The Coat

The old staircase creaked under the weight of heavy footsteps. He ascended them slowly, mountains seeming smaller; the spare room was a long way from the liquor cabinet. In one hand he carried a bottle for the journey. His other clenched tight into the damp tan coat, knuckles white as if the body it belonged to still rested beneath its folds. The sounds of Sam sleeping far below vanished as he pulled the door shut quietly behind him. He leant against it head rolling back to lie on it's wooden surface. Through the lashes of his half closed eyes he watched the bed in the middle of the room. He wondered how long it'd been since he'd slept.

Don't go

Hours muddled into each other and events were mismatched in his mind. Before long he gave up trying to order them and pushed away from the entrance. His body dragged him to the edge of the bed. The blankets looked soft and inviting. He raised the coat into his line of vision.

You bastard don't go

The creases of fabric held traces of black slop and carmine blood dissipated by the water that had swallowed him. He touched one of the stains and inspected the mark it left on his fingertips. Blood on his hands. Blood he'd worked so hard to spill. Blood he never wanted to see spilt.

I need you Cas

A sharp intake of breath raked the air as he released the coat. It fell softly landing in the centre of the bed. He staggered back sinking into a chair next to the door. Fingers rubbed helplessly into his creased brow. He took a deep swig from his bourbon, all the while watching the package of memories resting on the bed. He placed the bottle on the floorboards. He clenched the arm of the chair tight, knuckles white.  

I need you