I do not own Supernatural.
.o0Beneath the Oak0o.
Dean Winchester died at the age of seventy nine. I'd slipped him a few years when the other angels weren't paying attention. But eventually, Tessa caught on and ordered me to stop. To stop easing his pain, and to allow to him to die.
"God, Cas. Even on my deathbed you're hovering." Dean complained, his voice raspy with age. The gray wrinkles on his face looked so strange. It felt like only a few weeks ago he had been young, and hunting down monsters. The hospital bed creaked and Dean shivered. I altered the temperature of the room, turning it up to something more suitable for him.
"When's Sammy coming?" He asked, wincing in pain. I reached forward, angels be damned, and took any aches he had away. Even with his heart failing, and his lung cancer escalating, Dean refused to complain.
"He will be here soon." I promised. Dean frowned, almost fifty years together and he was able to tell when I lied. Even angels in the garrison who had spent thousands of years at my side did not know me this well.
"Being old sucks." Dean muttered, not saying a word but flipping his hand over. I find mine instantly fills the empty place, on reflex rather than thought.
"You are in pain?" I asked, eyes flickering over his body. Dean would have lost the ability to walk a decade ago, but I had refused to let the deteriorating bones give way. Dean would be miserable, he would ask me to kill him more than he already did.
"No, thanks to you." He says, curling his soft dry palms around mine. I nod, standing at his side quietly. He does not speak for a long moment, and I think perhaps he has fallen asleep.
"I'm ready, Cas." He murmurs. The birds outside chirp continuously, unaware of the turmoil raging within my chest.
"Ready for what?" I demand, but my throat tightens instinctively. I look out the window. A thousand adventures we have had, and he has died a good amount of times. But this feels final. This is concrete. Dean will not return to me once he dies this time. He has nothing left to offer anyone. Angel or demon. He is an old man. His mind has worn away so much that he forgets Sam died twenty years ago on a hunt. Dean is not needed anymore. Nobody will bring him back to me this time. I feel human tears well in my eyes and blink them back.
"To die. I hate you seeing me like this." He grunts, rolling his head slowly away. He is old, so old. His skin is blotched from liver spots, and his tan skin had faded to a murky gray. His glossy blonde hair was now grizzled and gray. His strong athletic body had been replaced with a soft, hunched over old mans. He was old. His youth had left him long ago. But the one thing that remained were his eyes. Those rebellious, spirited eyes. So green, that the warm summer grass was envious. Those eyes had fought a thousand battles and had so many stories to tell. It sickened me how the humans treated him. As if he was a fool, a child even. I squeezed his hand.
"You're beautiful." I whispered, wishing he would let me press a kiss to his mouth again. When he was young he had taken me. Made me his lover a million times over. He had claimed me body and soul. But he was still foolish, still so young compared to me. When he had reached his fifties, he had stopped the touches. Insisting he was too old, that our love was 'weird'. People asked if I was his son, and I saw his cheeks go red with shame. If only he could see that his human body is not what I craved, it was the warmth of his soul.
"I'm old. I'm disgusting." He spat, green eyes shining. I wanted to rebuke him, I wanted to tell him he could be nothing but charred flesh and my vessel's heart would still race just knowing it was simply Dean. But I didn't.
"I can't take this anymore, Cas. I don't even know were Sammy is." His voice broke. A choked sob filled the room from the brittle old man who had once been earths greatest warrior. My Dean was caged in that broken, whittled down little body.
"I will not let you." I said stubbornly. He had asked this of me before, but he would forget soon enough. I would take him fishing and he would laugh when I struggled with the line. Perhaps we could see a movie, he loved horror movies. Anything to bring him happiness. Anything to make him forget his request.
"Cas, please. Let me go." He whispers brokenly. I don't know why this time is different, but I can feel it. Can feel how desperate he is to be released of the flesh that encircles his beautiful soul. He knew I had rejected him all those times. Had refused to let him leave me. But he was asking me this time, begging. He needs to be released. I have been away from heaven long enough where I do not know where is soul will go.
"If that is what you wish." I do not cry as I press my fingertips to his forehead. Finally releasing his soul, and waiting for Tessa to collect it. It does not matter where it is sent. Heaven or hell, I will surely follow.
I stare at the stone. What could I possibly say. 'Here lies the most important man in the universe'? Perhaps. 'Rest in peace, Dean Winchester. Savior of humanity.' But instead I pull the memory back of the initials both Dean and Sam carved into the Impala all those years ago. I sketch D.W. in beside the headstone simply labeled S.W. in child's scrawl.
Dean and Sam's body will be close for eternity. I look at the massive oak shading their headstones. I had ripped out a sliver of my grace, placing it in the bark. It had flourished and now protected the two brothers. Their headstones would remain forever untouched, until humanity itself joined them in death. It would be my last gift to them.