Destiel One Shots

Can't think of a title so this one is just 'Gang'

BECAUSE I CANT UPDATE THIS IS AWKWARD FOR LIKE A WEEK SORRY

Dean sat at the scarred desk, it's old wood marked with scratches and deep gouges made by various knives. In fact, he had a knife in his own hand right now, twirling it moodily around with his fingers.

There was a quiet creak as the door opened and Cas stepped in, a solemn look on his face. "They got another one." Dean sat up straight, clutching the knife in his fist.

"Who?" Was all he said, but it was enough.

"Kevin." Dean stabbed the knife into the wood, creating yet another scar. He set both his hands on the desk on either side of the hilt.

"God damnit." He muttered quietly. Kevin was just a kid, a kid who had no business being in a gang in the first place. But he needed to be, for protection. The streets were rough and you wouldn't be around for long if you didn't have some people to back you up.

Dean had reluctantly let him join, not forcing him to do any dirty work. He had grown a soft spot for Kevin, which was a mistake. You should never let anyone soften you up. Out here, being soft wasn't an option. Dean had learned that the hard way, he has the scars to prove it.

"We're dropping like flies out there." Cas said urgently after a moment, "If we don't do something soon, everyone will be gone."

"You don't think I know that?!" Dean slammed his hands down, the move barely startling Cas, who had grown used to Dean's outbursts, "You act as if I'm just letting my men die! I hate this as much as you do!" He was face to face with Cas now, who wore an angry snarl on his face.

"I see, it's just your men now?" He growled.

"Well last time I checked, this isn't a democracy, Cas!" Dean threw his arms up, shouting directly at Cas' face.

"So I have no partake in the leadership now, huh? I'm just another one of your little pawns?"

"You know I didn't mean it like that."

"I'm finding that hard to believe, Dean. Because everyday, more and more, I begin to feel like a consolation prize to you! Like you don't even care anymore!"

"This isn't about us, Cas! This is abou-"

"Then how come every morning I wake up the sheets are always cold? Or you always seem to have to be somewhere after we're done? You're never there, Dean. I'm starting to feel like this whole thing is one-sided! Like I'm just a quick fuck to you now!"

"Cas..." Dean reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, but Cas swatted it away.

"No! I know we're both pretty fucked up. God, I know how hard it is for either of us to feel- but I have to know. Do you even still love me?" Cas' voice came down to barely a whisper when he said the last sentence. He stared, teary eyed and hurt at Dean as he waited for an answer.

He waited. But none came.

His eyes narrowed, and he turned to angrily storm out of the room. He looked back over his shoulder only once to say, "I want your stuff out of my apartment by Friday." Then he was gone.

Dean turned back around and stared at his desk, feeling tears burn at the back of his eyes. He angrily throws everything off of it, hoping to gain some satisfaction from the sound of glass shattering on the floor. There was none.

He stared blankly at the scarred wood of the desk, trying to soak in what had just happened.

The only person he'd ever loved had just walked out on him, and now he was alone.

Truly, and utterly, alone.