Sam and Castiel made one thing very clear to Dean: don't go after the witch alone. Deep down, they expected him to chase after her and kill her by himself but they ignored it, trying to believe the best out of Dean. However, when the pair fell asleep, Dean found himself filled with pent up energy and the itch underneath his skin that came from lack of a hunt.
Watching his brother and friend sleep, he decided they did not want to find the witch in the town as much as he did. Maybe they didn't at all. The apocalypse might have been averted, but Team Free Will was burnt out from the massive effort. Being the type of person to spring back from big ordeals rather quickly, Dean had demanded they follow the signs of witchcraft to a small town near Salem, the root of it all.
"Dean," Castiel had said warily from the back seat. "I don't think we should bother. We should rest. Salem houses very powerful witches. Do you really think we are ready to deal with something so powerful again?"
He leaned forward, trying to meet Dean's eyes in the rear view mirror, but Dean kept his focus on the road, remarking cheerfully, "We saved the world, so we can save one small town, right?"
Sam shared Castiel's concerns, but honestly, his ascension from Hell had been traumatizing enough and he didn't care where they went at the time.
So here they were, the two of them sleeping in the crummy beds and Dean regarding them over his third bottle of beer. They didn't understand his anger, the utter sense of helplessness he felt when he saw Sam jump in the cage with Lucifer riding along mentally.
He had to start doing more things to make up for it, in any way he could. He couldn't save the world like Sammy had, but he could try. One step, one hunt, at a time. They would understand, depending on if Dean could be bothered to tell them, but his mind worked in reverse. His gears spun backwards. He felt they would be more proud of him, less ashamed of his weakness, if he would suck it up and do what he was meant to.
"Sorry, guys," he whispered, light as snowfall. His parting words were taken in, vaguely, by a half-asleep Castiel, but the lull of sleep carried him away. Ever since the fall of Lucifer, he had been slinking further and further into himself, becoming more of a human than the Winchester brothers had been for a long while, since Sam first realized what his Dad's profession was, and since Dean pulled his first life threatening stunt just to impress said father.
Dean admittedly liked having Castiel around a lot more than he thought he would, but he wanted to go out alone that night.
The familiar roaring of the Impala's engine relaxed Dean's permanently tensed muscles to the slightest degree, bringing him back to his fondest memories; fighting over the volume of the radio with Sam, sharing weird but pleasant conversations with Castiel, and having the world as his home.
Pulling out onto the main road, he wasn't even sure where the witch was, exactly. But it didn't matter. The night air sung through his half-cracked window, cooling his mind and calming him in a way nothing else could. Honestly, he wasn't even concerned about finding the witch. He could search all night and be okay. He had this.
In retrospect, Dean knew that his randomly stumbling upon the witch was entirely unlikely, but whatever happened, happened.
He thought to himself that he should get Team Free Will together and go to a fancy eatery. A five star restaurant for two boys in old, beat-up jackets, and an almost former angel in a trench coat. He chuckled as he imagined the welcomes they would receive.
"Hm. Quite amusing, isn't it?"
He stomped on the break, sending the car swinging across two lanes of empty road until he was facing back the way he had just come from. He scrabbled in his pockets to find his gun, flicked the safety off, and pointed it at the small girl sitting in his passenger seat.
"Sorry, I don't think anything is that funny, kid," Dean snapped, keeping the gun level with her face.
"Kid?" she repeated irritably. "I am over a thousand years older than yourself. Hold your temper and I will do well to hold mine."
Dean lowered his gun a fraction. A thousand years? The body she retained might have belonged to a seven year old; her face rounded and supple with childish softness, her eyes wide and framed with thick but short lashes. Her golden ringlets did seem to possess a fairy tale like quality, however. Yes, after everything he had seen, Dean could believe he was looking at a thousand-year-old whatever she was. Abruptly, he realized this had to be the witch.
"So, what do you want?" Dean snapped, deciding it best not to dwell on facts.
Her rosy lips curled into a sinister smile.
"You are a fool, Dean Winchester. Do you know how many hunters have come looking for me? How many I have cursed in the most professional way? They all knew their fates the moment I decreed them, and I all but ripped their tongues from their mouths. William Harvelle was the last to track me down. Do you know of him?"
Dean's blood turned to ice in his veins, halting all sensible thoughts as the words turned again and again in his mind. Jo's father had been indirectly killed by this witch. He raised the gun again, pressing it close to her face.
