Moving On (Destiel)

61: just joking

A/N: ok ok so maybe that was NOT the end 'cause what kind of end would that be, really? I'm not THAT evil (my characters: i beg to differ-) I was just joking 'cause April 1st and I didn't manage one good prank all day... hm. Actually wanted to get clear on that on the same day with this update, but then somehow ended up READING fics instead of writing them, so here we are, six days delay. Hope you're not mad xD (also hope that the upcoming ending will be better, 'cause otherwise I'll wish I had just left it like that)

No, but really, the story is coming to an end, and I'm glad that if anyone's still reading - well, that you are, 'cause it honestly means a lot to me. With this month, I DID spend over a year writing it now, after all, so it's cool to see it's appreciated... and if not, well at least I'm writing for myself (imagine the thumbs up I'd give if this was my phone and not my laptop which doesn't allow emojis...). But anyway, don't really wanna dwell on that 'cause we're not in the Acknowledgments yet and shit, so just: Thank you for reading, at this point it must equal that you're liking it, too :)

He didn't react, didn't do anything when he was brutally shoved against the car. He didn't care when the cuffs cut into his hands painfully, their voices reached him only muffled.

The blue light he had seen once too many times didn't affect him this time. Nothing could, there was nothing inside of him.

He heard his name, over and over, and it wasn't just his angel who called out to him. He shouldn't do that, should he? Dean had told him not to. Hopefully his angel didn't blow their cover. Dean didn't suppose it, but strangely enough, he found himself not worried. He didn't feel anything. It couldn't be the adrenaline. He was just... empty.

He was seated in the back seat of one of those dreadful cars, two women up in the front. They had not only cuffed his hands together but to the seat, too. He acknowledged the effort. What he did not acknowledge, however, was his angel's face in the rear mirror. Tear-stained and wide in panic and loss and pain. Or had it started raining?

He couldn't tell for the life of him. Dean's own eyes had been veiled in tears, too. Now there was nothing to be sorry for, to feel loss about. Sure. He had lost his angel. His brother. His life. But there hadn't been a choice. He was okay with that.

He was okay.

Someone spoke to him; when he didn't answer, shook his knee. He turned his head, discontented, indifferent. They couldn't possibly do more to him. It was all over for him now anyway.

He looked them in the face, saw their lips move, really, he did. And he tried to get a sense off what they were trying to tell him. But all he heard were the last words his angel had said to him, and all he saw was Cas' face disappearing around the corner.

*

Repeat offender. He knew what he was. But it took three weeks isolating himself in a cold and with the exception of a pallet and a small sink bare cell, plus the forever lasting court process, until he got the full grasp of what it would, actually mean to his life.

And it wasn't until the judge spoke the words out loud – repeat offender – that his body went ice-cold with the crime hanging above his head.

Jody had warned him. Long ago.

Wasn't this why he had stepped out in the first place?

Of course, he had meant to stop long before that, and it had only been the final factor, but it had been a final warning for a reason. Back then they had spared them.