Dean lay in bed that night, unable to sleep. Unable to shake the image of Cas with blood trickling down his cheek. From those cold, dead eyes that looked far too much like they had when Cas had decided to play God. That fake God's eyes had haunted him, but these ones were so much worse. Maybe it was because, just minutes before, he had seen them filled with emotion as he gazed down at Samandriel. Dean had been a little awed at the depth of feeling in those eyes. At the love in them as Cas looked at his little brother. Picturing that helped, a little. So he thought of the times when Cas's eyes had brimmed with emotion.
Because if I see what Heaven's become, what I… What I made of it… I'm afraid I might kill myself.
A brick dropped through Dean's stomach. He remembered the way Cas had looked at him. On the verge of tears, begging him to understand. And Dean understood. He had understood just how much it meant that Cas had told him that. And he had promised himself that he wouldn't let Cas go back there. But just hours ago, Cas had looked up at him with empty eyes and blood smeared across his cheek. And then he had gone back to Heaven. Dean closed his eyes and prayed.
Castiel? Are you there? God, please be able to hear me. Please be okay. Please Cas, be okay. Please don't be dead.
He felt his eyes filling with tears, but he didn't wipe them away. Instead, he grabbed the pillow next to him and clung to it desperately. He tried to pretend it was a warm, solid body wrapped in a trench coat. He tried to pretend that lean, muscular arms were wrapped around him, holding him close, keeping him safe. He tried to pretend that a soft, graceful hand was cupping his cheek, wiping away his tears. He tried to pretend that full, pink lips were kissing him. He tried to pretend that his hand was tangled in soft, dark hair. He tried to pretend that he was gazing into beautiful blue eyes that overflowed with feeling; with love. And he promised himself that if he ever saw Cas again, that he would tell him. Tell him that he needed him. Not his help, but him. Say those three stupid little words that always gave him so much trouble. Say I love you. And maybe he would get to hear it back.
