All my love

The voice resonated in the cold, dark room.

"This is my voicemail. Make your voice... a mail."

Dean hung up. Breathed. And called again. As expected, it went directly to the voicemail.

"This is my voicemail. Make your voice... a mail."

Exhaling slowly, he kept his eyes open, looking frantically at every corner of the room until the tears burning his eyes faded away. He swallowed, the lump in in throat making it hard to breath, but he ignored it.

He hung up. And called again. He couldn't help it.

He knew nobody would pick up, he knew it was useless and damn self torture but he couldn't help it. He just needed to hear that voice again, it didn't matter if it ripped him apart.

The library was empty. Sam and Jack were somewhere in the bunker, Dean didn't care, didn't want them here anyway. Just him and his almost empty bottle of whiskey. And his phone, laying on the wooden table, repeating the same words over and over.

"This is my voicemail. Make your voice... a mail."

Damnit. Dean had promised himself not to break, not now, not ever. He'll drown himself in booze and hunts but he will not cry, pray or scream, no matter what. He had tried it all, and Cas didn't come back to him. Maybe he'll get used to this feeling, he thought. Like a sound that goes on for so long you're not even able to hear it after a time. Maybe the ache will just go away at some point. To be honest, Dean hoped so.

His body went rigid, his muscles contracting as he block out a new wave of longing and despair. It reacted on its own to the sorrow he felt, transforming the emotions into physical pain. His limbs felt stiff and sore, completely exhausted. He desperately tried to hold back a shaky sob stuck as he listened once again to Castiel's deep, innocent and clueless voice he missed so much.

"No no. Come on Dean, it's okay" he whispered to himself, his hands shaking when he pushed them against his mouth, forbidding the cry to come out. It hurt, goddammit it hurt but he couldn't let go. If he did, Dean was afraid nothing would save him again.

His body slowly started to relax under the effects of alcohol as he poured another swig of whiskey down his throat. He was fine. He was fine. He was-

Fucking hell it hurt.

Loss was always painful but this... this felt like dying and dying all over again, as every beat of his heart against his chest reminded him that Castiel's own heart had forever stopped. This felt more painful because it was Cas. His best friend, his family, the fucking love of his life even if he hadn't had the guts to admit it. It was too late now. Stupid, stupid Dean. If he had stopped focusing on his fears of rejection, if he had accepted sooner his feelings, then maybe... maybe they could've worked it out. Maybe they could've been happy, together. Too late now, fucking too late.

Dean heard footsteps. Sam? Jack? The hunter didn't have the strength to look up and the look of pity of their faces. Yes, he was miserable, and it was all his fault. It doesn't mean he wanted his brother and that demi angel freak to see him this way.

The sounds stopped when they reached Dean. He heard the chairs being dragged against the wooden floor and felt the bottle taken out of his hands. When he looked up, he met Sam's tired gaze and at his surprise, his brother didn't sermon him but filled three glasses before handing them over. One for himself and Dean that were drank straight away and another for Jack, that seemed to look at the liquid between his hands like some unknown thing, which was probably the case. Dean's grip on his glass tighten at the sight of it. How dared this thing sit on the same chair than he used to sat on. How dared it look so innocent when it had killed Cas.