Writing's on the Wall Destiel

Chapter 29

The first week  following Castiel's death was one of sorrow for Dean. When Bobby suggested giving Castiel a hunter's funeral, Dean had sent him a glare so deathly that it was never spoke of again. Instead, they buried him in the heart of the forest. Dean sat in his room all day, only coming out to get a beer, looking out the window. His eyes had become emotionless and he didn't seem to be able to hear anything. Nothing Bobby said and nothing Sam could do could make him come out and do something. Every time Sam tried to grab his arm and tug him away from the window, Dean wouldn't even bother to fight it, like he usually would. Once it got so bad that Sam had broken down in front of him and shouted at him to say something, say anything, but Dean's eyes would always be fixed outside the window, his lips sealed. Castiel was gone- nothing they could say or do could bring him back, so what was the point?

The second week brought a little improvement, but it was still enough to bring their hopes up. Dean finally came out of his room and ate meals with them, helped them on cases, but he still didn't talk. At night, his dreams were full of memories with Castiel. He'd wake up, expecting to see him, but was disappointed when he didn't. He'd cry himself back to sleep at around two in the morning.

On the third week, it suddenly became all too real for Dean. He saw Castiel everywhere. Out the window when he was driving the Impala, sometimes in the bathroom mirror, outside Bobby's house, in his room. Sometimes he swore that Castiel was right next to him, but when he reached out, he only grabbed empty air. Other times he fantasized that Castiel was alive- he had left his trench coat behind, but in reality, it was his own leather jacket. Unknown to him, Sam and Bobby grew more concerned for him every day and were contemplating options to help him get over his grief.

On the fourth week, Dean finally cracked. When Sam approached him with the usual request to say something, he snapped, "What do you want me to say? Huh? That we can bring him back? That life will just go back to normal? That Cas is dead? Sorry, Sam, but I don't know, okay?"

"Dean, it's been hard for all of us. But you have to let us help you."

"The hell you talking about? I don't need any help."

Sam gave him a bitchface powered up to fifty percent. "Don't think I can't see it. I hear you. You call out his name when you sleep. You grab the air and expect to feel him. Your hand goes to the handprint on your shoulder. And I know you're seeing him everywhere."

"Come on, Sam. How could you possibly know about that?"

"Because that's what happened with me when Jess died, Dean! In case you haven't noticed, I haven't really got over her yet."

"Bull. That was ten years ago."

"She died burning on the ceiling! How do you get over something like that?! If you know something, then tell me. I'm listening."

Dean stared at him a second before storming off to his room and slamming the door. He slammed his hands down on his desk, breathing heavily. His eyes went to his phone and a wave of longing washed over him. He turned it on and found that his wallpaper was of Castiel. Apparently he had taken it when Castiel smiled, but he didn't remember doing so. His eyes met blue ones that were in a picture. Suddenly angry, he threw the phone across the room, hearing it crack against the wall. Then he knocked over a lamp and swept everything off of his desk in a fit of anger and despair. He picked up a chair and dashed it to pieces. He stormed into the bathroom and punched the mirror, not feeling the pain as he delivered punch  after punch, shattering the mirror. He only stopped after seeing the flecks of scarlet along the broken ridges of the mirror, his gaze falling to his bleeding hand. Cursing silently, he washed the blood off and fished out the gauze, wrapping it tightly around his hand, sullenly he cleaned up the shards and threw them in the trash, walking out of the bathroom.

As he passed by his bed he saw something hanging out of his desk drawer. Gently he took hold of it and felt a soft cloth. He pulled it out slowly and realized he was holding the blue tie Castiel always wore, the one he loved seeing on him since he was wearing it the first time they met. Tears began anew as he broke down weeping, laying down on his bed and curling into a ball, clutching the tie close to his heart.

An hour later, Bobby knocked on the door. "Dean? It's me. Can I come in?"

Dean didn't answer. His eyes had zeroed in on a spot on his pillow. Bobby took that as his cue to come in. When he opened the door, he saw Dean curled up in the bed with Castiel's tie. One look around the room and at Dean's wrapped hand, he knew exactly what happened. "Dean, I'm sorry."

Dean looked at him with dull emotionless eyes. "Sorry ain't gonna bring him back."

"I know. I miss him too." Bobby sat down beside him, resting his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Look, boy, I didn't know him as well as you did, but he was like a son to me. And I know he wouldn't want to see you like this."

"I can't help it."

"Yes, you can, you idjit. If Cas was still here, what do you think he'd tell you to do if he saw you like this?"

"I don't know," mumbled Dean, but he knew. Castiel's voice was in his head. Dean, you need to get up. Remember what I told you. Don't grieve for me. Go eat something. Do something that takes your mind off of me for a while.

"I'm sure you don't," stated Bobby, not with sarcasm but with a tone that implied that he didn't believe him. "Don't sulk around in here, okay?"

He left the room, leaving Dean to his own thoughts. Bobby's words echoed around his mind. What would Castiel tell him to do? What would he say?

For the first time in weeks, Dean attempted to make himself look presentable. He took a shower and changed him clothes, shaving until there was only stubble on his chin.

When he went downstairs, Sam and Bobby stopped in their conversation. The younger Winchester stood up. "Hey, Dean."

He cut himself off in surprise as Dean reached him in two steps and wrapped him in a hug. Feeling a little awkward, he hugged his brother back. "Dean, you okay?"

Dean pulled away and reached for Bobby next, who already knew what was coming and enveloped him in an embrace.

When Dean pulled away, he looked them both in the eye. "Listen, these few weeks haven't been easy for me or for any of us. And I know I was acting like a selfish bastard, and I'm sorry. Can we...can we just put this behind us?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, of course. And it's okay. We don't blame you."

Bobby cleared his throat. "Nice to see you up and about, Dean."

The phone suddenly rang and they looked at each other. Dean was able to get some of his old humor back. "Don't look at me, I'm not answering that."

Rolling his eyes, Bobby went to the phone and picked up. "This is Agent Willis....Jody- er, Sheriff Mills?....Oh, really?.....What?! Where?...Okay, be there in a jiffy....sending the boys down....see ya."

He put down the phone and looked at the brothers. "There's a case. A murder."

Dean was on the alert. "Where?"

"Pontiac, Illinois."

The name made Dean stop short. Pontiac.....that was where he had dug himself out of his own grave after hell. Coincidence? "Bobby...,was it where I was buried?"

"Yeah. Murdered man's name is Logan White, right at your grave site. How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess."

"Are you sure, cuz I think there's more than that."

Dean didn't have an swear, but to pack his bag and don his suit, grabbing his FBI badge. "Let's get this show on the road."