Just Like James Dean

The Donna Syndrome

The day felt heavy.

It felt like weights were set on the clouds so they sunk low close to ground. It felt as if the water was thick as blood; boiling blood leaving very heavy weights of water running down Deans cheeks.

He didnt bother blinking them away while he drove with the windows up, something highly unusual for him even on his worst of days. And not like this really felt like a day - it was more of a year. A year, lifetime piled stack after stack in hours, minutes, meerly seconds that didnt tick by fast enough.

By the time he got to the rode infront of the clearing it felt more like mid-May than 30 minutes.

As he walked with the heavy piles of paper in his hands, each step felt like another day dragged on with nicotine and caffeine.

By the time he had reached the clearing it felt like the July sun was settling in, ready for the anual barbecue at Mr.Fitz' place with uncles he couldnt remember and cousins he barely saw.

Now he stood there.

The place seemed off without Castiel at his side. The air dense and days passing slowly, torturingly nothenless. He checked his watch, not wanting to be long before returning to the hospital.

Only five minutes he told himself

He walked through the clearing, all the abandoned rides coming to vision. He didnt bother sitting back and admiring the scene, for it only brought memories that made his eyes sting. So he clutched with an arm the papers to his chest and with the other he climbed up the ladder until reaching the roof of the metal attraction.

He settled the duffel bag with Castiels things he would later take to the hospital to the side out of his vision - he wanted these moments to not be another reminder of Cas not being here, he wanted these moments for him.

He knew Cas would be angry when he woke up about Dean reading his.. whatever these pages were. Though right now Dean needed somerhing to hold onto. He needed Cas to ground him and to have him here to tell Dean thats its ok and give him that look thats so full of love and understanding.

Dean closed his eyes and let out a studdered breath trying in vain to keep calm. But now there were tears leaving wet trails and he hadnt even read through the damn thing.

So slowly, he composed himself. He gathered his thoughts and all of the reassuring things Cas used to tell him and kept them on replay in the back of his mind.

He reached for the papers pulling them into his lap. The sun beat down hard making him squint but he was determined to read.

Though when he opened the stack of papers, there were few ripped notebook papers tucked tightly inbetween.

The pages were wrinkled and worn with lines from being folded repeatidly. Curiousity eventually peaked, so he opened the pages carefully; just like Cas did with that angel book of his.

In between the fine blue notebook lines was Cas' fancy cursive that made Dean tilt his head just a few degrees to the right; just like Cas did when he was confused.

And right now Dean could just imagine - he could see Castiels wrists flicking and his slim fingers bending delicatly around the plastic filled ink; just like Cas did when he was alive.

No, correction. Castiel is alive and hes breathing even if the machines sometimes did it for him, his heart was beating and blood was there. His Cas was still alive.

And with a deap breath he actually bothered to read what seemed like a list or a journal entry of some sort. But it was still his Cas.

Journal entry 09/06/1997