Schizo||Destiel||#Wattys2017||

Year 11: Christmas In a Gloom Setting

Castiel stared at the stars in his ceiling. His heart was racing. He didn't know what he really was doing. All he knew is that he didn't want to move. Everyone was out of the house, Cas was all alone, and he really just wanted to crawl into a hole and die. The last time he felt like this was the dance, when he finally stood up for himself. When he finally said he had had enough with the constant hate and pain that was being sent his way. Castiel was almost over his depression. Cas was almost free. He wanted to feel happy again. He was. He really was, until he wasn't. It wasn't fair. He just wanted, no—needed to be happy.

Castiel bit his lip, staring at Dean. "You aren't making any sense, Dean."

"How do you not see it? It's right there!" Castiel could tell that Dean was tearing up now. His lip quivered as he stared at the so called black mass behind Castiel's shoulder. "Look behind you, Cassie! How can't you see him?"

"See who?" Dean looked at Castiel with the most devastated eyes. Cas could almost feel his pain. This was something that meant a lot to Dean. He actually saw someone behind Castiel. He could actually imagine something that vivid, that his brain tricked itself into thinking it was real. Dean was afraid of what Castiel was saying, and what was behind him, but Castiel was afraid that Dean had gone mad. His heart almost shattered beyond prepare. It was almost incinerated.

"My... My dad, Cas."

Castiel didn't think about what he was about to say next. He didn't think about what it could possibly do. "Dean, your dad is dead."

The level of hurt on Dean's face stabbed through Castiel's chest and pierced through the rubble that he would call a heart, now. "Y-you... You don't believe me," he whispered. He narrowed his eyes, biting his lip extremely hard. He looked down, a tear dripping from his eyelids. A single tear. That was was the worst feeling in the world. Castiel made Dean cry. That was the opposite of what he was supposed to do. That was the opposite of what he was supposed to be.

"Dean—"

"Don't, Cas. I just.. Just leave me alone, right now."

"O-okay," Castiel whispered, sitting down. "I'm sorry."

That right now has lasted two weeks, and Dean hasn't been at his home for one of them. Dean, a week ago, was diagnosed with a mental illness. Castiel never wanted to learn the name of it, but the word stuck to his brain and sunk in like a penny in the ocean. That awful word that may have torn them apart.

Schizophrenia

schiz·o·phre·ni·a

ˌ/skitsəˈfrēnēə,ˌskitsəˈfrenēə/

noun

a long-term mental disorder of a type involving a breakdown in the relation between thought, emotion, and behavior, leading to faulty perception, inappropriate actions and feelings, withdrawal from reality and personal relationships into fantasy and delusion, and a sense of mental fragmentation.

Castiel hadn't listened. He hadn't thought of Dean. He hadn't thought of what might be.

And now Castiel blamed himself, for not caring enough.

This was probably the worst day of his life.

Mark the date. December 24th, 1994.

That was the day Castiel realized his stupid mistakes, but, as a result, made an even bigger one.

It took time to come to the decision. He has always had the thoughts, but never the guts. A light snow covered the ground by the time 9PM rolled around. His family was supposed to be back at around 11, and Castiel almost wanted to waste time. He held his breath, turning the television off when the clock struck 9:45. Castiel couldn't even fathom what he was doing. It all happened so fast. It was almost instinct.