"Who are you, hag?" he hissed.
She regarded him with great distaste, but no fear. Dean abruptly wondered if he could even kill her. All the same, a gunshot wound wouldn't tickle.
"Lamia," she announced, head help high. "One of the very first witches."
Dean shivered at the ancient power in her eyes. God knew there wasn't much that Dean Winchester got scared of, his life being a perpetual nightmare, but this girl held more power than most things he ever encountered.
"And what," he asked deliberately, "do you want?"
"You have a foul temper and no respect for your elders, Winchester," Lamia hissed. "I think the world has allowed you to speak for far too long. But if you are so fond of your angry words, fine. Keep them. Keep a lifetime of them."
She opened her door and slid out, keeping her angry eyes focused on Dean's face.
"Be warned now. I don't lift my curses. You will never be allowed to drop any hints that you are under one. I came to you, willing to strike a deal, but instead you give me cheek. I cannot wait to see you destroy your own life, Dean. Goodbye for now. I'll be watching."
Dean hesitated, but eventually lowered his pistol. What was the point of shooting her now? He needed to return to the motel and work things out with Sam and Castiel, maybe look into some lore about her. Easy to say, Dean didn't usually let monsters plant their asses in his beloved car then just let them leave, but he felt a faint spark of fear at tackling this witch alone.
He had been stupid; he saw that now. Not that he would admit it to Castiel and Sam. Instead, he would just say that the witch had abruptly vanished. That was plausible, right? He stretched his limbs slowly, placing the gun on the dash of the car. He didn't feel cursed. Perhaps it was just an empty threat.
Pulling up to the motel, he could see flickering movement behind the blinds of his room, so he knew that his absence had been noted. Smiling, he imagined the lecture they would give him and how Sam would pound angrily on his laptop, researching, and how Castiel would turn the TV. on very loud to drown out the sounds of Dean's reasons for being stupid.
Flinging open the door, the words intended to fall from his lips were meant to be silly and sarcastic, along the lines of a cheery 'Honey, I'm home!', but instead, a vicious snarl erupted from his throat.
"Way to come looking for me," he snapped at them, slamming the door behind him and throwing his jacket onto the bed. The words shocked him to the core, and he recoiled subconsciously from them.
'Let's try that again,' he decided.
"I expected more from my brother I carried out of a fire," he said viciously. "Or maybe a little appreciation from the angel whose ass I've saved."
Sam stood slack-jawed, in the process of folding a shirt.
Castiel's eyebrows were furrowed with confusion, and the faintest traces of hurt, as well as anger.
"Don't forget all I sacrificed for you, Dean," Castiel growled, a thinly veiled threat in his voice. They got along fine, even better than the normal, but when it was Castiel's honor that Dean took a shot at, their bond faltered under the weight of the tension.
"I haven't!" Dean meant to say, because those words were true. As little as he showed it, Dean cared greatly for the sacrifices made for him. At first, he hadn't been sure what to make of it all; a near stranger doing so much for him, but now it became as natural as breathing. He helped Cas, and Cas helped him. They had found a rhythm similar to the one he and Sam had, but this one existed on another plane, in another way, one he couldn't place. Of course he appreciated Castiel.
But the words that fell from his mouth were the opposite of his intended.
"Quit holding that over my head!" Again, his tone came out sharp without his consent. "Damn, I can't go a day without you reminding me. No one asked you to pull your stupid as shit stunts against Heaven!"
Castiel's eyes widened, and then narrowed again. He vanished, going somewhere far away from Dean, no doubt. Dean couldn't blame him. What was going on? Why were all his words coming out wrong?
He turned to Sam, who avoided his eyes stubbornly. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Dean realized he had hurt Sam's feelings. It wouldn't take much with that state he was in.
"I'm going to the bar, okay?" Sam said tiredly, like Dean said these things all the time.
'Do I?' Dean thought to himself, meekly. 'Do I usually sound this much like an asshole?'
"I don't care where you go," Dean snapped aloud, surprising himself yet again.
Tipping his head, Sam grabbed his jacket and gave Dean a wide berth as he moved to the door. He didn't look back, but Dean saw the troubled confusion in his brother's eyes. Dean wanted to call him back and apologize, but how would those words come out?
He sat down heavily on one of the beds after Sam had left, staring at the floor and trying to work things out. He didn't mean those things he had said, and he hated the look in Castiel's eyes after he had insulted him.
