Take Care of My Baby

Twenty-Three

Dick still hasn't wiped the smirk from his face when Dean and Cas approach, and, to say the least, it's a bit unsettling. In fact, Dick is radiating a very cocky aura with the way he's standing: hands in his pockets, leaning against his car with his legs crossed.

The first words out of his mouth are, "So, you're bringin' your little boy-toy."

"He came to see me smoke your ass," Dean retorts with a grin of his own.

"Shame he'll have to help scrape your ass offa the pavement."

At that moment, Ash appears out of the crowd separates Dean and Dick with a hand on their shoulders. "Okay, okay, compadres, let's keep our dicks in our pants, all right? These people are here to see a race!"

The crowd explodes with cheers and whistles of excitement, and Dean is glad t o see that even his recent announcement can't bring them down.

Dean decides to be the bigger man and turns to Dick, one hand outstretched. "Good luck," he says.

Dick takes his hand in a tight grip and laughs, "I'm not the one who's gonna need it."

The racers and Cas split to take their places in their respective cars. Dean shoots a thumbs-up to Cas once they're both seated.

"Hope you like lookin' at my taillights!" Dick calls cheerily as he slams his door.

Dean doesn't do more than lean over Cas to give Dick his best smile and flip him the bird.

"All right, Cas. Let's so this," Dean murmurs as he runs his hands over the steering wheel. Then, he turns the key in the ignition, and his baby roars to life. The familiar sound riles everyone up again, and they shout out encouragements to their favorite driver.

Meanwhile, Dick starts up his own car, and though it's met with almost no fanfare, Dean's heart sinks to realize that it sounds like a vicious creature ready to pounce.

He forces himself to put his mind into racing mode, where almost every subtle shift in his or his opponent's driving is figured into the plan of how he's gonna win this race. It's a skill he's spent years honing, and he's damn proud of it.

Ash steps out between the two cars, and everything goes quiet. The tension in the air is almost palpable as the man slowly raises his bandanna in the air as a flag. Each second that it remains up pushes everyone farther to the edge of their respective seat; the tension in the air is so thick that it almost becomes stifling. No one speaks, no one moves, no one even dares to breathe -

And Ash brings the bandanna down in one quick motion. The trip hardly lasts the blink of an eye, but already, both cars are off, Dean on the left and Dick on the right.

For a few moments, it's a tight race. Both vehicles are neck-and-neck and so close together that Cas could reach an arm out and yank the wheel from Dick's hands if he was so inclined. After that initial burst, however, Dick begins to fall behind slowly, until pretty soon, only the very nose of his car remains in line with the middle of Dean's.

"Look at that," Dean comments softly, glancing at Dick in the rearview mirror. "Seems like he's-"

The action happens so fast that both Dean and Cas don't see it.

One moment, Cas is examining Dick's front end in the side mirror, and the next, it's so close he could touch it.

The Thunderbird's front end smashes into the side of Dean's coupe in a sudden burst of speed that crumples both cars.

Dean loses control of the car, even though he futilely tries to correct its path for a few seconds. He can feel searing pain in his lower half, and blood seeps from a few cuts in his arms, but goddammit, he still tries.

That is, until he glances over in the passenger seat.

The Coupe finally slams to a stop against the wreckage of Dick's car on the side of the road. Dean's head smacks against the steering wheel. He does his best to blink away the blackness that creeps into his line of vision.

"Cas?" he croaks. Then, he fully comprehends what he saw, and his head whips to see the other man so quickly that it hurts. "Cas!?"

The first thing he notices is that Cas is drenched in blood. Dean can see bones piercing through skin, can see glass shattered into the man's body, but he can't see Cas's face, because, he, too, was thrown against the dashboard. The only difference is that Cas simply stayed there.

"Son of a bitch," Dean growls. He shoves open the car door and he ignores the sharp pain in his right leg. Priority number one is pulling Cas out, getting him away from the car in case the gas tank blows, and seeing if his worst fears are confirmed.

Cas's door proves to be less of a problem than Dean had thought it would be. The shock of the impact twisted the metal so that it has popped almost completely out. However, the dashboard caved in on top of Cas's thighs. It's hard, especially with Cas being unconscious, but somehow, Dean manages. He pulls the dashboard up just enough that he can slide Cas out of its way. He slides one arm around the man's back and one under his legs. Then, Dean puts his weight on his good leg, and he lifts.

