Restless
This is basically a little telling of Dean's thoughts and feelings after the events of the season five finale.
Maybe he was just in the eye of the storm, he'd worried to himself, many a time after the events of that day. Night after night of the first couple of months, he'd found that he couldn't sleep without the dagger underneath his pillow. Memories would flutter back to him during the nights; his little brother's eyes as dark as charcoal, his friends' blood staining his clothes; the immense feeling of disbelief that flooded his mind as little Sammy plunged into the cage, clinging to the Devil himself. Or the guilty feeling of relief that washed over him at the same time.
He couldn't help but also remember Sam's words in the Impala that one night. The promise he'd made to his brother. It was practically Sam's dying wish for Dean to be happy, to return to Lisa and Ben and live the life he'd always wanted. The life he'd always dreamed of. But old habits die hard, he'd thought. His Hunter instincts told him to be alert. Lisa told him to relax. But he told himself that it was too calm, it had to be. He knew he was supposed to be happy. He promised Sam he would be. He promised.
And he was, don't get him wrong. He loved lying in bed next to Lisa every night, the white sheets surrounding their bodies, the warmth that he felt when he did. He loved the white picket fence in their front yard. He loved showing Ben what it's like to work under the hood of an Impala. It was what he'd always wanted. After all these years, he'd told himself that he would never get it. How could he? He was a Hunter. He could never go back to his old life, not now, not ever. Maybe that's why he found it so hard to adjust to the sudden reality that he had it. His dream was now a reality. By now he'd just convinced himself that that's what it was always going to stay: a dream.
However, he found himself realizing that he wasn't as happy as he thought he'd be. He had everything he'd ever dreamed of; his dream house, dream girl, even a great kid that he was proud of even though he wasn't blood. He had every right to be happy. He needed to be happy. It would be a sin if he wasn't, he thought, ignoring any irony in the idea. But it just wasn't the same, he'd come to notice. He just wasn't used to just having sheet under his pillow at night. Of course, old Hunter instincts may have gotten the better of them in the sense that Devil's Traps are still graffiti'd on the underside of every doormat inside their house, and out, even.
But that wasn't the point.
The point, really, was that he'd always imagined that Sam would be there with him in his dream house, with his dream girl, playing with that great kid he was so damn proud of. But he wasn't. And that was what took the most getting used to. His baby brother was rotting in the pit, with the Devil inside his head and an ass of an archangel helping to strip him of everything that was Sam. When it was put like that, Dean felt his stomach churn.
An even his angel hadn't uttered a word since his departure. He really had never been one for long goodbyes, but even now he'd started to feel like he should've said it in the Impala that night, before that comforting flutter of invisible wings he'd grown so damn fond of was heard, and he'd never see Castiel again. It wasn't like he was alone, but the thought of not having an angel to watch over him anymore was discomforting. Just a little. He'd often found himself wishing that Cas would drop by once in a while, but he knew he had other things to worry about. But that didn't stop Dean from calling out his name to an empty night once or twice; weary that he'd hear that flutter of wings again, but knowing that it was in vain. The silence was unbearable, he'd found out soon enough.
Dean knew it was too good to be true, really. Having this life was never meant to be, not for him. He knew that from the start, even if he didn't want to believe it. He really wished that he could keep his promise…but he couldn't, not without him. But he was trapped in Hell, Dean thought; and he wasn't coming back.
That's when he knew that the restlessness in his heart would never fade. Not as long as he kept living this life that wasn't his to have. But he had to keep it up, for Sam, and secretly hope that his dream could one day be made a reality, all over again. Having Sam was all he needed. As long as he had Sam, a white picket fence and a steaming apple pie on the window sill didn't matter to him.
I guess the grass isn't always greener on the other side.