Destiel One-Shots

Wait, My Love. Please, Wait for Me

Angst, self-hate, suicidal actions, mentions of alcohol usage, swearing, minor self-harm, happy ending

It's after Cas leaves in season 15 but Dean follows him to make sure he's ok even though he's mad

Castiel sat at some local bar he had found, a half-drunk bottle in front of him.

He had promised Dean that he would never go to a bar without him, Sam or both but after recent events, the angel doubted that he cared.

For the last three hours, he had been drinking, the remnants of his grace not allowing him to fall into the depths of drunkness quite yet.

He had run out of money and wasn't going to disturb the rest of the people of the bar so he went out, and found an empty alleyway for himself.

It had been quite sometime since he had been on his own. Even when he wasn't with the Winchesters, he would always return to them. To Dean.

The memory of the hunter telling him he couldn't stay after the fall of the angels played over his mind, causing his throat tightened.

He just wanted to sit down, so then he could at least try to process everything that had happened.

There was a pile of small crates standing against the wall. The angel walked over to the tower and took one from the top, setting it down next to the rest and sat down.

Voices came carrying words of hurt and blame, all of which he knew he deserved.

You failed him.

You failed everyone

There's no point.

There never has been.

You're dead to him now.

Like you ever meant anything to him

Dead, useless, fallen angel.

They came one after another, some repeating through his mind, some of them in Dean's voice.

He shunned him.

He hated him.

And the worst part was that Castiel should have known this.

He always fucked up everything the Winchesters planned. It was alway him who made new problems.

He didn't deserve everything they had given him.

He never found a place in his own family and now he would never find one.

How was he supposed to make this right?

He could barely stand anymore, how was he going to make this up to anyone?

He knew the droplets that trickled down his cheek were not of blood from his vessel or the new rain forming above him.

They were indeed from his eyes. Eyes that had gazed upon forest green ones far longer than they should have. The same eyes that now haunted him.

He was crying. And it hurt.

He sniffled and quietly sobbed, leaning over with his head in his hands.

The angel never meant this to happen. For so many to die, for Dean to hate him with every ounce of his being, for God himself to be against them.

You have failed to protect the Winchesters.

They have paid for your mistakes more than you have made them.