On mornings like this, when the sun was filtering in through the windows and bathing the bed in light, Castiel would normally roll over and curl up to Sam, pressing his face against the crook of his neck in an effort to block out the light.
But.. Sam wasn’t here. And here wasn’t home. He’d told Sam that if he didn’t think he could trust the former angel then he should tell him to leave.
Castiel had just never expected he’d do it.
But he had and here he was. Lying in a big bed all alone and in a house that wasn’t home.
There was no warm body beside him to curl up to and block out the sunlight. There was no pitter patter of little feet as Alex ran past the bedroom, calling for his daddy and his papa to come watch cartoons with him and Uncle Dean. There was no soft, breathy laughter as Sam tried to get him to wake up and Castiel just burrowed further into the bed.
There was no sound save for the singing of the birds outside. And they were no comfort to him. They were no replacement, no balm for the pain in his heart.
So Castiel continued to lie there in bed, his back to the window as he tried not to cry and hoped that someday Sam would be able to forgive him and he could come home.