It's been three days since Dean hasn't said anything more than "Beer?" to his brother or to Jack, three days since Dean told Sam that he's in love with Cas, three days since Dean had to see him die, three days since he had to burn his body. Deans' not even sure how he's running he hasn't slept and when he has it's never for long before the nightmares kick in and he wakes up panting and reaching for the gun under his pillow, (which he's starting to think might cause more pain than good when he's already pointed it at Sam twice in his sleep deprived state). He hasn't really eaten anything just enough to get Sam to leave him alone. He's pretty sure he might actually be sweating alcohol, he's prided himself on not getting a hangover yet but that might just be because he's already started drinking before he's even fully awake. A wide range of alcoholic bottles can be found thrown in different rooms of the bunker scotch, vodka and enough beer bottles to litter a beach in Hawaii.
It's night time, though Dean's not sure how he knows that, Sam turned off all the lights in the bunker ages ago. He's been staring at the wall in front of him since, unable to sleep. He gave up even trying to, awhile ago, more concerned about what will follow him into his sleep than the lasting effects of its absence.
Bored of staring at the same wall for days on end, Dean wanders down the halls of the bunker aimlessly only stopping when he inevitably finds himself outside of what used to be Castiel's room.
Cas never spent much time with them in the bunker, but Dean still insisted that he should have his own room, that he should decorate it, fill it with his possessions even if he didn't own anything other than what he carried with him. Dean wanted to make sure that Cas knew that he could stay whenever he wanted, for however long. He even practically begged him to stay a couple of times, though if he was asked he would probably say that he simply gave Cas the option if he had wanted. Though it was rare, Dean always enjoyed when Cas stayed with them in the bunker. He enjoyed the angel's company and it was nice to know that if he wanted, Cas was only a couple doors down the hall from him.
Dean breathed deeply hoping to stop the shaking of his hands. He tried to convince himself it was only because he was starting to get well past tipsy, and slowly pushed open the door.
Switching on the lightbulb, Dean had to cover his eyes with his forearm and blink several times before his vision cleared well enough for him to make out more than vague shapes. Despite how long Dean tried to convince Cas that decorating the room and trying to make it distinctly his was important. Which only ever got him a confused head tilt and "But why would possessions and pictures make the room mine? I already know that it's mine, because you said that I could stay here and angels don't have possessions." The room still only had the same white walls and mattress as the others. Dean didn't care because he knew this was Cas's room, knew that he should be in it right now doing whatever he did when he wasn't sleeping instead of floating somewhere in broken pieces of ash.
Gently as if he was scared that if he touched it would crumble and break, like everything important to him seemed to, he laid his hand on the cool sheet. His heart was beating so loud his ears were ringing. He felt like he didn't belong here. This wasn't his room. This was Cas's and he should be the one here not him. But even when he tells himself that he shouldn't be here, he can't make himself leave. Instead he climbs his way up the bed, Cas' bed and lays on Cas' pillow and if he tries hard enough he can still smell Cas. Tears fall from his eyes onto the pillow and even though he tries to get them to stop, scared that he's contaminating Cas's pillow and it'll stop smelling like him, he can't.
He prays to Cas again like he does every night and every day and practically every moment he's awake and he can only get through "Cas, Please", before he passes out from the exhaustion.
* * *
It's late well into the morning before Dean finds the energy to leave the bed and it's only because his lack of appetite is starting to cause his stomach to make interesting gurgle noises. Dean had only woken himself up shaking feeling like he was going to throw up three times in the night which he was counting as a success because it was the first night he'd managed to fall back asleep after waking up.
He saw Sam in the hallway and he thankfully didn't say anything about finding him walking out of Cas's room, instead nodding to him and telling him that he made eggs that were still in the kitchen if he wanted some.
* * *
Checking both directions of the hallway Dean sighed and headed towards the bunker's kitchen. Sam's been trying to talk to Dean. However, he hasn't been successful. Dean always sees him and flees back to his or rather Cas's room before he can stop him. He's tried talking to Dean through the lock door on multiple occasions and all it ever earns him is blared rock music. Realistically Dean knows that he can't hide from Sam forever, or from his feelings or the reality of cas' ... of what happened to Cas, that Cas is gone, really gone this time.
Sam finally catches up to Dean on one of his rare excursions to the kitchen.
"Dean," Sam says quietly as if speaking to a particularly startled deer.
Dean knows that tone, and simply grunts in reply. It's the tone of voice he uses when he wants to talk even when he knows Dean doesn't want to.
