Castiel stood in front of the pyre and bowed his head. The two bodies, wrapped in white sheets, burned slowly, one last effort of the brothers who had saved the world over and over again to beat the death that had come for them eventually, inevitably.
"Goodbye, Dean. Goodbye, Sam," Castiel said.
A tear, then another, slid down his cheek. Angels didn't cry, though it was fitting for Castiel, the angel of solitude and tears. And it was so profoundly human.
He was alone, for now. Not that that was a bad thing; it had given him time to mourn privately as the word had gone out amongst the hunter community about Sam and Dean's deaths.
And then, one by one, they came. First there were the hunters they had rescued from the alternate universe, interchangeable though most of them seemed to be. Then many other hunters from the normal universe. And at last, Jody, Donna, Alex, Patience, Claire, and Kaia, the group now collectively known as the Wayward Sisters. At that point Cas was so preoccupied by staring into the fire that he didn't notice Claire sidle up next to him.
"You okay?" she asked.
"I'm fine," he lied. It was what Dean had taught him to do, after all.
Claire followed his gaze, mournfully. "We're giving them a hunter's funeral, huh?" She went on, letting his lie slip past. "It's what they would've wanted." "Yes it is," Castiel agreed solemnly.
Sensing that he needed comfort, Claire leaned into him and put her arm around his side. He leaned into the contact, slowly reciprocating it. He found that it lifted up his spirits, if only the slightest amount.
Stepping out from the crowd, Jack appeared beside them just as they broke apart.
"I'm gonna miss them," he observed. "I'm sorry that they're gone."
"Me too," admitted Claire.
Jack looked as if he had been grieving as much as Castiel had been. But when he saw Claire, and heard her voice, a shadow of his bright smile returned.
"Hi! I'm Jack," he said as cheerily as he could muster. "What's your name?"
"Claire," she responded as they shook hands. "I've heard so much about you."
Jack glanced briefly at Cas, eyebrows raised, then back to Claire. "You have?" "Yeah. Castiel here tells me a lot. He was one of the people who helped get me where I needed to be after my parents died."
"We have something in common, then," Jack said eagerly.
With that, they strolled off through the crowd of hunters, their heads, so similar in hair color, bent close together. "...I'm surprised we've never met before," Jack said, his voice growing fainter the further away they moved. Castiel barely noticed that they were gone, turning his gaze back to the still-burning pyre and looking into the flames.
Several long-winded speeches were made, testaments to the heroics of Sam and Dean akin to legends of old. But Castiel opted not to give a speech. No words could convey the depths of the loss he felt. He had said his goodbyes, privately, and that was enough.
Eventually, the hunters left in groups, much the same way as they'd come. And soon enough, Castiel was the last one to leave the now empty pyre.
The grave was placed outside the bunker. Carved into the headstone was the chorus of "Carry On My Wayward Son" by Kansas, done by the fine work of an angel blade. Castiel knew that there were no bodies buried there, only the ashes of what once had been, ensuring that the Winchesters could never come back.
At the thought, an anguished sob escaped his throat. If he could take it all back, have one last moment with the Winchesters, together as a family, he would. But he couldn't; not this time. So the angel who had learned to love humanity with all of his heart knelt down in front of the Winchesters' grave and began to pray.
Cas entered the bunker at last, wearily, drained of the ever increasing amounts of human emotion he experienced, even now as an angel. He found Jack sitting at the table in the war room, drinking Dean's favorite brand of beer. He had slipped out of the funeral early, exhausted from his efforts in spreading the word across the hunter community.
"I suppose this is our home now," Cas observed.
Jack looked up at the angel he had chosen to be his father. "Why now?" He asked. "It was our home before."
"To honor those we have lost," Cas explained, short and to the point. He couldn't bring himself to say their names.
He walked over to the table and sat down in the chair across from Jack. "I know another way to do that," Jack said. Then he raised his bottle of beer, the way he had seen and even imitated Dean doing before. "For Sam and Dean," he said.
Cas nodded. "For Sam and Dean," he echoed. He took an unopened bottle of beer from the pack on the table and clinked it against the half empty bottle Jack held before opening it.
As Castiel took a sip of his beer, he realized that he was proud of Jack and how far he had come. But he also hoped to be strong enough to continue parenting Jack alone, going forward.
Later that night, alone in his room, Castiel surveyed his appearance. No, the outfit he wore wouldn't do. Not anymore. It was a symbol of the angel he used to be, before Sam and Dean had come along and changed his life completely.
The decision was made quickly. He shrugged out of the iconic trench coat first, then stripped down out of his suit, both of which had technically always belonged to Jimmy Novak. And then the outfit Castiel had worn as consistently as he was able for more than ten years was put away in the back of his closet for good.