A/N: So my friend Santos told me this headcannon he had a few mornings ago, and I just felt the need to write a fic about it (with some of his help), and I'm apologizing in advance, because it's super depressing. It is a one-shot, and it's supposed to take place near the end of the entire series, and involves Destiel and *sob* character death. I'd love to hear your thoughts and thanks for reading.

-Abby

Things would never be perfect for Dean, he knew that. There were still demons and monsters running rampant in the world, there were still violent murders and vengeful spirits to put to rest. But these past two weeks or so, things seemed to be as perfect as they would ever be.

Dean walked into their motel room having just parked the Impala outside, and a smile came onto his face as he heard the shower running, it must be Cas. He thought about going in there and joining him, but the whole thing was so new to the both of them, he decided against it. Besides, Cas would want to take it slow, and Dean was okay with that because Cas was worth waiting for.

He also wasn't sure he wanted Sam to know just yet, even though he'd probably guessed. He might have seen their hands linked underneath the table or a stolen kiss before they went to bed, maybe even just the stupid googly-eyed look that Dean seemed to have on his face whenever he saw Cas smiling or laughing.

He knew he'd still have to tell Sam somehow, and Cas had suggested tonight, since they were already celebrating. Sam was actually out getting them some beers right now. And there was such a reason to celebrate, too. It was the calmest it had been in years, there were no deadlines on their lives or hellhounds on their tails, there was no threat rising from Hell or coming from Heaven, no fear of the apocalypse or outbreak of ancient monsters, or dozens of other things that seemed to always be in their wake.

They knew it probably wouldn't last, but at least for now, there was nothing. They weren't even on a job right now, though Sam would surely find them one within a day or two. But Dean didn't mind. It was just a job, and he had Cas with him. Dean flopped backward on the bed and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

Suddenly he felt something drip onto his forehead. He wondered if the roof of the motel was a bit leaky, he didn't doubt it, it was cheap. Dean exhaled.

But he felt another drip, this time on his cheek. Without opening his eyes, he put his finger in it, it was thick and warm, and he peeked to find the heavy crimson liquid on his finger. "No," He breathed, looking up at the ceiling.

There he was, looking as angelic as ever, despite the fact that was so feebly and utterly human. He seemed to still be alive, but only just. The blood was dripping from his sliced stomach, staining the crisp, white button-down. His messy tie was hanging down along with the trench coat, which was bunched to the left. Cas opened his mouth hoarsely, as if to say something to the speechless Dean.

That's when he burst into flame.

The whole room was engulfed in smoke as the orange flames swallowed Cas. "Cas!" Dean shouted over the roar of the fire. He climbed onto the bed, coughing and choking on the smoke. His hands reached up toward Cas, he wasn't going to let him die, not if he could save him.

His hands burned and he heard screams, maybe his own, as he grabbed Cas' flaming arm. "Cas!" He choked.

Suddenly Dean felt a tug on his waist as he was pulled down from the bed. "No!" Dean sobbed, keeping his grip on Cas' arm as Sam pulled him down.

Cas limply fell from the ceiling and tumbled onto the bed, his clothes still burning. Dean grabbed his smoldering body in both of his arms as Sam dragged him from the burning room.

They sprinted down the hallway, Dean holding Cas' limp body in his charred arms. His face was emotionless as the tears streamed down. He refused to think, because if he thought, then he might come to the conclusion that Cas was already dead, and Cas could not be dead.

When they got outside, Dean heard sirens in the distance. Sam climbed into the front seat of the impala, and Dean immediately climbed into the back, laying Cas' limp body across his lap and allowing himself to look at it as Sam pulled out of the motel parking lot.

Cas was dead. The deep slice across his stomach had bled out all over his white shirt. But it almost seemed a small problem compared to the burns. His face was red and blotchy and unrecognizable; his blue eyes were empty and cold. His clothes were charred and black, still smoldering on some parts of his pants, his tie had shrunk by five inches, hanging on by only a few threads. Yet for some odd reason, his trench coat was in tact. It was still wrinkly and bloody, yet showed no signs of being completely engulfed in white-hot flames. Dean wanted to think about how odd that was, but the only thing he thought about was that Cas was dead.

Dean's entire body shook with sobs as collapsed onto the lifeless form. He could hear Sam from the front seat trying to console him, but he didn't know what he was saying. All he could hear was the throbbing in his ears. He saw himself shaking Cas' shoulders, screaming at him to wake up, to not be dead.

Castiel did not reply.

Dean didn't know how long they drove, or even where they were going. He just clutched Castiel to his chest, ignoring the numbness he felt in his blistered hands. "Please, Cas.." He sobbed, gripping him tighter.

Cas' body grew colder and colder against Dean's chest as they drove for several more hours. By the time Sam spoke again, the sun was rising.

"You loved him, didn't you?" He asked simply, his eyebrows scrunched together as he looked at Dean through the rear-view mirror.

It took Dean a long time to respond, he just set Castiel's cold head back onto his lap, and ran his fingers through the dark hair. It was uneven and blackened in some parts, there was even a bald spot behind his right ear.

Dean looked back down at the body on his lap, and nodded grimly, finally answering Sam's question. He leaned down once more and planted a kiss on Castiel's cold and blistered forehead.

