(((I'm going to go slightly alternate universe with this; the Nephilim fled instead of Sam finding him in the house.)))

IT HAPPENED ON A THURSDAY

Part 1.

Cas is gone. Going cold in the dirt. Their mother is gone, not even a hint of her on the wind. Dean is on his knees...the earth firm and unthreatened underneath him. But everything around him is falling to pieces, raining down around his ears. The world is slowing and speeding up, the last day catching up with him as his body and mind, his very senses, deny what has taken place.

Sam's footsteps fade as he hurries into the shabby house, understandably concerned about the nephilim and what it had done to Kelly. But Dean's heart aches with the silence, with the way nothing or no one breaks the quiet breeze wafting over his broken skin, sending chills down his throbbing spine. Tears are frozen in his eyes as he kneels, shellshocked by the recent happenings, the air nearly knocked from his lungs that are burning from the heavy breathing he'd done in his fight with Lucifer.

Sounds echo through the wood, the gentle wind barely disturbs the smooth surface of the water, the lights of the nearby city reflecting like Christmas lights on the lake...Dean simply hurts.

He can feel the burning and dull aching inside him, all over his skin, in his bones. The way his heart beat is loud in his ears, his eyes burning. As he reaches out a hand to help with his suddenly awful balance he stares down at the limb in confusion; he can't feel it, isn't at all sure it's his except that his eyes see his sleeve and his fingers and scars.

He vaguely hears Sam, or a voice he assumes is Sam. He hears his name, a muffled, almost scared sounding, "Dean?"

He feels his eyes respond, his head turns and his eyes are filled with a quickly incoming little brother, worried puppy dog eyes sweet enough to make you nauseous. Dean really really wants to hug him, wants to pull Sam into his arms hard...wants to feel the very realness, there'ness' of his little brother.

(He tries to tell his sluggish mind not to think it, but it's too late: he thinks how close he came to Sam being the one stuck there, or himself...god, he and Sam had gone through so much the last twenty four hours and were somehow alive and together...and something inside him sighs, sighs sweetly with relief.)

And when Sam's arms close around him and pulls him tight against his chest, Dean hugs his huge, younger brother back equally as hard...it just simply feels like coming home.

He pushes the guilt down and away, because he can't hide the shaking or the tears in his eyes, the way his breaths are too fast, too loud...just holds onto Sammy because he's still here, thank you god, thank you Chuck...he's still here.

"Dean," he hears faraway, "Dean, c'mon brother, I know, I know...but you gotta breathe..." he feels Sam's hand slowly going up his back so that he's prepared when the two fingers pressed into his throat over his pulse point. "Lucifer did quite a number on you, should I take you to the hospital?" Dean can hear the terrified hitch in Sam's breath, wants to assure him, knows he doesn't want an answer though, doesn't expect one.

And then suddenly Sam gives in, finally lets that in-charge mask of glorious, strong, badass 'John Winchester' leadership slip away and holds Dean even closer, hiding his face in Dean's collar, Sam's hands fisted in the back of his coat.

"I'm so sorry," Sam whispers against his neck. And Dean knows he's not apologizing because he feels guilty or because he blames himself, even though that would probably come later, but because he feels the same pain and devastation Dean does. "I am so, so sorry."

And sweet, selfless Sammy is sorry. Sorry for Dean, wishes his older brother didn't have to feel this, wishes he could have protected him from watching yet another ally sacrifice their life for them, watching Cas die...god right there in front of him, powerless to stop it...and their mother. Ripped from their very hands and simply...gone.

Simply gone just like thirty-four long years ago.

So Dean pulls back just has hard, gathers fistfuls of Sam's jacket in his hands and pulls him closer, buries his face against Sam's shirt and takes his slowly but surely calming breaths full of sammy-scented air...neverlettingyougopleasedontleavemedontdie...youcantdie.

And of course Sam gets the message.

"Dean..." Sam says softly though his voice is even. "Dean, you're beat to hell we've got to go..."

Dean screws his eyes closed tight, holds Sam down harder...they can't leave, they can't just leave here...it would be like leaving her. And Cas, Cas had to be buried. Never burned god, never burned comebacktousCasIknowyoucanyouvedoneitbeforeyouhearmedammitcomeback!

