"Goodbye, Cas."
Dean's words rang clear in the chill of the night. Sam shivered despite the fire. He could feel Jack's curious gaze on him. He stifled tears. He didn't want to scare or confuse the boy. Right now, he didn't know what the nephilim would be capable of. He didn't know if he was good or evil. What he knew, however, is that having something to busy his mind with was the best way to keep himself from falling apart. He gave his brother a sidelong glance. Dean's face appeared gaunt in the light of the dancing flames. Dark circle gave his eyes a sunken expression. Suddenly, all those years of hunting, all those losses, all the pain had surfaced. He hadn't spoken a word since they'd returned to the house. Sam worried. Dean had prepared Cas' body all by himself, insisting on setting up the pyre alone. He hadn't cried. Or at least, he didn't look like he had.
"How long do we say goodbye for?"
Jack's innocent question brought back Sam to reality. He felt Dean tense next to him.
"As long as we feel we need to," he explained, giving his brother another furtive glance. He sniffled. "Come, let's go back in the house and see what we can pack."
Sam took the nephilim by the shoulder and lead him back to the house.
"Is Dean alright?"
The boy stopped in his tracks and turned back towards Dean. Sam shook his head and pinched his lips.
"Let's not worry about Dean right now. Come on."
Dean stared at the blaze. He would stay until Cas… Until it had burnt out. He couldn't bear to say it, let alone think it. He didn't want to. He couldn't. Doing so would make it real. They would bring him back. They would find a way. They would… While he had wrapped him in his makeshift shroud, Dean had kept praying that his best friend would come back, that he would suddenly gasp for air and ask him what on earth he was doing. But he hadn't. Deep down, Dean understood the finality of Cas' demise. There was to be no come back, no relief filled accolades. The weight of this knowledge sat uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach, making him queasy. He'd caught a glance of his reflection in the window pane as he had taken the body out. He'd not recognised his face at first. Had he always looked so haggard? The fire crackled. A few logs shifted. Dean looked straight ahead and clenched his fists.
xxxx
They'd arrived at the bunker around noon. Dean hadn't slept but had still insisted on driving. Sam had tried to draw him out of his silence a few times. He'd shut him down. He didn't want to talk. Especially not in front of that kid. He could barely tolerate his presence. He wasn't about to go full chick flick in front of that spawn of Lucifer. There wasn't anything to talk about anyway. Talking wouldn't change what was. Crowley was gone. Mom was gone. Cas was…
Dean walked out of the kitchen a twelve pack of beer in hand. In the hallway, he came across Sam who eyed him with concern but didn't say anything. He avoided his eyes. He knew only one way to fill the gaping hole in his chest, and that was alcohol. It had always worked and it would work this time, too. Hopefully. He closed the door of his room behind him and set the beers on his night stand. It would warm up before he could go through it all but by the time he'd drunk the 6th one, it wouldn't matter anymore. He slowly undressed, changing into an old t-shirt and comfy training pants. He propped his pillows, sat in his bed, and grabbed his headset. He pressed play and uncapped a beer. He closed his eyes, sat back, and drank.
Castiel stepped out of the rift in space and time. He smiled at the brothers. It was done. It was all done. It would come, finally, Heaven on earth. Dean sighed. It was over. It was going to be ok.
"I thought you were dead!" he exclaimed, walking towards his friend.
As he extended his arms arms to embrace the angel, Lucifer stepped out of the breach. The blade pierced Castiel with a searing blue light. His eyes lit up, burning up in a white flame.
"Noooooo!" screamed Dean.
He woke up with a start. His half finished beer rolled off the bed, shattering on the floor. His t-shirt was drenched with sweat. His headset had slid off his head. He could hear the distant sound of classic rock over the beating of his own heart. His head didn't hurt yet. He looked at the night stand: three more beers. He reached out and grabbed the closest one. He uncapped it and drank. I was disgustingly lukewarm. He took another drag. This party wasn't over.