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He's on his bed, back pressed against the memory foam of his mattress and jaw clenched as he glares at the ceiling in his bedroom. It's 3 a.m. and its been a day. A whole twenty four hours since Dean found Cas in that creepy-ass, reaper bitch's apartment and he feels like fucking shit.
Cas is back on the street, this time with a fake credit card, one of his disposable cell phones, and as much cash and burritos as Dean could spare him. Cas is alone and on the run and it's all thanks to him, Dean fucking Winchester.
He keeps seeing the look on Cas's face when he told him he couldn't stay, replays it over and over again until his chest feels so tight and his head pounds so hard that he thinks he might be close to an aneurysm. He almost wishes he was. He wants to take it back and go after Cas. He wants to tell Zeke to fuck off, explain to Cas what's going on with Sam and say he's sorry -- so fucking sorry -- for even thinking about kicking him to the curb, but he knows he can't. It's a fact that only manages to make Dean even more angry.
He grits his teeth and shoves himself up into a sitting position so he can grab one of the beer bottles currently littering his nightstand and chuck it violently at the wall. He doesn't feel any relief when the glass shatters and falls to the floor like he should. He knows it's irrational to be angry with Zeke, the dude is doing them a solid to begin with by healing Sam from the inside, but it's even more irrational that Dean actually uttered the words "you can't stay" to the guy who pulled him out of Hell and who's been a constant in his life for years now.
No, if being angry at Zeke is irrational then its absolutely batshit crazy that he told Cas he had to go, especially after nearly losing him, yet again. Thank fucking Christ Zeke had did what he did, otherwise Dean ain't sure what he would have done this time. He's already barely hanging on by a thread as it is, with all the shit with Abaddon and the pissed off vengeful angels, like that isn't enough. To lose Cas on top of all that would just be like ripping away one of the last good things Dean has left in his life and that's just not something he can't handle.
He reaches over after a minute of careful deliberation with a recklessly muttered "fuck it" and snatches his cell phone off the nightstand. His fingers press down roughly against the down arrow as he scrolls through his contacts until he catches sight of Cas's name, along with his brand spanking new number. His fingers hesitate over the keys, physically poised and ready to go while his mind creates storm clouds. There are a set of three words he wants to say, ones he's had on the tip of his tongue for some time now, but he isn't sure he's ready to say them or if Cas even wants to hear them. Instead, he types three different words with the same intent and meaning behind them.
Please be safe.