The trenchcoat sits in the trunk of the old impala, from the day Dean picked it up out of the lake, and there it will stay until it's owner takes it back.
If, it's owner takes it back.
Sometimes Dean just sits in the front seat of his car and stares at nothing. And he remembers Cas in the back seat, and he remembers Cas in the front seat. And he remembers all the risks Cas took for him and all the things Cas gave up. And how he never appreciated any of it. Sometimes Dean is compelled to open the trunk, take that damned trenchcoat, throw it out and be done with it, and somehow move on. He could forget about what Cas meant to not only him, but everyone else too. He could get down to business and be more help to Sam and Bobby without being distracted by that damned trenchcoat. He never does.
Sam and Bobby notice things; the way Dean occasionally would close his eyes and his lips would move silently, and he would mouth, 'Castiel please,' almost like he believed Cas would hear his prayer and somehow everything would be okay. His eyes tended to be red when he opened them again. They noticed the faint sniffling from the couch Dean would sleep on, they noticed the tear-tracks on his face when he feigned sleep. And they noticed the look in his eyes when he said, no, he didn't want to talk about it. What was there to talk about, he'd say, it is what it is.
Dean regretted all the times he could have thanked Cas, or he could have returned a smile for maybe a moment longer, because even that moment could have meant something. Somehow Dean knew though, that no matter how many times he could have thanked Cas, it would never ever seem like it was enough. It was in that moment Dean swore he would give anything to have him back. Any damned thing. What he would have given just to get five more minutes with him. To say everything he should have said a long, long time ago or everything he never said because he was too scared to say.
One Sam caught him, staring into the trunk at the trenchcoat. And he didn't seem sad, or happy, or angry, or anything. Expressionless with the tiniest hint of sorrow- Sam chided him, telling him it wasn't good for him to bottle all his emotions inside of him. Sam would attempt to talk to him, and when he failed, he would send Bobby. Bobby had no more progress than Sam.
Occasionally, Dean would bring up Cas during a meal at a rundown diner in the middle of nowhere. And Sam would stay silent and watch as Dean struggled for the right words to say. The end result was Dean clearing his throat and asking Sam to pass the salt and Sam would give Dean a nod and pass the salt, because by the look on Dean's face, he knew that his brother wouldn't carry on the subject.
And Dean would, from time to time, think, that maybe Cas was in fact not coming back. Maybe he was gone. Dean was positive that the whole world, all the stars, the moon and the sun and the earth and the lives on it, would end, if he ever, for one second, believed it.
If, it's owner takes it back.
Sometimes Dean just sits in the front seat of his car and stares at nothing. And he remembers Cas in the back seat, and he remembers Cas in the front seat. And he remembers all the risks Cas took for him and all the things Cas gave up. And how he never appreciated any of it. Sometimes Dean is compelled to open the trunk, take that damned trenchcoat, throw it out and be done with it, and somehow move on. He could forget about what Cas meant to not only him, but everyone else too. He could get down to business and be more help to Sam and Bobby without being distracted by that damned trenchcoat. He never does.
Sam and Bobby notice things; the way Dean occasionally would close his eyes and his lips would move silently, and he would mouth, 'Castiel please,' almost like he believed Cas would hear his prayer and somehow everything would be okay. His eyes tended to be red when he opened them again. They noticed the faint sniffling from the couch Dean would sleep on, they noticed the tear-tracks on his face when he feigned sleep. And they noticed the look in his eyes when he said, no, he didn't want to talk about it. What was there to talk about, he'd say, it is what it is.
Dean regretted all the times he could have thanked Cas, or he could have returned a smile for maybe a moment longer, because even that moment could have meant something. Somehow Dean knew though, that no matter how many times he could have thanked Cas, it would never ever seem like it was enough. It was in that moment Dean swore he would give anything to have him back. Any damned thing. What he would have given just to get five more minutes with him. To say everything he should have said a long, long time ago or everything he never said because he was too scared to say.
One Sam caught him, staring into the trunk at the trenchcoat. And he didn't seem sad, or happy, or angry, or anything. Expressionless with the tiniest hint of sorrow- Sam chided him, telling him it wasn't good for him to bottle all his emotions inside of him. Sam would attempt to talk to him, and when he failed, he would send Bobby. Bobby had no more progress than Sam.
Occasionally, Dean would bring up Cas during a meal at a rundown diner in the middle of nowhere. And Sam would stay silent and watch as Dean struggled for the right words to say. The end result was Dean clearing his throat and asking Sam to pass the salt and Sam would give Dean a nod and pass the salt, because by the look on Dean's face, he knew that his brother wouldn't carry on the subject.
And Dean would, from time to time, think, that maybe Cas was in fact not coming back. Maybe he was gone. Dean was positive that the whole world, all the stars, the moon and the sun and the earth and the lives on it, would end, if he ever, for one second, believed it.
