The first night you slept in Dean's room was awful.

No- it wasn't Dean's obnoxious snoring that made it bad.

Neither was it the hardness of the floor against your back.

And no- it wasnt the consistent amount of times you'd wake up due to Dean accidentally hitting something while moving.

It was the lack of dreams.

Dreams that specifically included Cas- in all his full blown glory, and softness, and incredible strength and care.

You chased after that specific vision- and it never came. Instead, all you got a weird version of working at a bank- taking names and giving fast food as currency.

And when it was five in the morning, and Dean got up to do his hunter things- you still sat on the floor, closing your eyes and trying your fucking best to just drown things out- and see Cas in your dreams.

But it just. Didn't. Work.

No amount of shifting and turning, and counting sheep could let you get what you wanted.

You'd see glimpses of his wings in the corner of your eyes when you woke- twisting shadows of your mind hoping it'd be him.

It never was.

When you rose, it was eight in the morning. Sam and Dean had probably found another case by then. Probably left. Probably got in the car and drove down the rode.

And you were most likely alone in the bunker.

You had sat up, looked at the guns on Dean's walls with an utterly apathetic glance.

Was it normally this draining to not have your friend visit you?

Was it normally this- hurtful to have a friend who is clearly busy ignore you.

He probably has business to do.

He probably can't visit right now.

It's not like hes ignoring you.

Pattering out of Dean's room, a single trusty blanket pulled around you for warmth, you had made your way to the kitchen.

Some of the lights had been replaced, not all, and the one lonely light that flickered on when you pressed the kitchen switch felt accurate to your mood.

Your waddled through, opening the fridge and gazing at the empty inside.

Dean had clearly raided the fridge again. Sam would have to get more groceries.

With a push, you gently closed the fridge door, momentarily shuddering as the lingering coldness brushed your ankles.

With a sigh and a huff, you gave up on food, merely deciding to sit at the table- blanket cushioning and curling around you.

You liked to think you were in Castiel's embrace, or his fur, maybe even wings. Huddled among his warmth, and relishing in the fur of his body.

And just for a moment it worked.

Just a moment.

But it became apparent to you that it wasn't him.

The blanket couldn't match the silkiness of his pelt. The strands of pure foam and warmth- radiating grace.

His grace-

His very essence.

Neither could the blanket match his wings, strong, and broad, and positively dipped in elegance.

It couldn't match the thrum of his breath.

The pound of his heartbeat.

The rumble of his voice as he spoke to you.

It couldn't compare.

In your saddened state, you frowned.

Snuggling farther into your blanket, and ignoring the hardness of your seat.

Maybe he's not busy now?

Maybe he can visit?

Closing your eyes, you gave him a silent prayer. Hoping he would hear it.

Hoping he would decide to pop in.

You downplayed how lonely you were when you sent the message. Casually asking the question of, "Hey Cas- ya busy?"

The nonchalant tone didn't match how you felt.

Didn't match the longing.

You had to wonder to yourself when you had grown so fond of the angel.

When he was a godsend every time you talked to him.

You told him everything, didn't you?

Told him your worries and qualms- but you couldn't tell him you missed him this much.

You didn't know why.

Two- maybe three minutes passed after you sent your prayer.

Nothing happened.

No flap of wings.

No grumbled voice.

Just the stale air you breath and the flickering and lonely kitchen light.

You felt just a bit more hurt after that. A lot more worried. Strangely felt like crying.

You gave off a shuddering breath, withholding the impulsive and swaying bomb of emotions.

It shouldn't hurt that much for a friend to be busy.

Frowning at the lack of control on your own emotions, you stood from the seat, wallowing your way out into the halls, passing by the doors, until you eventually lumbered into the library.

Sitting in a seat, blanket still huddled around you, thoughts swirled in your mind. All the worse 'what ifs' and the filthy 'oh no's filled your head. He could have died. At that revaluation, you plopped your head into your arms, head pressed to the table.

He could have gotten killed by a demon.

Or one of his kin- brother and sister easily having turned against him. God knows they all are.

The deepness of your idea's stirred you heavily with grief. Filled with those twisting thoughts and stewing in the storm clouds of your mind, time blurred so fast that by the time you blinked, several hours had passed.

