The Ghost of You
(sort of 10x09 coda with a hint of christmas, Mark of Cain, Hurt!Dean, Unstable!Dean, very slight Deancas, Team Free Will)
They make it to Whitefish, Montana around nightfall. They thought maybe it’d be good to step away from the confining walls of the bunker for a bit. From how it was just echoing all the words that were never said and ringing louder with each second spend in silence. Sam has been sleeping in the backseat at least for the past 3 hours as far as Dean can tell and Cas - angels don’t need to sleep - tiel has drifted off to dreamland about an hour ago as well. His head hanging mightily close to Dean’s side, almost touching his shoulder. But not the one he once gripped tight to raise him from perdition. He feels like laughing, but the sound gets caught in his throat. Isn’t it ironic? Everything Cas tried, everything Sam tried and all he himself tried – nothing worked. There is nothing that will save him, he knows that now with a defeat that drags him down like an anchor sliding to the ocean floor. Maybe Cas never should have bothered with trying to get his ass out of hell in the first place. It’s where he’d belonged.
He turns off the engine and just sits for a moment. Enjoys that there aren’t any worried glances. Now he’s the one looking. Looking at them. Not with worry, but with fondness and something like envy. Sam’s features are relaxed like those of a child. He can’t remember the last time he slept, the last time he had a good night’s rest, the last time he didn’t wake up drenched in sweat and his heart beating as if it was trying to get away from him as fast as possible, trying to leave his body, running away. Running… And Cas – still so new to sleeping – seems to have developed his liking for it, that much Dean is sure of. He looks so peaceful, so at ease. It’s been a long time since he’s felt that. At ease, at peace. Maybe he never has.
But he’s been trying to come close. Drown out the voices, black out the pictures with a sip here and gulp there.