Destined In Darkness- Endverse!Destiel

Chapter One: What it Feels Like to Lose it All

Dean found out very quickly that he should have said yes to Michael. His sweat dripped down his nose as he placed his palms on the balls of his knees, breathing heavily. He looked in all directions around him, cautious of any croats that could be lingering in the shadows. There is a lone abandoned log cabin to his right, the windows broken and the screen door creaking as the wind opened and closed it.  There was a soft russell in the bushes to his left, so he quickly took a deep breath and began running again, silently cursing himself for not taking that opportunity to take a drink of water.
Dean wanted to get to Detroit by nightfall, however, it became increasingly more evident that that goal wasn't going to become reality. Telling by how his boots felt heavi  er with every step he took, and the fact that he hadn't slept very much since the Croatoan virus began to spread about a week ago, most people getting compromised almost immediately. His eyes burned, so he began to blink constantly, trying to keep them from closing for too long, in fear that he would fall asleep standing up if he did. His heart ached for a bed, even one that was in one of the crappy hotel rooms that Sam and him thought they had to endure before the apocalypse. He missed the springy beds with pillows that were too soft, or as hard as concrete. These all seemed like stupid things to get frustrated at now that the world has turned to hell. His exhaustion led him to think about the beginning of the end.  The first day, all Dean did was beat himself up for telling Sam to stay away, for if he and Sam were together to begin with, Dean wouldn't have to worry about getting to Detroit in time to stop him from saying yes to Lucifer. They should have assumed it would end this way, one way or another it would always come to this. According to Zachariah, they were both destined to say yes, however, Dean never did. That in turn caused Dean to wholeheartedly blame himself for armageddon. 
His heavy footsteps were heard as he passed a sign saying that Detroit was 53 Miles away. He took a quick break, peering through the windows of various cars, looking for anything that could help him along his way to find Sam and or Cas, however, he ultimately found nothing. Cas had been MIA since the end had begun. Leaving Dean completely in the dark. Regardless, Dean still prayed to Cas.
"Come on Cas, don't be a dick. I've been praying to you for days. Where the hell are you?" His voice was desperate and dry. He coughed roughly into his long sleeve, his vocal cords rubbing painfully against each other. He grabbed his water bottle out of his backpack and took a quick swig, careful not to drink too much in order to leave enough for the rest of the journey to Detroit. He looked around him for any sign of Cas, seeing none, as he had expected, he simply put the water back in his pack and continued running. All of the running he had been doing gave him plenty of time to think about all the things that he did wrong, the biggest one was not agreeing to Michael.
Dean finally decided to stop for the night when he reached 14 miles outside of Detroit, deciding that he would be able to make it by midday tomorrow if he started early enough. Dean made sure he was safe enough from any roaming croats that would lead a herd to him and set up a one-man tent, silently cursing himself for being unable to do it without any instructions. His mouth burned as he kept it clamped around the flashlight and turned his head to look back at the pictured directions, mumbling sarcastic comments to himself as well, which only made his cheeks burn more. After the agonizing twenty minutes it took him to get it fully set up, he climbed inside and dug into his pocket, pulling out a picture of him and Sam laughing. He smirked sadly at it, attempting to smudge off the dirt that had accumulated on it. He tucked the photo under his jacket that he used as a pillow and laid on his back feeling as a lone tear fell down the side of his face, tickling the base of his ear as he instinctively wiped it away, closing his eyes. It was at this moment that he took a silent mental note that the crickets had officially gone quiet. Just like all other animals. The world was silent now, this led to more thoughts.
"I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm so, so sorry." He mumbled, before letting a light sleep take over him for about an hour and a half before the sun rose. When he exited his tent, the sky was a beautiful combination of pink and orange. A beautiful sight that Dean felt he didn't deserve to look at, so instead he focused on taking down his tent and slapping away the bugs that were nipping at his skin.  Once he successfully took down the tent, he sloppily folded it up and shoved it back into the small bag that held it and put it inside his backpack, taking yet another small sip of water. By now the sky was beginning to lose the vibrant pink and orange. Turning more and more dull. Only now did Dean allow himself to look at the sky. This, this is the sky that he deserved to look at. Dull and colorless. He then started on the 14-mile journey ahead of him. However, before he left he softly patted his pocket to assure himself the picture of him and Sam was still tucked inside his jeans where he placed it immediately after he woke up.
