AU where Sam went through with the trials at the end of season 8, resulting in his death :( Dean's feelin' poopy about it, too.
Dean sat on his bed, beer in his hand. When he moves his legs, he knocked over week old day old, hour old other beer cans, bottles, fast food bags onto the already cluttered floor. He hadn't shaved in weeks, a small beard growing on his jaw and around his mouth. His hair was poorly taken care of as well, always tousled and messy.
Dean had barely taken care of himself since Sam was killed by the third trial. Dean could have stopped it - he knew he could - but it was too late. He had gotten there just in time to see Crowley saved and Sam lying on the floor, seizing up until his heart finally gave out.
Now, the gates of hell are closed forever, every demon on earth pulled back under, never to return to the surface again, but that didn't give any sense of relief to Dean whatsoever. All he knew was that his brother died to stop something that didn't bother half of the world.
Now and then, Dean would imagine life if he had just busted into the church three seconds earlier. He could have pulled Sam away from Crowley, nursed him back to health. Then they could keep going around, saving everyone they could just like the old days. Just as Dean would feel happy about having Sam back, he'd realize that Sam was dead for good, nothing able to bring him back. He can't summon a crossroads demon anymore because they're in the pit, any angel that was still alive had fallen due to Metatron, so he doubted anyone would be stoked to help the Winchester now. That's when he'd take a nice, long swig of whatever alcohol he had in his hand.
Dean had nobody left. Cas was god knows where, Bobby and Sam were dead. He had nothing to live for. Dean looked to his left at his pistol, picking it up with his free hand. But i'll tell you what I do know, Dean heard himself in the back of his head as he picked up the pistol, is that i'm going to die with a gun in my hand. He knew he meant something different by this when he said it, but now that he thought about it, suicide would mean the same thing. He took a swig of his beer, not taking his eyes off of the pistol. He set down the bottle as he popped out the bullet cartridge, checking for ammo. It was fully loaded. He slid the cartridge back in, puckering his lips as he cocked the gun, ready to aim and shoot. That's when he heard a bang on the door to the bunker. He froze, unaware if he'd heard it right, but after a few seconds, three more raps could be heard all the way from his room. He slid out of his bed, empty bottles and various trash items hitting the floor in sync, causing Dean's drunken ears to ring. He shook it off, making his way through the halls and to the library. He waited once more. More banging. He made his way up the stairs, pausing again right in front of the door. This time, along with the knocks, he could hear a faint, "Dean," through the iron door. Cas? Dean thought as he heard the raspy voice. He readied his gun, slowly unlocking the door and creaked it open.
To Dean's surprise, there was Castiel, mid-knock. "Cas," Dean breathed, dropping his gun.
"Dean," Cas' eyes widened as he took in Dean's appearance.
Tears flooded Dean's eyes as he swung the door wide open, pulling the former angel into a stinky hug. He couldn't remember the last time he applied deodorant.
Cas hugged Dean back, staying like that for a good ten seconds before pulling away, keeping his hands on Dean's shoulders. "Dean, you look awful." he stated, scanning the hunter's current shape before looking back up at his eyes.
Dean swallowed, looking down at himself. He then looked away, backing up to let Castiel in. "Where have you been lately?" he asked, trying to guide the discussion in a different direction.
Castiel sighed, entering the bunker, his foot accidentally kicking the pistol that lay on the floor. "Everywhere." he answered simply, looking back up at Dean as he shut the door. "I'm guessing you've been here all this time." he raised his eyebrows, challenging Dean.
Dean smiled small, bending over to pick up the gun. "That obvious, huh?" he had to admit, he was slightly embarrassed to have Cas see him this way. He lead them down the stairs, stopping at the table in the library. The last thing he wanted to show Castiel was his bedroom.
"Yes, it is." Cas wrinkled his nose at the stench Dean hauled around with him. "I take it you're not handling Sam's death very well."
Shivers shot through Dean's spine at the words, "Sam's death". He slammed the gun on the table, anger momentarily taking over him. It took him a second to regain his calmness.
"Sorry," Castiel said, sitting next to Dean. He looked into the hunter's sad, but beautiful, green eyes. "Why must the saddest eyes look the most beautiful?" Castiel quietly thought aloud. He hadn't meant to actually say it.
Dean just furrowed his eyebrows, looking back at Cas, who was now looking anywhere but at Dean's eyes. Beautiful, the word Castiel used to describe Dean's eyes raced through his head. He looked down, his cheeks flooding red.
"I'm sorry," Cas stammered. "I didn't mean to say - i'll just go now. I didn't mean to bother you." he stood up.
Dean grabbed his arm, pulling Castiel back down. He leaned forward. "Please," he whispered, "Stay,"
Castiel sat back down, grabbing Dean's hand. He nodded, looking into Dean's eyes once again. "Always,"
