reflexive. Reassuring.
Sam quietly closed the door, as Dean disappeared into the kitchen.
Whatever happened that day, he thought to himself, slipping back under covers, this is not the end.
They will bring Cas back.
Sam closed his eyes and drifted away, wrapped in certainty.
Dean will bring him back. Home.
Like he always has.