So I was inspired to write this partially after watching the movie Ghost and partially after seeing a Destiel art on Tumblr. AU-ish, so if anything is different from the actual show, don't complain. That being said, enjoy :) Don't like, don't read. It is that simple. Also, I apologize for any mistakes, as I wrote this at ungodly hours. This is also available on Archive of Our Own.

It didn't take long for Dean and Castiel to become involved.

Romantically involved, that is.

They already shared a strong bond, a permanent bond, from Castiel pulling Dean from Hell. And the handprint, the mark that had arose when he touched Dean's soul, was still there. It was less prominent, no longer raised against the surface of his skin, but it stayed.

It took a while, but they started to become more comfortable with each other. Sam noticed this, even the tiniest of subtleties, like the purposeful brush of Castiel's fingertips against the back of Dean's hand. He didn't say anything, though; he just knew something was right.

And one night, when Castiel appeared in Dean's motel room and quietly crawled into Dean's bed, Dean didn't object, even though Sam was in the other bed. They whispered soft promises, interrupted every so often by Dean's familiar chuckle, which Castiel loved the sound of. Since Castiel didn't need to sleep, he laid there with Dean's arms wrapped around him, listening to the hunter's breathing even out as he fell asleep.

And Castiel flushed red with a sort of modest happiness at the thought that Dean loved him.

It was what he'd whispered just before he'd fallen asleep.

Dean became many of Castiel's firsts.

He was the angel's first kiss.

It might not have been anything special, just a quick peck while Dean was driving the Impala. Castiel was settled in the passenger seat; Sam was off investigating a murder, which was what they were supposed to be doing.

Castiel flushed pink, warmth spreading throughout him. He liked the feeling, though brief, of Dean's lips on his. "Dean, that was nice," the angel informed him, receiving a nod in response.

"You wanna do it again?"

There was a brief pause as Castiel considered it, and he couldn't think of anything better.

"Yes, please."

Dean guided the Impala onto the shoulder, turning the engine off. He turned to look at Castiel, and the angel tilted his head innocently in the hunter's gaze.

That day, Dean also became Castiel's first french kiss.

He was Castiel's first date. Dean figured, since they were nearly dating already, it would be good to take him on a proper date.

Dean took him to a simple restaurant in the town they were in; it wasn't necessarily fast food, but it wasn't a classy restaurant with steaks and martinis either. It was just his style, and Castiel seemed to be enjoying it as well.

They ate cheeseburgers (Castiel ate even though he didn't have to), downing them with a Coke and a milkshake, and Dean thought the way Castiel was sucking the straw should've been illegal. Dean smiled a lot more than he usually did; it seemed the angel could only benefit Dean.

And when they were starting to leave the restaurant, Dean pulling his leather jacket on, Castiel stopped him with a gentle smile.

"Thank you, Dean."

"C'mon, Cas. You don't need to thank me."

"I feel that I should," he said, laying a gentle hand over Dean's forearm. "No one has ever treated me so kindly before."

"I don't see how someone couldn't treat you well. Look at you, Cas. All the stuff you've done for me, for us... I should be the one thanking you."

Castiel's smile widened, and he leaned in a few inches and kissed Dean. It was wonderful; slow, sweet, just how the angel liked.

"C'mon. Let's go."

It was inevitable that Dean would become Castiel's first, or, if one wanted to be more specific, his first time to have sex. Castiel preferred to call it 'making love'; it sounded better to him that way, an act of love and passion rather than lust and hunger.

They were curled up together on Dean's motel bed when it happened. Sam was, for once, questioning those around town to see if a murder connected to a hunt, rather than researching on his laptop like he usually did. It was just the two of them; the angel and the hunter. They were supposed to be watching TV, but Castiel was distracted; he couldn't stop staring at Dean.

"Cas? Somethin' the matter?" Dean asked, his gaze moving from the TV and landing on the angel under his arm, who looked either very frustrated or upset. Sometimes, it was hard to tell with him.

"Your face..." Castiel muttered, chewing on his bottom lip.

