Five Years Later

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Quiet

[writer's note] this chapters may be particularly triggering to anyone who has ever suffered from depression, anxiety, or been suicidal because of how devastated Cas is after Dean's death, so if you are worried, you shouldn't read--keep yourself safe! [end writer's note]

The hours turned into days, the days into weeks. Cas kept lying there, staring at the ceiling and praying for Dean. The ceiling stopped changing and he lost interest in even that. Dean never came. It had been at least three weeks by the time Cas had that feeling again, like tingles on the back of his spine, and he got it while he was standing by the refrigerator, searching for beer. Charlie and the others had asked him to look for it, and while he knew it was simply a concerned ploy to get him out of bed, he appreciated it nonetheless.

"Cas?" Bobby peered into the kitchen, adjusting the baseball cap on his head. "Did you get the beer yet?"

Cas checked the refrigerator again, still feeling the chills as they tingled through his body, and shook his head.

"You've got to use words every once and a while, son." Bobby frowned. "One of these days, I'm going to go blind, and I won't be able to hear from you if you don't speak."

Cas closed the door to the fridge and stood there dejectedly, his shoulders slumped.

"Son!" Bobby snapped. "Just..." he faltered. "Say something so that we know you are here with us."

Cas turned away.

***

Cas didn't feel anything, but it was a new kind of nothing. It was the sort of empty that feels full in the same moment, twisting around your heart and spewing a sleepy poison into your veins. It makes you feel trapped to your bed, confined beneath the covers, weighing you down with a kind of unfathomable misery. He felt like he never wanted to move again and that no matter what anyone said, he would never be happy again.

Losing Dean was the worst sort of sadness to happen in Cas' angelic life, and as he lay there, all he could think about was how hopeless it all was and how terribly he wanted to return to Dean so they could make up for the five years they had spent apart.

The heavy sadness silenced every word that tried to escape from his lips in reply to his friends when they came by the room to check on him and make sure he was taking care of himself. Instead of standing there in an awkward silence, blubbering like a fish out of water, Cas had taken to clamming up throughout each day to preserve his voice for when Dean came around.

Speaking of Dean, he hadn't made an appearance as of late. Cas wasn't assured whether or not the figure that had taken to standing by his side was a ghost or some sort of mirage. He assumed it to be a dream or simply a figment of his imagination to avoid accumulating any kind of hope that might lead him to further disappointment.

He was lying there on the bed one day in the same position he was given to taking in the last few weeks when Joanna skipped in, her little footsteps pattering against the floor boards. He knew it was her by the steps, but he was unable to turn his head and look at her. Everything was so heavy and dark. The shadows closed in on his vision and he closed his eyes wearily, tired of fighting the darkness.

"Castiel!" Joanna whispered, her voice lively and soft. She danced by the edge of his bed, and he could hear the sweetness that edge into her tone. "Castiel!"

Cas couldn't bring himself to reply. He imagined himself turning away, rolling over to the other side of the bed so that she could physically see the pain that weighed down on his heart, but all he could bring himself to do was to keep staring desolately at the ceiling. It was a darker shade of gray today.