Title: Dear angel

Summary: Torturing Alastair brought some memories back to life and Dean realized that saving the world from Apocalypse was not enough to make it up for what he had done in hell.

Spoilers: Through all 4 seasons but mainly 4x16

Disclaimer: All characters belong to their original owners, Eric Kripke and CW

Author's Note: I was shocked by the latest episode so much that I couldn't stop thinking about it and I couldn't sleep, and truthfully, I had this story formed in my head long before I even finished watching the episode. The title is taken from the song "Dear Angel" performed by April Sixth, so probably it could be called a song-fic.

Chapter 1

-- Dear angel of mine,

Where do I start to express how I feel?

Well, my love's gone blind.

Now all that I feel is what I hear.

Your words rip and tear, and

Through my heart so weak and pure.

Now I find myself wanting to die

"Dear Angel" by April Sixth --

…the first time you sliced into that weeping bitch…

Dean snapped his eyes open and stared at the scarred ceiling, his heart beating fast in his chest and his breath uneven. A car passed by outside and gave him a start. Physically, he knew where he was. Vaguely. But his mind was somewhere else, in the darkest of all places ever existing. In the most horrible place one could ever think of.

It was unbearable, so much more than he could stand. Ever since he was back he couldn't stop thinking of her, his very first victim. He saw her before his mind's eye every single moment. She was haunting his thoughts when he was awake and never left his dreams when he was asleep, not that it was something frequent and long. And Dean always knew why Alastair chose her to be his first object of execution. Knew exactly what he wanted to do – wanted to show Dean that he not only defeated his will but also to demonstrate that if Dean could wiggle out of physical pain, or whatever pain there was when he didn't even have his body, he still couldn't get away from what was much worse than that.

At first Dean could see nothing but her eyes full of pure horror when she spotted him. Tied to the wall, she attempted to back away from him as if to merge into it. She didn't say a word as she watched him coming close, only her eyes grew bigger by the time he was within arm's reach. Destroyed. Crashed. Her will and her strength were not where they had always been when she was alive. She whimpered – the sound that turned everything inside of Dean – and turned away. She knew what was expecting her and she didn't try to escape. By this time she had already known that there was no way out. Belatedly, Dean remembered that she got there way before him. She knew where it led. She knew she could do nothing. She gave up and accepted the inevitable.

But her eyes… God, every single time their eyes met he saw that deep inside she was the same. There was fire and light and some strange determination; strange because she was no fool to actually believe that there was any hope for her. Perhaps, she thought that what had happened was a result of what she'd done. Perhaps, she saw it coming. Fallen angel with broken wings burned by the hellfire.

And if at first Dean couldn't see it getting any worse for them both, she reassured him of that when she started screaming and begging and pleading, and he knew that he could do nothing to change the situation; both of them knew that they had no other choice. She'd been holding on for long though, he was amazed to find out. He even almost believed that she could make it but she couldn't. No one could. And only God… no, only Devil knew what she'd been through here before she got to him. One thought was soothing, in a way, if there could be anything soothing in hell – whatever he did to her, it couldn't possibly be worse than what Alastair did before him.

It was always easier for him when she kept her eyes closed because otherwise he felt like she was looking right through him. And he also knew that it was easier for her, too. It was easier to pretend that it wasn't he who caused her the worst of possible pains, as it was easier for him to believe that there was someone else before him.

He didn't know how long they'd been together. Time had no meaning in hell. Each second was like an hour, and each hour was like a day, and each day was like a year. It felt long for him. But for her, Dean knew, it felt like eternity. He thought he hated her back when they both were alive. For some degree it was her fault that he ended up in the pit but seeing her there, sprawled on the wall, her blood and pain… And he wondered who was torturing who.

Dean remembered everything, every single moment he was down there. Every single thing he saw; every single thing he'd been through; every single thing he did; every single soul he tortured. But she was a special case. He only needed to close his eyes and she was there again; he could see every detail as clearly as they had been back then, and he knew that no time could change it. No time could ever dull the pain and lessen his self-hatred and resentment.

Son of a bitch knew how to push him, Dean thought angrily. Knew what to say to cut his scarred wound open again.

He wanted to escape. He wanted to get out at any cost… but now he wasn't sure anymore that he deserved being saved after all he'd done. Maybe staying in hell would be a fair punishment. Maybe he only got what he really deserved in the end. Yes, he got out of hell but hell was still inside of him, and that he couldn't change. His life was a mess. His brother was exorcizing demons with the power of his mind, without so much as a word. Jesus, he was dating a demon! He was not Sam he used to be and Dean didn't know what to think and what to do. And his own demons haunting him were only making it worse.

He rolled off of the bed and came up to the window. Rumpled his hair with his fingers as he stared outside, at the sunlit parking lot. And it felt bad. It felt wrong to be here. Everything was wrong.

Dean whirled around when the door opened and closed behind his back.

Sam.

"Hey," Sam said and gave him cautious smile as if not sure it was appropriate; obviously trying to guess what mood Dean was in. Cleared his throat and gave his brother a studying once-over. "How are you doing?"

Questioning look on his face, definitely fighting to find proper words to say. God, he hated it. Sam had the same look on his face after their father's death. Like Dean was some fragile flower or something else easily breakable. There was concern, that Dean could get. But then there was sympathy, too, and it was not what he wanted to see.