'What the hell?' Dean thought, frustrated. 'What if Sam starts avoiding me? What if Castiel never comes back?'
"That would be shame, huh? You are very in love with him, as he is with you."
Dean jerked his head up, towards the voice, and restrained from lunging forward and attacking.
Lamia sat opposite of him on the couch, her legs not reaching the floor. She had an ice-cream cone, completing the innocent little girl look, which annoyed Dean further.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he protested hotly.
The look Lamia shot him said 'You've got to be kidding me,' but she went along with him.
"Enjoying my curse? Your brother is more pissed than he lets on and you basically broke up with your boyfriend. Nice night, huh?"
"That's why I can't say anything nice?" Dean asked. He felt as if his very blood was boiling with his anger, with his desire to rip the witch to shreds and throw her to hell hounds. A shame he couldn't muster the energy to do so.
"It's no change from before," Lamia pointed out, shrugging nonchalantly. She wrinkled her nose distastefully, as if something didn't quite agree with her.
"That angel is very devoted to you. It may take a while for him to officially fly away, but it WILL happen. And you're brother is very sick at heart. He isn't going to want to put up with any more negativity than he already has."
She beamed at his furious expression, licking the ice cream.
"There we go. Hold that anger for a few more seconds."
"What?" Dean cried, furious, but she vanished, to his astonishment, in the blink of an eye. They were not dealing with a normal witch. Not even close.
"Dean, I have news. Where is Sam?"
Dean screwed his eyes shut, cursing to himself. Castiel should have stayed away. The further away, the better. Maybe he should have taken a vacation in Mexico, or France. He just shouldn't have come back here.
"How should I know?" he sneered.
Castiel frowned, but only shook his head briefly, causing Dean to once again think back and wonder if he always talked this way.
"He's your brother. I thought you might have an idea. But no matter. I think we are dealing with a very ancient and powerful witch. One of the first, probably. She won't have to operate using hex bags, and she will be very close in essence to demons."
'I know,' Dean wanted to say. 'The bitch definitely got me. Can't you tell?'
"I don't care," he said. "What does the witch have to do with me, anyway? I don't care if she kills the whole town."
Castiel cocked his head, and Dean, with a flash of hope, thought he saw suspicion in his friend's blue eyes.
"Dean, are you feeling alright?" he asked slowly.
At that moment, Sam flung open the door and slumped in.
"The bar is closed," he announced to them forlornly. "Something about a gas leak."
Sighing, Dean could almost hear Lamia laughing with pleasure. She must have decided it was best to keep Cas and Sam near Dean so he could insult them as much as possible. Was there any way to fix this, to tell them he was cursed?
"Shame you can't drink away your memories of Hell," Dean commented casually, and then slapped is hand over his mouth. Out of the things he had said thus far, this was the worst. Sam's mouth dropped open in disbelief, the pain in his eyes searing itself into Dean's memory. What had he done?
"I think," Sam said after a long pause, "I'm going to stay with Bobby for a while. Get some peace and quiet."
'Good,' Dean thought. It may be what the witch wanted, but he was glad Sam was going away before her destroyed their relationship entirely. He packed right then, making a phone call about getting a rental car, and left with a hasty goodbye, mostly aimed at Castiel.
Dean wondered if he had wanted to get away for a long time.
Turning to Castiel, who had his eye trained on the stained carpet, Dean wanted to say a lot of things, mainly 'I'm sorry,' but he knew they wouldn't come out right, regardless of what he did.
"I hope you brought food, because otherwise I don't see the point of you being here," he said instead, that same nasty tone in his voice.
Troubled, Castile nodded, retrieving a McDonald's bag from the kitchen before planting himself in front of the TV and turning the volume up, a clear indication that he didn't want to talk. Dean couldn't help but to feel very, very relieved.
The following days made things worse, to the point where Dean wondered more and more about Lamia's words, about how Castiel would not leave him for a long while because he loved Dean. With a weird pang in his stomach, Dean wondered if that were true, and found a little part of him hoping it was. He and Castiel had gone through so much lately, so what if they were together? Normally, Dean would have shied away from the thought of being gay with an angel of the Lord, but in this messed up place and time, it sounded oddly comforting and kinky in an appealing way.
Why couldn't he have had a normal childhood where he slept with teddy bears instead of loaded rifles?
