I Miss You

Mar. 11th, 2013 10:23 pm
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The thought still makes Dean light headed. It makes him fall to his knees. It makes him weep. It makes beg for his own death.
It was at a warehouse, in Pontiac, Illinois, and, funnily enough, that’s where they first met, too. It all happened so fast. A blinding flash of light, a loud scream. For a second, he even felt as if someone was branding his chest and arms. Then, there was nothing except darkness and silence.
“Cas!” Dean called out. He waited a few moments before speaking again. “Cas?” he said, this time it was more of a question than anything else. He stood to his feet as best as he could without causing himself more pain. Dean walked cautiously towards the spot where the light had flashed.
It was a lost cause, trying to maneuver in the blackness. He walked the few steps it took to reach the power lever that switched on the lights, half of which were still burned out from their first encounter, five years ago. He slowly turned himself around, ready to search for Castiel.
That’s when he saw him. Angel blade sticking out from his abdomen. Blood on the ground around him. Bits of his grace still glowing in his glazed eyes. Wings scorched into the floor and wall surrounding him.
Dean broke into a run towards his friend, ignoring any agony he felt. “No!” he yelled. When he reached Castiel’s side, he gently cupped the angel’s tear-streaked face. “Not like this. No, not now, Cas. Please don’t go.” He let his tears fall down his cheeks. “Cas, come on. Please.” He hung his head after seeing no signs of life in his best friend.
Dean pulled Castiel towards him, but let him go when he felt a sharp pain as the angel’s body came in contact with his own. He looked down upon his body, now noticing that what he had felt earlier was Castiel’s wings burning into his flesh, even through his multiple layers of clothing.
In present day, Dean looks at his mirror, staring at the burns from years prior. He runs his fingers over the scars left in his right forearm.
“I miss you, Cas,” he says to the empty room.
And, for a short moment, he could have sworn he heard the angel’s voice reply, "I miss you, too."
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An old Polaroid photograph of two men hangs on the wall of a deserted bar. It’s been there since god knows when. The men in the picture are each holding beers and smiling at the camera. In all of the many teenagers who have thrown parties or gotten drunk with their friends in the old bar, not a single one knows who they are. No one does.

No one knows their story, just their names, Sam and Dean, that are written on the back. No one knows what they did. No one knows that they constantly sacrificed themselves for others. No one knows that they fought and beat the devil, himself. No one knows that they saved the world. No one knows that they died for the sake of humanity.

No one will ever know, because they never asked to be thanked. They never asked for any credit. To them, it was all worth it, knowing that they saved the world, time and time again. It was all worth it, knowing that their parents and friends would be proud of them. It was all worth it, knowing that they were heroes, even if no one else realized it.

An old Polaroid photograph of two men hangs on the wall of the deserted Roadhouse. It will stay there until the bar is burned down by a couple of reckless teenagers, years later, destroying the last known item related to Sam and Dean Winchester.


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March 2013

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