Halfway to Detroit, Dean heard a familiar yell behind him, which made him stop dead in his tracks. Dean looked behind him, his eyes wide and bloodshot as he spotted a little girl with black hair and blood leaking from her mouth, most likely from a recent victim she attacked. Her hair had knots in it, her eyes bloodshot with a crimson red invading the color that once inhabited her cornea. Dean only assumed that the original color was green, as were his eyes. He assumed that she couldn't have been older than seven, a nightgown falling to just below her knees. It was stained with dirt, blood, and what he could only assume was gasoline. She was only a couple hundred feet behind him.  Dean immediately began to sprint, dodging different obstacles, such as low-hanging branches, logs lying on the ground, and the half-eaten corpse of a doe. He quickly peered behind him and saw a large crowd of them chasing after him, there must have been around thirty of them, all of which quickly catching up. Curse words leaked out of his mouth loudly as he decided quickly that he had to ditch his backpack in order to run fast enough to get away. He quickly unclipped the buckle that was around his hips, then the one that was against his chest, and threw both heavy straps off his shoulders, hearing the deafening thud behind him as he picked up his pace. There went his lifeline. His water, tent, food, rain gear, and his flair gun. Luckily his flashlight was still stuck snuggly between his belt and his belt loop.
Before he knew it, the life-or-death sprit had him passing the "Welcome to Detroit" sign far before he expected to the night before. There were a handful of Croats still behind him as he continued to sprint towards the city, the little girl still being the one in front. He knew exactly where to go to hopefully find Sam. The streets were already cluttered with random objects and dead bodies. The buildings had many broken windows and doors, proof that the Croats were much stronger than they were when they were humans.
Dean quickly dipped into a thin alleyway, hiding behind a dumpster as the Croats all ran past the alley. Dean heaved, his chest burning with every breath, which Dean somehow found a way to be thankful for. Due to the fact that his chest was burning, he knew he was still breathing, and that meant he was still alive. Any small ways he could be sure of his survival, the more thankful he was. The odor of sewage burned his nostrils as he attempted to take deep breaths. He leaned his head against the brick wall behind him, thinking longingly about the water bottle that was still a third full and was lying helplessly on the ground a couple of miles away. Dean almost let out a small sob as he dreamed about the freshwater that lingered inside, however, he decided to focus on the fact that he was officially in Detroit. Now it was just a matter of dodging the several hordes of Croats that roamed around in big cities such as Detroit and finding the building that Sam was supposed to be in.
Dean slowly brought himself into a crouching position and peered around the corner stealthily, looking at the street sign and immediately knowing that the building he was searching for was two blocks south of where he was currently. He took one last deep breath to steady his heart rate, and gave one last unconscious prayer to Castiel to come and help him. He seemed to be doing that more often the longer he goes without knowing how Cas is doing. Silently praying without realizing it. Dean quickly shook his shoulders in an attempt to loosen them as he got prepared to jog two blocks South, possibly needing to sprint if a group caught his scent.
Dean began to jog, hearing a crunch as the glass from nearby building windows were crushed between his heavy boots and the ground. Dean only prayed that the noise wasn't loud enough for any Croats to hear his presence. The building was now in view of Dean, his heart rate increasing, not due to the jogging, but rather because he was only hoping that Sam would be there, and if Sam was there, that he wasn't Lucifer yet and that he was still Sammy. The little brother that he was raised to protect, that's the whole reason why he sold his soul for Sam's life, it's the whole reason why he carried Sam out of their burning childhood home and held him tight as he began to fuss. That's the reason why he told Sam to keep his distance while this whole Lucifer Vs. Michael thing blew over.
Dean shook those thoughts from his head as he reached the entrance of the hotel. The door was broken, dirt covering the first couple of stairs. The wallpaper that ran along the staircase was torn and bullet holes penetrated it. Orange and yellow flowers were the print. At least, Dean assumed that's what it was supposed to be. The stairs were chipped, and the carpet running up and down them was folded in certain areas. The place appeared inhabitable.  For the virus having only spread about a week ago, the cities and towns looked like they had been abandoned for years, must be due to the fact that the croats are fast and strong. Along with being destructive.
"Sammy?" Dean whisper yelled, pulling his flashlight out that was still hooked in his belt loop. He slowly clicked it on, cringing slightly when the click echoed through the empty halls. He pointed it to his right, shining the light down the dim hallway that had pictures hanging on them. He then looked at the desk that was in front of the hallway, a bell in front of a computer. A computer that was now useless. He stealthily creeped toward the desk, pulling out a hunting knife that John had given him for his eleventh birthday. Made out of silver, perfect for slicing and stabbing monsters that were silver intolerant. Dean's name was engraved into the silver, a dull shine of the flashlight making it easier to see the faded words.
Dean slowly points his flashlight behind the desk, letting out a sigh of relief when there were no croats nor demons. He slowly lifted the part of the desk that led down the hallway, stopping abruptly as the hinges on the hatch creaked eerily. He finally got it open, stepping behind the desk, opening each drawer looking for anything to eat or drink. Thankful when he found a small can of Pepsi. He knew that the Pepsi would ultimately dehydrate him more, but all he could focus on was the fact that it could get rid of the burning that lingered in his throat. His lungs feeling weak. He opened it as the crack echoed, however this time he didn't cringe. He knew that if there were any monsters here, they would have already come to the creaking of the hatch.