On the sixth day of Castiel searching for the witch, and Dean helping as much as the curse allowed, a big breakthrough occurred, whether it was the trick of the witch or Castiel's cleverness. Dean liked to believe in the latter, but his mind told him differently.
"I found where she is dwelling," Castiel announced, a gleam in his eye. "We will have to kill her. She mustn't be allowed to live. I have gathered several more cases of her work and they are not pleasant. She kills her victims in quick but cruel ways."
That sent a vague realization skittering through Dean's mind, but he couldn't quite place it right then.
"When do you want to go?" Castiel urged after Dean remained silent.
The question he asked carried a hint of wariness; he knew whenever he provoked a response from Dean it was going to be a harsh one.
"I don't know. Why are you asking me what to do? Aren't you supposed to be the fearless soldier of Heaven?"
Briefly, Castiel appeared crestfallen, as if he was looking forward to hunting with Dean, but he shrugged patiently.
"I won't be for much longer. Just tell me when you would like to go, Dean. Please."
'Why can't I stop hurting him?' Dean thought mournfully. 'When will this be over?'
He remembered Lamia's words about Jo's father. So, Dean would keep attacking everyone close to him until he died? The thought was horrifying, enough to make him consider darker options. He could strangle the stupid witch, but that might make her angrier. Maybe Castiel would get so angry that he would kill him. That certainly sounded more alluring.
God, his life was fucked up.
"I guess we can go tonight," Dean said flatly. "If you stop avoiding me and being a baby about everything. I kind of expected more from you."
These were the kindest words Dean had said to date, but Castiel's eyes still filled with hurt. He had started out angry, but as the days of cursed Dean progressed, his spirit became weaker and weaker until he took the insulting words as normal. He still stuck by Dean's side.
'Why are you staying?' Dean wanted to scream. 'Stop letting me hurt you! Hit me, beat me up, tell me you hate me, just please don't look at me like that!'
He looked away, almost as if he had heard Dean's thoughts, but turned back a minute later, jaw set and his mouth turned down with forced determination.
"Dean. Enough. I have been waiting for you to share with me what is wrong for almost a week. If you want help, just say so. Tell me what's going on."
"No," Dean said firmly. "I don't want your help."
Turning away, Castiel began to fiddle with his tie, a habit Dean had not noticed before, but thinking back he realized Cas had been doing it often as of late.
"Dean, listen. I want to know if I did something wrong. If it is because of my feelings for you, I want you to know…"
"Feelings? What feelings?" Dean replied, genuinely surprised at that and then more so when he heard his words not laced with hate.
"I…" Castiel broke off. "I am not very good at this. I didn't think it would be possible to for an angel to feel such things, but I guess I'm not much of one any longer."
He laughed bitterly, and then continued. "You do not have to return the feelings, you know. I don't expect that."
Dean could hear his heart pounding, threatening to crack his ribs. Where was this all coming from?
"But, it is best you know. After this hunt, I will no longer bother you."
With that, he approached Dean, hesitant, then sure. He placed his hands on Dean's face in a way that was so tender; Dean wanted to scream at him to take a step back before the curse made him say something that would damage the moment.
All the same, a small part in the back of Dean's mind was pleased and realized Cas must have picked this up from some romance movie he had watched. He felt flushed and warm all over, expectantly waiting for Castiel to make a move. He hadn't realized until right then how badly he wanted Castiel to do something, anything, besides leaving him standing there, expectant. He parted his lips, waiting, breathing rapid, shallow breaths in the sudden heat and tension.
"May I?" Castiel asked, half-hopeful, half-timid.
'Why did you ask that?' Dean thought despairingly. He had learned that, as hard as he struggled against them, the words were going to come out, no matter what.
"Absolutely not. Don't ever touch me again," Dean said in a quiet voice. Somehow, it was worse that he nearly whispered the words. They were more sincere that way.
Castiel flinched, drawing back and placing his hands back by his side. Dean felt the absence of heat on his face painful.
"I understand. Let's go stop the witch. Then I will leave."
'I don't want you to leave," Dean thought desperately. 'Not ever. You can't make me feel like that and stop, you stupid prick. Please don't go.'
Aloud, he said, "I'm counting down the minutes."
His mind began formulating a plan the moment they pulled up at her house, which was an unsuspecting place with yellow shutters and flowers in pots lining the cracked concrete steps.
