Destiel Oneshots (AUs, maybe smut)

When the Light is Gone

*spoiler warning! If you haven't watched the season 12 finale, don't read this*
Dean took a swig of his whiskey. He turned the liquid over in his mouth, sloshing it around before swallowing. It stung, not the alcohol, but the pain.
He was absolutely destroyed. Not only had his mom gotten trapped with Lucifer, but he had watched the angel he loved be killed right in front of him. And now, as Castiel's body laid in the backseat, Dean sat, looking through his phone. He read and reread every text that Castiel had sent him. There weren't many, but every few texts had been something funny Castiel had asked. Dean's favorite had been when Castiel asked him what it meant to "throw hands" and had gotten worried that perhaps people's hands would come off unexpectedly.
He looked in the front mirror at the body in the back. Even in death, Castiel shone with magnificence that Dean could not ignore. Only now, did Dean realize how much he had wished that he had had the confidence to tell Castiel how he felt. Deep down though, Dean wondered if perhaps Castiel had known about his love for him. Maybe he had felt the same way. Actually there was no doubt that Castiel loved Dean. Dean thought about all the things Castiel had done for him that showed him love.
Castiel fell from grace for Dean. He had killed members of his own family for Dean. He had tried to fix things for Dean, and in the process he destroyed himself and all Dean did was leave him behind at that hospital with Meg. And now, Castiel was dead again. All because of Dean. Castiel would have done anything for him, and Dean wished he had done better to return the favor.
His whiskey became a chore to him. He did not enjoy the taste or the way the liquid pricked at his throat, he only drank because he needed to. He needed to get drunk so he could forget. He needed the pain to go away. He needed his mom back. He needed Cass back.
The soft leather of Dean's wallet soothed his coarse and calloused fingers. The picture in the back pocket was delicately folded, the paper in danger of tearing. As the image unfurled before him, Dean saw the people he loved. Everyone in the picture except for him and Sam were dead. Bobby, Jo, Ellen, and-Castiel. Of course, Dean had gotten to see each person at least one more time after they had died. Ellen and Jo had lived again when Balthazar had screwed up the past. Bobby had been a ghost, and then they'd been able to contact him a few times while he was in heaven. Cass. Castiel had died before. But this time felt different.
Dean was ready to do anything to get back to Castiel. There must be some way to resurrect and angel. He didn't know why Castiel hadn't come back. He usually did, and Dean had always taken that for granted. Perhaps with Chuck off somewhere in the universe with Amara, there was no one to care, besides Dean, enough to bring Cass back.
The engine rolled heavily and Dean shifted the keys. He felt unusually weary of its mighty roar. The roaring that had taken him across the many roads over and over again throughout the years. This time though, it would take him and Castiel's body nowhere in particular. Dean felt that the only thing that could make him feel better is driving. He didn't know where to go. He certainly didn't want to go back to the bunker. Sam would be there and so would the nephilim.
He couldn't help but feel resentment towards jack. If it wasn't for Kelly and the stupid nephilim, Castiel wouldn't have left. Lucifer wouldn't have come back. His mom would be gone and Cass wouldn't be dead.
Hours passed, and Dean found himself in Illinois, at the barn where he first met Castiel. It all seemed so far away. Putting up warding with Bobby, the rattling winds peeling at the roof of the barn. Castiel appeared in all his glory, and had revealed his wings to Dean. Years had passed since then.
As Dean dug into the Earth, he felt some of his anger and grief subside. He had a temporary purpose, a proper burial.
Castiel's unmoving body remained the beauty it had been in life. When Dean lifted him, he was not as heavy as he'd excepted. It was probably due to him having been a "celestial wavelength of intent" or whatever he had said. None of that mattered to Dean right now. His mind was displaced as he lowered Castiel into the grave. He cried violently as he covered the angel. He didn't dare burn the body.