Every night Dean would wake up with a depression beside him but rarely there were notes lying beside him. If not a note, there definitely was a feather lying there. Dean carefully saved every feather and every note in the same little box. Soon, he thought, he'd require another box. Smiling peacefully at the thought, he stared wistfully at the latest note.

"Crawl your trembling

Skin into my arms and

Feel your fears leave

You like sleep.

Hold your ears to

My chest and I will

Marry your frightened

Breath; let the rhythm

Of my heart march you

Gently into your

Dreams."

I promise I'll see you soon.

-Cas

It was affirmation to the fact that Castiel did indeed look over Dean every night. He did chase away Dean's nightmares, even if he was there for only a couple of minutes, he did spend time with Dean. Dean wished Castiel would wake him up… Something was up with Castiel and he was really scared to find out. It was a relief that Castiel was alive, still kickin'. So that's what Dean will live with as long as Castiel knew who he had to return to.

He knew he could leave Castiel a note in the room and he would read it but Dean he had so much to say. How could he put it all on a scrap of paper… Even the poems seemed redundant now. Flimsy. Not from Castiel though. They sounded amazing from him. They were bittersweet and just what he would expect to hear from Castiel. But Dean could never find the perfect poem.

He sighed and sat down on the bed, huffing. He replaced the chit into the box and shutting it, put it on the side table. He looked up at the lamp on the table to his mother's picture.

"Mom, I love him," he whispered softly.

He had thought about what his parents would say if they found out that he was gay. Or well, angel-sexual at least. Castiel's vessel was male and Dean wouldn't change it for the world. He loved Castiel all around, the vessel and all.

He knew his mother would accept him with open arms. He didn't know how but she was so beautiful, so amazing he couldn't imagine her hating anyone for something as trivial as their sexuality. She would love and hate on the basis of personality. Besides he was sure Castiel and Mary would hit it off. They'd talk about Dean and food and books and stuff like that. 'Angels would look after you'. He was sure Mary hadn't meant this kind of 'looking after', he thought, snorting.

John, well, before Mary died, he'd have taken a couple of days to get over it but eventually, with the help of Mary, John would accept Dean and Castiel. He'd not be entirely comfortable but he'd accept them all the same. But after Mary had died, Dean wasn't sure John would even care. Not that he loved his sons any less, he was just preoccupied. He'd tell Dean not to get involved in relationships. They had more important things to do. Saving people, hunting things, family business…

Dean got up and walked over to Mary's picture. She was beautiful. As he was putting it down, he glanced at the typewriter. The sheet he had put in was missing and instead a new sheet had been inserted. He looked everywhere for it. Every nook and corner, even the bin. The sheet was nowhere to be found.

The sheet had contained dates and one-line or two-line entries of how much Dean missed Castiel. So Dean had passed on something to Castiel, he thought. Sighing, he slapped the typewriter.

Putting on the date, he wrote:

I know who stole my paper…

Be back soon, Cas. I miss you.

I hope you're okay. Tell me you're okay, Cas.

P.S.: Thanks.