Dean stretched his arms out as he awoke. The hard bed hadn't helped his sore and aching body recover from the previous hunt.
"Cas?" He mumbled instinctively, his eyes still squeezed closed. He rolled over, expecting to feel the familiar warmth of Cas next to him. Out of habit he reached his arms out to try and find him and was confused when all he grasped was empty air.
He was reaching at nothingness. Dean groaned and gruffly opened his eyes. Surprisingly, he found no angel in the bed next to him, just empty sheets. The room was quiet, he squinted to see that the clock on the bedside table read 8:00. Dean propped himself up and shook his head to clear his senses, blinking a few times for good measure.
That's when he remembered.
He remembered the angels falling as he held Sam against the side of the Impala. Beautiful tragedies falling to the Earth in beams of light, making it seem as though the stars were falling out if the sky. He remembered the chaos that followed. Millions of angels had plummeted to the Earth and of course they were the ones who had to clean it up. Mostly he remembered the searching. Endless, mindless, hopeless searching that drove him mad.
It's been 147 days and they still haven't found Cas.
Dean was alone. Again. Cas isn't going to be there when Dean wakes up, no matter how much he wishes him to.
He's gone, he left.
He's not coming back.
Dean lay back down and pulled his covers over his head. He closed his eyes and curled up underneath the dark blanket that was blocking the world off. Even if they found Cas, he wouldn't be Cas anymore. He wouldn't remember Dean or anything they did. Just like last time. Dean frowned at the old memories. Cas not remembering him had hit hard and it pained him to admit it, but it was happening again. If Cas remembered them he would have found them by now. He would have found his way to the bat-cave and they'd have a huge argument over why fiery angels were slamming into the Empire State Building. But after a few blows they would stop arguing over what happened and start figuring out what to do. Dean would comfort Cas about blaming himself for screwing up heaven, and then they would figure out a way to fix it.
Dean was having trouble coming to the realization that that reunion wasn't going to happen.
Dean liked to think Cas found a home, he refused to imagine him wandering around alone all this time. It still rattled Dean to think of Cas doing normal human things. Maybe he made a new family with a wife, some kids even. Perhaps, Dean thought, he would be on a hunt one day and see him at the gas station. Or at a store, or a restaurant. Maybe a couple years from now Dean would see Cas playing catch with his son in the park. He wouldn't be in his familiar trench coat getup that Dean was used to. He would be dressed like a normal human being. Jeans, a T-shirt, with food stains instead of blood stains.
So, maybe Dean wouldn't have the reunion he hoped, but anything was better than the nothingness that filled him when he looked at the empty bed.
Dean sunk lower into his pillow and tried to think of what Cas would look like with a family. He hoped he found one better than his. He knew that if he found a wife and had children he would be good to them. At least, if he was like the old Cas he would.
Would he even be the same person?
Dean hoped he was happy wherever he was. He prayed Cas had someone to smile at when he woke up in the morning so that he wouldn't feel the same emptiness Dean did every time he woke up.