That one time he broke down 

The thing with Dean Winchester is that you never know what is going through his mind. He doesn’t let anyone read him. His brother, of course, sees right through him.

Sometimes, when they’re on a particularly challenging hunt, Dean’s first instinct is to call Castiel. He starts saying something, but then mumbles a ‘nevermind’ and looks away. Sam saw him do this a few times, but he never said anything. What could he possibly say?

Once, just once, something different happened. Sam was babbling about some yucky-sounding monster as usual, when he noticed Dean looking up at the sky. A single tear rolled down his cheek, and he fell on his knees.

“Castiel, can you hear me? We need help over here, you angelic jerk. Come down and lend a hand, will ya?” he mumbled, violent sobs shaking him, his voice broken.

Sam stood there speechless. He knelt down beside his brother and patted him on the shoulder. “Dean, c’mon, let’s get outta here, alright?”

“No!” the elder Winchester shouted, his voice raw and desperate. “No. He’s gonna come. Just wait, okay? He’ll come back. He’ll come back to me.”

“Dean—”

“Leave me alone!” he yelled, and pushed his brother away. Sam fell on the ground and looked up at Dean in shock. He’d never seen him in such bad shape.

Then again, Dean had always had abandonment issues. 

Memory 

Dean remembers the last time Castiel said his name. It was to apologize.

Right before the Leviathan took over, Castiel said, “I mean it, Dean.”

He meant it, and Dean knows it. Castiel swore he’d find a way to redeem himself, and Dean knows he would have found one. Maybe he’s somewhere lost, alone and scared, still looking for a way to make it up to the hunter. The thought makes him shiver. Castiel might be terrified, all alone somewhere between life and death, and there ain’t nothing Dean can do about it.

Nothing at all. Maybe if he defeats the Leviathan, maybe that would grant him some kind of wish from the man upstairs, wherever and whoever he is? He’d wish to have Castiel back. He wants nothing more, and nothing less. 

Someday 

You never know when it’s gonna happen, when you’re gonna fall in love.

Dean Winchester never saw it coming. Now his heart’s been broken into a million pieces, and he never saw it coming. 
There’s a fine line between loving someone and being in love with someone. He never knew that, either. 

So now that he knows all this stuff, what’s he to do with it? Now that he’s been left alone for the hundredth time, now that his heart has been ripped out of his chest, what’s he to do with love?

Castiel came like the wind, and he left in a hurricane. And Dean doesn’t even blame him for what happened, he can’t bring himself to be angry. He was disappointed for a second, but love washed the feeling away.

All he has left are love and loss. 

But that’s not enough to keep on living, it’s not enough. Nothing’s right, nothing’s good. Nothing. 
He drinks and he swears, he wears himself out, just to see if he’ll have the strenght to get back up and fight again.
But he hasn’t gotten up yet. He won’t fight anymore.

There’s nothing worth living for, not anymore.

Dean Winchester never knew love, and now that he does, he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

The only thing that’s keeping him going is the hope that someday he’ll see his angel again, and he’ll finally tell him how much he loves him. How much he’s missed him. How much he’s suffered. And Castiel will look at him with his ocean blue eyes and he’ll smile his awkward smile, before telling him he feels the same way. 

Someday, yes.

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Prompt: A bird flies into a window while Dean is alone in his motel room. Castiel appears.

-

Everybody knows the Winchesters have a thing for crappy motel rooms. The one they got that night was one of the worst, it stank of mentholated cigarettes and bleach, the furniture was falling to pieces, there weren’t even curtains on the windows. Sam didn’t complain, as much as he would have wanted to. He was afraid his brother would tell him off or something, Dean’s mood swings were worrying lately. 

It may have been the smell, or the light coming from the window, or perhaps the couple in the room down the hall that went at it all night, but Dean couldn’t seem to fall asleep. He tossed and turned, cursing under his breath at his brother who was snoring like nobody’s business. Eventually dawn broke and Sam woke up, looking annoyingly well rested. He got dressed and went for his usual morning run, leaving his brother by himself. Dean opened the window, hoping to freshen the air in the room, and saw a diner across the street. He was definitely too tired to go grab a cup of coffee, so he crossed his fingers and hoped his brother would bring some with him when he got back. 
He lay down on the creaking bed and stared out the window, straight into the sun. His eyes hurt, but he didn’t care. Anything to keep him from thinking about what was really keeping him up at night. Anything to forget about the way Castiel called his name from the depths of the lake in his nightmares.