His own pain doesn't faze him. Dean soldiers through it, limping on the leg that hurts him as he carries Cas over to the other side of the road, murmuring any senseless thing he can think of and periodically screaming, "We need some help!"

Gently, he collapses to his knees and lets Cas rest on top of them so that he can hold the younger man in his arms. It seems wrong to do anything else, and it makes it easier to get a good look at Cas's face.

Cas's nose is obviously broken; it's pushed to one side and is gushing blood. But the thing that worries Dean the most is the gash splitting Cas's forehead all the way up to the crown.

"Dammit, Cas, don't you die on me," Dean whispers through an emotion-choked throat. "Shit, I'm so sorry. Shouldn't have made you come with me. Oh, shit." He looks back toward where the race started and shouts, hoarse, "Help!"

He tries to check Cas's pulse, but his hands are shaking so violently that he can't tell one way or another. He just laces their fingers together and rocks Cas back and forth. Tears break through the barriers he tried to set up against them.

The ache that rips through his entire body outshines any physical wounds. He can't believe that Cas is so mangled, that the body he held in his very own arms this morning could become so disfigured.

He chokes on a sob. "Cas, I'm so sorry. Please... you're family, Cas. You're all I got - all I want." His voice breaks off as he fights the emotions threatening to spill through. "Cas, I need you. I love you. God, I never... I never said that enough, did I?

"It's gonna be okay, Cas. I love you. It's gonna be all right. I'm gonna make it all right for you."

"Dean!" The voice that reaches him is Sam's. Dean can only look up for a moment to catch sight of his brother running at him full-speed with a group of people behind him. "Dean, are you okay? Where's-?" Sam stops dead in shock as he sees Cas. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no!"

He, too, drops to his knees to run his eyes over Cas's gory form.

"I think I killed him, Sammy." Dean is so broken, but he still tries to hide it with a humorless laugh.

"Dean, you didn't. Cas is gonna be fine, okay? And it was Dick who hit you. This one's not on you" Sam runs a hand through his hair. "Lisa's goin' for an ambulance. You shouldn't-"

A sudden explosion startles both conscious men. Dean's head whips over in that direction, and he sees Dick's car up in flames. A few people have arrived at the scene to help out, and they all scatter away from the sight of the wreck, arms covering their faces.

Then, he returns his attention to Cas, and each time he blinks, a shock of both guilt and disbelief course through him, tearing new holes at his heart. A fresh bout of tears overtake him, even though he tries to hold them back. He just cradles Cas closer to him, whispering over and over that it's gonna be okay. He's not quite sure who he's trying to assure.

He doesn't notice the arrival of the ambulance until someone touches his shoulder and says, "We need to take your friend to the hospital now."

Dean looks up, lose, to find the kind but worried face of a paramedic looking down at him. "Please," Dean murmurs, "I can't leave him."

"We have a stretcher for you, too, don't worry." When Dean makes no attempt to move, he adds, "We have to get you friend to the hospital to take care of him. We can't do it out here."

The only things Dean remembers about the trip to the hospital are how terrifyingly limp Cas looked when the paramedics picked him up and trying to hold Cas's hand in and not being able to reach the other stretcher.

__________

Dean lies in the hospital bed, staring out the window at the dark street. It's been an hour since the crash, and he's discovered that his right leg is broken, and the few cuts that he has don't even warrant stitches. The leg was crushed beneath the weight of the dashboard, and it's been put in a cast. Since then, however, no one has been in to see him, and he's getting anxious. He wants to see Cas, to make sure the man is okay. Hell, he'd even go for seeing Sam or Bobby, just because a familiar face would help ground him.

Just as he resolves to get up and find out what's going on for himself, a haggard looking doctor lets himself into the room.

"I wanna see Cas," is the first demand that comes out of Dean's mouth.

"The young man you came in with?" the doctor asks, absently checking the papers he has on his clipboard. He takes a seat next to Dean's bed. "Son, there are more immediate matters to worry about."

"This is pretty damn immediate," Dean protests. "I need to make sure he's okay."

"Castiel Novak is undergoing emergency surgery at the moment. He's in a comatose state with serious head trauma."

Dean can't find it in himself to make his vocal chords work, so he whispers, "He's gonna live, though, right?"

