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Description
He'd been standing in line to pay for the shitty west coast beer when he'd seen him. It was only for a second when he'd glanced up from the crumpled bills in his hand that his eyes fell on the slight shoulders of an average sized brunette man facing away from him.

The man's hair stuck out in just the right ruffled manner and his hands hung loosely at his sides in a powerfully familiar stance. Then he turned. The illusion vanished along with the spark of hopefulness that had dropped Dean's jaw and lumped in his throat like a too-big swallow of food.

Cas was dead. Dean had watched him wade out and dilute into an inky swarm of writhing evil. The angel was gone and he wasn't going to be waiting patiently for Dean to notice him at a run down Gas 'n Gulp off an empty highway on the outskirts of Oregon.

Dean's stomach was twisting painfully and he had to get out of the hot, cramped building. He threw the wad of cash on the counter and walked stiffly to the door, clenching his jaw and unsuccessfully attempting to banish the unwanted emotions.

It kept happening. Small things would set him off and remind him of Castiel; there was a blue tie he couldn't wear anymore when he did his Fed routine and he'd avoided burgers since first losing him to the megalomania. Dean would get these flushes of maudlin memories and he'd remind himself night after night how his friend had betrayed him and that it was for the better that he was gone. He couldn't hurt him again as long as he was gone.

But the angel's absence caused him more pain than the betrayal ever could.

The rain outside the gas station pelted against his face and cooled the warmth that had been rising to his cheeks. Sliding behind the wheel of his Impala, he turned the key and pushed in the Zeppelin cassette, letting the jaunty, upbeat piano chords of South Bound Saurez fill his mind. He bobbed his head a bit and took a deep, calming breath.

Scanning the dark highway and seeing no other cars, he ripped open the cardboard twelve pack on the seat next to him and extracted a Natty Lite. Cracking the top open, he downed the beer in two gulps and crushed the can, grimacing at the watered down taste. Not enough to effect his driving, just enough to calm the slight nervous shake in his hands and dispel any remaining painful thoughts.

Cas who?

Turning the engine over and shifting into first, Dean felt the alluring purr of his baby thrum through his chest as he pulled onto the two lane highway and accelerated.

And everything was okay.

He came up behind a beat up Civic with Utah plates chugging slowly along in the left lane, the yellow cone of his headlights glinting off several rusty dents and reflective bumper stickers. Dean squinted at them curiously.

'Joseph Smith is my co-pilot'

'My mom dated Jimi Hindrix and stayed celibate'

And best of all 'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but my guardian angel would never let you hurt me.' Complete with a little stick figure angel with wings and a halo.

The track had changed and Robert Plant was now crooning out the lyrics to Fool in the Rain.

"I hate to think I've been blinded, baby. Why can't I see you tonight?"

Dean's knuckles were white around the steering wheel and his vision began blurring. He swore, clicking the windshield wipers onto the next setting to dispel the buildup before the tears spilled over from his eyes and he realized it wasn't the rain.

Wiping at his eyes he glanced at the dash and saw the speedometer needle ticking manically against the 95 mark, his shaky foot pushing harder on the gas than he'd intended.

"And I'm shaking so much, really yearning. Why don't you show up, make it alright? Yeah, it's alright."

"Son of a bitch." Defeated, he rode the brakes and swerved to a wide pullout, stopping on the shoulder and turning the car off, shutting Jimmy Paige up mid-guitar riff.

He sat silently in the dark for a moment before gritting his teeth and slamming both hands against the wheel, hearing a crack from the steering column. Future Dean would have to fix that. He cracked the top of another beer, draining the bitter liquid faster than it could exit the small mouth of the can. Then another. Then one more.

Dean closed his eyes and saw Castiel frowning at him, immeasurable pain in his perfect blue eyes. Perfect blue shining through the scarlet blood covering his face as he apologized to Dean. Apologized for everything and nothing specific. Dean knew how sorry he was and knew he couldn't have intended the outcome. He could feel it.

Getting out suddenly, he slammed the door behind him and stalked angrily to the rear of the car. Opening the trunk, he didn't even need to look as he reached under the false bottom and snatched out the neatly folded trench-coat, nestled between two bandoliers full of rock salt rounds and a full five gallon gas tank. The trunk snapped shut and the coat unfurled from his hands, nearly touching the ground.

It was filthy; dark stains splattered all across the tan, rumpled fabric. Mud and blood interchangeable in dried, dark brown. He kept meaning to wash it, but hadn't actually gotten around to it. He knew it mostly smelled like mildew and dirt, but as he sat against the Impala's trunk and brought it up to his face, he imagined he could smell Castiel.

You swore that you would never leave me, baby-

"What ever happened to you?" Dean muttered quietly, pulling the overcoat down to his chest and folding his arms across it. "God damn it, Cas. Way to ruin a perfectly good song."

Dean Winchester turned his face to the sky and let cool drops of rain streak down his cheeks, mingling with the silent tears pooling on the corner of his parted lips, bitter salt lingering on his tongue.

