Post 7.10. Probably more angsty than you wanted. This is my first attempt at a comment fic. I hope it pleases you *grins nervously*.

Dean stares down. The blackened underside of his toast looks back at him from where it lies askew on the motel floor. Crumbs and butter seep into the worn brown carpet. He can't move.

In his head, Bobby calls him an idjit and makes him eat it anyway. A little motel floor never hurt anyone. But Bobby's not here anymore. Dean feels his throat tighten and his ears begin to hurt, like he's in a plane as it climbs. His eyes prickle.

He thinks he sees Cas then, sitting in the corner in his trench coat, a faintly bemused expression on his face. Hears him say: "Is it meant to be that colour?" Dean turns, and Cas isn't there anymore. This time he really does start to cry.

The tears stream down his face, warm and wet, as he stumbles back to bed. He can't hold it in anymore. He pulls the covers over his head and tries to breathe.

The toast stays where it is, butter-side down on the threadbare motel carpet.