Supernatural Preferences & Imagines

DESTIEL - SPOILER

KILL ME

Dean sat in his room, nursing a bottle of jack and a broken heart that he couldn't mend, not for a very long time.

But he didn't want to wait for it to heal, he wanted to get over it. Though that was next to impossible, so he settled for drinking his sorrows away until the next morning.

His eyes found his reflections in his sink mirror, eyes rimmed red and dull. All the life was gone, and a faint buzzing sounded in his ears. Dean scratched at his head, feeling his eyes burn.

"Dean?"

Sam knocked on his door, concern obvious in his voice. "Can I come in?" Dean just kept staring at his reflection, a silent tear trailing down his face.

"Go away."

His voice didn't even sound like him, it sounded like the voice of a man who had nothing to live for: like a man who lost everything.

Sam didn't bother him anymore.

Dean had been in his room for weeks now, bottles of alcohol almost everywhere. His heart hurt, and the buzzing wouldn't go away. How he wanted his heart to stop aching and the buzzing to stop.

In his hand sat his lighter. It was open, and Dean stared at his alcohol.

No.

Not today.

Another week passed when Dean started to go insane. Cooping himself up was not the solution, and all that alcohol was no help either.

"Stop it," he slurred, holding his head, the buzzing in his ears louder. "stop it!" His drunk self stumbled over to the sink in his room, staring at the mess he had become.

A growing beard and pale and sickly features. His eyes were constantly red and his cheeks were losing their rosy color. Dean stared for a second too long.

Just a second. too. long.

His fist swung at the mirror, breaking the glass. His throats was hoarse, but he let out his wails of pain and anguish: his shouts of protest and denial, his shallow screams of grievance.

He could've done something. If he had just...if he had just...

Dean slid down to the floor, hands balled up and bleeding with glass in them. His body hiccuped with sobs and his heart clenched in never ending pain.

He caused this, it was all his fault. It always was.

Dean put his hands to his ears, crying aloud. It almost sounded like Castiel back when he tried speaking to him after raising him from perdition.

But he was dead.

Castiel was gone and he would never heard the high frequency enochian or the deep voice of him. Gone is the man who fell for humanity. Gone is the man who fought for humanity. Gone is the man who rebelled. Gone is the angel who fell for the righteous man.

Dean pulled at his hair, gun in his hand as he paced his room. The buzzing was hurting his ears now, and it was hard to ignore anymore. He couldn't do it anymore.

"My fault, my fault," he mumbled, putting the gun to his head and dropping it with a heavy sigh. He kept pacing, one hand on his head and the other holding his go to gun.

"Dean!"

Dean stared up and saw Sam standing in his now open doorway. Without hesitation, he lifted the gun and pointed it at Sam, his eyes broken with despair.

"Don't come closer."

Sam raised his hands, staying still. "Dean, please put the gun down." He pleaded, his voice cracking.

"I lost Cas, too, don't make me lose you."

Dean just closed his eyes and moved the gun from Sam back to him, looking the best he had in his drunk stupor of a few weeks. "Everything is so unfair," he said slowly, eyes opening back up to see Sam closer. "Why us, Sammy?"

His voice broke. "Why us?" Dean's cheeks began getting stained with tears.

"I wish circumstances were different, Sammy."

Sam widened his eyes, reaching out with a cry of sadness.

But the trigger was already pulled.

And the heartache and buzzing stopped.

of course dean would never but I just had to. ALSO FUCK THOSE GODDAMN WRITERS I WILL BURN THEM ALIVE BECAUSE NOW THERE IS THINGS OF CASTIELS FIRSTS WORDS ON THE SHOW AND HIS LAST, AND IM SO NOT OKAY WITH THAT.

THEY BETTER BRING HIM BACK OR IM RIOTING IM SO FUCKING DONE OKAY NOW I WILL GO BECAUSE IM CRYING