"What's wrong with my face?" Dean asked. A slow grin spread across his face. "Too attractive for you to handle, huh?"

"That's only the beginning," he huffed, crossing his arms. Lately, he'd been feeling things, confusing things, and all of them involved Dean. Some were uncomfortable, some pleasant, others a combination of the two.

"Hey, Cas, what's the matter?" the hunter asked softly, studying him closely. "I was only joking. C'mon, talk," he said, reaching out with his free hand to gently grip Castiel's chin and force the angel to look at him. "You can trust me."

"I..." Castiel sighed, feeling his cheeks burn hot. Although he was honest down to the core, some things were not easy for him to say. "I believe I am having desires."

"Oh yeah? What kind of desires?" he prodded, nosing into Castiel's business as usual.

"Desires of a, erm, sexual nature. Though I would prefer not to speak of it that way," he confessed. Dean smiled, feeling an eager fluttering in his stomach. He'd wanted to go farther than just kisses with Castiel for a while, but he didn't want to force him.

"You wanna talk about 'em?"

"Dean," Castiel stated quietly, surprisingly firm in what he was saying, "I want you to make love to me."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

Dean was a little surprised, but he obliged. The noise from the TV blended in with their own sounds; the slick of lube, the crinkling of a condom wrapper, the grunts from Dean and the whines from Castiel. It was slow, tender, just like their kisses, though Castiel could not help the marks he left on Dean's back, evidence of his passion.

Afterwards, Castiel pulled the sheets up over them and they held each other close, basking in the afterglow. Castiel liked the sheen of sweat glistening on Dean's skin and his sex-mussed hair; he thought it made him look even more attractive.

"Dean, I love you," Castiel uttered quietly, their fingers intertwined under the sheets, and Dean smiled; a genuine smile, one that created those adorable crinkles by his eyes.

"Love you too, Cas."

Since they were (unannounced) boyfriends, it became more common for them to see Castiel in their motel room, or coming along on hunts with the two Winchesters. More often than not, he'd come along with Dean to interview people about what they'd seen, and he'd have to sit and bite his tongue to avoid saying anything. Dean had told him he was supposed to lie, but he just couldn't. He'd tried, tried to practice lying, but everything he said was honest.

So maybe Dean just took Castiel along with him on those interviews because it was comforting to have a pretty angel next to him. It was a good idea to take him along, though, because the angel would spill his theories about what it could be when they returned to the Impala, and Dean just felt he could trust him.

There were some days, though, when Castiel felt weak. It took more energy and effort to use his powers, and there was a time when he tried to heal Dean and ended up passing out. He'd put all his energy into healing him, and the force of it made him dizzy, the world blurring.

When he came to, he found Dean leaning over him, looking worried. It took him a while to realize that he'd been placed in one of the beds in the motel room, but he hadn't yet remembered what happened, or how he'd ended up in bed.

"Dean," Castiel whispered softly, and when he met Dean's concerned gaze, he smiled. "Hello, Dean." Dean let out a breath, rubbing his forehead.

"You scared me there, Cas," he said. "Thought you weren't gonna wake up." Since the angel did not yet remember what had happened, his naiveté was still present.

"Why would I not wake up?"

"Well, uh, you were trying to heal me," Dean said, "and you stopped, kinda swayed a little, and then fell over. You were out cold for a few hours."

"I was?" Castiel frowned at the new information. That had never happened to him previously; something was definitely changing. Something was wrong. Was it his grace? A problem with his vessel? But Jimmy Novak was his true vessel; an error like that would only happen if an angel used a vessel that was not their true vessel. He tried to sit up, but a wave of vertigo hit him, and he swayed, Dean's face becoming blurry for a brief moment. He was dimly aware of a hand on his back and the worried tones of Dean's voice.

"I think you need to rest for a while, Cas," the hunter said, once Castiel had regained his bearings. The angel reluctantly nodded, laying back on the bed, looking up at Dean.

"Dean, I'm sorry."

"C'mon, don't be. 'S not your fault," he replied, giving Castiel a soft grin. "You just stay here and relax, alright?" Castiel nodded again, still mulling over what possibly went wrong.

