Revelations

Remorse

Dedicated to the ones who still have hope in Destiel.

Cas,

I just couldn't do it, could I?

I couldn't tell you exactly how I feel because even I don't understand any of it.

Where the hell do we begin and end?

If you claim that this is the end of us, then why do I feel as if it is also the end of my life too? I've been trying to tell you over and over again how broken we are apart from each other.

I'm not angry at you anymore because of mom. I'm angry at her because she actually predicted that I would eventually push you away. She always believed that I would lose the one person I learned to love the most. She always told me that when she fell for my father, it wasn't easy because he saved her when she didn't need to be saved. And that's what you did.

I'm sitting here in the bunker and Sammy is so angry at me, we haven't been talking really. We talk about cases but apart from that, he wants me to call you here. And I can't call you because then I will have to talk to you and tell you how I feel and that I'm sorry. And if I start to tell you those things, I will break down and when I cry, I feel so weak.

But I want to tell you something in person.

It will either bring you back for good or force you to walk away again.

Can you come to me tonight on the roof of the bunker like old times?

If you don't come then I will find you.

Your broken hunter,

Dean

His footsteps padded across the floor as he approached his brother's form near the table. Sam was trying evidently to ignore his brother's pettiness by pacing the bunker hours at most. Now, as he slowly felt a pat on his shoulder, the younger Winchester glanced up.

"What?" he asked in a tone laced with disappointment still.

Dean sighed. He held out a folded sheet of paper. Those green eyes were brimming with tears. His cheeks were wet. "Here," he croaked. "You told me that you want me to fix this. So can you give this to him?"

"No," Sam said gruffly, folding over his laptop once more and glaring at the screen. "I'm not giving him that. You do it. You messed up bad this time. And I'm not getting in between the two of you because there are a few truths that need to come to light. And I'm just fed up with you right now, Dean."

He wanted to feel something other than sadness. Perhaps anger would have sufficed. But in that moment, all Dean experienced was his heart literally being ripped to shreds. He felt so awfully sick to a point where the flu was considered. But he didn't have the flu. Dean was fully aware of what he was experiencing.

Inhaling deeply, he simply rested the folded bit of paper next to Sam. Eyes squeezed shut as tears threatened to burst forth, Dean did the one thing that had been breaking him for days since. He thought of that one simple name that meant the world to him, and he said it.

Barely a whisper at first, but enough to capture Sam's attention. But then he said it again, hoarsely and terribly. Even his brother was on the verge of tears by the time Dean had expelled his energy and no one appeared.

"See?" he croaked, staring in bewilderment at Sam through the haze of his tears. "He doesn't want me because no one ever does. I'm not worth it."

"Dean," Sam began to say in a softer tone, realizing his brother was on the brink of self-destruction. "Come on—"

"No Sammy," he whispered, reaching up to bat tears away. "I screwed up. He's not coming back."

And slowly and painfully, Dean retreated from the room. When he was gone though, not barely two minutes after, Sam suddenly turned a scowl in the direction of the bookshelf immediately in front of him.

"Cas," he whispered frantically. "You can show yourself now. I know you're there."

Slowly, the angel's form materialized. Skin paler than usual. The light in his blue eyes had faded to a flat color. And worst of all, he was still crying softly as he crumpled to the floor, unable to bear the burden he had been carrying for years.

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