When Cas finally found Dean, it was at Sam's tip to go to his favorite local bar. When he walked through the door, he half expected him not to be there, but breathed a sigh of relief as he recognized his form from behind. That is, until he got close.

Dean looked up at Cas, his eyes glazed over, both hands holding onto an empty glass in front of him.

"Cassss," he said, his voice slurred, then his head lowered to the bar's top resting on it, eyes blinking. "You came."

"Of course," said Cas, putting one hand on Dean's back, the other on one of his arms, the conversation an echo of his dreams, giving him the chills.

"Are you here to get him?" came a voice from behind the bar. Cas turned to see a tall man, wiping out the inside of a glass with a rag, nodding to Dean's slumped over form.

Cas let go of Dean, inching closer to the man, only stopping as his body was flush against the bar. "Why didn't you cut him off?" he accused, his voice dark. He stretched one of his arms over the bar to grab the man when Dean reached for it, stopping him.

"I'mok," slurred Dean. "Let's just get out of here." Cas heaved one of Dean's arms over one of his shoulders as he lifted him up onto his feet. He glared at the bartender as he walked Dean to the door before flying away with him once he'd reached outside.

He took Dean to the bunker, flying straight to his room; he didn't feel like explaining any more to Sam yet. When they were there, he laid Dean gently on the bed, helping him out of his jacket, and pulling the covers up around his body. Dean's eyes closed, and his breathing slowed, so Cas walked to the door to leave.

"Wait," came Dean's soft voice, almost a whisper. "You can stay if you want to," said Dean, his eyes still closed.

Cas nodded, then pulled up a chair beside Dean's bed, sitting down. He reached over and pulled the covers up towards Dean's chest before settling into his seat. Dean didn't object, but instead rolled to his side, pushing his face deeper into the pillow.

Cas noted Dean's easy breathing and peaceful features, reaching over and gingerly running his hands through the hunters hair, before pulling back, unsure the touch would be welcomed if Dean were aware. He put his hands back in his lap, watching Dean relax into oblivion.

When Cas was convinced that Dean was really, truly asleep, he reached into his trench coat pulling out a piece of paper from his inside pocket. The edges were worn and dog-eared, the ink on certain words beginning to fade into the creases where it was folded. He began re-reading the letter's contents, though he had them memorized.

Cas,

I'm starting to forget. I wish I felt hope right now, but something is breaking inside of me. For weeks, I've watched you, waiting for anything, any sign that you recall us. Standing close to you, looking into your eyes. Can you not see me pleading for you to remember?

I haven't slept in days, and I don't know how to fix this. Every time I try to think back to us, something else slips away. Like the night you flew me to the top of the grand canyon and we kissed. I can hardly picture it now.

Everything is scattered and surreal, like looking through a window at a past life. Although, I guess that's what it's become. Something we used to have. Something dying.

The more I struggle, the faster the memories fade, so I'm done fighting. I want to spend my last moments re-experiencing us before we drift out to sea. But, before I could, I needed you to know. I needed a place to tell you, you were loved, Cas, by me. And even if I forget us, there will always be a reality where we were together. Where we were happy.

Yours,

Dean

Cas folded up the piece of paper, putting it back into his pocket before looking at Dean's sleeping form.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.