The bunker door was opening, clunking with the swinging motion before being swung back into place with a hefty slam.

Two sets of shoes were heard swaggering around, heavy tips recognizably those of Sam and Dean. You didn't bother to call out in greeting, waiting for them to enter the library like you knew they would.

Sam called out first, like usual, "Hey (Y/N)! We're back! We got more light bulbs!"

The halfhearted groan you moaned back at them was barely a reply, but it worked.

Hearing your call, the two sets of heavy shoes meandered over to you, one stopping next to you and the walking to the other side of the table.

A hand was placed on your shoulder, Sam's voice almost a whisper, "You doing okay?" At a lack of response he shook your shoulder a bit, leaning over to try to peer at your face.

Then, and only then, did you look to him, peeking out from your arms with a worried looking tilt or your eyes.

"Worried, but physically fine."

Sam's hand drifted to the neck of your shoulders, giving a few soft rubs and saying the sweet and soft, "Everything's gonna be fine, (Y/N)- this whole 'problem' is gonna be fixed."

Dean, from across the table let his face fall into that soft yet serious look, arms crossed as he stated facts- and not if's and but's, "I'm not gonna let some funky voodoo god do anything to you."

You frowned, not at their words, but their misunderstanding, glancing to the both of them your voice rose a few notches, worried the main tone, "You don't understand- it's Cas I'm worried about..."

"Cas?" Dean immediately questioned.

"Cas." You firmly stated.

"What about Cas?" Dean pressed.

Huffing, you crossed your arms, "Oh- I don't know- that he hasn't at all been around recently."

Dean scrunched his face up, "The fu-" He paused, "He was literally just with us."

You silenced yourself, looking at Dean and confounded as to why Cas was giving you radio static.

Seeing you frozen, Dean continued, "He's a bit spacey, but he hasn't up and vanished on us."

Tightly screwing you face up, your eyes felt a bit of a burn, "Well I haven't seen him...!" You threw your hands up, "Why would he not come and say hi..."

Sam, seeing the rising levels of stress, threw himself into the conversation, trying to defuse everything, "Hey hey hey- I'm sure there's a good explanation- we can just go ask him!"

"Yeah. We left him in the car." Dean huffed, "Again."

Sated with the answer, you stood, dropping your blankets and almost bee lining for the steps with how fast you were speed walking.

Up, up, up, and through the doors, Sam and Dean on your tail. Taking a few steps out of the bunker, you once again saw Cas in the car. Absently staring at the seats and looking rather distraught about something.

Dean gave a hefty call of, "Cas- the fuck you doing- get outta the car."

Hearing him, Castiel seemed snapped out of his stupor, glancing up. His eyes reached yours first.

His body language clammed up at the sight of you, shoulders tensing as his bright eyes refused to let go of your sight.

The blue almost seemed to glow against the darkness of the impala, and just as soon as it happened, it stopped.

Cas was gone.

No one was in the car.

The feathered flapping of wings was the only evidence he was there.

Stumped, Sam and Dean looked to you. Crestfallen and most definitely upset you.

So he WAS ignoring you...

.

.

.

Fuck him.

The burning in your eyes grew overwhelming, a bubbled tear slipping down your cheek.

Fuck. Him.

In an overwhelming score of festering emotions, both furious and incomplete, you barely recognized the tingle of static running up your arms. It danced across your spine, shooting up your neck and making your hair stand on end-

Stiff shoulders grew even stiffer, your clothes sticking to your frame from all the charged currents flustering around you.

"Fuck him." You growled. Your snarl a catalyst. Your voice the finally pin to break the surface tension of all the boiling currents around you.

Lightning filtered from you faster then you realized, originating from your neck and jolting through your knees and into the ground. Grass grew unruly, trees sprouted up in bundled heaps of wood and leaves, tearing up the concrete road, and nearly taking Dean's car with it.

The mass of overgrown shrubs  at your feet weren't known to you.

Only the tingly and static shock running through your being was. That warm, delicate hand was on your neck again, heat licking through your body before fading.

The fingers were gone. The palm was gone.

The heat was gone.

And you felt cold.

.

.

.