Gone

2

The next day something is different.

Castiel is planning to do something, he can feel it in his chest. The air seemed permeated with waiting. What was he waiting for?

He heard Castiel drag up a chair next to his bed, and the smoosh of fabric as he sat down in it.

He was being propped up, and then fed something mushy and sweet he didn't know the name of. After Castiel had wiped his mouth, he sat there.

Dean held his face still, not feeling any emotions. He was all dry of those.

Cas cleared his throat. "Dean. I know you can hear me. There is a high chance you can understand me too. There is also the chance you cannot understand me, but you are a strong man, and I will take that chance. If you can understand me, please squeeze my hand."

It was then that Dean realized Cas's warm hand was wrapped around his limp one on the bed. He let it stay limp. Castiel didn't need him, he was useless. If it was so bad for him to be there, why didn't Cas just leave him to die? No, he was not going to squeeze the man's hand. He could lay here as long as he wanted.

"Dean, hear what I say. Squeeze my hand, please."

Castiel's voice was gentle, but there was audible desperation around the edges. Dean could not remember how many times he had heard that tone of voice. Countless people begging him to not do something, to do something.

He had learned not to listen to them.

His hand still lay limp on the bed

"Dean. I know it's hard. I know you're a good man, who has gone through hell and back. You're hurt, You deserve a rest. But it's time to get better."

Castiel's voice echoed in his head. The words that were meant to be meaningful falling flat on Dean's ears.

Castiel held his hand another 20 minutes, giving Dean time to squeeze it if he felt the urge. But he didn't.

"Tomorrow, Dean. You are going to wake up tomorrow. It's time."

When Cas got up and walked away, Dean continued staring at the exact same spot, thinking over Castiel's empty words.