I'm sorry Dean

Okay, so I don't even know of any supernatural/Destiel fanfiction posted on this website, but I would love some positive feedback. In case some of you don't understand, Castiel is an angel and Dean Winchester, the man who taught him he had the right to emotion, is his best friend. So, basically this is a sad, angst-y fic. Enjoy!


1. chapter one


Castiel’s life was never what could be considered “easy”. After spending most of his life being his flakyk father’s obedient little lap dog, he finally had taken a stand. And, for a while it was good. Sure, his life was still a mess. That was something that would never change. But, he had a best friend and free will. He had even inspired some of his brothers and sisters to follow in his footsteps. Castiel was a hero to be admired.

But, too much power had gone to his head, as it would most anyone in his position, and he tried to do the impossible: become God himself. His moral directions became muddled, rights and wrongs flirting together on a very thin line. Thin enough for a demon to toe his way over.

                If only Castiel had known the extreme repercussions his selfish actions would have, how much it would hurt the ones he loved, he wouldn’t have done it. Or maybe he still would have. It’s hard to see the impact of your destruction when you, yourself, are only barely discernable from a monster.

                Ask him now if he distinctly remembers anything about his “crazy” phase, and he’ll deny everything. But, in all actuality, he recalled every moment, ever mad comment his befuddled mind made in order to keep the pain-the pure guilt- from slowly eating away at his mental state. He specifically remembers the look on Dean’s face as he told him that no one cared that he broken, the mixture of pain and anger. Worst of all was the small hint of disappointment in his features that was barely detectable, and only seen because of all the hour4s Castiel had spent studying him. It was like Dean was waiting for him to be his knight in shining armor, the hero to save the world. He wanted him to prove to be more than the broken man he really was.   

                And then, just when he agreed to help because maybe, just maybe, it could help release the weight that tormented his brains every time he closed his eyes, he was stupid enough to not remember the lore he read when he was young. To remember the kick to the weapon Dean was using to save humanity from the leviathans. How stupid could one be in a single lifetime? Dean was sent to Purgatory all because Castiel was a stupid assbutt. That’s why he stayed there when Dean tried to pull him out. Every day was new ways to die, new ways to feel pain. He hated it.

He deserved it.

                Castiel would absolutely trade anything in the world to be able to undo all the stupid decisions he had made. And he’d be damned if he didn’t try. But nothing worked.  He owed Dean, his very best friend in the world, everything for not deserting him, for never giving up.


                Castiel couldn’t comprehend what was happening. His day had been good so far-great even. They had recently “ganked” a monster so they could wind down. While the brothers were out, Dean probably coming home completely wasted, Castiel  had kicked back with a few beers in the hotel room and relaxed. This may seem like nothing special , but any moment where he could be stress-free was a good one.

                He had just warmed up a few of the burgers Dean had dropped off before heading out (“Just in case your stomach gets a change of heart”) in the mini microwave and was in the bathroom washing his hands when his phone rang.

                He heard all the words Sam was saying, every single one, but together they didn’t make sense. How could it? It seemed like the most impossible thing in the world. How does life change that quickly?

                When he realizes everything the Winchester was telling him, the phone slips from his grip and shattered on the overly-hard tile floor. Pressing the heels of his hands hard into his eyes, he chokes back a sob. “No.” Things like this can’t happen. Not to good people.

                He climbs into the car the Winchesters stole for him tears blurring his sight. It’s a mere miracle that he makes it in one piece. Castiel is praying to every deity he can think of, praying that it will be okay.

                With a flourish, he marches into the building and up to the elevator, pushing everyone out of his way. One is out of service, the other full to the brim. Castiel cannot wait, it is simply not an option, so he finds the stairs and runs up two floors. People are rushing, crying, shaking, and Castiel’s head is pounding. He feels like he’s going to scream.  Faces blur together in his peripheral vision as he looks for the room number.

                309. 311. 313. Too slow, it seems. It will take ages to reach 331, steal away those few precious minutes he may have like a petulant child with a temper.


                He runs into a doctor’s cart, nearly snagging his coat on one of those things that jumpstarts your heart. God, he can’t think of the name for it. Someone jumps out of his way, grumbles at him to watch where he’s going. But he can’t watch anything right now but the increasing room numbers.


                Without hesitation, he pushes open the door and stops at what he sees. Dean, the beautiful man he’s grown so used to seeing the past few months, is black and blue, skin puffy from all the drugs they pumped into his system in an attempt to save his life. He looks so weak and vulnerable and so not Dean Winchester.

