Fragile

Fragile XIV

"Gabriel's dead."

The words sounded empty. Hollow. As if Castiel had repeated them so many times already that the pain was no longer associated with it- that he no longer associated with it.

His eyes, on the hand, told a different story.

They were a murky blue, reminding me of fog on an early morning, almost as if to say that even though his body was here his mind wasn't, and I wasn't sure whether it was from the alcohol I could smell on his breath or something else. All I knew was that his usual crystal blue eyes seemed duller now.

Lifeless.

It was a look that terrified me. A look that I had seen one too many times in my life. John got that same look in his eyes when my mother died. As if the light in his eyes had burned out. Sam had gotten it too only it didn't last as long as John's did, because Sam had other ways of coping- other ways of distracting himself. John drank, Sam threw himself into school, and I found peace with a razor blade. The only problem with distractions was that they were just that: distractions. They only worked until you stopped using them.

And I was starting to think Castiel was realizing that now.

I sighed, dropping the last bottle of whiskey into the nearly full trash bag. I counted eight bottles, but that wasn't counting the crushed up beer cans I cleaned in the hallway that lead to his room, or the ones I found through his open bedroom door scattered across the floor. These had to have been at least a couple of days worth, but it was hard to tell. Castiel never drank around me and I wasn't sure if it was out of respect for my addiction or because he simply didn't drink. Either way, this was starting to give me deja vu and I was getting worried.

Would this be the thing that breaks him?

My eyes flickered towards him, his eyes staring at the blank screen of the television in front of him. It was like he wasn't even here. He didn't even seem to realize that I was in the room with him or that he had been sitting here on his couch for the past thirty minutes in silence while I cleaned. It was like I had said earlier, he was here physically but mentally?

"Talk to me, Cas," I said softly, using the nickname I had heard Sammy use for him. I set the trash bag on the floor before I took a seat next to him, my knee just barely touching his. He twitched, his hollow eyes flickering towards me for a second before they landed back down on the object in front of him.

"I keep calling him," Castiel admitted quietly, elbows placed on his knees as he stared down at his phone on the coffee table in front of him. His voice shook, as if just talking was painful enough, but a a part of me was glad to see some sort of emotion emitting from him. "I don't know why. I guess I'm hoping that he'll answer," he continued when I said nothing, "like he'll tell me this was all some big joke, that he only wanted to teach me a lesson in privacy. Gabe always liked to pull pranks like that. Did I tell you that? One time he said he needed a ride to AA and when I went to pick him up, he was out at the bar drinking." He smiled softly at the memory, "He got in huge trouble for that one."

"I wish I could've seen that."

"I do too," he murmured, reaching for the bottle of beer sitting beside his phone and taking a long drink from it. "But I guess this is too far for it to be a prank huh? I mean, gods, I had to ID the body." He chuckled bitterly, running a hand through his dark messy hair. "You know how traumatizing it is to see your brother's cold dead body? To have them pull back a sheet and barely even be able to recognize him yourself? It's fucking brutal, Dean. It took me hours before I could coherently tell the police it was him." He took another drink. "You know, I should've prepared for this. I knew this day would come and yet..."

"You had hope," I interjected, placing a hand on his knee, "there's nothing wrong with hoping, Castiel."

"It is when its a lost cause," he muttered bitterly, voice going quiet again. He sighed. "You know...I always told myself that I'd be able to handle this. That it wouldn't hit me as hard. I mean, I took a couple of psychology courses in college. I know all the stages of grief. I know the warning signs you're supposed to look for in a person yet here I am, drinking my troubles away like I hadn't known this day was going to come."

"Just because you know what to expect, doesn't make it any easier. It's okay to mourn him, Cas." He stared down at the bottle in his hands.

"You wanna know how he died?" he mumbled, peeking up at me from under his lashes, "This. This bottle. This is what got him killed. He was drunk, got fucked up at some bar I never heard of and got his car keys taken away, which normally would've been a good thing, but not that night. " He chuckled bitterly. "He was on his way walking home, so liquored up that he didn't even notice the light turning from red to green as he started to cross the street. He...he didn't see the car coming." He smacked his hands together, dropping the bottle on the floor before letting his hands back down to his sides. "I got the call about a week ago."

A little after our fight, I thought, frowning.

His eyes caught the look on my face. "I didn't want to bother you," he mumbled, dropping his gaze, "It seemed kind of wrong after...everything I said," his voice got quiet.

"You know I would've came."

"I know," he said softly and I sighed, daring to drop my head on his shoulder. "That's the problem."

"What do you mean?"

He took in a shuddering breath. "Dean, I can't handle losing another person."

"You won't."

He chuckled bitterly. "It's only a matter of time."

"I'm not leaving you."

"Dean-"

"I'm not leaving you," I repeated firmly and he choked, tears dropping on top of my head as he leaned his head against mine. His hand grabbed a hold of mine, nails digging into my skin as more tears fell.

"Please don't leave me," he gasped out, "I don't think I could take it. Everything- Gods, everything hurts so much," he whispered and my heart clenched at the agony in his words, tears of my own springing in my eyes as I remembered exactly how that pain felt. It was a hollow feeling. One that made your chest ache and your bones hurt. "What am I supposed to do without him?" He choked out and I squeezed my eyes shut, turning so I could wrap him up in my arms.

I let him cry into my chest for the rest of the night. I let his tears stain my clothes as he clutched onto me for dear life, because this is what Castiel needed. He needed someone to comfort him. Someone to hold him. Someone to remind him why he had to push passed this pain. I knew that there weren't any words that I could say right now to make the pain any more bearable. But I could be there for him. I could hold his hand and wipe his tears and I could show him that there was still hope left. That his brother's death wasn't because of his fight against his addiction, but rather his fight against the pain in his chest.

And that Castiel had to fight that pain too, lest he end up the same way.