After quickly finishing off the Pepsi, Dean wiped his flannel over his mouth. The Soda was flat, which disappointed Dean, but he semi expected it being that it looked like the desk had been shaken beyond oblivion. Things were tipped over on top of the desk, the panic button on the side of it had the cover off, Dean could only assume that the receptionist uncovered it and pressed it. He muttered a silent "Sorry." To the receptionist for causing all of this. He just hoped that whoever it was was either still alive or died a quick and painless death.
It was comical to Dean how far he had come. He started out saving people, hunting things, the family business. Now he caused armageddon, the apocalypse. Everyone could be dead for all Dean knew. The receptionist could be dead, Sam could be dead, Cas could be- Dean shook the thought from his head, continuing on down the thin hallway. There were family portraits on both sides of the hall, pictures littered all throughout. Dean looked at the pictures, sorrow running through his bones. He never had anywhere to hang up a family photo, being that he basically grew up in shitty hotel rooms. But that wasn't the worst part. He didn't have a family photo to hang. The same awful wall paper that was on the wall next to the stairs was consistent down the hallway as well. At the end of the hall, Dean came across the first door. It was closed, he was half hoping that when he opened it, Sam would be there with Cas. Both of them perfectly fine without a scratch on them. But then the possibility of finding Sam as a croat, or worse, as Lucifer lingered in his head. He brought his shaky right hand to the door handle. His left hand had the knife, pointed toward whoever could be inside. He slowly turned the door handle, pushing it open.
It's safe to say, the very thing that Dean never expected to find behind that closed door was a chapel. An empty chapel. The stained glass windows sent a variety of colors throughout the room, Dean quickly diverted his eyes. The colors weren't dull enough for Dean to be worthy of seeing them. There was a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the sun reflecting on it. The candles were burned out, an obvious sign that when the world went to shit they were still lit. Whoever was still here was still faithful to God. Dean quickly looked at the statue of Jesus hanging on a cross behind the altar. Dean felt his knees buckle slightly, he fought off the intense feeling of guilt. That should be him. He should be hanging by each limb for his sins. For not saying yes to Michael. For letting Sam down. For putting Cas through hell and back, literally. For not hugging Bobby enough. He should be hanging, however in a way, he was. He was hanging himself by a thread for each mistake he made. Each person he couldn't save. A tear ran down his cheek, tearing his eyes away from the statue. He brought his sleeve to his eye, wiping harshly at it. However, he knew that no matter how hard he wiped at his eyes, the stain of his tears would forever be imprinted on his cheeks.
His feet felt stuck. He kept his gaze on his old boots. The brown canceling out some of the vibrant blues and yellows that the stain glass reflected. Dean slowly fell to his knees, his eyes twitching with the urge to release all of the pent up anger he had toward himself. He fought against the urge, for he deserved the anger, and he wouldn't allow himself to feel the peace that crying would bring him. He slowly placed the palms of his shaky hands on the red carpet that ran down the middle aisle. The feeling of the carpet was scratchy, like what he assumed a cat tower would feel like after a cat had abused it for years with its jagged claws. He opened his mouth, wanting to pray to Castiel again, however all that came out was a strained sob. That was the last straw. Dean had fought it to the best of his ability, however, it wasn't enough. Correction, he wasn't enough.
Dean let out loud helpless sobs. His skin crawled with each tear that stained his cheeks. He tucked his head between his arms that were still plastered to the carpet. His chest felt heavy and he brought his right hand to his heart as he desperately clawed at the fabric covering his chest. His layers now feeling like a curse as his body temperature increased drastically from the heaving he was doing. His eyes burned, so he kept them closed, but the burning wasn't the main reason. It was also the fact that he didn't want to see the colors any more. Because if Sam couldn't see them, why should he be able to. He coughed roughly as he scratched at his chest, the necklace that Sam had given him one Christmas when they were kids resting against his forehead. His body felt as if it were rejecting itself, regretting its very existence. Dean felt a sense of clarity by that feeling. For at least now his physical body was agreeing with his mind. His left hand found its way to his hair while his forearm was still resting against the carpet, keeping him in a sloppy version of the child's pose. He pulled harshly at his hair, wanting to crawl outside of himself. He let out a muffled groan, not wanting to be too loud, for he hadn't completely searched the place yet, and he had no idea if Croats were lingering around.
Once his head began to pound with self-hatred and desperation, he brought his hands to his ears, wanting to block out the sound of his own crying. His own breathing. Oh, the urge he had to stop the sound of his breathing. The burning of his breathing. His lungs were clearly influenced by his brain as his coughs became more desperate and his eyes were shut permanently. What he never expected in his time of complete and utter self hatred was to feel a hand on his shoulder. Not a croat hand, but a soft and gentle one. A familiar one.