                Sam looks up from his vigil next to his bedside, gives him those sad puppy eyes that drip with the same pain that hindered Castiel on his way there. He shakes his head a little, a signal that Castiel instantly understands, but doesn’t want to.  It’s too surreal to be reality. A nightmare, and he’ll wake up in the morning to find himself back with the boys.

                He knows this is all false hope with Dean’s eyes open into little slits, because that’s all that they’ll open, and he whispers in a hoarse voice, “Cas.” Through the tiny openings, he can see those amazing green eyes, and Castiel’s rushing forward.

                “Dean,” he gasps, barely able to force the word out of his tightening throat. Brand new tears are forming and he wishes he could stop crying for once, because that’s not what Dean would want.

                “I look that bad, huh?” he laughs a little, but then winces like it hurts too much and this fucking burns Castiel’s soul to see such a strong person in so much pain.

                 “This isn’t funny, Dean!                “ It comes out louder than he intended, and it instantly angers the hunter.

                “Shit, you think I don’t know that, Cas? I’m on my goddamn deathbed.” He stops, seemingly taking the words he just said, before continuing in a softer voice. “I’m dying. I’m in my thirties and I’m going to fucking die in a hospital where the nurses aren’t even hot and there’s not a goddamned thing anyone can do to stop it.”

                “Don’t say that. We’ll find a way.” He hates the sickening desperation that tinges his voice like a strong poison but the only thing he can think of is keeping this man alive.

                “I can feel it, my dying. It’s strange, knowing that today is my last day and this is probably my last hour and I just want to say that I love you, Cas.” He takes the angel’s hand and squeezes it softly before looking over at his little brother. “I love you, too, Sammy. Take good care of yourself. Go live an apple pie life for me, okay?” Dean reaches for his hand, as well.

                Sam shoves his chair away, clearly unable to take this anymore, and motions to the door. “Cas, can I talk to you in the hallway?”

                When the door’s finally closed tight, Sam faces him, raking a hand through his long hair (“You look like a bad reincarnation of Rapunzel,” Dean had said on the matter). “Get in there and work your angel mojo on him.”

                Castiel looks at his feet, finally understanding why mortals find staring at their footwear so interesting in situations like this. “I don’t think I can,” he says softly, ashamed.

                Something strange flares in the youngest Winchester’s eyes. “What did you say?”

                “I can’t, Sam. You know that I’ve been having issues with my ‘mojo’ recently, and it does not at all help that this is highly personal.”

                In one fluid movement, Sam has him pinned against the wall. “You get in there and you save him because he is my brother and your best friend and if you can’t save him I don’t understand how you could ever save anyone. He is more important than anyone in this godforsaken world, and better than them too and you damn well know that, so get your holy ass in there and fix him,” he snarls in his face before pushing away.

                As soon as the angel is free and ready to open the door again, he hears an alarm and a team of doctors and nurses rush towards room 331. An anvil takes up residence in the bottom of Castiel’s stomach as he comes to the nauseating realization of what is going on.

                They follow closely into the room, and watch in horror as the staff works quickly to try and save him. Castiel looks for an open place, so he could reach over and lay one hand on him, one hand is all it takes. But, there are no gaps and the only way to make one is by harming someone else and he knows more than anything that Dean would rather die than have innocent blood on his hands.

                Somehow, among the screaming of the blood in his ears, he’s able to make out one of the nurses yell “No pulse” and another “We’re losing him”

                Time of death is 9:47 Pm.

                The two men can only stare as they watch the nurses and doctors file out of the room. One stops and looks at them, giving them the most pitiful look, before continuing on her way. They can barely breathe as they stare as the chest that was once so full of air and pumping blood but is now empty and still. And all Castiel can think is I didn’t tell him I loved him.

                Sam gives his this look, and he knows what he’s asking. He shakes his head no, his soul isn’t here. He moved on. This should please him, if Castiel could feel emotion right now. But he can’t because Dean was the one who taught him how to feel, showed him that everyone has the right to their own thoughts and opinions, and just doing it when he is gone is wrong on so many levels.

                The sound that Sam makes is truly heartbreaking because they both realize at the moment that this time there is no coming back. Dean Winchester is gone, probably off reliving his greatest hits up in heaven. God knows he deserves Heaven. The youngest Winchester collapses by the bed, grasping at the sheets. “Dean, oh God, no.”

                Castiel wants to move, to comfort the grieving brother, but he’s paralyzed because he didn’t say he loved him. Dean died without knowing that Castiel loved Dean in a way that probably should’ve been wrong by most modern standards but he taught him that nothing you feel could possibly be wrong as long as it makes you happy.  And, now he’ll never know if there could’ve possibly been something there all because he was too afraid of losing his best friend. 

I love you, Cas, he had said.

                I’m so sorry.

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