"It would be a miracle if he did, Mr. Winchester." The doctor looks up at him with a subdued sympathy. "His injuries are serious, and we can only do so much for him. We simply don't have the capability to treat some of his wounds, though we're trying to keep him stable enough to ship to a larger hospital. As of right now, it simply does not look like he's going to make it."

Dean runs a hand over his face. His heart feels like it shatters at the news, and the crushing weight of guilt bears down harder on his shoulders. He hopes with all of his heart that they can stabilize the man.

"What about Dick?" Dean asks.

The doctor flips to the next page of his clipbord. "Dick Roman was pronounced dead at the scene. He was ejected through his windshield, and his neck broke on impact."

They're both silent for a few moments, Dean keeping his eyes closed as he tries to comprehend what he's just been told. Softly, he asks, "Is there any way Cas could... y'know, pull through?"

"We're doing the best we can, but, as I said, the damage is extensive. Right now, I would have to say that the probability of his surviving is under five percent."

Dean can't breathe. It feels like his organs are being dragged slowly from his body and are being replaced with a black, empty hole. The only thing left is his heart, but only because it's not done contorting and convulsing within him. It hurts, but he tries to focus on the fact that there's still a chance. He thinks of all the times that the weatherman predicted a ten percent chance of rain, and it ended up pouring all day. If only it works out that way.

"Can I see him?" The question is so soft and broken that Dean doesn't know how the doctor even hears him.

"No. No one is allowed to see him right now."

"Not even family?"

"No." The doctor stands up. "Your brother is signing you out. However, there's an officer here to speak with you before you leave. I'll send her in."

Dean heaves a sigh. All he wants is to see Cas, to make the man better. But, goddammit, he isn't allowed to. It still doesn't occur to him that Cas might not make it through. He still pictures the man bearing nothing more than a few scrapes on his arms.

He looks up when the door opens. Sheriff Mills walks in, notebook in hand and a longsuffering expression on her face. She and Dean have become well acquainted in his years of speeding tickets, vehicle violations, and noise complaints, and now they share something similar to a begrudging friends-but-enemies relationship.

"Dean, you're damn lucky you got people here who like you, because this is gonna be a whole lot easier for you," she says as she closes the door and makes her way to the seat by his bed.

"Whattya mean?"

"Well, I already interviewed a handful of people who were at the race, and everyone agrees that - what's his name? - Dick Roman caused the accident." She looks up at Dean with pursed lips. "'Course, the kid can't speak for himself, but the wreck compounds it."

"Then what're you talkin' to me for?" Dean asks tiredly.

"I want to hear it from your own mouth. For the record."

"We were racin', I was comin' out ahead. Then, next thing I know, Dick's car was kissin' mine, and Cas was bleeding..." Dean squeezes his eyes shut. He can't continue, not right now, when the pain is still so fresh.

"Well, at least you have a good alibi," Sheriff Mills sighs. "You're a damn lucky guy, Dean. The Novaks aren't pressing charges, they aren't suing. They don't want a damn thing out of you, and Lord knows I asked them twice if they were sure."

He tries to smile, but it winds up as more of a grimace. "What about Dick's family?"

"Nonexistent. The kid grew up in an orphanage, and he's got no next-of-kin."

"So I'm not in trouble?"

"Well, there's still the little matter of you drag racing illegally, but, believe it or not, someone's already bailed you out and paid your fines."

Dean's eyes go wide in surprise. After all that's happened, it's hard to believe that someone would want to offer him anything in the way of kindness. He asks, "Who?"

"Bobby Singer."

Dean huffs out a breath of amusement, and he has to look away to keep his dignity, because he's almost ready to cry again. Bobby always pulls through when shit hits the fan. "Damn."

"Trust me, Dean, I was saying the same thing." She stands up and looks down at Dean. "Racing is illegal for a reason. After you're all healed up, I don't want to even catch you so much as thinking about racing, or I'll peg you with such a crazy bail that the whole town couldn't get you out. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good." She holds out a hand to him, and Dean looks at it curiously. "Well? Sam signed you outta this place. You wanna go home or what?"

Tentatively, Dean lets Sheriff Mills drag his sorry ass out of the hospital bed and into a wheelchair. It speaks to how poorly he feels that he doesn't even protest her wheeling him out into the hall where Sam is waiting for him.

"Dean." Sam pushes himself out of the chair and rushes over to meet his brother with a very awkward bent-over hug.

