"It's not my responsibility
What has to happen happens
And our survey says
That the trigger shall be squeezed
I may not have invented gunpowder
But I see the mountains it can move
And faith and hope are jargons
For dreamers and kings."
The overwhelming silence in the room is what wakes him up first. It always does.
This time, though, he quietly pats himself on the back for night bolting upright in alert shock; knife in one hand while the other is shaking what should be the shoulder of his survival partner (when really, it is nothing more than an extra pillow). You need one of each in Purgatory if you expect to endure. Neither is more important than the other. The knife helps you hunt. It lets you defend yourself. Sometimes it means the difference between a night under shelter and a night battling the elements.
A survival partner lets you do the same thing, but they also provide the kinds of things a knife can't. Conversation. Emotional support. Warmth. Strength. Laughter. Not that there is much to laugh about in Purgatory, but once in a while…in a very, very rare while…
In the silence of the room, Dean Winchester remembers that he is no longer in Purgatory. He is home, or as close to home a motel room can be. He is in a warm bed with soft pillows and clean blankets. Underneath the silence is a steady hum from the air conditioner. Sam is in the next bed over, fast asleep.
Dean is alone in his.
Even now, a month or so after getting out, it still feels unnatural. Being without the warm press of Cas's body next to him feels strange. Inappropriate, almost.
It used to leave him feeling angry. All their effort spent towards trying to survive, all that effort spent trying to find a way of escaping, together, and in one moment of desperation… Gone. Wasted. Even now, Dean remembers the look in the angel's eyes as he pushed him through, how determined he was for it to happen this way—for Dean to get out of Purgatory first. Why? That was the question that fueled all the anger. Why him? Why only him? Why not both of them?
The anger is only a memory now, but the question remains unanswered, and Dean's bed is still empty.
Instead of feeling angry, Dean just feels…incomplete.
He tells himself that it has nothing to do with love, although conceding that it is impossible not to endure something so harrowing as living in Purgatory with someone without growing to either profoundly love them or hate them. It is about what is fair, and what is most certainly not fair is for Castiel—his best friend, his survival partner, and (when you get right down to it) his protector—to be stuck in Purgatory alone. It doesn't matter that Cas isn't actually human. It doesn't matter that he's immortal or that Cas is a being likely capable of tearing a man in half with just a look.
What matters is that he is alone.
No one to talk to or lean against at night.
No one to offer support.
No one to try and make him smile.
Alone. Completely alone with only a knife and his thoughts.
Even the strongest men break when they're alone long enough.
Dean tries to reassure himself with the knowledge that they'll find a way to get him out soon, too. Sam promised him that much. But until then…
Until then, the room is much too quiet. Dean's bed is much too cold.
And he isn't sure how long he can survive with just his knife.