Dean? -- SPN One-Shot

Dean?

Dean's death had been hard on everyone. He had sacrificed himself for his family - hell, for the world. And sure, it wasn't the first time he died, but it was the first time he didn't come back.

His body had disappeared. They had left him alone in one of the bunker's many spare rooms, the door locked from the outside. It gave them hope that he might've lived, a lingering trace of sulfur making them believe that Crowley might have had a part to play in it. They waited days, weeks, months for Dean to stroll through the bunker door with his signature grin as he cracked some dumb pop-culture reference or witty remark, beer in hand. As time continued to slip by, however, they forced themselves to face the truth.

Dean was gone.

Sam was understandably upset. He refused to believe that his brother was gone for good. They had brought each other back before, and he had been convinced he could do it again. He poured every ounce of his energy into spell books and online forums, contacting Rowena and many other witches, shamans, angels, healers, and crossroads demons; he talked to anyone who he thought could possibly give him a way back to his brother. After over seven months of research and failed spells, his energy was now gone. Sam had truly exhausted every possible resource and was utterly broken when a solution was proven to be impossible.

Now, he simply sat at the table, staring either at his laptop or at the two pairs of initials carved into the wood. He hardly slept; he hardly ate; the only thing he did nowadays was hunt. He took on job after job, sometimes being gone for even weeks at a time.

Throughout it all, Sam completely forgot about the one other person that Dean had called family; the only one who could've shared his pain, made him feel less alone.

Castiel felt like the world had ended. Sure, Dean had stopped Metatron, but to him? He didn't know what the difference would've been. Either way, his world was gone; life had lost its meaning. Cass had lost the one thing that he had always fought for, that he had rebelled against heaven for. The only person that had ever truly motivated him, cared for him, loved him.

If someone were to tell him about two years ago that the loss of a single human would crush him, would leave him lost and confused with no idea of what to do next, would destroy his hope and send him into numbness like this, he would've insisted it was impossible.

And yet, here he was.

The death of Dean truly had impacted Castiel much harder than the angel could've ever expected. He spent his days aimlessly, his mind always wandering back to candy apple green eyes and old, worn brown leather jackets. Dean's hearty laugh followed the angel everywhere he went, like an inescapable ringing in his ears, taunting him and reminding him of what he lost. He would catch himself staring at photographs, at the Impala, or at the initials carved into the wooden table, his chest aching and growing heavier with each glance. The butterflies that used to fill his lungs at the sight of the hunter had been replaced with spiders, the once welcome warming feeling becoming poisonous overtime. The faint blush that used to coat his cheeks grew uncomfortably hot, a physical reminder of the time that he would never get to spend with Dean. He found himself unable to even speak his name, to audibly admit what had happened; every time he tried, his throat would close up as if something was lodged in his windpipe, causing him to use all of his willpower to not start gasping for breath mid-sentence.

Castiel felt like he couldn't function without the late hunter by his side.

What was worse, perhaps, was the disconnection from the bond that he and Dean had possessed. Before, Cass could've tuned in to the mind of Dean Winchester whenever he wanted. He could hear his thoughts, catch glimpses of what the hunter was seeing, know his precise location, and feel every emotion that Dean felt. It was unique, it was intimate, but more than anything, it was a comfort to the angel. It assured him that Dean hadn't died on a hunt or been taken somewhere inaccessible— a threat much too real in the Winchesters' line of work.