Dean and Castiel Go on a Hunt

Chapter Five

Dean turned to head back to his seat as he combed his fingers through his hair. Feeling the still wet paint cake on to his fingertips, he exhaled impatiently and turned back to the receptionist. "Do you know where the bathroom is?" He asked, leaning on to her desk. She swallowed again and, while keeping her voice steady, replied, "Head down that hall and it's the second door to your right," she pointed behind him. "Thanks," he quickly added as he walked in the direction of Natalie's pen. He glanced at Sam as he walked past the lobby, he was hunched over to the left with his head in his left hand, his fingers combing back his hair every now and then as he rubbed his temples. Dean sighed as he pushed open the door to the men's restroom. He stared blankly as he surveyed the small bathroom, a lone toilet and metallic urinal stared back at him. To his left was a ceramic sink that jutted out of the dingy yellow tiled wall. To his right, one small wastebasket that was overflowing with paper towels and things alike.

He sighed again, only glad that it was at least a private bathroom. He locked the door then shuffled toward the sink and turned on the hot water. He ran his hands through it, vigorously scrubbing the blood and etc that was caked on to them. He reached for the soap dispenser only to find out that it was empty. "Just fucking great," he mumbled. He leaned over the sink and allowed his wet hands to scrub even more feverishly through his hair. Once he finished with his wash, he leaned against the sink, pressing his hands into the sides of it, and looked into the mirror above it. He stared into his eyes, water dripping down his face. His lips pursed together and his jaw hardened. (This is all your fault, look what you did, he wasn't ready and you knew that, his Grace is fading and no one can help him, not even himself, how could you put him on the line, how could you be so stupid to let him hunt, it was your choice, your mistake, and now he's dyi- ) Dean pulled his eyes away from his reflection, fighting back another wave of tears. He gripped the sides of the sink tightly, his knuckles turning white, as he tried to control his breathing. His heart thudded loudly in his ears as he stared into the drain of the sink. His eyes stung and his vision began to blur as the tears continued to well. As he stood there, Sam's words started to echo around him. (It's not your fault) (He'll be fine) (He'll pull through) (He always has...) Dean breathed deeply, his heartbeat was not as thundering now. He loosened his grip on the sink and slowly rose. He sighed and wiped his eyes. (I know it's my fault, just don't remind me.)

He turned, unlocked the door and walked back to the lobby.