They both had no idea of what was soon to come.

It was what Dean called a 'lazy day' - Sam was out doing all the work, and Dean was pretending to work on his laptop, but really he was flipping back and forth through the few cable channels the current motel they were at offered. Castiel was pacing, having spent a long time trying to figure out what was happening to him. He was still working on figuring it out; however, it was surprising that he hadn't realized yet. All the signs were there; he was just missing them.

And then it happened.

It was a lot different from what he expected; from what he'd heard about falling, not only was there supposed to be excruciating pain, but it was supposed to be shameful, the highest level of disgrace. He'd heard a fallen angel would forget all their memories, not remembering anyone they'd even briefly looked at as an angel. But he'd also heard there were visible remnants of an angel's fall; while the mark of their wings would not be scorched into the earth like a killed angel's would, their wings would be visible to any human watching the fall, and, of course, their grace would fall to Earth as well.

But since Castiel was already on Earth, and not currently residing in Heaven, it was different for him.

He had just turned to resume his pacing when the last of his grace gave out, already weakened. The excruciating pain hit him, and his knees buckled, his body crumpling to the floor. Dean had rushed over, concerned, and as the falling angel thrashed in pain, he could dimly see Dean's face. Castiel could only hope that he would remember Dean Winchester.

It had been a few weeks since Castiel had fallen and become human. It was different; he missed his wings and his powers, and he hated having to spend time eating and sleeping, but otherwise, it wasn't that bad. Surprisingly, he'd kept his memories, and for that he was very grateful. But now, he almost felt like a burden on the Winchesters. With him having to learn basic human things, there was no way he could genuinely help them on a hunt. It was like Dean had said previously, when he was still an angel: "Without your powers, you're just a baby in a trench coat." It hurt, but it was the truth.

Castiel awoke that morning to find the other side of the bed empty (he'd taken to sharing a bed with Dean) and the motel room oddly quiet. He sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair. Not only did the room appear to be empty, but the TV was also off, which was unusual. He frowned, confused.

"Dean?" he called, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing up shakily. "Dean?" The former angel turned his head in time to see Dean exiting the bathroom, hand reaching for the motel room door, wearing his favorite leather jacket. Castiel understood what that meant; he tried to hide his hurt expression, dismissively turning his head back towards the opposite wall, but Dean could already tell something was up.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said, walking over towards him, but Castiel purposely turned his back. He wasn't happy, and this would end up being their first fight while they were dating. "Morning," he said, trying to make conversation, but he was able to tell that Castiel was upset. This caused a streak of guilt to go through him that he tried to shake off, but it settled firmly in his gut. "Sleep well?"

"Just leave," Castiel muttered, sitting down on the edge of the bed, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down determinedly at the floor.

"But-"

"Leave, Dean." He could tell the hunter had planned not to even wake him up, not to even give him a kiss goodbye. He knew Dean was going on a hunt; that was proved by Sam's absence. It stung to know that his boyfriend, the one he loved, would abandon him so quickly. It was a powerful emotion he felt, seeing as how he was just starting to feel human emotions, so every emotion was amplified.

"You sure, Cas?"

"You were already going to leave, so why should I bother to stop you?" His voice was bitter, and to him, it sounded like someone else. It sounded foreign to both of them, but Dean didn't press it any further. Knowing better than to irritate the fallen angel, he turned and walked back to the door. The soft clicking of the door opening and then shutting as Dean exited resonated in the quiet room.

Castiel would never admit it, but after the door shut, he cried.

Dean gave one last glance back at the motel room after he shut the door. He hadn't wanted to leave Castiel, but there was no way he could subject him to what they were hunting. It would be one of their biggest hunts yet. He walked back to the Impala, which was idling in a parking space, Sam seated in the passenger seat. Dean slid in, shutting the door with a heavy sigh.

"Dean, where's Cas?"

"In there," Dean replied, gesturing at the motel room. Sam let out an exasperated sigh.

"I thought you said you were bringing him with us!"

