Dean reached for his left shoulder, searching for the familiar path of the handprint that Cas left when raising him from Hell. But it wasn't there. He swallowed hard as he traced the outline with his finger of where it used to be, feeling cold and alone. It had been almost a month now of these sleepless night without Cas. The terrors that he experienced in Hell came creeping back up on him as if noticing that he was vulnerable again. But that hardly bothered him these days; hell would be a better place to be instead of this. This numb nothingness would drive him off the edge one of these days. Sam has tried to help, he's been worried about Dean lately, but Dean didn't want him involved. He felt in all lost as he turned over in his bed reaching his arm out for the comforting, warm body next to his, but it wasn't there, just the old worn out, motel blanket. He looked for the angel's old yet childish eyes peering back at him, but still, nothing was there, Cas would never be there. He squeezed his eyes shut keeping away the tears that were burning behind his eyelids as he curled up on his side, his hand holding his left shoulder tightly where Cas' handprint used to be, wanting. He prayed but it was no use anymore, Cas was gone, for good this time, there was no bringing him back. Dean just hoped he didn't turn up in Hell somehow after what he did. He didn't know exactly what happened to angels after they died, and part of him was too scared to think about it. The wanting of knowledge would, for sure, drive him over the edge. He couldn't help but hope though, and it hurt, it hurt like hell to have hope because hope never lasted long in a world like this. A knot tightened in his chest causing him to curl up into a tighter ball, squeezing his shoulder tighter, trying to clear his mind. As soon as he felt as if he had relaxed enough to fall asleep he felt a firm yet gentle hand on his left shoulder, not his, he knew he was dreaming but it felt so real, so normal. With new tears finding their way down his cheeks he turned around finding himself against a familiar chest. He breathed in slowly, not daring to look up or say a word, meeting the same old familiar smell he knew so well and has missed so much as he wrapped his arms around the familiar curve of the angel's back. He slowly lifted his head from the trench coat it was enclosed in and searched for those eyes. Those wild, childish blue eyes that made his heart stop when caught in their path. When searching into those eyes deeply, he saw the true age of the angel, how old and worn his eyes were, reflecting everything he has experienced and seen, yet still looking so young and naïve. Once he saw those eyes he couldn't hold himself back anymore, he didn't care that it was a dream, he didn't care that he was crying again, he didn't care. He reached up for the angel's soft lips, connecting them with his, tasting the tears that had now started rolling down Cas' cheeks, onto his lips. It felt so real, it couldn't be a dream. Cas pulled away, barely, but enough to speak, holding Dean's head with his hand, running his fingers softly through the hunter's ragged mess of hair, a sad smile forming its way on his lips. Dean could feel the Angel's' breath on his lips making them quiver with pain from holding himself away, beginning to feel like it was a dream again, and once reality hit him, it hit hard.
"Dean I-" he cut Cas off before he could finish, urgently pulling the Angel's lips back into his. He felt Cas' grip tighten on his head, pulling him closer as he traced the familiar path of the Angel's soft lips, lips that he missed so much, lips that weren't there, that would never be there.
"-love you." Cas managed to get out. Dean kissed him harder as a stabbing pain shot through his heart at the words, knowing that they were never said. Dean couldn't push reality out of the back of his mind anymore, he pulled away quickly with a whimper and grabbed pathetically for the angel's jet black hair, digging in face into his shoulder, not wanting to have to let go again. He wasn't going to have Cas stripped away from him twice. He hid his wet eyes as he felt Cas still slowly stroking his hair, trying to calm him down, but he wasn't really there. And feeling him there killed Dean even more. He just tried not to think about reality and didn't say a word, instead he dug his nails in to the back of Cas' trench coat, clutching the angel against him, so tight that he could hardly breathe for himself, but he didn't care. He began to cry aloud for the first time since Cas' death, listening to the angel's steady heartbeat that he would probably never hear again, and feeling strong arms pull him closer to them, gripping him tighter, making him feel safe for the first time in a long time. He fell asleep like this, holding onto the angel that was never there to begin with, feeling the familiar pressure on his left shoulder, his whole body quivering with pain at the thought of having to let Cas go again, and at last, drifting deeper into sleep.
Dean's eyes shot open, the usual confusion of waking up from a dream making him sit straight up in his bed, breathing heavily. The pressure was still on his left shoulder, but when he looked behind him Cas wasn't there, this he noticed as he started to shake, feeling alone, cold, and abandoned, even though he knew Cas was never there to begin with. Dean slowly fell back down onto his pillow, his eyes were stinging again but no tears would come, as he reached over for the open bottle of beer he had on the nightstand next to him. He stared at the ceiling unable to fall back asleep, still hearing the Angel's steady heartbeat replaying in his head, slowly fading away before coming to a stop.
That is what he would miss the most, the sound of Castiel alive.