Work Text:
Dean stared blindly into the distance without having the senses to think about anything, to hear anything or even feel anything. It was Bobbies dead all over again. Or even Charlie's.. Kevin's, Dad's, everyone's deaths all over again. He was slowly shutting himself down, trying to deny all the facts while staring right at the place where the ominous "rip" in the area appeared, where Lucifer disappeared into. Along with Mary. “No, not her. She is still at the house. She didn't go in there; why would she try to save our asses?” The house, where Kelly's lifeless body laid on the bed. And Sam was there, too. He was searching for the kid. For the Devil's son. The Nephilim. They searched for him for decades. Trying to avoid the worst. Cas searched for him and Kelly, to be more specific. Dean felt a sinister warmth growing right there in his stomach. In his heart. It was the awful pain in his heart that he felt when he tried to fight the urge to look down at Castiels body. His throat was being squeezed by an invisible darkness that was growing in his body and he couldn't breathe. Denial. Denial was all written over Dean's face when he clamped his fists into Casses silk and ever so soft fabric of his trench coat, right there by his chest. Right here where his beating heart was supposed to be beating against his chest. Dean's lip began to tremble ever so slightly when he shut his wet eyes, and tipped his head down without even glancing at Castiels face. The lump in his throat was getting worse and he couldn't ignore the awful heartache he had. It felt like walking in a burning corridor, endlessly long with pictures of his loved ones on the walls: turning into ash right in front of his eyes and being unable to die himself, but still being able to feel every bit of pain. Dean finally opened his eyes when he felt two strong hands on both his shoulders, and realised the unstoppable tears streaming down his cheeks. He noticed the heavy body, labelled as “Cas” being on his lap, his lifeless arms dangling on either side of his body, while Dean himself hugged him tightly, not daring to let him go. Everything went by in slow motion, and everything was on mute. The only thing was that the "mute" option was a bit broken, so Dean still was able to hear Sammy's silent begging, begging for Dean to leave this place.
‘Dean, PLEASE, we- we need to go’
Dean ignored it. He slowly let go of Cas, just to look at his face and instantly felt like screaming. He felt the sour lump in his throat, making his way upwards and Dean felt his body being torn apart. Or his soul. His heart. Everything. He was in a tornado, flying around and around the highest point possible, without completely flying away from the tornado itself. He couldn't stop it. Everything flew around him, he couldn't feel the atmosphere anymore and he felt dizzy almost instantly, sick and helpless. He could not take it. He couldn't see the bluest sea in Castiels eyes anymore because they were closed. He couldn't see the world anymore. He couldn't do anything to bring anyone back. He failed. He is dead. Everyone was dead. They won. Lucifer is gone. But Dean lost. He lost everything. He lost the man he loved. Another tear dripped down Dean's chin, right onto Castiels blue tie when he lifted his hand and wiped the hair from his closed eyes away and wandered with his hand over Castiels cheek, letting his fingertips rest against his cold skin, trying not to leave any angry nail mark on the beautiful skin.
‘Dean..’ Dean snapped back and looked up, not looking at Sam, but again, in front of him into the dark skyline. His eyes wet, but still sitting there motionless, now able to feel Sammy's hands against his shoulders.
‘We- we should give him a proper.. hunters-'
‘Don't you say it.’
Dean felt Sam's silent and nearly invisible flinch. Dean's voice was very deep. Deeper than usual and there was not the faintest hint of a tremble In his voice, but it was still filled with pain. With grief. With hurt, and anger and he still tried to hide all of it. But he didn't even care about it, at this point.
He let out a trembling sigh when he felt Sam's hand strengthen and grabbing Dean's shoulder more forcefully now, rather than comforting. Like he tried to hide his own emotions. Or to let Dean know that he was there. Right there, behind him. Or next to him, with him, in front of him, he was there for Dean.
‘..a proper hunter’s funeral. Cas deserves that.. Dean.’
So they did. It was precisely 23 minutes later when Castiel was placed on top of the wooden grave, Dean was holding the small lighter fiercely in his hands, holding it in front of the wooden grave. And it was precisely 17 minutes and 42 seconds after when the flames went up Castiels body. Both brothers stood there in silence. Dean heard Sam's silent trembling sigh, before asking Dean: ‘Do you want to say something?’ With a deep voice. Minutes went by again, and Dean couldn't tear his eyes from the burning body. His eyes were hurting like hell, like his heart and a very heavy weight fell onto his body. He was being squeezed and couldn't breath for a couple of seconds, until he closed his eyes, tried to concentrate on his breathing and whispered: ‘No.’