"She won't be expecting us," Castiel commented, guardedly. He was protecting himself from Dean, from getting a fraction closer to him as well as from his harsh words. For once, the curse didn't require a response. Somehow, Dean managed to get out of the car without a spiteful word.
He pulled his rifle from the backseat, not bothering to turn the safety off; he had no intent of using the weapon.
He led the way up the stairs, but let Castiel go in front of him to pick the lock. While he was busy doing so, Dean pulled out his hunter's knife, slicing the palm of his hand and watching sadly as the blood wept from the gash. He didn't want to do this, but if he didn't send Castiel away, he would just hurt him more.
He couldn't face him yet. Maybe when he found a way around this curse, to figure out how to tell Cas the truth, he could call him back, and they could pick up where they had left off in the motel.
Quickly, before the witch could arrive to stop him, Dean drew the sigil for dispelling angels.
"Castiel," he said hesitantly, testing his voice.
He hoped that, as Castiel whipped around in confusion, he could see the regret in Dean's eyes, the apology and the pain.
"Dean, what're you…?"
Dean pressed his hand to the sigil, and with a burst of light and a cry of shock, Castiel was gone; he had just enough angel left in him for it to work, and Dean was instantly grateful.
"That was rude," Lamia said from somewhere nearby.
Dean closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, before he spun around to face the witch. Lamia sat on the porch swing, chin in both her hands as she watched him cautiously, but she did not seem entirely unfriendly for the first time.
"Is this even your house?" Dean asked.
"Nope. But I knew you wanted to talk to me. I can be merciful, you see."
"Why can't I say mean words to you?" Dean replied. "Cause believe me, I have a lot to say. Every time I try, nothing happens."
She glared at him briefly before relaxing.
"The curse won't attack its mother, sweetie. But you came here with no intent of killing me. I think you may have learned a little bit of a lesson. Instead of killing me, you are trying to talk, to strike a bargain. No hunter has ever had the patience to do such a thing. I honestly did not expect this from you."
Dean, suddenly feeling embarrassed for some reason, shrugged and looked away.
"I don't think you're some good-deep-down monster. But you haven't been attacking the town. I saw some of Castiel's research. It's your sister, right? So why are you not denying anything? Is it for her sake?"
An unexpected look of sadness crept into Lamia's childish features.
"Yes. You caught me. She isn't clever enough to avoid getting caught for long…but I…"
"Certainly are," Dean finished.
Lamia nodded, hopping down from the swing.
"I will be extremely kind to you, for the sole fact that I have destroyed things in your life and you have shown respect for me. I can still feel your hate, but you can control it. The world could use more people with self-control."
"You'll lift the curse?" Dean asked hopefully.
"I can't," Lamia said with a trace of regret. "Only you can do that. But I can offer advice. If you can make Castiel forgive you, the curse will be lifted. He does not have to say the words aloud, but only think them and acknowledge them in his mind."
"But how can I make him forgive me when I can't say anything remotely un-assholish?" he protested.
The task already sounded impossible, but he squared his shoulders. He had to try to fix things, with Sam. With everyone he had hurt. He could find a way to tell them about the curse. They would understand because they loved him. He broke his thoughts off, hating how they sounded like chick-flick dialogue.
"That's the spirit," Lamia said, nodding with approval.
Despite her mercy, Dean had to refrain from slapping her, for causing the two most important people to him pain. However, he had to kiss ass or he could officially lie down and call himself fucked. A world without Sam and Castiel was not a world worth living in. Not even close.
"I can offer you one more piece of advice," Lamia added; Dean leaned forward expectantly.
"I hope you are fond of writing. I rewired your brain, Dean. Now you work like a backwards clock-while your mouth speaks the cruelest words, the ones that are opposite of what you feel, writing with ink will produce the truest of words from your heart."
A breeze stirred, and she was gone, leaving him alone on some stranger's porch with the prospect of his task burning his feet, moving him forward, away from the darkness and back towards his motel, which suddenly felt like home.
The two letters he sent off were to arrive on a Thursday, along with instructions for Sam to give Castiel his letter. Maybe the angel would find him, maybe he wouldn't. Regardless, he had said what was needed. If Castiel could not forgive him, Dean understood entirely. It would be a natural response. He could write the rest of his life, carry around a pad of paper. He could throw it at demons when he was out on a hunt.