"I can't, Sam. He's useless. He's human, in case you didn't realize that."

"So are we! Dean, we need him! We cannot take on fifty vampires by ourselves, in case you didn't realize that," Sam said, looking at Dean, frustration clearly written across his face. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

"I just can't, Sam, alright?" Dean snapped, pulling out of the parking space, leaving the motel room behind them - for now, at least.

"Oh, what, so you'd rather us die than him?"

Dean didn't say a word.

Castiel didn't hear anything for a week. He had sunk low, basically moping, and he hadn't even stepped outside of the motel room since the Winchesters had left. He did think, though, that if Dean was going to leave him so rudely, he would at least stay in contact. His phone buzzed with a text, and, hoping it was Dean, he hurriedly pulled it from the pocket of his trench coat, fumbling with it, as he was still learning how to use it. Shortly after Castiel had become human, Dean bought him a cell phone with the money he'd gotten from gambling and playing pool. He needed it now, seeing as he couldn't hear prayers anymore, nor the voices of angels.

When he was finally able to look at his texts, a nervous feeling bubbled in his stomach. It was a text from Sam.

Sam never texted him; barely even made contact with him. It was likely that, if it wasn't for Dean, the two would never even speak to each other. He swallowed, pulling up the text on his phone.

Hey, it's Sam... Uh, the hunt kinda went wrong, so we'll be back in a few days. Dean misses you -SW

His stomach knotted at the idea of the hunt going wrong, though he had no idea what Sam actually meant. He could only hope Dean was okay.

When Sam returned to the motel room a few days later without Dean, Castiel instinctively knew something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. He could also tell by the grave look on Sam's face, and the worry in his stomach increased tenfold.

"Where's Dean?"

It took a while for Sam to answer, as it was hard for both of them to stomach the idea; they'd both loved him a lot, Sam as a brother and Castiel as a lover.

"He's... He's dead, Cas."

Castiel broke down.

Sam told Castiel about the hunt extensively; they were hunting a vampire nest a few states over. It was bigger than they'd thought, either that or it had grown; they'd thought it was fifty vampires, but it ended up being seventy. They'd drained Dean, and Sam had barely managed to get out alive. The hunt was a failure, their first failure.

Sam had felt it proper to give Dean a hunter's funeral, but he was forced to do it in the state they were in, seeing as he wouldn't and couldn't take Dean's body back to Castiel. He burned his brother's body, just as Dean had claimed he wanted. Sam was talking about going to Lawrence and making a sort of memorial for him; something to mark his death, but not an actual grave.

"I'd like you to come with me to Lawrence, Cas. That's what Dean would've wanted," Sam said quietly, and Castiel sniffled back more tears and nodded. He'd never been to Lawrence, but he knew Dean would've wanted him to remember him, in some form or fashion. The memorial would allow for that, but he missed Dean already. He felt the hot burn of regret course through him - the last time he had seen him, for good, they'd had a fight.

And they never got to make up.

The thought made him cry again.

The drive to Lawrence was almost unbearable. It wasn't that he felt uncomfortable being around Sam, but it was Dean's absence that made it that way. He'd never been in the Impala without Dean before; he was usually with Dean alone, sometimes both Dean and Sam, but never only Sam.

The Impala felt like Dean, though; from the box of cassettes in the glove compartment, to the gentle scuffs on the seats, to Dean's wallet that was also in the glove compartment, stuffed full of fake IDs, slips of paper with addresses or phone numbers or names scrawled on them, and the occasional folded five dollar bill. Sam was driving; Castiel would've, but he didn't actually know how to drive. Even then, he felt like it would be intruding on Dean.

Castiel swore that when they were nearing Kansas, he felt someone else's presence in the car. He just had this feeling that someone was in the backseat, but every time he looked over his shoulder from his position in the passenger seat, there was no one there.

Sam had found an empty field in Lawrence, and after asking Castiel's opinion, they'd both decided it would be the best spot for the memorial. Dean would've liked to have something all to himself. Sam created a cross with two pieces of plywood and some nails, and they dug a hole to place it in. After they'd placed it, they scooped the dirt back in, piling it around the cross, and Sam pulled something out of his pocket. It looked familiar, appearing to be a necklace. Maybe it was one of Dean's necklaces.

