A/N: You guys know the usual. I didn't come up with the characters, ect. None of them are my property, ect ect.

This is from an open prompt thing I did on tumblr for Destiel writing ideas.

(.com/post/21802231991/request-a-fic)

Where were you?

I'm doing this for you, Dean.
I just want you to understand.

The words play out like his own personal hell in his mind, running backwards and forwards, over and over. He served time with the worst of them downstairs. Yet still even the horrific nightmares, the self-loathing, the utter sickness just the word hell brought to him couldn't compare to.. to this.

Castiel's voice refused to leave him alone. His words were haunting. Plaguing.

Despite it and how much he hated them, Dean Winchester knew the second he managed to chase them away the loneliness would return.

Because even if the words brought a sea of guilt and sickness and fear into him, they were something.

They were the only bits of Castiel still around.

Please, you have to trust me.
I'm still me. I'm still your friend.
I had no choice.

He was working with Crowley.

It was a betrayal. One that wouldn't wash away.

But no matter how deep that wound drove into him, Dean couldn't let go.

He couldn't hear Sam or Bobby say the angel's name without some internal part of him flinching in pain. He couldn't work on his car without hearing the other's voice, begging him to listen.

To believe in him.

But he had already. He'd believed in God and angels once. One angel, just one time.

The smallest splinter of faith Dean could muster had gone into that traitor, and for what?

For him to make a deal with the fucking devil.

No. You had a choice. You just made the wrong one.
You don't understand. It's complicated.
No, actually, it's not. You know that.

Where were you when I needed to hear it?

I was there.

Where were you?

He bows next to bed with his head in his hands. Knees dig into the worn wooden panels of Bobby's floor, and hands grip one another so tightly they shake.

For a time he just stays like that. Silent, and shaking. Praying, in the back of his mind.

I was there. I was.

Why wouldn't you let me save you?

Castiel's voice, a thousand years old, whispers in the back of his mind.

It's a memory. Just a shadow of the man Dean wants to see.

But it's a strong one, filled with the angel's head tilting. Eyes searching.

There's pain in those blue eyes as they peer into Dean years ago, the first time they met.

You don't think you deserve to be saved..

And then it hits him. Like two tons of bricks.

Why are you here?
Next to Sam, you and Bobby are the closest things I have to family.
You are like a brother to me.

The highest compliment a Winchester can give.

And yet it fell on his shoulders like a heavy weight. It crushed him instantly, breaking his wings and trapping his lungs, netting the angel down into silence.

Even with Dean far gone, filling his small corner of the world with hate, the pain he inflicted is still with the lord's son.

Castiel sat alone. Thinking.

As usual.

You gotta look at me, man.
You're not going anywhere till you tell me what's going on.
Look me in the eye and tell me you're not working with Crowley.

He couldn't. Not then, not now. Possibly not ever.

Not that it matters. Dean will never face him again. That personal sun has set for the final time.

He put it all on the table, for Dean. He chopped himself up on the inside, selling parts of his very being just to win the war and protect hishumans. It betrayed what he felt in his heart, at first.

Up until Dean's face flashed, smiling. And then Castiel followed Crowley. He knew he had to, because every other path lead to earth crumbling, and Dean dying.

He could withstand a knife to the heart.

He could withstand watching Dean marry and move on, beyond him.

Forgetting him.

He could find contentment in a life filled with silently watching over the other man.

But he could not exist in any world where Dean was gone.

So he'd done what he had to, and fate had turned it on him in the sickest way possible.

The price for saving what he loved most, was the very thing he wanted to keep.

I had no choice.

No. You had a choice. You just made the wrong one.
You don't understand. It's complicated.
No, actually, it's not. You know that.

Where were you when I needed to hear it?

I was there.

Where were you?

I was there, Dean.

I was right there.

I'm alwaysright there.

He reaches, but stops.

Dean is on his knees, quivering with nails digging into his own hands.

His fingers are intertwined in prayer, but not a thought or word rises from him.

Castiel just watches, feeling some inner part of him crack and crumble.

He wants to reach out. To have and hold the other.

He wants to chase the evident pain away, but he knows he is the source.

His face is not one Dean will want to see ever again.

He can accept that, painfully.

He can live a life of silent, invisible observance.

As long as Dean is safe. Alive.

"I'll save you."

His strained voice growls.

Cas knows that timber better than any noise.

It's Dean's stubborn "manly" voice that kicks in when he's trying not to cry.

It digs into the back of his throat and pulls out the most darkened and deep sound it can muster, just to hide the water burning paths down his face.

"No matter what, I'll fucking save you."

His hands shake with resolution, not pain.

His tears scream down his cheeks out of frustration and determination, not agony.

Not anymore.

Castiel is struck by the words. Clearly, they're meant for someone else.

For Sam, or Bobby.

Not him. Certainly not him.

"You hear me, you asshole?"

Dean screams, probably waking up the entire house as he gets to his feet.

The tumbling, crashing wave of emotions is too much for him to struggle with on his knees, and he forces himself to his feet. His head throws itself back when he shouts, and the words rip out of his lungs so perfectly that he can't understand why he didn't do this sooner.

"Cas!"

He screams at the top of his lungs.

Ever ounce of pain, and guilt, and everything else swimming in him claws it's way out.

Then there's silence. And he's panting and wants to sit down, but he doesn't.

He just stares, up at the ceiling.

He imagines the awful prison Cas is in, calling it Heaven when it's just the opposite.

His home isn't in some awful greatest hits album.

It's there. With him. On earth.

And even if he fucks up, it's fine.

Everyone in the family does. It's just what they do.

If anything, a deal with the devil makes him more part of the family, right?

Dean smiles, weakly. He's tired and drained and has no plan or idea other than the voice in the back of his head, screaming at him, "Save Castiel, Save Castiel".

Slowly he lowers back onto the bed, sitting with elbows on knees and hands loosely together.

At first, it's a hallucination.

Has to be.

But the tail of the trenchcoat in the corner of his eye is too tempting to ignore, trick or not.

So he turns. And freezes.

"Cas…" Dean whispers, lips barely moving.

Castiel can't look directly at him. But he's there. Standing.

Waiting?

"Why are you here?"

"I always come when you call, Dean."

Always.