Chapter Text
It had been eleven months since Dean disappeared. Eleven months of agony. Eleven months of excruciating nights alone, haunted and devoured by the feeling of not knowing if Dean was dead or missing or where he might be. Both Sam and Cas had been sure he’d died. Sam had clung to his brother and felt as his body went limp. Cas had listened in horror as Metatron said the words that always lingered in the back of his mind: “he’s dead.” But the next day, the body was gone. No one else was in the bunker, besides Crowley, who didn’t have anything to say and was refusing to speak, regardless of the amount of holy water poured down his throat.
As soon as Cas found out about Dean’s disappearance, he dropped everything and put all he had into searching for him. Eleven months later, he was exhausted. But he couldn't stop. Every time he would end one search, he would immediately start thinking of where to go next. At first, he wouldn't even consider the option of Dean being dead. Not Dean Winchester. Not Dean, the strongest hunter and fighter and all around individual Cas had ever come across. Dean always had the last word, the last punch. Now, all the agonizing scenarios Cas had suppressed for so long had started to surface and choke out any ideas of hope. He couldn't stop thinking of all the things he’d never told and now would never be able to tell Dean. Like how Dean had made him feel something. Him, an angel, incapable of feelings. How Dean had brought out humanity in him. How he would storm through both Heaven and Hell again and again for him. How he was so in love with Dean and wanted nothing more than to hold him in his arms and take away the self-loathing he saw in his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to tell him what he’d always felt but had never been able to express.
As Cas’ grace had begun to dwindle, he’d been able to experience human things. Specifically, the influence of alcohol on the body and the brain. It was a very good feeling to not feel at all. To forget everything that tortured him. It was not that he didn't want to remember Dean. It was the opposite. He wanted to remember Dean and his rare but absolutely radiant smiles and how he was so passionate about his car and how he'd kept his brother safe since he was a child and hadn't stopped since and the looks and jokes he gave only to Cas. He never wanted to forget these. He wanted to forget the fact that he had not seen Dean in eleven months. He wanted to forget the possibility and probability that he would never see Dean again. That he would never see those smiles again.
So every night, he went to a bar and got drunk. Drunk enough to pass out and forget everything for an entire evening. It was these moments when he'd wake up with a quickly fading headache that he would not remember why he had gone drinking the previous night. In those moments everything felt like eleven months ago, like when Dean was only down the hall or a phone call away, aside from the throbbing in his head. But far too quickly, he would remember why he had woken up dirty, covered in his own vomit and filth, and the pain would move from his head to his chest. He would try to stop it but it would take over his whole being, seeping into every fiber of him, and he would scream. That was also something human, something new. He had experienced rage many times as a full angel but he had never felt this cold feeling of despair that seemed to grasp his heart and twist it over and over. He had never screamed before Dean disappeared. Now it happened everyday.