Upon closer inspection, Castiel realized it was the amulet, the one that he had taken from Dean to use to look for God. He didn't know why Sam had it. He looked up at Sam, needing further explanation.

"Bobby gave it to me when I was a kid. It was going to be a present for Dad," Sam said, looking down at the amulet, slowly turning it over in his hands. "For Christmas. But he didn't show up, so I gave it to Dean. And he wore it for a long time after that." He paused, sighing. "I think he'd want to have it." Sam walked closer to the cross and gingerly hung it there. It looked like it belonged there, in an odd way. It really belonged around Dean's neck, but he was gone. This would be the closest they could get.

As they turned back towards the Impala to leave, Castiel thought he hadn't gotten to spend enough time with Dean.

They stayed at a motel a few miles away from the field. They had two separate but neighboring motel rooms, ones with a connecting door between them. It was lonely; the empty silence in Castiel's room almost swallowed him whole. After three weeks, it was suffocating; he had to get out. So he did the only thing he could think of.

He walked the few miles down to the empty field. Sam probably thought it was very idiotic; Castiel was already vulnerable just being a human, and since he couldn't drive and could only walk, he was even more vulnerable. He just had to do it; he felt like he needed to talk to Dean.

He stood in front of the cross, hands in the pockets of his trench coat, trying to think of what to say. There was a soft breeze blowing, gently kicking up his hair as he stood. Finally, he cleared his throat, and began to speak.

"Hello, Dean."

The wind appeared to pick up after he said that, blowing a little faster, a little harder, but it settled down to its previous speed within a few moments. Castiel sighed, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the ground.

"I would hope that you are happy." This was proving to be surprisingly difficult for him. It shouldn't have been, seeing as how it was just him talking to Dean, but maybe it was the idea that Dean was gone that rattled him. "I always said that when you... passed, you would get your own personal Heaven. I hope that it is just to your liking." He paused, raising a hand, scratching at the back of his neck. Castiel had never been one with words. "I... I miss you, Dean. I miss spending time with you. I miss your nicknames for me, and - and going to the 'middle of nowhere' with you." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the uncomfortable, unfamiliar emotions that threatened to rise. "And I wish I could have you back."

The breeze picked up again when he finished his small speech. Castiel tentatively put his hands back in the pockets of the trench coat and turned to leave, when all of a sudden, he heard a voice. It was small, weak, almost blending in with the sound of the wind, but it was definitely there. "Cas."

Castiel turned back, looking around the field, but he didn't see anyone. He hoped Sam wasn't trying to trick him - he still hadn't come to terms with Dean's death. He heard the voice again, and it sounded awfully familiar. "Hey, Cas."

The voice... no, he thought, it couldn't have been him. It was probably someone trying to throw Castiel off guard. It wasn't him. But it sounded like him; rough with soft undertones, and Castiel could almost hear the smile in his voice.

"...Dean?"

A soft chuckle.

"I missed you."

Castiel spun, looking for the source of Dean's voice, but all he saw was the cross in the middle of the field. "Where are you, Dean?"

"Over here, Cas." Castiel turned back to the cross, and his breath caught at what he saw.

Now there was not only the cross with the amulet, but there was Dean, too. Nothing about him looked different, save for the fact that he was partially transparent. It was a sort of shimmery transparency that made him flicker every once in a while, but it was still the man he loved. He was wearing that worn leather jacket and a green collared shirt, combined with a pair of jeans that were as worn as the jacket. On his face was that grin that reflected in his eyes, the one that created the crinkles around them.

"Dean," Castiel breathed, feeling a sense of relief. That sense of relief was quickly replaced by worry; if Dean was here, that could only mean one thing. He was a ghost, and he'd refused to go with his Reaper. Of course Dean would do that. "Dean," Castiel repeated, but this time it sounded more like a scolding than a sigh of relief.

