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Dean's bittersweet desperate longing for Cas was starting to get out of control.
It hit him whenever he was alone, when he sat in the calming surrounding of the bunker library and read books containing words that would remind him of his angel.
It hit him whenever he was laying in bed at night, soft sheets clutched in his palms and green eyes looking up at a ceiling surrounded by darkness, heart and soul aching for the presence and touch of his precious angel which at the moment seemed so distant.
It hit him whenever he thought back on his past, seeking all of the corners of his memories which all seemed to accommodate some form of Cas in them.
It hit him whenever he thought about not being enough for Cas, not being worthy of his love, not being beautiful enough.
It hit him whenever Cas would stand by his side, being right there within reach for Dean to embrace but still not being close enough.
It was when Cas was too close— when Dean could breathe him, feel him, overdose him— that the longing seemed to be fed. It was as if making up for lost time, which never really was lost, but felt lost to Dean in his deep blue consuming ocean of a mind.