His eyes were so blind from looking at the sun that he barely noticed a bird flying in. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his sight. The bird flew across the room and perched on a chair. 

“Okay buddy,” Dean sighed, and the bird tilted his head. “Get out, c’mon, don’t you have any cars to poop on top of?” 

The bird didn’t move. Dean turned around and grabbed a newspaper to throw on the poor birdy.

“Shoo—” Dean said, brandishing the newspaper while he turned back around. The words died in his mouth as soon as he looked at the chair. The bird was gone. In its place, standing behind the wooden chair, was Castiel.

“Cas?” he asked with wide eyes.

“Hello, Dean,” the angel said, giving an awkward half-smile. Dean’s eyes widened even more at the sound of his voice. He thought he’d never get to hear that voice again. He had so many things he wanted to say, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. The angel tilted his head, confused. Dean was looking at him like he’d seen a ghost, and Castiel couldn’t tell if that was good or bad.

“Cas,” Dean repeated, unable to say anything else. Again, the angel smiled awkwardly. So many things to say, but they’d have to to wait, Dean decided. He sprinted towards his angel and hugged him. Yes, he hugged him, he held him so tight that Castiel was grateful he didn’t need to breathe. Dean realized there was really not that much to say.

The way they desperately clinged to each other said it all. 

In the dark 

Dean looks over at his brother, sleeping soundly on Bobby’s couch. Sam is unnaturally still, but his breath is heavy and his cheeks are flushed. Dean sighs deeply. The wooden chair squeeks when he stands up; he heads out into the yard, makes his way among the rusty old cars until he reaches his beloved Impala. 

The black car shines in the moonlight in all her newly-painted glory, and Dean can’t help but smile a little at the great job that he’s done with her once again. His stare lingers on the trunk, and the smile disappears from his features.

It’s in there. 

The only piece he has left, the only thing proving that he had really existed. 

Dean’s hands shake as he moves to open the trunk, for a second he loses courage, for a second he’s not ready yet. But he needs to be brave. 

Dean opens the trunk and pulls out the trenchcoat.

It’s still damp, but Dean barely notices that as he holds it close to his chest. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until the tears stain the fabric of the coat, but by then it’s too late to hold back.

His knees give in and he collapses on the ground next to his car, whiteknuckled and sobbing into the trenchcoat.

He’d want to stop crying in hysteria, he’s not one to do such things. He should be taking it like a man, with all the silent hurting and the sulking in the dark.

But not tonight. Tonight, he’s just a broken little human.

Power shift 

Dean Winchester is strong and mighty and righteous, he’s a fighter, he’s a force to be reckoned with.

That’s why he doesn’t like the feeling of being in love.

Love makes you weak, powerless, impotent. Love takes the bravest men and turns them into little whiny boys.

Looking at someone and thinking “I’d do anything for you”: isn’t that the scariest thing on earth? No monster, demon, or whatever-that-goes-bump-in-the-night can compare with the striking fear love brings.

When you start, without even realising it, to put someone else before you, how is that not scary as hell? You make them the center of your universe, everything revolves around them and you don’t even care. But what if they leave.

What if one day they decide shit isn’t good enough for them anymore, and they leave you high and dry? What if they find someone better? What if they disappoint you? What if they don’t love you as much as you love them?

What if they betray you and everything you believe in, make friends with a demon and swallow all the souls of Purgatory to win a war that had no sense to begin with, just out of arrogance?

See? Love brings nothing good. That’s why Dean Winchester locks himself in his apathy, keeps away from feelings and decides to live happily ever after all by himself.

But when a love is so strong that you feel like dying, when it’s so impetuous that you can’t hide it anymore, when it gets so intense that you’d just want to explode, how you do shut it out? 