"He's free to go," Sheriff Mills states. "Got off easy this time."

"Thank you so much," Sam says as he moves to relieve her of her position. Sheriff Mills waves in parting before she heads down the hall. Sam, in turn, begins pushing his brother the opposite way. "They have some crutches for you in the nurse's station."

"Where's Bobby?" Dean asks bluntly.

"He went home."

That's it for conversation between them. Dean can't find it in himself to so much as have the desire to open his mouth. He just wants to see Cas, and he thinks that, maybe, he can go home, and Cas will be waiting there for him. It would all be a terrible joke that Dean would act pissed about, though in reality he'd be secretly relieved.

There's a waiting room next to the nurse's station, and Sam wheels Dean into it. "It might be a minute for me to get your stuff. Are you okay with waiting here?"

"Yeah, no problem."

Inside sit Gabriel, Anna, and Lucius, all of whom are in various stages of distress. Once they see Dean, they all perk up.

"Dean," Gabriel states in urgent greeting. "Dammit, man, what the hell happened?"

"I... Dick ran us off the road," he answers quietly. Then, he realizes that he's talking to someone who's losing his brother, and he's the one that caused it. "I'm so sorry, you guys. I tried to help him. I tried to be nothin' but good to him, and I-I-I fucked up every step of the way."

"Dean, don't say that," Anna says earnestly through her tears. She opens her mouth to add more, but something in the doorway stops her.

"Oh, no, please continue, Dean." It's a voice that Dean has heard but a few times in his life, but he recognizes it instantly.

"Zachariah," he spits out.

"Dean Winchester," the older Novak says with a voice coated in venom. "I knew you were bad news from the moment I heard your filthy name uttered in my home." He walks around to face Dean. "You corrupted Castiel, Dean. When he first met you, he was lost, and you poked and prodded until he turned against his own family in exchange for this."

"Some family you were," Dean scoffs. "He's an adult for Chrissakes, and you were still grounding him like he was a kid! You treated him like shit, and you know it! At least I tried!"

"Listen to me, you insufferable primate," Zachariah seethes, leaning over to growl right in Dean's face. "I was protecting him. You pervert everything you touch. I knew what was best for him, and look at him now." He makes a wide motion at the room. "You're killing him, Dean. He's in the hospital because you put him here."

The man straightens his back. "Tell me, boy, did I ever force Castiel onto his deathbed with my actions?"

"Zachariah, enough!" Lucius shouts.

The man in question whips around. "Oh, don't tell me you're siding with him, too!"

"Do you think Castiel would want this?" Lucius steps forward to stand right in his brother's face.

"I don't give one good goddamn-"

At that moment, Sam bursts into the room in a panic. He's hauling a pair of crutches under his arm. "Dean, we need to leave."

"But-"

"Now, Dean."

"Okay," the older man nods with no small degree of concern. Within the blink of an eye, Sam grabs hold of the wheelchair and just about breaks into a run as he pushes Dean down the hall.

Dean opens his mouth to ask what's going on, but he catches sight of a hospital bed being shoved down the hall, surrounded by several frantic doctors and nurses.

"Vitals are dropping fast!"

"Get him to the operating room, fast!"

"We're losing him!"

"Goddammit, he's not breathing!"

They pass by Dean and Sam in an instant, and the figure on the bed is mostly obscured from view by a veil of doctors surrounding it, but Dean doesn't miss the sight of a familiar homemade ring on the limp left hand of the body in the bed.

"Shit, shit, shit," Sam hisses.

"Sammy, that was Cas." He says it as though it's just dawning on him before repeating, louder, "Sammy, that was Cas! Go back there!"

"They're not gonna let you see him, Dean!"

"I don't care, just take me back!"

"This is a bad idea," Sam groans, but he does comply with his brother's wishes. He wheels Dean back to the nurse's station to inquire about Cas, but the Novak family is already there speaking to someone.

Dean barely catches the words, "...has been pronounced dead," before his world crashes down around him.

"Dean, I'm so sorry," Sam breathes sadly.

The older Winchester doesn't hear him. Everything goes blank in his mind. He doesn't think or so much as register Sam taking him out to Jess's pickup and helping him inside. Dean doesn't notice the ride home. It's only when Sam pulls into the now-empty driveway of Dean's house that the man comes back to earth.

"You can stay with us, you know," Sam informs a lifeless-looking Dean.