Dean was the one who insisted on a hunter's funeral, though Sam thought it seemed a bit tasteless seeing as his cause of death involved fire. But Dean would not waver, and he set fire to it himself. He had also refused to let Sam treat his burns until they'd properly put Cas to rest.

They stood there before the burning body, Dean tightly gripping Castiel's damaged and bloody trench coat, his eyes streaming constant tears and unwavering from the blaze. Sam shot him wary looks.

"We were gonna tell you," Dean said suddenly, his voice quivering and the flames reflecting in his dead eyes. His hands tightened around the coat. "That night, we were going to tell you." His voice shaking more and more.

He suddenly threw the coat on the ground and roughly started running his fingers through his hair. "Goddammit Sammy!" He shouted. "Can't we just have one good fucking thing in our godforsaken lives?" His voice cracked as he continued to shout. "Just one?"

"Dean..." Sam started, walking towards him slowly.

"You'd think that by now," Dean chuckled darkly, but his rage came back as soon as it had left. "You'd think that even the demons could cut us some goddamn slack!" He yelled out into the open air, challenging anything to come and attack.

"Dean." Sam said louder this time, and Dean finally turned towards him, his eyes red and puffy. Sam set his hands on his shoulders. "I know what you're going through."

"How could you even -" Dean didn't finish the statement. He had almost forgotten about Jess. "I - I'm sorry man," Sam took his hands from Dean's shoulders and turned away, facing the smoldering body that was their friend.

Dean just put his hand to his mouth, and walked toward the coat that he'd thrown on the ground. He picked it up and gingerly examined it, when suddenly he heard a whisper, it seemed familiar.

"Dean," It said.

He assumed it was Sam, but when he looked back at his little brother, he seemed unaware of what Dean had heard.

"Dean," the voice repeated.

"What do you want?" Dean shouted back, looking all around him. Suddenly the figure flickered before him, disappearing just as soon as it had come.

It was Cas.

"Dean, what are you -" Sam started.

Dean snapped back around and looked him in the eye desperately. "I - I just saw Cas, Sammy. I -" He stopped. "It's the coat," He said breathlessly, looking down at the worn piece of apparel. "Cas!" He shouted, looking around again. "Please, Cas! I know you're here!" He shouted again, his voice shaking and his eyes watering.

"I'm here, Dean." said a voice behind him. Dean almost fell down turning around so fast, his hands covering his mouth as he approached. It looked as Cas had always looked, and it wore one of those inexplicably sad looks that Cas seemed to wear all too often.

Dean choked. "Cas, I -"

"It's okay, Dean." Castiel interrupted, he stepped forward and grabbed Dean's hands in both of his. Dean let out a sob after he felt the hands of his spirit. They were cold and transparent, they weren't Cas'. But the voice was, and so were the eyes.

And so Dean listened carefully and let the tears fall freely as Cas told him that he would need to move on. Cas told him that he would need to take care of Sam, but most of all, that he needed to let Sam take care of him. Cas told Dean about how much he loved him, and that he always had. He continued to talk about how although he had not been able to answer prayers in a long time, it was still okay for Dean to pray to him - because Cas would always be there for him. Castiel leaned forward to kiss his forehead, but his image flickered away before the cold lips could reach him.

Dean stood there for a long while, his head down and silent sobs escaping him every now and then. Eventually Sam came over and put his arm around Dean's shoulders. There they stayed, Sam still grimly looking at the still-burning body that was once the vessel of an angel.

"We've gotta burn the coat, don't we, Sammy?" Dean said shakily, his voice soaked in tears. Sam just looked at him sadly, scrunching his eyebrows again. Dean nodded and stepped forward toward the fire, holding up the coat, a million memories dancing in front of him as he dropped it and watched it burn. Dean's knees buckled and he fell to the ground. His body shook with sobs as he gripped his own shoulders, shamelessly rocking back and forth. He felt Sam's arms come up from behind him and pull him up, leading the grown, weeping man back toward the Impala.

He couldn't remember the car ride, he had stayed in the back, his entire body shaking and trembling. Before he knew it, he was suddenly back in their new motel room. He got up from the tear-stained pillow and found his damaged hands wrapped in clean, white bandages.

Dean looked out the fingerprint-stained window and saw the sunrise. It was beautiful, the whole sky turning soft hues of orange and pink. Dean quickly shut his eyes and leaned down to touch his forehead to the window. He'd never broken down as much as he had last night, but for now he was able to control the sobs that threatened to escape. But the sunrise... It wasn't supposed to be beautiful, Cas was dead. It was supposed to be dark and rainy and black, because Cas would have wanted to see the sunrise, and that wasn't fair.

Dean could just picture him standing out in the middle of the field across from the motel parking lot. He would stand there still and silent, smiling imperceptibly with his eyes closed, leaning his head slightly back with his hands at his sides as the wind ruffled his hair and trench coat.

"I'll always love you, Cas," Dean heard himself say.

A/N: Once again, THIS IS A ONE-SHOT. WRITING THIS 2K WORD STORY WAS LIKE A FREAKING ANGEL REACHING INTO MY CHEST AND SQUEEZING MY SOUL. DO NOT ASK ME TO CONTINUE.

Although, f you would like you continue this story, feel free. Just please credit me and let me know so I can read it. Thank you. (:

-Abby