37 minutes went by and they were in the car. Dean didn't move. Sam took the keys from Dean's pockets. He let his hands slide in his brothers jacket, who still stared at the raging fire, before going to the car, unlocking it, walking back to Dean, who still stood there unmoved, took him by his shoulder and led him to the car. He opened the passenger's door for him, pushed him softly into the seat, even helped him sloppily with his seat belts, closed the door again and moved around the car before taking place in the driver's seat. He glanced at Dean who still stared in front of him, at the ghost of his past, or the last few hours, with everyone who he failed dancing around in front of his eyes and whispering in his ears. “You couldn't save us. You failed us. We saved you so many times and you let us all die. How could you, Dean? Why didn't you save us?”
Sam ignored his burning eyes and pushed the immense worry for his brother away, tore his gaze from Dean's pale dead eyes and started the car. With another deep, trembling sigh, he steered the car away from the awful scene. The whole way back to Kansas went by silently. And Dean was still staring right in front of him.
Dean didn't talk about it. He didn't want to talk about it. Days went by and some hunters came over to help Sam with repairing the damages of the bunker. And Dean just sat there, on the chair. He didn't eat. Didn't drink. Didn't say anything. But Sam was there. And he became the big brother, just like that.
‘Dean, please, you really should eat something.’
‘I'm not hungry.’
‘Not hu- Dean.. you didn't eat for days now! Let me buy you some pie. Please Dean, you look awful’
‘Sam. No.’
Sam didn't give up though. He ignored his racing heart and the pain he felt when looking at his broken brother, and the raging feeling he felt for days now. He took a deep breath, stared down at his brother and asked: ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
Dean snapped and looked up to his brother, with sudden anger In his eyes.
‘Talk about what, Sam?’
‘You know what..’
Dean stayed quiet, and everything began to darken around him again. He was being dragged into the burning hallway again.
‘Sam, please stop’
‘About mom.. about Cas? Anything?’
‘Why- why would I want to-’
‘Dean, PLEASE!'
The broken hunter pressed his fists fiercely against his eyes, gritting his teeth and feeling the pain and torture of the burning hallway again. And he was unable to die. He was always unable to die. He is living in torture and there was nothing to do about it. Sam needed to shut up.
‘Sam, I really don't-’ Dean gasped and his eyes began to sting with tears. Didn't dare to remove his hands from his red eyes.
‘I don't. Care. Just- just drop it.’
‘I won't.’ Dean heard Sam's heavy footsteps walking around him and instantly felt his heart rate fastening when his younger brother shoved another chair a bit back, and took place next to him.
‘Please Dean.. you are hurt. Let me help you, let me have your back. I can't go on like this if you are constantly hurting yourself like this, Dean.’ A tear Dean was unable to stop, dripped down Dean's cheek. Sam's voice was weak. He was becoming weak. He was tired. Of course he was tired. He didn't sleep. Dean knew that. Because every time when he couldn't sleep (he was never able to sleep after the incident with Cas) he left his room to get some air, or even do some things he might regret and he sees Sam seated in front of his bedroom door. His eyes looking tiredly into Deans, asking him why he woke up. Dean only managed to get some sleeping pills into Sam's drink and that was the only time when Sam slept peacefully.
‘Dean…’
Dean didn't answer back. He removed his hands from his tired eyes, stood up, didn't even glance back at Sam who flew from his chair, looking worriedly at Dean when he wobbled slowly out of the room.
“You are hurting him like how you hurt us,” Dean heard again. “You are an awful brother. An awful friend. An awful person for not helping him, for not helping us. For leaving us to death, for leaving dear Sammy for death.”
He made his way to the bathroom and turned on the icy cold water, splashing some of it in his wet face. For a while, before lifting his head back up at the mirror above the sink. Staring at himself. Every other thing disappeared and it was just him and the mirror now. Blackness crawled into his reflection's eyes and it began to smirk ever so slowly. “You are dying, Dean. And you are bringing everyone else with you, into the burning corridor” but Dean couldn't die in the corridor. But his friends could. He was killing his friends, torturing them in the burning corridor. Because he didn't want to be alone. They were dying, screaming for Dean to stop. To save them, but Dean just kept pulling them further into the burning corridor. Dean couldn't die. He just was able to feel the pain.
