He awoke curled up on the couch, the television still on. What it was showing, he didn’t even care anymore but the sounds of someone on the little box was the first thing he became aware of, the second being how chilly it was.
It took another hour of laying there in complete silence before he tried to even sit up. With a yawn and a stretch he glanced over to the bed to find it no different then when he’d walked in the day before. Still made up.
Dean is coming back.
Taking a moment to check his cell phone he found no messages, no missed calls and that it was already tomorrow. Early tomorrow but still not the day Dean had left. The simmering pit of unease that was his stomach made itself known again and he just ignored the notion of eating for now. It probably wouldn’t stay down.
Turning the television off, given that he wasn’t exactly watching it, he managed to find something to clear up the smashed bottle with. Collecting up the glass pieces he threw them away easily enough but continued to ignore the beer stain on the wall. Let someone else deal with that.
The rest of the morning continued in silence with the half-Angel alternating between staring at the motel room door and drifting around the room somewhat aimlessly. He was supposed to be resting but just sitting down all the time kept making him agitated, antsy. He felt a need to be active, productive. Do something just to keep his mind from wandering into dangerous territory.
Dean is coming back. He’s going to be fine. Nothing’s going to go wrong.
His stomach wasn’t settling. Apparently he didn’t believe himself.