"Terrific," he breathed out. He felt better, physically. Some bruises were still a matter of concern and every now and again his shoulder hurt when he was making thoughtless movements but all in all, he'd been in worse situations before and a couple of punches from Alastair were not a big deal. But it wasn't something he wanted to talk about. Not now. Maybe not ever.

He had to leave. He needed some air. He needed… He needed some space. Away.

Dean crossed the room and turned the doorknob. "I'll… I'll be back… um, soon," he muttered not looking Sam, pretending he was groping for the car keys in his pocket.

Sam frowned. "Dean, everything okay?"

No.

"Sure," he smirked fighting to sound casual. "I just need some fresh air." Quick eye contact to make his game credible, and then he left heading for the Impala, keys clutched in his hand. Didn't remember if he even closed the door behind him.

Engine came to life and Dean sped out of the motel's parking lot and down the highway without thinking. He didn't care about where he was driving because it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

The sun was going down. He rolled down the windows and let in some fresh air. Well, there was a good deal of dust too but it felt pretty nice to his face all the same. Some change. He needed change. He was living the same pattern of life for way too long. Like twenty-nine years. And, honestly, he didn't give a damn about Apocalypse or the end of the word, or other crap. After all he'd done down in the pit Dean knew that he could do nothing to make it up, no matter how hard he tried. No matter how many lives he saved. He would never forgive himself.

"Come on, I know you're somewhere there and that you hear me," he said into the air, even lowered the volume of his radio. "I need to talk to you."

He didn't need to turn his head to the right to know that the passenger's seat was no longer empty not more than a couple of seconds later, even though there was no stir of the air or a sound. They drove in silence for a while.

"I can't read your thoughts, Dean," Castiel's voice was impassive as always. Mostly, it set Dean's teeth on edge and he wanted to shake this angel or whoever he was to make him express some kind of emotions. "I can," he added as an afterthought. "But I'm not allowed. And I don't think you'd like me doing that."

"I appreciate your concern for my privacy," Dean chuckled.

It was dark now. He threw quick glance at his fellow traveler and saw him looking straight ahead, calm and patient. Never pushing – not when it wasn't he who needed to have something done. But even in such situation he first of all used persuasion as main instrument leaving – No one's actually asking you – for later.

"You wanted to talk about something?"

"How are things going? This idea of the war not only between angels and demons but also between angels and angels, or angels and God, take your pick, is sorta frightening, ya' know." Dean shrugged feeling slightly more nervous than he thought he would be. Still determined but not so sure of himself by the second.

Castile looked at him then, and even if Dean's eyes were on the road ahead he felt it.

"There is nothing new, and you know it. Otherwise I'd come to you myself."

"Sure you would," he shook his head. "You know that I don't care, don't you? You know that I don't give a shit if the whole world goes to hell that very moment, right?"

"You made it pretty clear. Although not always with the words."

"But you still keep asking me to be a part of this freaking comedy," Dean raised his eyebrow.

"We need you. I know that you don't believe in yourself, but you're strong. Stronger than you think."

"And also I broke the first seal," he reminded Castiel.

"It's not like it was your choice." The angel sounded almost apologetic. As if it was his fault. As if he was the one who forced Dean to give in to Alastair's persuasions.

"Whatever," Dean mumbled. He kept the pause for a while, took his time to take a deep breath because he was going to ask for something that probably even angel couldn't do. Not only couldn't but most likely wouldn't. "But you still can't make me help you."

Castiel hesitated before speaking again, too. "Do you care so little about well-being of the entire humanity?"

"You can't even imagine!"

"Dean…"

"Don't start, okay? So, you dragged my precious ass out of hell. Thank you. But I kinda never asked you, see. Maybe you made the wrong choice. Maybe you needed to wait for someone else. It's not like I am the best candidate for the job you offer."

"Does this mean you're quitting?"

"If by quitting you mean a request Send me back, then no, not exactly."

"Then what?" There was curiosity, Dean was relieved to notice. So the guy wasn't a lost cause. Not completely.

"I'll do whatever you ask me to do. Except for repeating my torturing entertainment though," he added quickly. "Still not my idea of fun. But…" He paused again. "Bring her back." His fingers clenched around the steering wheel. "Bring her back and I'm a part of your game, whatever it is."

"Who?"

"You know who," Dean snapped. "Damn it, it is all I ask, Cas! Look, I never asked you to save me. I never asked anything, expect for leaving me alone maybe but that's a different story. I never wanted to be a part of all this crap and play Moses leading Jews to the Promised Land but if you want me to even lift my finger to help you, bring her back. Or go to hell with all your shit." His voice was ringing with anger and hope. "Or send me back there, that would be fair enough. Whatever. I don't care. But if you really need me as much as you say, you've gotta save her, too."

Castiel was silent for so long that Dean started darting quick looks in his direction, if only to make sure he was still in the car. Wouldn't put it past this winged guy to disappear into thin air the way he charmingly did so many times before. There was no guarantee he'd come next time Dean called him, unless he needed something from him, or unless he wanted to feed Dean another portion of his bullshit about his high mission, blah, blah, blah.

Finally, Castiel sighed, obviously taking Dean's warning seriously.

"You know that I can't do it, don't you?"

-- I bleed for the second time tonight

Holding the love that's in my mind.

If only my love could be with you.

If only this pain, this pain died too

So I break you away, away, away from me.

"Dear Angel" by April Sixth --

To be continued...

Reviews are always appreciated!