"What? Is it so bad that I wanna spend more time with the guy I love?"

"No, no, of course not," Castiel had been thinking the exact same thing. "I just do not want you to become a vengeful spirit."

"Nah, Cas," Dean said, stepping closer. "I did this for you, not for those sons of bitches. Though it would be nice if you could go and gank them for me."

"You know I cannot do that, Dean," he answered, though a begrudging smile was on his face. He stepped closer, wanting to feel Dean in his arms again, but Dean held up a hand.

"Sorry, Cas, but if you touch me, your hand'll go right through me. I'm still working on fixing that," he said, a sheepish smile on his face. It was okay with Castiel; he got to see Dean again, no matter how disapproving he was of the idea of Dean eventually becoming a vengeful spirit. Though Dean didn't seem to know it (that or he didn't seem to care), it was inevitable.

Valentine's Day appeared to come around sooner than Castiel expected. He and Sam were staying in Lawrence; while there were likely new hunts, they didn't have any motivation to hunt.

He'd been visiting Dean as often as possible, about once a week. He hadn't told Sam yet, but even if he did, Sam would probably say he was grieving. While Sam and Dean had hunted supernatural things, no one wanted to see Dean become something one would hunt.

Sam had been teaching him how to drive, so sometimes he would drive the Impala around town, trying to be very careful with it. Today, he'd driven to a small flower shop along one of the town's busy streets. He'd bought Dean a small bouquet of pink carnations, as he recalled Dean telling him previously that they were his favorite flower, even though 'they weren't manly'.

He drove on a small gravel path that stopped a ways from the field, and from there he walked, bouquet held firmly in his hands. He stopped about a foot from the cross, looking down at it.

"Hello, Dean." He felt a soft breeze, and then footsteps crunching on the grass.

"Hey, Cas." Castiel smiled, feeling Dean's gentle hand on the curve of his shoulder, and his forehead pressed against the side of Castiel's head. In the time that Dean had spent as a ghost, he'd learned to solidify himself a little more. He was no longer shimmery and didn't flicker, but he was still partially transparent. Surprisingly, Dean hadn't gained even one vicious trait in the few months he'd been a ghost, making Castiel think that maybe not every ghost had to become a vengeful one.

They stayed like that for a few moments, an intimate embrace, before Dean stepped back and Castiel raised his head. Dean was wearing that soft smile Castiel adored, and the wavering light of the sun made his freckles even more visible. "I got you some flowers," Castiel said, a light blush appearing on his cheeks as he held out the bouquet. Dean took it from him, smile widening.

"Aw, thanks, Cas. What's the occasion?" Since Dean had become a ghost, he'd been having loads of trouble keeping track of the dates, considering the fact that he couldn't go farther than the edge of the empty field. He was attached to the amulet that hung from the cross, much like Bobby had been attached to his flask.

"It's, uh, it's Valentine's Day."

"Damn. Sorry I couldn't get you anything. Kinda stuck in this field, you know?" Castiel nodded his understanding. He was kind of glad Dean couldn't go past the field - people wouldn't take well to seeing a ghost wandering the streets. They never did, and he doubted it would be any different for Dean.

"It's fine, Dean," Castiel reassured him.

"You got me my favorites! I swear, Cas, you are too good for me." He felt the light press of Dean's lips to his cheek, also feeling heat rise in his cheeks as Dean kissed one. "Love you."

"I love you too, Dean."

Dean was fading.

There was no other way to put it. He wasn't fading physically; it seemed to be more of a mental fade, with a few elements of an emotional fade. Castiel had thought maybe, just maybe, the 'hungry for revenge' part of being a ghost would skip Dean. If that was to happen, he'd be happy with having Dean as a ghost forever. Sadly, that was not the case.

In the past two weeks, Castiel had noticed Dean had a faraway look in his eyes, like he was thinking about something. When he had asked, Dean had replied with "Just thinking about what'd it be like to get back at those sons of bitches." It was concerning and upsetting Castiel; before long, Dean would start lashing out at him in his one-sided search for his killers. He knew what happened; Dean himself had told him about it. They would forget everything; family, friends, memories, and become focused on one thing: revenge. The ghost would have to be put to rest before it could seriously harm someone. To be honest, the former angel could not stand the idea of having to watch Dean go up in flames as the amulet burned.

