(no subject)
Title: For Good Measure
Author: the_sac_fly
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing/Characters: Gen-ish (implied Castiel/Dean)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 603
Summary: Dean is in purgatory, Cas is gone. Dean is breaking, Cas is gone.
Spoilers/Warnings: Up to season 8.
Disclaimer: The characters, the plot, the show, and all things lovely are not mine.
Dean knows immediately that he's in purgatory. Knew it without asking the moment he opened his eyes and the sterile white walls had been replaced with the eyes of unknown origins gleering out from the heart of the woods. He's thankful but just a little. It's not hell, at least, and Sam's not here. Sammy who is above or below or beside - as if any of this can be defined geologically - on Earth. His brother who is panicking, no doubt, and planning to do something decidedly stupid to save Dean as soon as he's done with his regularly scheduled meltdown. Sam who Dean cannot comfort or stop or plead with, well out of cell phone range.
He wants to cry, or scream, or stab something in the face a couple times. Dean's not angry, too tired to even comprehend surprised, but scared none the less. He may not have graduated high school but he knows the beasts that live in this plain are well above his pay grade. There's not going to be many lucky breaks to find here, knows without Bobby that yanking him out will be more miraculous than than usual diversion of disaster the Winchesters always seem to pull. He finds himself missing the smell of smog and rust and humanity before his brain has even caught up to the fact that he's gone. It is gone. Both are gone, equally.
Then Cas disappears. Cas always disappearing. His almost only hope, friend, sanity. Poof with the sound of feathers and wind. Dean manages to be surprised this time. Because, hey, you go through so much shit with a guy and they could at least stick around to watch as you're torn to shreds. He's hurting. Burning centered deep somewhere around where his heart should be. Is. He's good at pretending it doesn't matter. There's no audience to fool but it's habit by now.
He really wants to cry. Not proud of this fact but well passed the point of being ashamed either. Wants to cry so bad he thinks he'll just start laughing instead. Cause really, what the fuck's the difference when everything is levatiting as it is? Floating away and out of grasp till you're just an island? Useless is useless and Dean can't remember the last time anything made more sense than a mental break down right the fuck now would.
It's easier than it should be to remember when the whole wide world had seemed to be about finding Yellow Eyes and shooting him in the heart, watching him split apart. The days when his mother's death still seemed globally important. When the worst thing that had ever happened to him had been Dad dying. When making a deal with a crossroad demon had been as desperate as Dean knew himself to be. Before they'd all died and some had come back and died again and there had been too much blood soaked into his pores to wash out. Before more memories were in his contact list than allies. Before he'd fallen in love with a god damned, literally, angel. One with burn you good blue eyes and a mouth that hurt not to kiss - making it impossible to look back before, before Cas.
So he laughs, cause what's really left but the sound of it?
He knows he should be looking for shelter or food or anything other than the middle of nowhere he's currently in. So he sits down and beats the ground with his fists as he screams through choked out sobs and loses it one more time. For good measure.
Author: the_sac_fly
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing/Characters: Gen-ish (implied Castiel/Dean)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 603
Summary: Dean is in purgatory, Cas is gone. Dean is breaking, Cas is gone.
Spoilers/Warnings: Up to season 8.
Disclaimer: The characters, the plot, the show, and all things lovely are not mine.
Dean knows immediately that he's in purgatory. Knew it without asking the moment he opened his eyes and the sterile white walls had been replaced with the eyes of unknown origins gleering out from the heart of the woods. He's thankful but just a little. It's not hell, at least, and Sam's not here. Sammy who is above or below or beside - as if any of this can be defined geologically - on Earth. His brother who is panicking, no doubt, and planning to do something decidedly stupid to save Dean as soon as he's done with his regularly scheduled meltdown. Sam who Dean cannot comfort or stop or plead with, well out of cell phone range.
He wants to cry, or scream, or stab something in the face a couple times. Dean's not angry, too tired to even comprehend surprised, but scared none the less. He may not have graduated high school but he knows the beasts that live in this plain are well above his pay grade. There's not going to be many lucky breaks to find here, knows without Bobby that yanking him out will be more miraculous than than usual diversion of disaster the Winchesters always seem to pull. He finds himself missing the smell of smog and rust and humanity before his brain has even caught up to the fact that he's gone. It is gone. Both are gone, equally.
Then Cas disappears. Cas always disappearing. His almost only hope, friend, sanity. Poof with the sound of feathers and wind. Dean manages to be surprised this time. Because, hey, you go through so much shit with a guy and they could at least stick around to watch as you're torn to shreds. He's hurting. Burning centered deep somewhere around where his heart should be. Is. He's good at pretending it doesn't matter. There's no audience to fool but it's habit by now.
He really wants to cry. Not proud of this fact but well passed the point of being ashamed either. Wants to cry so bad he thinks he'll just start laughing instead. Cause really, what the fuck's the difference when everything is levatiting as it is? Floating away and out of grasp till you're just an island? Useless is useless and Dean can't remember the last time anything made more sense than a mental break down right the fuck now would.
It's easier than it should be to remember when the whole wide world had seemed to be about finding Yellow Eyes and shooting him in the heart, watching him split apart. The days when his mother's death still seemed globally important. When the worst thing that had ever happened to him had been Dad dying. When making a deal with a crossroad demon had been as desperate as Dean knew himself to be. Before they'd all died and some had come back and died again and there had been too much blood soaked into his pores to wash out. Before more memories were in his contact list than allies. Before he'd fallen in love with a god damned, literally, angel. One with burn you good blue eyes and a mouth that hurt not to kiss - making it impossible to look back before, before Cas.
So he laughs, cause what's really left but the sound of it?
He knows he should be looking for shelter or food or anything other than the middle of nowhere he's currently in. So he sits down and beats the ground with his fists as he screams through choked out sobs and loses it one more time. For good measure.