He feels Sam sigh and he knows his brother gets the gist of his panicked, swirling, heartbroken thoughts. The younger Winchester slowly pulls away from Dean, hands firmly on his biceps and he meets his eyes and stands, pulling Dean up with him.

Dean's head spins once on his feet, nearly forcing him back down to his knees, but Sam keeps him upright, takes his weight with a quiet 'umphf'. Before he even realizes they're making their way around the house towards the car, and Sam's got an arm around his shoulders and under his armpit more then less keeping him on his feet.

"Dean," Sam says again and the older Winchester vaguely wonders if he knows how to say anything else.

"Dean." He says more firmly, and then he's being pushed to lean against Baby, her metal surface cool under his fingertips as he scrambles for a grip on her to keep himself upright. Sam's hand is on his chest warm and heavy and pushing...and god, it feels good feels like punishment and blame and undeserved love and devotion that he'll accept anyways because he needs Sam, needs him like air.

"Dean," Sam says again and Dean wants to roll his eyes but he can't because of the fear and the confusion shining from his little brother's eyes...and it's all for him. Sam's already forgotten Cas and their mother in the face of Dean's wounds and pain, and his wishes for Cas to be buried.

"I need you to say something," Sam says in a hushed voice, taking the keys to the impala hanging from his older brother's numb and cold fingertips. "I need to know you're alright."

Dean swallows convulsively around the huge lump in his throat, the lump made up of shock, intense failure and Jesus...he misses them already. His eyes are wide on Sam's face, skittering to the side and to the ground.

Sam sighs and grabs a shovel when Dean doesn't answer him. "Okay," he says gently, "Okay...let's do this first."

And this time Dean follows behind Sam, the large shadow of his brother and the shovel ahead of him. A shovel. His little brother is going to dig a grave, going to dig a grave for him...for their friend. That was messed up. That was wrong.

When they stop just within the tree line, Dean jerks the shovel from Sam, surprising them both with his strength. He takes it and begins to dig. He can do this. He can do it for Cas. Sam watches silent for a moment and then disappears. And Dean knows what he's doing, knows what he's going to get, he swallows again fresh burning tears in his eyes.

The sounds of the shovel hitting the dirt is rhythmic and Dean doesn't break it, it's the only control he has right now. He doesn't stop, not when his arms scream in agony, not when he can't see for the sweat rolling down his face or the tears dripping from his nose or the spinning of the earth, the warped sound of his ears popping in and out, the way the breeze feels like icy daggers against his face.

Doesn't stop when he's dug deep enough, doesn't stop when Sam stumbles back to him. The weight in his arms, cradled close to his wide chest the shape of Cas. Mislead, confused, loyal Cas...Cas who deserved better. Cas, who he couldn't help, who had died fighting their fight.

Doesn't stop when Sam goes to his knees and gently lays his burden on the ground, and Dean can see the jet black hair and khaki of his trench coat...Cas' trench coat. And he doesn't stop digging, keeps going as if he can delay the inevitable. His friend's body in a deep, dark hole...they would have to shovel soil on top of him, cover his face and his hair and his trench coat...block out his air...block out the light of earth that Cas loved so much, sacrificed so much for.

"Dean." Sam's says softly, "It's time."

Dean ignores him, keeps digging and Sam walks over to him, places a hand on his shoulder, "C'mon Dean, you know we have to..."

He jerks his shoulder from under Sam's touch and keeps digging, shivers wracking his body, his breaths coming out in quick pants more like sobs than anything. And Sam looks hurt, his face drawn and pale and sad too. He reaches his hand out and grips the handle of the shovel, forces Dean to stop.

"De..." he pleads.

"No!" Dean screams, his eyes jumping to Sam's face streaming and wild. But it's too late, Sam's taken the shovel away and the hole he himself has dug lies dark, an open gash in the earth. He falls hard to his knees holding his stomach, a hand clutched to his too tight, too tight chest, can't breathe, throwing up on the damp, freshly dug up dirt. He feels Sam's hands on the backs of his shoulders just before his whole world goes black.

...tbc

Hope you guys enjoy some more beautiful feels even though the episodes last night covered us pretty well FINALLY! ;);) REVIEW IF YOU LIKE?!:):)

GUYSSS! Wow...I think 12.22 may now be in my top three episodes...what an amazing episode! What about you guys, what did you think?