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"Please. I can't--"
Dean looks up at the sky and imagines all the things he never believed in are up there, imagines a heaven where a benevolent God and everyone he's ever loved and lost are looking down and watching. Then he shakes his head because what good is asking heaven for anything these days. Shakes his head over and over as he prays to something that Sammy believed in, that he wishes Sam still believed in. And that was reason he was here, right? Sam, and Dean's utter inability to face this by himself.
"I need some help." He chokes out, "please?"
The tiny noises of the night--the scuttle and chirps of night creatures, the wind whistling through twisted metal--sound so loud in the absence of any sign of acknowledgment, so very loud, that the next noise he hears is deafening in comparison.
"Dean," says Cas.
Dean spins around to face him, partly indignant that Cas would have followed him out here, but also hugely embarrassed and guilty to have been caught in a moment of weakness.
Cas' eyes flick off to the right, and Dean thinks maybe he's embarrassed for having done the catching, but then his face changes to something lighter. His gaze jumps back to Dean's, eyes intent and chin tucked slightly, a sure sign that Cas is about to relate something vital.
"Dean... You must make your own kind of music."
All noise stops, and perhaps a bit of time, too, as Dean's eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. But Cas is still speaking.
"--if no one else sings along. Just to do your best is the hardest thing to do, and Dean, you've always performed that task admirably well."
"Cas..." Dean's brain is having a hard time catching up with the reality of what's happening here. "Are you quoting lyrics at me?"
Cas replies in utter seriousness, "They're words from a song I heard, yes. Its message resonated deeply with me."
Dean stares at Cas some more, and then the ridiculousness of the moment overwhelms him. He gratefully surrenders, letting out a harsh stream of laughter that he uses as an excuse to wipe at his eyes. Through the last gasps of it, half bent over and clutching his knees, Dean sneaks a glance at Castiel and sees a strong mixture of bemusement and relief in his eyes. It's the most emotion Dean's seen on Cas' face since they sat in the Impala, Cas grinning helplessly over a burger. This is much more subtle, much more familiar.
Dean straightens, letting out a few last chuckles as he gets a hold of himself. "Cas, what the hell?"
Dean meant it rhetorically, but leave it to Cas to respond, guileless, "You enjoy music from that period. I thought it would be the best resource I had to offer you... encouragement."
The hysteria passes, but Dean can still feel a smile tucked firmly in the quirking corner of his lips. Dean thinks of the miracle he was praying for, and then thinks, sarcasm and gratefulness warring in his heart, that this small moment is all he is likely to get. Team Free Will, united by truly epic levels of stubbornness, now set to sappy 60s music. Dean has another thought and lets out one final bark of laughter.
"Cas quoting Mama Cass. Well, wonders never cease."
Castiel's voice is deep and earnest. "No, Dean. They never do."