Sometimes, if you are on the right country road, and you look closely you can see it. It lies on the side of the road in front of a wooden cabin. The grass shooting up to the top of the tires, leaves covering the black hood. You can see that the car has had many miles on it, and used to be a thing of beauty. No stickers on the rear, no ornaments on the hood. Sometimes, someone will pull over and try to loot it. They wouldn't find anything they would want: a Lego lodged into the air conditioning, an army man in the backseat, cassettes of classic rock, and a bloody, tattered trench coat. Some thought that a man was murdered in the backseat, and leave for fear of ghosts. Some would open the trunk and find nothing but an old would shake their head and go back on the road. One man came, looking different than he had before. His vessel had grown too old by now, and he had to take a new one. He walked up to the car like it was a dangerous beast, his eyes starting to blur. He opened the door to the backseat and picked up the trench coat. He picked up who he used to be before he lost them, and put it on. Castiel walked to the trunk, the coat lightly catching the breeze just like it used to. He picked up the photograph, not able to look at it. He just sat on the trunk, not sure what to do. Finally, he walked over to the passenger side, reached over, and turned the car on. He sunk into the familiar leather seats. "I'm sorry. I couldn't save you. This is my fault." Castiel cried. He raised the photograph to look at his friends. It was taken before the apocalypse, before they went to hell. He could see the innocence in their eyes, the life still in them.
Sometimes, if you are on the right country road, and you look closely you see
the man who lost everything.