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Castiel couldn’t find his Grace in time, and Metatron ended up slicing his fragile little neck open. In his last moments, he calls Dean.
The brothers find him in the library, body tossed aside like a rag-doll, laying in a mess of ancient books and ripped pages soaked in blood. In Castiel’s glassy eyes Dean can see the fear.
They give him a proper hunter’s funeral.
Before, Dean thought his life couldn’t get worse with the Mark on his arm, but he was wrong. The loss of his angel was devastating and unbearable.
He starts drinking more than usual, losing hours, sometimes days. If Sam notices he doesn’t say anything. He was in mourning too, but his brother didn’t understand. Casiel wasn’t his… best friend? Lover?
Whatever he was, he’s dead now. Dean wishes he was too. Or, at least he did. He turns down hunts and stays in bed, but never sleeps. He’s just existing now, numb and lifeless.
When he rips open his brother he doesn’t really blink except to keep the blood out of his eyes.
He doesn’t know how many people he kills before an angel finds him. He doesn’t stop stabbing the corpses around him even when the warrior of God spears his chest.
He thinks they torture him, but he doesn’t feel it. He thinks he’s dead, but he doesn’t know.