"How are you feeling?"
Dean almost laughs around the last few bites of his sandwich, "how do you think?"
"Dean", Sam's shoulders shrug and he takes several small steps closer to where Dean's sitting elbows resting on the table. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"When have you ever known me to want to talk?"
Sam breaths deeply as if holding himself back. "Okay. Maybe you don't want to but I think it would be good for you to talk about what's happening, about how you're feeling. Cas was my friend too."
Dean snorts. Was. Sam's already using the past tense and he thinks he can understand how Dean feels.
"Yeah well just because you and Cas were friends or whatever doesn't mean you know a damn thing about what I'm feeling or what's best for me. Okay? So quit asking."
"Dean."
"Sam."
"Dean! You're being ridiculous. I know this is hard for you. And I know that this is probably harder for you than it is for me, but that doesn't mean I'm not also struggling. Cas was important to me too. But keeping all your feelings in and pretending there not there is stupid. When has that ever worked for you Dean? I'm just trying to help okay? I just want you to talk to me."
Dean stares at the grooves in the table, "what makes you think that I want your help?"
"Dean, we both know this isn't healthy for you. Why don't you try talking about it just to see if it helps. If you say it doesn't I'll leave you alone. I just want you to try."
Dean stands priding himself on managing to maintain control, as he stands and slowly walks to the doorway, cause all he wants to do is start swinging at what's closest. "Leave it alone, Sammy"
* * *
Dean hasn't been back in his room except to shower and change clothes in two days, instead choosing to spend time in Cas's.
It's only when he gives up and opens one of the doors in the dresser to put away a couple days of clothes that he notices a box in the corner of the dresser with Cas's only possessions. He smiles for the first time in days, and he said he didn't have any possessions.
Carefully he pulled out the box not wanting to harm anything Cas's found important. Inside he found the mixtape he'd given him, Dean's old AC/DC shirt he'd given him after he fell, a bee keychain that Sam bought him (Dean thought the idea of having a keychain without a key was ridiculous but Cas had of course loved the gift) and a collection of photos, several Dean weren't even aware existed. In one Cas, Sam and Dean were laughing in front of the impala. There was one Cas had clearly amaturely taken of Sam that was fuzzy on the edges. Another two he must have secretly taken of Dean, one was of his profile while he was driving and another of him standing in the kitchen laughing, he wasn't even aware that Cas owned a camera. At the very bottom of the box was another photo this one was framed. It was a photo that Sam insisted they took claiming that there wasn't enough of them, Dean was annoyed at the time though extremely grateful now, because even if he didn't put it on display Cas had a framed photo of Dean with his arm wrapped around Cas, Dean was laughing at whatever Cas had said he couldn't remember now and Cas normally tentative and shy was smiling, a rare and beautiful sight.
Dean whispers a quiet almost inaudible prayer. The praying started ever since, god he still couldn't bring himself to think it let alone say it like Sam wanted him to.
"Cas", Dean drops his head into his hands, "God this feels so stupid. Praying to you when I know you're not here, that you can't hear me and that I won't get a response, but I guess what I'm trying to say is I miss you. Okay?" Dean grabbed the edge of the dresser, struggling to stand on his own.
"I miss you. It's not the same without you here. It's hard. So much harder than any of the other times even. I feel so alone, which is dumb I have Sam and Jack. You were right about him you know." Dean released his hold on the dresser and allowed himself to collapse onto the bed. "He's just a nice innocent child, a grown-adult yet also somehow a baby child, I don't I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. And I'm rambling to myself in an empty room, it's not even mine I'm rambling about nothing scared of what I might say in someone else's room. God my life is pathetic." Dean stared at the wall as he struggled to breath around the words lodged in his throat.
"Sam wants me to talk about what happened about you and how ..., you know. It's been days and I still can't bring myself to say it it's stupid really I'm gonna have to say it eventually. I need to stop obsessing to move forward. I can't afford to let my guard down, to get distracted. So here I go, Cas is dead for real this time."
"you're dead and you're not coming back, Dammit." Dean looked up screaming as if he could reach up to heaven and drag Cas back if only he was loud enough.
Dean smashes his clenched fist over and over into his thigh trying to stop the tears, rocking himself back and forth. Cas is dead and he isn't coming back and there's nothing I can do to change that I'm going to have to learn to live with that, or at least pretend for Sam until I can. Dean whipped the few stray tears from his cheeks and climbed his way up the bed and under the covers. It would be several hours and not until the sun was starting to rise until Dean's eyes drifted close from exhaustion.