Castiel sat in silence next to the oldest Winchester. The Impala's radio was on; Aerosmith's "Same Old Song and Dance" partied with rolling static. The angel's charge sighed heavily as the static became the only music and reached to flick the radio off.

Silence.

"You miss her, don't you?"

Dean's deep, hardened voice startled Castiel a bit.

He sighed quietly.

You have no idea, Dean, he thought, turning his head to stare out the window into the harsh country darkness.

"It's okay if you do, Cas. I mean, I miss Genevieve," he sighed and swallowed stiffly, "a lot."

He turned his luminescent green eyes in the angel's direction, his eyebrows scrunched.

Castiel avoided the stare, fiddling with his fingers. A pressure was building up in his chest; it was painful and felt like he was suffocating. Everything hurt; his joints, his head, his eyes. He'd never experienced such a horrible ache before. Another new emotion and it wasn't at all pleasant.

"Cas," Dean whispered, taking a hand off the steering wheel and placing it on the angel's small shoulder.

"I know what you're feeling and its' normal."

Castiel lifted his wide blue eyes to Dean's face.

"Really?"

Dean smirked slightly at the angel's naivety.

"You're heart's breakin', bud," Dean said, his rough voice soft, comforting.

"You're whole body hurts, you're exhausted, and every time you close your eyes, she's there, smiling at you. It's hard to breathe and you feel sort of…" Dean cleared his throat and took a deep breath, "…empty inside. Like a huge chunk of you is missing."

Castiel slumped even further in the passenger seat. Boy, Dean had pretty much hit the nail on the head. No, more like jammed the nail into the board with a fricken' sledgehammer.

Before Castiel had a chance to restrain himself, a small pitiful whimper escaped his mouth.

Dean squeezed his shoulder in an attempt at comforting the angel.

But it didn't work.

Castiel hung his head and wept in silence.

End.