So, this is my first supernatural fanfic. Any comments and criticisms are welcome! I'm thinking about making another one from Sam's POV, so if anyone wants something like that, please tell me! Thanks!

Disclaimer: I do not own spn. Or Dean. Or Sam. And if I tried to steal them, I'd probably end up where Dean is now, because I would not be able to stop myself from squeeing about it on tumblr and pinterest and twitter and my rooftop, and the cops would find me.

Dean missed his car.

Well, he missed a lot of things. Especially his car. But lots of other things, including, uh, his freedom. Yeah. 'Cause the moment they catch you exorcising Satan from the President of the United States - well, that's when your constitutional rights go out the window.

(Sam could probably recite the Constitution. Nerd.)

Dean missed his room, too. And pie. And food that wasn't prison food. So basically, food that was actually edible.

(Sam better be eating. The stupid giant tended to just... forget food when he was focused on other things.)

Dean missed hunting monsters.

Over the years, he had experienced doubt about the good he had done. Sam had once said that their job was not to kill supernatural beings, it was to hunt evil, and if something wasn't hurting people, then it wasn't evil. Of course, those words had hardly made sense to Dean at the time. In his experience, supernatural = evil. Simple. Yet since then, he had come to understand that someone's goodness was not determined by what they were, but rather by what they did. After all, some supernatural creatures were innocent (like those freaky-ass Zanna... ugh), while some humans were horrible monsters.

Dean applied that rule to himself as well. And there had been times when his math had not added up to something complimentary. It had gotten especially bad after he took on the Mark of Cain.

But Sam... Sam was such a pain in the ass. The bitch. It was hard for Dean to understand how someone who had been through so much, someone who had been stalked by evil since years before his birth, someone whose goodness and hope had been crushed by said evil time and time again... how could a person like that still see good in the world? In any of the world? In Dean, who had practically been a murderer at the time?

Then again, Sam had always been able to see goodness and hope in the world where Dean never could.

So maybe Dean had helped Amara and Chuck, so that no one had to sacrifice themselves, and no one had to grieve. And maybe it was okay that Dean needed his brother because his brother needed him too. And maybe Dean ganked a lot of evil supernatural sons of bitches and saved lives, and maybe that made a bit of a difference. Dean liked to believe that that made the world a better place.

So, yeah, Dean missed killing monsters.

Dean also missed Cas. He'd never had a lot of friends outside the family. But Cas was family now, and it was... nice.

Dean wondered about his mom. Had she even noticed their absence? They played little games sometimes, and they texted every so often, but she was obviously upset about losing her old life, and maybe it would be a relief if her grown-up, screwed-up, hunter sons lost contact.

Okay, there was clearly too much thinking going on in here.

Not like there was much else to do.

(Sam was probably meditating or doing yoga or some other geeky shit. It would be nice if he were here. Just so Dean could have someone to make fun of.)

Dean missed weird, smelly hotel rooms.

Wow.

And we've hit a new low.

He missed girls, too. There was nothing nice to look at in here. There were no other people here at all. Seriously.

Dean missed Jody and Alex and Claire and Donna and Garth (he had talked to Garth on the phone about two months ago; how that skinny little weirdo was still alive when so many other people in their lives had died was a complete mystery, but Dean was grateful... the dude was such a dork, though. Marmaduke?).

It was a little weird, but he even kinda missed Crowley. His snark. Sam didn't like Crowley (understandably), and Dean didn't trust the slimey limey (ha-ha), but you had to admit, he had style.

Dean would give a lot of things (not everything, but a lot of things) to tell Sam that Crowley was a slimey limey, just so he could see his brother roll his eyes and give him a spectacular bitch-face, even as he tried to hide a smile.

It would be really nice if he could talk with Sam. Just for a bit, just to make sure that he was okay and that memories of the Cage weren't bothering him. At least he could be fairly certain that the US government wasn't torturing and/or killing Sam. Although, you never knew with their lives.

Dean didn't like to think about Sam's time in the Cage. It just made him massively, uncontrollably, uselessly angry. And other emotions which Dean had long ago accepted as inevitable whenever Sam was hurt or missing or whatever (which was way more than any older brother should ever have to deal with). But all those things... the anger and the worry and that stupid, freaking useless ache would overwhelm and suffocate him if he gave them any sort of free reign. So Dean shoved them down. Down, down, down, where the light of day would never reach.

Man, it was such a joy to be a Winchester.

Dean missed shaving. And haircuts. He was scruffy and itchy and uncomfortable. Sam probably looked ridiculous (well... Sam always looked ridiculous, but that was a given).

Dean missed music. The silence in this place was getting to him. He was going crazy.

Dean missed sunlight and fresh air and exercise. He missed talking to people.

There were a lot of things Dean missed. Prison made you grateful for things. Weird things. Like alcohol and nice-smelling soap and Sam's bitch-face.

So, yeah, obviously they were gonna get out. Cas would get them out. Cas had gotten Dean out of hell, he would get them out of... wherever this was. And Dean would be glad to get back to all the things he missed.

But for now, he had to wait.

And think.

And miss.