Part of Me [Destiel]

Dean had counted.

Ten minutes.

Ten minutes since Sam had gone out on his jog. Generally, Sam jogged for half an hour. Which meant Dean had twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to let himself see how much he was hurting. He grabbed the keys to the Impala and opened the motel room, taking in the burst of fresh air. He left the door open, only going to take a few seconds. Jiggling the keys in one hand, he placed the other on the trunk.

With a heavy breath, he unlocked the trunk and pulled out Cas’ trenchcoat. He stared down at it before he tucked it under his arm and closed the trunk, shoving the keys into the pocket of his own jacket. He made his way back into the motel room, locking the door. Shrugging off his jacket off, he tossed it onto the bed and unfolded the trenchcoat that was still covered in blood and still smelled of the lake it came out of. And even then, it still smelled like Cas. Dean inhaled sharply at the memories that came rushing to him and began to put the trenchcoat on.

He’d done this maybe a hundred times. Every time Sam went out, he’d go get it from the trunk and he’d put it on. He would try to figure out what Cas was thinking as he went under. Trying to remember exactly how he felt when he knew there was nothing he could do. He let out a sob but quickly recovered, clearing his throat. He sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling it close to himself. He wouldn’t let Cas’ memory die. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to.

Dean knew that if Sam saw him doing this, he’d get some stupid pity look from his brother. He might even be told that he’s sick and needs help. But Dean Winchester doesn’t need help. Especially not from douchebags in white lab coats walking around like they know everything. Hell, they were luck they they didn’t know everything.

No. Dean Winchester, who had been fighting monsters for just about all his life, did not need help. Dean Winchester was not sick. No. Dean Winchester was just tired of losing people he loved and cared about. 

He ran a hand down his side, fingers taking in the texture of the trenchcoat, trying to imagine the angel wearing it, filling it with warmth. Taking a step forward, he moved to the mirror that was hanging on the wall adjacent to the door. He could only see up to his shoulders but that was all he needed to see. Obviously, this look didn’t suit him. This was more Cas’ style. Stupid, stupid Cas. Should have just left me Hell. You’d still be alive. You’d be a dick angel, but you’d be alive.

Swallowing thickly, Dean looked himself over. His eyes were beginning to look red — he’d blame that on alcohol — and his shoulders were shaky. His breathing became heavier and it felt as if the room was closing in on him. “I-I can’t do this anymore,” he mumbled to himself, getting out of the trenchcoat. He dropped it to the floor and stepped around it, hands running through his hair, pulling at it as he tried to steady his breathing, trying to get a hold on reality. 

He sunk onto the bed that had his own jacket and placed his head in his hands. He gently rocked back and forth, mumbling the words to Hey Jude to himself. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since Sam had left and that meant Sam could be back any minute. Which also meant Dean had to lock his shit up and put on that tough brother act before Sam got back and suspected anything more than what Dean had been letting on the past couple of days. 

Swallowing thickly, he got back on shaky legs and grabbed his jacket. He fished the keys out before tossing the jacket back on the bed. Next, he slowly walked over to the trenchcoat. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. You can do this Dean. C’mon buddy, it’s just a stupid trenchcoat. A stupid trenchcoat that some stupid angel should be wearing and—

Dean stopped himself there. He wasn’t going to let this get to him anymore. At least not today. He scooped up the trenchcoat and folded it up before he tucked it under his arm. 

Again, he opened the door and welcomed the burst of fresh air, though feeling dizzy this time. Too much air all at once. He stared at what looked like what could be a soda stain (but you never know with these kind of motel) as he steadied himself. He walked over to the Impala and opened the trunk, gently placing the trenchcoat out of sight. Taking a deep breath, he made his way back into the room.

Sam showed up five minutes later with food and Dean was on his second beer. “Is that all you’ve been doing since I left?” Sam asked, brows pulled together as he looked over at Dean who was laying on his bed, an arm behind his head. 

“‘Course not,” Dean countered with a grin. “Casa Erotic: Sinderella was on.” This earned him an eye-roll from his brother, causing Dean to relax a bit. Sam had bought it. 

“You should join me next time,” Sam said. “Running is good for you.”

“Yeah and so is porn. Thanks but no thanks, Sammy. I think I’ll pass.” 

Sam sighed and he walked over with the two bags, handing Dean one. The taller Winchester paused and his brow twitched, head tilting slightly. “Do you smell that?” He asked.

“Smell what?” Dean asked, taking the bag, sticking his hand in and pulling out some fries.

“It’s like… I dunno, it smells… swampy,” Sam replied with a light frown. Dean swallowed and up looked up at Sam.

“Does it? I don’t smell anything.” He shrugged, hoping Sam wouldn’t ask anymore questions. “C’mon, the game’s on,” he said, flipping the channel. Sam watched Dean for a moment longer before he moved to sit on the other bed, pulling out his salad.

Dean watched Sam for a moment, letting out a quiet sigh. He’d have to be more careful with the trenchcoat next time. Sam couldn’t find out. If he found out, he might take the trenchcoat away and Dean couldn’t have that.

He couldn’t have the angel so he was taking the next best thing.