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He's gone. Gone. Dead. Done. Over. No longer breathing – Dean saw the pure panic in Cas' eyes as soon as Lucifer plunged the angel blade into his back. And when Sam held him back and Dean wept over Cas' lifeless body, he saw the burn of angel wings in the grass. The grass dying, too.
Maybe the worst of it all, even more so than watching your best friend, your lover, die, was feeling him die, too. That little bit of Grace that Dean had in him died along with Cas. He felt it. He felt that profound bond rip itself away from his soul, severing all ties it had with Dean. And when Sam tried to comfort him, tried to tell Dean they would research a way to get Cas back, Dean sobbed – because he knew. Cas was truly gone. He could feel it.
*****
Weeks went by and Dean hurt all over. His head hurt, his heart hurt, and his soul aches. He laid in bed, his head on Cas' pillow while he stared at the ceiling with watery and unfocused eyes: his heart cried, and his soul screamed out – searching for its missing piece, to no avail because it's not there and his heart shattered just a little bit more.
Dean knew Sam's research would be fruitless, there just wasn't a way to bring Cas back. He was gone, his grace was gone, and God wasn't answering anyway. But Dean knew how to be with Cas again, he knew how to stop the despair he felt in his soul.
*****
It took awhile to convince Sam he was okay to be left alone, and when Sam finally went out for a run, Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching to pop his back. He walked over to his desk and sat in the chair, opening the right-hand drawer and pulling out the colt.
Dean took his time polishing the gun – his gun - it seemed fitting to use his own being that it was Cas' own angel blade that killed him. He checked the barrel twice, one last bullet left, and once satisfied he folded the polishing cloth and placed it back in his desk drawer.
The barrel felt cold against his temple and it felt cold against his forehead. When it finally reached his lips it was warm, and when Dean opened his mouth and shoved the colt down his throat the barrel was hot on his tongue.
When Dean pulled the trigger and his body slumped down the chair and onto the puddle on the floor, for the first time since Cas died, his soul didn't hurt anymore.