He could make his life work without Castiel, but that didn't make it okay. It would be similar to walking down a long stretch of road for so long, only to encounter a chasm where a bridge used to be. Castiel would always be that aching gap in his heart, but he could build new bridges, find another way to get by. He just didn't want to.
He took the Impala to a garage, decided to leave it there indefinitely. He had too much energy to sit behind the wheel, and frankly the thought of facing the road alone scared him. He didn't want to drive until he crashed anymore. He would walk down the road, stop in towns, hunt the old fashion way.
Every mile would be his own.
The call came while he was hiking through a beautiful field in Nebraska, gazing at the stars that flashed and winked at him, that seemed to spiral around one another in a way that he never really appreciated before.
"Castiel," he cried, not even waiting for a 'hello'. He could hear the angel only the other line, breathing softly.
He waited, patiently, for angry words to come forth, but there was nothing. Only the silences of summer and a faint whisper of hope.
"Dean, I'm sorry…" Castiel began.
"Don't ever apologize," Dean interrupted. "It's my fault. I was stupid. I should have listened to you and Sam and just let us do the hunt together. I got pretty scared that the three of us wouldn't ever hunt together again for a while there."
"We can. Tell me where you are, Dean?"
"Wait. First I have to kind of admit something."
His words were met with silence on the other end.
"Not to sound gay, but I think I'm almost in love with you. But I mean, you know. It happens."
Castiel's laughter on the other end warmed him, sent his heart fluttering. For the first time, he found it possible that he could drift away and sit with the stars, admire the earth for all it was. These feelings sent him soaring, but he wasn't quite afraid of crashing anymore.
The bridge that led him forward was iron, firm and strong and inviting him into a new world of possibilities.
"Where are you?" Castiel repeated, his voice nearly bursting with excitement. It was the most emotion Dean ever heard there, and it thrilled him.
"A field in Nebraska. I ditched the car," he admitted, almost sheepishly.
"Don't worry," Castiel reassured him. "I'll find you in just a moment."
The phone call ended, but Dean could feel his own excitement building, threatening to burst from his very skin. A falling star streaked its way across the sky, falling somewhere to the east. Dean immediately decided to go that way next.
He attempted to sit, but his pent-up energy refused to let him. Instead, he paced, back and forth, until Castiel appeared behind him. When Dean turned to pace the other way, he ran into him.
"You're here!" Dean cried, sounding horribly like a girl, but he couldn't be bothered to care right them. He grasped him in a hug, clutching at his coat and smiling into the man's soft hair. It smelled like the wildest place of the night, and like the wind itself, it carried hints of beauty and other places he hoped to go.
"Of course," Castiel replied when they finally pulled away. His blue eyes were gleaming with a flurry of emotions. "I always come when you call."
He took one of Dean's hands in his, unusually relaxed. Dean didn't stop to think about how odd his life had become right then, or at what point he switched teams from the human species to a more exotic flavor, but everything was alright, and maybe it always would be.
They had they night sky, the path of a falling star, and so much more road left, all for them alone.
"I always will," Castiel continued simply.
My Dear Castiel,
Try not to laugh. A thousand year old witch told me it was my heart speaking. I've been telling it to shut up for so long, I'm not even sure what it thinks anymore. But I wanted you to know I was cursed, by a witch, to say the cruelest things imaginable. I don't want to ask for your forgiveness, because I just don't deserve it. But I think you deserve the truth. You mean so much, and I'm sorry I have hurt you. I wanted to tell you how amazing you have always made me feel, even though you don't really smile and I wish you would. God, my heart says the mushiest shit. I want to stop, but I think you should know it all, so I'll keep going. It kind of drove me crazy that we almost had the hottest kiss ever before the curse was provoked, but maybe just, maybe, we can start over. No, wait. That would suck. We've gone through too much to forget it all. Just meet me in the middle, maybe, and we can keep going. I don't want to take different roads now. There is enough of the earth for the both of us, and I hoped we could share it. Whether or not any of this is making sense to you (because seriously, right know I'm learning things I didn't even know about myself) I hope you can understand one day what you mean to me.
It's a happy day in Heaven when you can rile me up better than any girl ever has without even actually kissing me. Woah, that was a kinky line. But seriously, I'm glad I found a way to tell you before I hurt you even more.
But if you stay gone, just know I will walk as a man with half a heart.
I guess I'm saying I can only survive so long that way.
-Dean Winchester, for the first time in a week.