Chapter Text
Dean opens his eyes and is greeted with a blank, dull, grey ceiling, covered in various cracks. Memories of trench coats and blue eyes and soft smiles fade no matter how hard he tries to hold onto them. He raises his hands and wipes at his eyes, still clinging to his ever-recurring dreams. It was futile. He never managed to keep them, always forgotten by the time he was out of his bed, only to return when he went back to sleep. The wounds were made every night, sewn up every morning, and ripped open again that evening. A new kind of Hell.
He tears the blanket off of him and sits up, feet resting on the floor. He doesn’t move. Not for a while, at least. He’s not sure of time anymore. Seconds feel like years and months feel like hours.
He doesn’t even know how long it’s been. Since Cas died. Nobody really knows what happened to him, all Dean knows is that Cas is gone. Almost everyone comes back some time or another. That’s what’s keeping him together right now. He’s hanging on to the hope that he's going to come back. That he'll return so Dean can tell him what he's wanted to tell him for years. That he'll return so Dean can grab onto him and never let go. That he'll return so Dean can have him back. Just have him.
He finally gets up and goes to the kitchen. The bathrobe he usually wears is nowhere in sight. He doesn't know where it's gone. Maybe it’s in Cas's room. He's spent plenty of nights there. Either standing in the doorway or sitting on the neatly made bed or looking at the desk in the corner. The desk has the mixtape dean made for Cas on it.
"Dean's top 13 Zepp Traxx," it reads. Dean wants to throw it across the room. He wants to break it. He wants to destroy it. But he can’t bring himself to even touch it. Hell, he can barely look at it. He remembers the day Cas tried to give it back to him. God, he was so mad at him. But there was no way in hell was he going to allow Cas to do anything other than keep it.
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"It's a gift. You keep those."
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He opens the fridge and looks through it. There’s bacon. He debates on whether or not he deserves it. But there isn’t much else in the fridge so he decides to eat it. He grabs it and a skillet, placing it down on the stove and turning on the heat. He looks down at the package one more time, looking it over.
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"Here. Try this."
"Dean. You know I can't taste anything."
"Ah, ah, ah." he wagged a finger at him. "That was when you were an angel. You're human now remember? Try it."
Cas gave him an apprehensive look before taking a piece. He put it in his mouth and chewed it for a minute.
"I can see why you like it. It is fatty and greasy, but... good."
"I told you!"
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He notices the expiration date. It's gone bad. For a month now. Dean's face contorts as he grips the package with as much force as he can and launches it across the kitchen. He can’t hear the thud it makes when it hits the wall, his heartbeat is too loud.
He makes his way over to the table, yanks a chair out from under it, and collapses into it, placing his head in his hands. The stove is still on.