Simple. You can’t.

We’re only human, aren’t we? 

Waiting 

Waiting is the hardest part, and Dean Winchester knows that better than anyone. The days drag on as he waits around for a sign, a word, anything, but Castiel is nowhere to be found. Is he alright? 

That question burns in Dean’s mind, but he keeps a straight face and ignores the hole in his chest, rough around the edges, that grows deeper every second that passes.

He sneaks out of bed every night, gets out of the crappy motel room he and his brother share, and sits on the hood of his beloved Impala. Dean Winchester stares at the night sky with a mix of fear and sorrow in his eyes, and he prays.

Yes, Dean prays. He prays to his angel, begging him to come around. He prays to anyone who will listen, asking for forgiveness and for help. He prays to the stars above for a sign that his angel is alright, then prays to Castiel again, and so on until dawn breaks. 

When the sun is almost up he goes back to bed and pretends to sleep. He’s 100% sure that his brother never noticed anything, but he’s wrong. Sammy knows what he’s up to every night, he sees how exhausted and broken Dean is, but he doesn’t know what to say. Is there anything he could say that wouldn’t be useless? Probably not.

Dean never says a word about it. But Sammy can tell that he’s always waiting, always on edge, always hoping.

He’s waiting for someone to answer his prayers, waiting for Castiel to show up and clear all his doubts. Waiting for a sign that he’s doing the right thing.

Waiting for the pain to stop.

Points of view 

You see a monster, I see someone who made the wrong choices, that’s what Dean would like to tell his brother, as he curses Castiel’s name. But he doesn’t. Sam’s words wash over him and he just stares off into space. You made the wrong choices, too, he’d like to add then, but I saved you. I did. And if it wasn’t too late for you, then maybe…

Maybe, yes.

The sight of Castiel’s eyes, the look he gave when he proclaimed himself as their new god, haunt Dean every night. He observes the scene closely as it replays in his head, looking for a sign, some kind of proof that he’s doing the right thing by not giving up on the angel. Every night he thinks he found it, that teeny tiny spark of hope, but by morning he can’t find it anymore, lost in the deep blue oceans of Castiel’s eyes.

His brother doesn’t understand, and how could he anyway? He was never on the receiving end of a disappointment this big. Dean was. Many times. He knows how to deal with these kind of situations.

He’s gonna try to redeem his angel until it hurts, and then some more. Because that’s what he does: he gives everything, breaks down and stands back up. 

But now it’s taking more effort than he thought. It’s so hard to keep a straight face when all you wanna do is crawl into bed and drown in self-loathing. In pieces, scattered all around, lying in a pool of blood and sweat and tears.

But he has to carry on. 

For him.

In a nutshell 

Dean Winchester takes care of everyone. He makes sure everyone is okay, makes sure the world doesn’t end, makes sure random people survive the odds. 
Never had anyone taken care of him, until Castiel.

Suddenly he has a guardian angel, has someone who worries about his wellbeing, someone who’s there to help him with anything… but of course, he has no idea how these kind of relationship work, for he never had one before.

Castiel doesn’t understand the mechanics of it either, so he just does everything Dean asks, gives him everything he needs, listens to him and comforts him.
And Dean keeps asking for help, keeps calling on Cass for everything, because the angel never refuses to help him.

There’s a lenght of rope between them, one end attached to Dean’s heart, the other to Castiel’s. Dean pulls the rope and Castiel falls a little more each time, and never pulls back.
Dean pulls hard because he has no boundaries, has no clue what else to do.

But all of a sudden things stop working. The rope breaks in two, leaving Dean alone and scared, and Cass with too much time on his hands.

The feelings they have towards each other are like a wild mythological beast: you can’t tame it if you don’t know exactly how. They’re like the sea during a storm, impetuous and rough, crashing onto each other in a hopeless and cruel greek tragedy.

They have nothing left to cling to, ever since the rope has broken.

But is it too late? Dean Winchester doesn’t think so. It’s never too late, in his opinion, and he spends endless, sleepless nights hoping he’s right. 

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