Description: When Cas loses faith, Dean understands. He knows a thing or two about crappy fathers.
"You son of a bitch."
Dean looked up from the bag he was packing and saw Castiel staring upward, his back to the brothers. Sam glanced up worriedly.
"I believed in -" Cas continued, then stopped, turning to face Dean and Sam's alarmed stares. The look in the angel's blue-gray eyes, always so clouded, was so heartrendingly broken, so lost. Castiel's faith had truly been tested this time, and it had been too much. Much too much.
Fuck, Dean saw the hopelessness in him. He saw the set of his shoulders soften, no longer pressing strong and firm against the weight he carried there but succumbing to the pressure. Dean saw his chin lower a fraction of an inch, no longer turned to something higher than himself but accepting the limits of ceilings and roofs and skies and no longer painting divinity onto them. He saw the belief that had kept Cas going melt away from him, replaced only with a stone-hard acceptance. The angel placed an object in Dean's hands.
"I won't be needing this." He said, voice dark, deep, rough, cracking at the edges and crumbling. Dean watched his best friend turn slowly and knew he was about to leave. He'd disappear in a flurry of invisible wing feathers and a melancholy gust of wind that swept away with it a part of Dean every time Cas left, leaving him a little bit emptier.
Dean grabbed ahold of the trench coat. He wasn't going to let him fly off, no, because he knew just how damn much it hurt not to believe in anything. He spun Cas around and placed a hand firmly on either side of his face, letting him know that he didn't intend to leave the angel alone.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Cas, I'm so fucking sorry." His voice cracked on the last word and he kept repeating it as he pressed Castiel to him, his face in the crook of Dean's neck and Dean's arms around the angel. Cas stood there, letting Dean hold him, perfectly still, as silent tears leaked from Castiel's eyes.
