When Dean walks into the kitchen at midday, Cas is making coffee at the breakfast bar with his shirt sleeves rolled up. Dean comes to a screeching halt at the door frame.

"Ca-?" Before he had even finished saying his name, the vision of Cas dissipates. Sighing heavily, Dean leans on the door frame. That's the third time today.

It seemed that wherever Dean had the strongest memories of Cas, he started to appear.

He screws his eyes up and tries to pull himself together, scrubbing a hand down his face. He takes a step towards the machine but falters. It feels wrong. Cas had always the one up who would make coffee for the Winchesters. Dean would say mornin' sunshine and Cas would glare at him, before handing him a cup made especially for Dean. Black, no sugar. The way he liked it.

The question of whether he should bring up these Cas visions with Sam or not had been racketing in his brain ever since the morning. He'd woken up on the sofa in Cas' room, freezing and an ice cold pressure resting on his leg. When he'd turned towards the other end of the sofa, Cas' face had flickered into a smile and his hand on Dean's leg tightened. It looked like he'd been mouthing something, but Dean couldn't understand what words he had been trying to form.

"Cas!" Dean had exclaimed, scrambling to sit up - but Cas had vanished. Dean had stared unseeingly at Cas' still body on the bed and had dropped his head. It had taken a while to leave the room after that, a part of him clinging to the hope that Cas would come back.

He turns away from the coffee machine - suddenly his desire for caffeine had been overtaken by a sour taste in his mouth.

To say Sam was worried about Dean was an understatement.

That morning he'd gone to Dean's room to wake him up, and hadn't been surprised to find his brother in Cas' room instead. He'd hesitated at the door, Dean had his head bowed and held in his hands. He looked like he'd seen a ghost.

Over a quiet breakfast of clinking spoons and mugs, Sam had tried to breach the topic of Cas' body again.

"We have to move his body-"

"Sammy, stop it. He's not going anywhere."

Sam had closed his eyes in frustration. He wanted to save Cas, of course he did, but they had to be realistic. There was a decaying body, and they didn't know how long it would take to find a cure. Cas might be nothing but a skeleton by the time they find it.

Denial, Sam had been expecting. Maybe not quite as strong as Dean was showing, but he'd expected it. This though? The heavy cloud of grief and mourning around his brother? Insisting that Cas would wake up? He was beginning to question whether Dean would be the same again.

Soon, his worry reaches it's peak. He's sitting in the library, a spread of lore books on angels, grace and vessels covering the entire table, darting between each one - Sam had buried himself in work the moment he'd decided that Cas wasn't going to stay dead - with Dean pacing around the bunker. Sam feels like he's just found something promising about grace, when Dean freezes in place.

Curious, Sam looks up. And Dean's face … it was a mess. His eyes were wide and red, his mouth hanging open slightly, staring at something near the stairs. They looked pinned there, like he couldn't look away. Sam swings his gaze around, but just sees an empty stairway. There's a sudden scraping sound as Dean falls into the chair opposite him, as if his legs had given way.

"Dean? What's going on?" Sam presses as Dean buries his head in his hands again. "Talk to me."

"I … I feel like I'm seeing him." His eyes haven't left the spot in the room. His voice is dry and cracks when he talks. "He's right over there, Sammy." There's no one except them in the room. Sam watches Dean instead. Watches as Dean blinks, his eyes going more distant and losing what little brightness they'd caught from seeing this vision of Cas.

"Is he still there?" Sam asks, looking towards the stairs again, but Dean's shaking his head.

"No. He flickered out." Dean sighs heavily, propping his head on one hand, an elbow resting on one of the large tomes. The defeat in his brothers' eyes, makes Sam pause in telling him about the progress in research.

Instead he walks over to the decanter, and pours out two glasses of scotch for them. He drops one by Dean's hand, and falls back into his chair with the other. Settling back, he waits for the alcohol to speak for Dean. He doesn't have to wait long.

"Everyone's been taken from us, man. Finally get us all in one room and it's like - like we repel each other or something." Dean laughs mirthlessly into his drink. "Repel each other so hard we fall into other dimensions."

