The crow has long been used as a symbol of death, but the raven inked wings that would stain Dean's shoulders for his remaining days could only serve to remind him of life. The needle puncturing him with every memory he could call to mind of his dearest friend and greatest love. Those wings would remind him of that day in the barn when he saw the power of an angel for the first time. They would keep him sane, keep him going.
If there was one thing Dean Winchester hated above all others; it was irony. Never something Castiel had fully understood, and in the end something he was cursed with. A fallen angel, a warrior of God, a servant of heaven, immortal; giving up his Grace to live a human life only to be struck down by its greatest foe: disease.
The former angel turned hunter swore he would never sit in a sickbed and wait for the end, he wanted to go down the way he had come into the world- as a soldier. That made Dean smile through the tears he was fighting back as he watched the final feathers marked into his skin by the pounding of the ink. Since the first year after Cas's passing he had come to this place, in the town he first met the angel, and added to his tattoo. Today would be the last visit. Today would be the day he gave up, gave in, and just accepted all that had passed. He felt no physical pain as the sting of the black pigment worked its way under the skin. He was beyond that now.
Those years they had shared before the sickness had been far from perfect. Hunting had taken so much of them they were often strained and their relationship took the brunt of the beating. When the cancer took hold, Dean wanted to put life first, but Cas shouldered his illness and they kept up with cases for a while.
Dean had seen death, met him, watched as reapers greeted his friends and family for years; cheated him many times himself, but when it came to Cas there was more pain than any other loss. Not only was the angel someone he had loved, he was someone the hunter had to watch slowly dies. Eating away at the beauty of his friend, at the man he had become, the sickness that weakened him and washed away his fire. Dean had tried so many things to prevent it, but in the end- it turned out- he was powerless against Death if he didn't want to be stopped.
Today he didn't want to think about those times. He didn't want to think about the first year he spent alone, waiting. Waiting for the resurrection that would never come. He didn't want to think about how he had cursed and drank and done so many things he regretted when he realized there was no coming back this time. Cas was gone and it hurt like hell. If Sammy hadn't been there Dean knew he would be back on that rack now, or worse; he would be the new Alistair. No, he only wanted to remember all the firsts he had witnessed, all the things he had taught him, all the kisses they had shared; and as he stepped out of the tattoo parlour and into his Impala he knew where to go next.
The headstone was simple, all the Winchesters could manage after so many years of scams and motel living, but it was perfect. The urn he had chosen to bury beneath was also simple but Castiel had insisted upon his body being returned to the earth, and Dean honoured that as best he could. He lifted his head to the sky, knowing Cas couldn't hear his prayer the way he once could, but not caring a bit.
"Cas, I miss you. I miss you so much it hurts in my bones. I wish you were here to argue with me again, to keep me in line and make sure I don't do anything stupid that could get me sent back to the pit. But I know when I'm done, when it's my time, I will see you again. And everyday until then I will remind myself of that."
He wiped the tears from his wrinkled eyes and ran a hand through his grey hair before turning back to the car, back to the motel where Sam would be waiting, ready to get back on the road. Leaving Pontiac, Illinois for another year. Cas would call him back to this spot again, as he had every year for the past ten years. Maybe this would be the last time, Dean thought as he turned the car over, he was an old man now, not as quick as he used to be, maybe he would be next. Maybe tomorrow.