Description
He'd been standing in line to pay for the shitty west coast beer when he'd seen him. It was only for a second when he'd glanced up from the crumpled bills in his hand that his eyes fell on the slight shoulders of an average sized brunette man facing away from him.

The man's hair stuck out in just the right ruffled manner and his hands hung loosely at his sides in a powerfully familiar stance. Then he turned. The illusion vanished along with the spark of hopefulness that had dropped Dean's jaw and lumped in his throat like a too-big swallow of food.

Cas was dead. Dean had watched him wade out and dilute into an inky swarm of writhing evil. The angel was gone and he wasn't going to be waiting patiently for Dean to notice him at a run down Gas 'n Gulp off an empty highway on the outskirts of Oregon.

Dean's stomach was twisting painfully and he had to get out of the hot, cramped building. He threw the wad of cash on the counter and walked stiffly to the door, clenching his jaw and unsuccessfully attempting to banish the unwanted emotions.

It kept happening. Small things would set him off and remind him of Castiel; there was a blue tie he couldn't wear anymore when he did his Fed routine and he'd avoided burgers since first losing him to the megalomania. Dean would get these flushes of maudlin memories and he'd remind himself night after night how his friend had betrayed him and that it was for the better that he was gone. He couldn't hurt him again as long as he was gone.

But the angel's absence caused him more pain than the betrayal ever could.

The rain outside the gas station pelted against his face and cooled the warmth that had been rising to his cheeks. Sliding behind the wheel of his Impala, he turned the key and pushed in the Zeppelin cassette, letting the jaunty, upbeat piano chords of South Bound Saurez fill his mind. He bobbed his head a bit and took a deep, calming breath.

Scanning the dark highway and seeing no other cars, he ripped open the cardboard twelve pack on the seat next to him and extracted a Natty Lite. Cracking the top open, he downed the beer in two gulps and crushed the can, grimacing at the watered down taste. Not enough to effect his driving, just enough to calm the slight nervous shake in his hands and dispel any remaining painful thoughts.

Cas who?

Turning the engine over and shifting into first, Dean felt the alluring purr of his baby thrum through his chest as he pulled onto the two lane highway and accelerated.

And everything was okay.

He came up behind a beat up Civic with Utah plates chugging slowly along in the left lane, the yellow cone of his headlights glinting off several rusty dents and reflective bumper stickers. Dean squinted at them curiously.

'Joseph Smith is my co-pilot'

'My mom dated Jimi Hindrix and stayed celibate'

And best of all 'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but my guardian angel would never let you hurt me.' Complete with a little stick figure angel with wings and a halo.

The track had changed and Robert Plant was now crooning out the lyrics to Fool in the Rain.

"I hate to think I've been blinded, baby. Why can't I see you tonight?"

Dean's knuckles were white around the steering wheel and his vision began blurring. He swore, clicking the windshield wipers onto the next setting to dispel the buildup before the tears spilled over from his eyes and he realized it wasn't the rain.

Wiping at his eyes he glanced at the dash and saw the speedometer needle ticking manically against the 95 mark, his shaky foot pushing harder on the gas than he'd intended.

"And I'm shaking so much, really yearning. Why don't you show up, make it alright? Yeah, it's alright."

"Son of a bitch." Defeated, he rode the brakes and swerved to a wide pullout, stopping on the shoulder and turning the car off, shutting Jimmy Paige up mid-guitar riff.

He sat silently in the dark for a moment before gritting his teeth and slamming both hands against the wheel, hearing a crack from the steering column. Future Dean would have to fix that. He cracked the top of another beer, draining the bitter liquid faster than it could exit the small mouth of the can. Then another. Then one more.

Dean closed his eyes and saw Castiel frowning at him, immeasurable pain in his perfect blue eyes. Perfect blue shining through the scarlet blood covering his face as he apologized to Dean. Apologized for everything and nothing specific. Dean knew how sorry he was and knew he couldn't have intended the outcome. He could feel it.

Getting out suddenly, he slammed the door behind him and stalked angrily to the rear of the car. Opening the trunk, he didn't even need to look as he reached under the false bottom and snatched out the neatly folded trench-coat, nestled between two bandoliers full of rock salt rounds and a full five gallon gas tank. The trunk snapped shut and the coat unfurled from his hands, nearly touching the ground.

It was filthy; dark stains splattered all across the tan, rumpled fabric. Mud and blood interchangeable in dried, dark brown. He kept meaning to wash it, but hadn't actually gotten around to it. He knew it mostly smelled like mildew and dirt, but as he sat against the Impala's trunk and brought it up to his face, he imagined he could smell Castiel.

You swore that you would never leave me, baby-

"What ever happened to you?" Dean muttered quietly, pulling the overcoat down to his chest and folding his arms across it. "God damn it, Cas. Way to ruin a perfectly good song."

Dean Winchester turned his face to the sky and let cool drops of rain streak down his cheeks, mingling with the silent tears pooling on the corner of his parted lips, bitter salt lingering on his tongue.