"Not even going to touch that one with a ten foot pole." And takes a large swing of his own scotch. He places the empty glass down, tensing slightly. "I get it, Dean. I really do. It feels so … unfair, unjust. Like the people who mean the most to us and deserved it the least got snatched up … like, ah, Eileen." Sam had been wrong.

The alcohol hadn't made it any easier to talk about her.

He misses her. God, does he miss her. He misses her bluntness, he misses her late night texts he'd get when one or both of them couldn't sleep. It hurts to think her name. It's a reverent sounding echo in his brain - Eileen. You didn't deserve that. They were on the edge of … something before it came shattering apart in the form of a still body in a morgue.

In that respect he understood Dean's type of grief. He wanted to believe from Jody's phone call all the way to the morgue that she wasn't dead. Even when her body was there, he still couldn't quite believe it - still didn't really, even if logically he knew.

"Well," Dean clears his throat, blessedly interrupting his thought, raising his glass in a toast. "Here's to hoping that Cas and Eileen are kickin' ass somewhere in - well. I'd say Heaven, but it's too good for them."

"Here's to hoping." Sam echoes, knocking his glass against Deans'.

Leaving Sam to his research, Dean can feel the alcohol shaking loose more … unpleasant thoughts and the itching in his hands starts to grow. Something was going to break, unless he gave them something to fix. Luckily or unluckily, the Impala hadn't had a tuning for a while. With a goal in mind, he heads towards the garage.

Cas' room is on the way. He hesitates at the door.

He glances over his shoulder but he's sure Sam's deep enough in research that he won't notice. Dean slips in through the half-open door into the dark room, working by the light from the hallway. If he turned the light on … it'd be like turning his light off. Instead, he makes his way to Cas' side.

"Hey buddy, um." Dean reaches out, turning the inside of Cas' jacket out slightly. He tries to swallow the nausea he feels from brushing over the stiff chest of his friend. It should be breathing and moving, like any living being should. "Just going to borrow this. Give it back soon, promise." The nausea rises. I need to get out of here. He fumbles for the mixtape in Cas' pocket, and darts out of the room.

Out in the corridor, he flattens his back to the wall and takes in deep gasping breaths. They do virtually nothing to stop the ache in his chest from consuming him. His fists are clenched so tight that the hard cassette case starts cutting into his hand. Hissing, he unclenches and stalks towards the garage.

He grabs the first tool box he can see, slams it on the ground near the Impala and rests a hand on her top for a moment. Breathe, breathe, don't forget how to fucking breathe.

It takes a while before he feels steady enough to move on. He pops the mixtape in the Impala's tape deck, before moving underneath the Impala to start tuning her up slightly. The past couple weeks of driving couldn't have been good for her.

And at least I can do something to save her.

His mouth turns into an ugly sneer at that. Angry and upset, he tries to fix what he can. It's when Thank You starts playing that Dean realises he's been working on Baby for a while and there's not a lot more for him to do. Now that he's less intent on the Impala, the lyrics start drifting into his head.

My love is strong, with you there is no wrong, together we shall go until we die.

Dean lets the dirty oil rag fall to his chest.

I wish I could go with you, Cas.

Thanks to you it will be done, for you to me are the only one.

He pushes the heel of his palms in his eyes. Dammit. I shouldn't have made this fucking mixtape. The ache comes back, stronger this time. Breathe.

Dean makes to pick up the rag again, when suddenly the volume turns up so loud that he nearly slams his head into the base of the Impala in fright.

His heart stops in his chest for a second, before he chucks the rag aside in frustration. Sam did this sometimes - sneaking into the garage when Dean was distracted, and pumps the music up so loud that Dean freaks out over it. But why on earth Sam would do it now of all times was beyond him.

"What the hell Sam?" He yells, pushing himself out from under the Impala in rage. "I'm not in the fucking mood for-"

Cas is in the Impala.

Dean throws himself into the seat beside him in awe. The vision is sharper this time, and Dean can see all sorts of emotions play out on Cas' face.

He's so caught up in looking at him he doesn't notice Cas is trying to speak. Dean stops looking at his eyes and focuses more on his lips.

