It was the one year anniversary of Castiel's death. Dean was sitting on the hood of the Impala, knees drawn up to his chest as his trench-coated shoulders shook with sobs. He had taken to wearing the tattered garment after Cas' funeral. He looked out over the valley, the last rays of sunlight reflecting off the river down below. It would have been beautiful if Cas had been there. He remembered the scene, vaguely, from the hours after the angel's death when he drove until the road stopped and then some more.
A half-empty six-pack of beer from the Lebanon grocery store was sitting beside him. He popped the cap off another bottle and ignored the fact that his phone was vibrating in his pocket as he swallowed half of it in one go. He remembered the saying he'd heard in his youth, about how people went to a better place when they died. He knew on some level that it was a lie, but the belief that Cas was happy, wherever he was, dulled the pain a little.
He raised the bottle to his lips, speaking to empty air before he drank. "Y'know, Cas, you should be here. You'd love this so much." He half-laughed through the tears. "You might even try to use the camera on your phone." He swallowed another mouthful of beer and choked on a sob. "Cas… I miss you, buddy."