"That's okay, Sammy." He turns to look at his brother as he says it, and the streetlights shine down just right, illuminating the wet streaks that run down Sam's face.

"Then let me stay with you."

"Jesus, Sam, I'll be fine."

The younger man exhales slowly and stares out the windshield. "I don't like this, Dean."

"Look, Sam," Dean sighs as he drags his crutches off of the floor. "I just... I need a few hours to myself."

Sam hesitates for a long moment, but eventually, he nods. "Okay. Just... make sure you call me in the morning. All right?"

"Sure thing."

With that, he opens the door of the truck and slides out, mindful of his broken leg. He gives a short salute to Sam before stepping into his home.

As soon as he's inside the door, however, he stops. He has no idea where to go from here. His entire life for the past year has revolved around Cas. Now that the man is gone...

The thought hurts too much, and the house seems empty and hostile with no messy-haired Novak inhabiting it. Shadows seem to creep in from all sides.

Dean realizes that the only way to solve his issue right now is to sleep. If he can be dead to the world, then he can't feel, and if he can't feel, then he won't know that Cas is gone from his life for good.

So, he drags his sorry ass the distance to the bedroom, and he pitches his crutches off to the side as he collapses onto the bed fully clothed. It's his immediate reaction to reach out for Cas, but the man isn't there, and it just feels wrong. He sighs, but he slides Cas's pillow over and figures that he can just use that as a substitute.

Dean buries his face into the soft fabric and breathes in deep. The damn thing smells so strongly of Cas that it brings tears to Dean's eyes. He's spent so long staying strong for everyone around him that, now that he's alone, it's as though a dam has broken. All the tears he could have cried earlier but didn't pour out of him now in angry, heart-wrenching sobs. His fingers twist into the pillow and clutch it tight. He can feel his whole body shake with each cry and each shaky inhale. The longer it goes on, the more the black hole inside of him consumes him, until it feels like there's no more Dean Winchester left, that he's just a body with no essence inside but pain.

He can't believe that he's come to this level, and for one brief second, he wonders what Sam would think if he walked in on Dean in such a state. It's not a thought that lasts long, because the only things in Dean's mind involve Cas. He goes over every detail of their relationship and finds that he simply can't remember everything, and it hurts him more than anything else. The sobs rip from his body once more.

But after that, he starts to calm down. Slowly, Dean lets his fingers relax their grip on the abused pillow, and he lets it go. Sleep, obviously, is not in the agenda for tonight. He fumbles for his crutches and flips on the lightswitch, looking around. The bed is still unmade from when they left it this morning, and Cas's dirty towels still sit in a pile from this morning.

Cas.

Dean moves from the room and notes everything that reminds him of the man. The bedroom where Cas first slept when he moved in. The books on the table, the ones Cas was reading to get a headstart in his next year's literature class. Coffee mugs, the table where they sat every morning, the cupboard where he had discovered Cas was ticklish, a flower Cas had picked up on a walk a few days ago and stuck into Dean's hair, the stereo that still holds the record they danced to this morning. Even the sight of the couch hurts, because Cas once existed here, and now he doesn't.

Cas isn't going to be in this house anymore.

The books are going to go untouched. Sheets unslept in. The coffee mugs will be washed and put away, the flower will die, and the record will likely never be listened to again, not outside of Dean's nostalgia or masochism.

Cas isn't here anymore.

Cas is never going to be here again.

Dean can't do this. He can't stay in this house, where every surface reminds him of the man he lost. He can't deal with the judgmental eyes that are sure to scrutinize his every step and the whispers that will follow him like dust. He can't stay in the place where Cas's family lives, because his mere presence will cause them pain. He can't.

An idea pops into Dean's head, and it has Dean rushing to the phone. He hooks it back up and dials a number. It rings for a while, but finally, a gruff voice answers.

"Bobby," Dean breathes in relief, "I have a favor."

__________

Bobby shows up at Dean's door twenty minutes later. He throws his arms around the younger man as soon as he walks in. "Goddammit, boy," he whispers, clutching Dean tight.

"Thanks for helpin' me, Bobby," Dean mumbles.

"You sure 'bout this, Dean?" the older man asks as he lets go. He has a questioning look on his face. "You know, Sheriff Mills let me take your car to the scrapyard. You don't want to stay and fix 'er up?"