"Cas - what - I can't hear you." It pains Dean to see the hopeful look leave Cas' eyes. He's here. Oh my God, he's here. Cas starts looking around the Impala, and Dean can't help words pouring from his mouth. "I thought I saw you earlier. In our - your room. In the kitchen. Was that you?"

Cas nods vigorously, and Dean feels all his grief fall off in waves.

"It's really you? You're here?"

Cas stops his search, and looks directly at Dean. His heart aches again - but for an entirely different reason this time. Cas nods once, tightly, and reaches a hand out to rest it against Dean's. He feels nothing but the hairs on his hand rise up in response.

"Why can't I hear you?" Dean asks. Cas frowns, then reaches a hand towards the tape desk. It starts skipping songs. Dean takes a moment to recognise the tune, but when he does he laughs.

"Communication breakdown?" He laughs, smiling widely at Cas who ducks his head with a smile of his own. Maybe he's finally lost it. Sitting in Baby, laughing over a mixtape he made for Cas with this vision of him. He wants to believe Cas is here for real, he really does. He must go distant, because more cold pressure settles on his hand.

Another song plays. "Yeah. I guess I am a little 'dazed and confused'. How are you even here right now?" The mixtape scratches as it's turned backwards and forwards for a song. Dean misses the beginning of it, caught up in looking at Cas frowning at the tape desk with one hand on his.

"Houses of the holy? So … angel related?" Cas nods eagerly, his shoulders dropping slightly. As they drop, Dean sees them flicker slightly and panic starts to set in. "Wait, are you on a time limit with this stuff? You faded out pretty quickly this morning."

Cas grits his teeth a little, and Dean feels the spike of panic rise as the image gets more distorted. "Cas!" His shout makes Cas look over, and he sees the same panic reflected in the blue of his eyes. Between one blink and the next, Cas is gone. "Dammit!"

He scrambles out of the car, then freezes. Should I wait for him to get back or find Sam? Compromising, he turns the stereo in the Impala way up before racing to the war room. He startles Sam pretty bad, as he trips over himself getting to him.

"Sam - he's talking. He's here. I'm not imaging it. He isn't a vision!"

"Woah, Dean, slow down! What happened?"

In his excitement, Dean starts pacing. "I was working in the Impala and-and I thought you came in to mess with me by turning the Impala's radio on - nearly brained myself on Baby - but then our Zepp mixtape started playin' and it was Cas."

Sam looks skeptical, his eyebrows high on his forehead. "So … you're telling me that Cas talked to you through a Led Zeppelin mixtape?"

"Yes!"

Sam's eyes turned pitiful, and he sat more forwards in his chair. Oh, I hate that look. Dean recoils.

"Dean, I know you're upset but -"

"Dammit Sammy! I know when I'm having visions and what's Cas. He was there!"

Sam has those therapist eyes on, so Dean rolls his. "If you don't believe me, come to the Impala. Be quick, I don't know how long he'll hang around for this time."

Dean's lost it. Sam's pretty sure at this point.

It's so clear in his head what's going to happen. They're going to sit in the Impala, listening to the Led Zeppelin mixtape expecting what, he's not sure, and his heart is going to break when nothing happens. When the eager look on Dean's face fades back into bleakness.

And for the first five minutes of sitting in the Impala, that's exactly what happens. Dean leans eagerly towards the stereo with these bright eyes, and Sam sits beside him, listening for … something.

"Hey, try sitting in the backseat." Dean suggests, looking back and forth between Sam and the radio.

"What, why?"

"When Cas was here the first time, he was sittin' there. Maybe he needs to be close to the radio to communicate …" Sam doesn't want to tell Dean that sitting in the backseat won't make a difference, but goes to sit there anyway. He wonders how long he'll let Dean indulge in these fantasies before he intervenes, for both their sakes.

Sam's about to open his mouth to break the silence, when two things happen at once. There's a burst of static, and Dean turns excitedly to the passenger seat.

"Cas!" Dean spins around to Sam, and points at the seat beside him."He's here! Can you see him?" It's still empty. At that moment, Sam's head starts hurting. On one hand he wants to brush it off that Dean just heard a burst of static then reacted - but he can't deny that Dean's reaction and the static happened at the same time. And if this meant that Cas was still hanging about, maybe he could come back?

