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Summary
He watches from the window, staring out into the abyss that is the freezing night. Dramatic? Maybe.
The only thing he can think about is the pain, the grasping pain that only allows him to breathe to continue its torture on him. Laughing, since he has quite literally been tortured by demons and angels, the devil, and even god himself (lowercase because he doesn’t deserve the uppercase). He feels as if he did put himself into that box and was sinking into the deepest ocean there is.
Cas.
The only creature that made him feel love, anger, hate, jealousy, and pride other than his brother. That’s why he felt this way, he lost his other brother he thought. No, he will not think about how Sam isn’t drinking his liver away, no he will not think about how Sam can move on, no he will not think about how Sam wasn’t in the room when Cas said that. It has been four months since he died. Dean hasn’t seen a night, or a day, without at least a beer bottle in hand.
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Sillies
Destiel