On this particular day, Castiel had decided to visit Dean, just to see how he was doing. He stepped into the center of the field and spoke his usual greeting, just as he did with every visit.

"Hello, Dean."

But there was no response this time.

"Dean?"

The amulet was still there, which meant Dean hadn't gone anywhere physically. But maybe his mind was starting to change.

It took a few minutes before Dean finally appeared, looking worn out. His hair was messed up, and his shirt was stained with a dark liquid. Castiel didn't want to ask what that liquid was. But his love looked so unkempt, he wondered if Dean had been trying to get somewhere.

"Hey."

That was the only response he received. Just a gruff 'hey', instead of the usual, sweet 'Hey, Cas'. Dean was fading faster than he had hoped. Castiel looked at Dean, but instead of getting eye contact paired with a warm smile, he only saw the top of Dean's head and his ruffled hair. Dean was staring hard at the ground, almost glaring at it.

"Dean, is something wrong?"

Dean exploded.

"Is something wrong? You asked me if something was wrong?" He laughed, a bitter laugh that struck Castiel down to the core. "What would you think if you'd been fucking killed by something that you had hunted and so fucking easily killed before? But now, you had to die just because there was a handful more than the last fucking time?"

Castiel was silent for a while, stunned by the way Dean was yelling at him. Dean had yelled at him before, when he was still an angel, but nothing like this. He couldn't even call whoever that was Dean anymore, because that definitely wasn't the man he had cuddled with on stained beds in small motel rooms.

"I would not know, because I am not a hunter."

"Oh, good for you, so fucking good for you," the man in front of him bit back sarcastically, raising his head, looking at Castiel with cold, hard eyes. The bright green hue had faded to a greenish-grey, his eyes looking like pieces of ice. "I ought to get out of here. I ought to just get out of here and kill anyone who tries to stop me." Castiel had never heard such words come out of Dean's mouth.

"Dean?" he asked hesitantly. Was Dean truly gone? It'd come so fast. Castiel loathed it; it and everything about it.

"Dean is gone, Cas," the other man said, spitting out his nickname in such a way that it made Castiel hate it.

Castiel knew he had to end this. He just couldn't go on any longer guessing if maybe, just maybe, the real Dean would appear, or if he would get whatever - or whomever - had taken over Dean's body.

So, today, he drove to the empty field with a lighter in a pocket of his trench coat. He had to try and block out the idea of what he was doing - he was essentially permanently getting rid of Dean, and it felt like killing him - or he would get too upset to actually do it. Once he had made his way to the field, he walked to the cross and lifted the amulet from the base of the cross. It was cold in his hands, smooth, and it calmed him just slightly. He took a breath, turning the amulet over in his hands.

He spoke. "Dean."

'Dean' appeared, his lip curled up in a sneer, looking at him with what Castiel could only describe as pure disgust in his eyes. "What do you want?"

Castiel took another breath, putting the amulet in the palm of one hand, and putting his free hand in the pocket with the lighter in it. "I want to say goodbye." The other man snickered, but Castiel ignored him, continuing. "Dean... If you can hear me, I love you. I love you more than - more than words can describe. I know you tried to do me a favor, and I appreciate the effort and thought. I'm so sorry it had to turn out this way. I hope that you will be happy, Dean, because you deserve nothing but the best. Goodbye, Dean. I hope I'll get to see you again."

"What, trying to have a reunion with your little dead boyfriend?" 'Dean' sneered, just before Castiel had the chance to pull the lighter out. He opened it, flicked the wheel, and held the amulet to the orange flame. When the amulet started to catch fire, Castiel dropped it on the ground, allowing it to burn without burning his own hand. He closed his eyes tightly and hummed pointless things to try and block out the screams of that familiar voice, but they were seared into his brain anyway.

And as the amulet's ashes smoldered on the ground, Castiel wept.