"Bobby, I can't," he whispers, broken. He wants nothing more than to fix up the Coupe. She's been with him his whole life, and he had planned to keep her until the day he died. But now... he can't even imagine getting behind the wheel of the car again. He knows that every time he looks over at the passenger seat, he'll see Cas. It's the car that he killed his lover in; he doesn't want that back.

He wouldn't be able to stick around long enough to fix her up, anyway.

"Well, I brought ya a pickup. It's a little rusty, but it'll do," Bobby says softly.

"Thanks, Bobby. I can't even tell you how much this means to me."

They're both quiet for a moment, staring at each other. Bobby knows Dean's plan. He knows that the man he's raised like his son for so long is hurt, is broken, and is leaving. Needless to say, he's damn worried. John fell into alcoholism when he lost Mary, and Bobby knows he hasn't been a better example after the death of his wife, and he hopes to God Dean doesn't fall into that same vicious cycle.

He wishes that Dean would stay, if only to leave Bobby with a better last image of the man than his red-rimmed eyes and haggard frame.

"You be safe, ya hear?" Bobby finally tells Dean. "And if you need somethin', you call me up. No questions asked."

"Yes, sir." Dean hesitates for a moment, looking down at the bags that he has packed. "Please don't... please don't tell Sammy until tomorrow."

"Don't know why you won't leave him a note, but fine," the older man grumbles.

Dean breathes out a sigh, letting out the remainder of one last mountain of nerves. "Well, I guess I'll be seeing ya."

"Yeah," Bobby breathes. And then, he reaches over and pulls Dean in for a tight hug once more. He blinks back the tears that prickle in his own eyes before he lets go. "Keys're in the ignition."

Dean nods in thanks and picks up the back that he packed while Bobby made his way over. He heads over to the dirty white pickup truck that Bobby towed over and opens the door. But before he gets in, he waves to Bobby and gets a half-hearted response from the man as he tries to remain strong for Dean.

He hates this. He hates leaving Bobby, leaving Sam and Jess, but he can't see another choice. Everyone in this damn town is gonna look at him like a leper and treat him just the same. He doesn't want to see Cas's death reflected in the eyes of everyone he wants to talk to. He wants - needs - to go somewhere new.

But before he leaves town, he has one last destination in mind. He drives there almost unconsciously, having been going to this place for years.

He thought about leaving without visiting it again, but goddammit, it just wasn't right.

On the way, he tries to turn on the radio, to cover up the deafening silence. It hasn't been this quiet since he met Cas.

-all the while, you belong to me.

Dean smacks the radio off immediately. The words flood him with equal parts hurt and longing. They come from a time that feels so damn far away, even if it was only less than a day prior.

All he wants is to go back to that moment. to dance with Cas for the rest of the day and not leave the house. To turn down the race with Dick Roman, even if it did take away his title as being the best racer on the west coast, because he's lost it either way, but in this particular option, he's also lost Cas.

Dean pushes the thoughts to a dark corner of his mind, and he builds a wall up to keep them there. He can't

With his broken leg impeding him, Dean drives the truck straight into the meadow that had become a place of almost holy reverence for him and Cas. Once he cuts the engine and slides out, he tries to stay as quiet as possible. It feels wrong to make a sound.

He carefully uses his crutches to make it to the boulder that sits overlooking the water, and he sits there.

For a very long time, Dean doesn't move. He can't so much as open his mouth for fear of the sobs that will echo out, so he waits. He doesn't quite know what he's here for yet, but he knows that there's a reason he came here, and he's going to figure it out.

Then, he speaks.

"Hey, uh, God," he mumbles brokenly to the sky. "I know you know I'm not into the whole 'praying' or 'believing' thing, but..."

Dean breaks off and takes a deep breath. "But Cas believed. And he's not here right now, so somebody's gotta step up. Just..." He squeezes his good knee with one hand and stares up into the stars. "Take care of my baby for me, would ya? I know... I know Cas can probably do it by himself, but sometimes he needs a little help, and I can't be there for him anymore."

He presses the heel of his palms into his eyes, trying to stop the tears that can't be held back anymore.

"I don't really know how to end this," he says with a small, sad laugh. "So, yeah, I guess that's it."

Very slowly, and with a lot of care, Dean stands up and goes back to his new truck. He climbs in and starts the engine, and Dean does what he does best.

He drives.
♠ ♠ ♠
There are four more chapters, so hang in there!