If This Was A Movie, You'd Be Here By Now

Chapter 5

Dean was okay with the fact that sleep is still a necessity in Heaven, even if it doesn't make sense. It breaks up the days and makes the concept of eternity a little less daunting. It also helps that he has the time for a full eight-hour rest, a luxury not often afforded to living hunters.

But why the hell is it so freaking hard to actually fall asleep here?

Admittedly, it's probably not Heaven's fault. He has a nice bed in a quiet house, and it's arguably even more comfortable than his room at the bunker was. This is about as much of a favor Heaven could offer short of a button specifically for the task.

The problem is that his brain won't just shut up. He's still trying to rationalize everything that's happened today, to explain the unexplainable. And, unsurprisingly, much of his confusion rests on Cas.

He's been to Heaven. Hell, apparently he was here just a couple of days ago. Why would he take the time to talk to Benny, albeit very briefly, and not visit Dean? It just doesn't make sense — unless, of course, Cas is just avoiding him, which is starting to look more and more likely.

But he's not avoiding him entirely. If Benny saw him today, he had to be there. Dean's still not sure how that bodes for the first few times he saw Cas when no one else could, but this time he knows Cas was there and that's the important thing.

Why were Cas and Jack watching him if they were just going to leave the moment Dean tried to approach them? And why does he have a feeling it was Cas's decision? Is it just the guilt that's been stewing in him since it happened, triggered by Cas's sacrifice but compounded by every memory of Dean mistreating him? Or is it something more, something based on facts that he can't quite pinpoint?

After what feels like hours of tossing and turning — though he's almost certain it hasn't actually been that long — he gives up on this seemingly fruitless mission to sleep. He can't rest until he knows what's going on with Cas, and if there's one thing he's learned over the years, it's that praying is the most foolproof way of reaching him.

Dean kicks the covers off and sits up, crossing his legs like a child. He folds his hands in his lap, his head bowed and his eyes closed. Here goes nothing.

"Hey, Cas," Dean says quietly. "It, uh..." He chuckles awkwardly. "It's been a while."

He clears his throat. "I'm gonna be honest, man. I'm worried about you. I'm worried about us. You know? I mean, where have you been? It's been weeks, Cas. I would've hoped you'd at least stop by to say 'hi.'

"I saw you today. In the woods — I saw you. I think you know that, though. I think you know I wanted to talk to you, too; that's why you left. And, I mean, if you don't want to talk to me, that's okay, but at least tell me why. I mean..." He scoffs. "Cas, buddy, you're my best friend. If I fucked up somewhere, I want to know how. I want to fix it. I want to have you back in my life — or, you know, as much of a life as I have now that I'm dead. I'll even settle for a two-minute conversation, an explanation for why you seem to be avoiding me. Just talk to me. Please."

Dean takes a deep breath. This isn't enough. Just asking for Cas to show his face isn't enough; he needs to show that he's sorry. Whether that's what Cas is looking for, Dean's not quite sure, but he knows he won't feel okay until he does it.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking lately," Dean continues. "And I don't think I've given you enough credit. You've always been there for me. You have, and I'm starting to realize that I haven't always returned the favor and I'm so, so sorry. I can't fix the past, but I can promise to do better if you let me. I mean, Cas, man, you're family. Of course you're family, and if I've never told you before, I'm telling you now: I love you for it. I love you for that and for so much more.

"I know you're probably busy, what with apparently reshaping the afterlife as we know it or whatever, but please, Cas, when you get a minute, come here. Come talk to me. I don't care when or where; I just miss you."

Dean opens his eyes and slowly raises his head, hoping against hope that maybe — just maybe — Cas will already be here.

He's not.

Dean heaves a sigh. He knew it was too much to hope for. But if Cas heard his prayer — and he always does — then maybe he'll come tomorrow. Maybe he'll come in a few days. At this point, Dean doesn't care when he sees Cas. He just wants to see him.