"I can't see him," Sam says honestly, to Dean's disappointment. "But something happened with the stereo for sure." He couldn't help but feel guilty. If they were wrong, they had got both their hopes up for no reason.

"Really?" Dean frowns, looking the empty space up and down in question. "I can see him just fine. Why can't he see you?" He directs the question where 'Cas' is sitting.

Then something bizarre happens, that makes Sam's eyes widen. The mixtape starts to change with nobody touching it.

"What the hell-"

"Shh, be quiet." Dean orders, turning the volume up. The tape cycles through, breaking at long and short parts - Sam can see the sentence forming.

"Talk talk, talk, talk … not …. right now." Sam repeats.

"Fine, we'll talk about it later. Where are you?" Dean presses.

There's nothing for a few moments, and Sam leans forwards. "What's going on, did he leave?"

"I forgot you can't see him. He's still here but he's searching for something."

"Maybe we're asking too big questions?" Sam puts forwards. "I mean, he could be anywhere right now, and I doubt Robert Plant thought to put that on his album he made as a backtrack to make love to-" Sam frowns, a realisation coming over him. "Hey, where did this mix come from anyway? I haven't heard it before."

Dean shifts in his seat slightly, clearing his throat. "I - um." He casts a glance over at the passenger seat. "I made it for Cas."

Oh. Sam raises his eyebrows. Going with his last implication … yeah, alright that was a discussion for another time.

Luckily that conversation is interrupted with a burst of static again, a new sentence forming.

"...within the glow..."

"The glow?" Sam shares a glance with Dean. "I'm guessing you can't give more than that, huh."

"Are you alright? You're not in pain or anything?" Dean asks, like he can't bear a moment more of silence. Sam's surprised when a whole verse plays.

"Ain't no time for hesitatin' … I just found a cure. It's a thing you gotta do …"

"Did it get stuc-"

"Now listen-"

"Hold up, Cas, I'll get some paper to write this down." Dean blurts out, running quickly from the Impala. Left alone with the static buzzing, Sam turns towards the passenger seat. He really can't see anything, not even a small glow.

"You really there, Cas?"

"... yes…."

Sam can't help the bright smile that splits over his face. "Damn, that is good to hear." A thought passes, and he looks to see if Dean's come back yet. Alone with Cas, and Cas was around the dead … he licks his lips, and asks nervously. "Wherever you are... is Eileen there as well? Is she dead?"

The static flutters, finding it's place.

"... no …. me only."

Sam presses his face into the back of the front seat, letting out a breath he feels he's been holding for weeks. "I had my doubt about her on that table. It seemed so fake. And with the letter?" He shakes his head, the first real spark of hope starting to form. They haven't lost everything. Eileen was still alive and Cas could communicate with them.

"Hopefully we'll be able to talk through more than a mixtape soon." A cool pressure rests on his shoulder, and Sam nearly jumps back from the contact. But it's Cas. Just Cas.

Static starts to spike, and Dean races back to the Impala. "No -" He shouts, throwing himself down into the car, a hand reaching out for Cas. "No!" The static stops, and Sam feels the pressure on his shoulder vanish.

He knows as well as Dean does - it's just them again.

Sam stops waiting in the Impala for Cas to come back about half an hour in. He begs off, telling Dean that he could be researching whatever the hell 'the glow' is, which Dean readily accepts as an excuse.

Dean joins him a while later, a cloud of disappointment over him but Sam could feel the underlying happiness pouring out of him.

"No luck?" He asks, even though he's pretty sure.

"Yeah, no sign of him." Dean says, dropping into the chair opposite. "I wonder why he feels the strongest connection to the Impala."

"Maybe it's too the mixtape." Sam tests, waiting a moment to look up at Dean. He's not disappointment, watching his brother squirm like that.

"That's uh, not what it -"

They're interrupted by the bunker door swinging open.

Only a few people have access into the bunker and all of them - barring Cas - were dead.

On high alert, Sam and Dean grab guns from their holsters and slide silently out of their chairs. They pace forwards towards the stairwell and wait for the figure to come into view.

Dean drops his gun slightly, and Sam drops his completely.

There's no way. No way the Winchesters' luck can turn around like that. It can't be real but -

"Eileen!?"