His reflection smirked. And Dean ended up screaming in the bathroom, with a very bloody fist, a broken mirror, glass shattered around the room and Sam was trying to calm him down with his arms thrown around the trembling body.
Days went by. Dean went on hunts. He killed. He survived. He went back. Sam was searching for Jack. He asked around. He came back home. He bought pie for Dean. Dean didn't eat it. He stared at it. He silently threw it in the bin when Sam didn't look. Dean ended up screaming in the bathroom again. Or in the garage. Or in his room. The voices were following him, and Sam ended up calming him again. Dean went back to his room to “sleep”. Sam ended up sitting in front of Deans room. Dean told Sam one day he knew about Sam sitting in front of his room and told him to sleep and Sam refused. He didn't sit in front of the door after that, but on the soft mattress that was placed on the ground, next to Dean's bed. Sam was worried, always worried about Dean and what he might do to himself. Maybe. One day. It was a stupid thought. But Dean did end up one day, putting sleeping pills into Sam's drink again. Sam drank it. Dean didn't think. It was night and Sam slept. Dean tiptoed out of the room, went to the garage, into Baby, sat in the driver's seat and stared at the gun he held in his hands, the gun he didn't even notice taking. He didn't feel anything. Didn't think. There were no tears this time. Just an empty look in his eyes, and the familiar voices of his friends in his ears. “Cas is dead because of you. And you were too scared to confess your love to him. Castiel surely felt worthless when he died. Because of you. He thought nobody liked him. He was sad. He thought the world was better off without him. Because you were too scared to tell him otherwise. You should have died instead all those people who died for you.” Dean didn't realise the gun he was holding against his head now. But he didn't pull the trigger. “You coward.”
‘DEAN!’ It was Sam. Dean didn't move. He didn't move the gun. “Idiot. You were ready to leave Sammy in this cruel world, too?”
He heard the click of the car. Still didn't move. The corridor was breaking down in flames and he still didn't die. He STILL DIDN'T DIE. He couldn't die. Could not pull the trigger.
He heard Sam whispering words, shouting words, saying things, removing the gun from his hand, pulling Dean out of the car, he saw tears filling his brother's eyes, didn't dare to let it drop down his cheeks, pure fear was written over his face when he pulled Dean into a hug. Dean still didn't move. Didn't blink. He couldn't pull the trigger, for God's sake. His arms were throbbing, it nearly hurt. Sam brought him to the bathroom. Splashed some water in Deans face. Took him back to the kitchen. He fed him, gave him something to drink, brought him back to his bedroom, made him lie down, and said some more things. Dean didn't answer. Sam moved back out of the room. He locked the door behind him. He came back 10 minutes later with coffee, sat on the mattress and began to drink. Sam didn't sleep. Dean slept for the first time since the event.
‘I'm sorry’ was the first thing Dean said when he opened his eyes. And Sam smiled tiredly from the mattress.
Another set of days went by. Dean was still wandering through the burning corridor. Nothing was left of it. Everyone he dragged into the corridor already burned down into ash, and Dean was still alive. He walked through the bunker, found the tape he gave Cas as a present. He sat down, played it. Listened to the music and smiled faintly when closing his eyes. The corridor stopped burning. Just for one moment. He stood there in the middle of the black, burned down corridor and Cas appeared in front of him. He had a faint smile on his face and looked at Dean, nearly lovingly. Maybe even pining for him. His blue, comforting eyes stared into Deans eyes and he stepped closer to him. Dean felt his heart race, and he felt happy. For the first time since days until the room fell silent again and the corridor began to burn. Again. And Cas disappeared into a puff of flames. Dean was alone.
The corridor never stopped burning, but it dimmed down a bit after Cas returned from the dead. The whispers in his head never stopped whispering, but there were less of them after he heard his name on Castiels lips for the first time in months. Sam, though, never stopped sipping at his cup of coffee while sitting on the mattress, staring at Deans sleeping body. He never stopped removing the bullets from every single gun after a hunt, no matter what. He never stopped hiding the pills in the bunker, never stopped being there for Dean every moment of the day. Because Cas was truly dead, and Dean just began imagining him. Because it made him feel better, and Sam never said anything about it. Because it made his brother feel better.
The corridor never stopped burning. And Dean never stopped walking.