AN: I want it to be known that I don't want the beginning of season 7 to go this way, but I expect it too.

Seconds ticked past, turning into minutes as Dean stood there staring at the angel-turned-God. Castiel - Dean refused to think of this abomination as his friend Cas - had that eerie half smile on his face, standing stock still, waiting. It was only when Dean chanced a glance at his brother and Bobby that he realized that the seconds and minutes were not in fact passing at all.

Dean turned, searching for the person he knew would be there. He found him examining the pieces of Raphael that were currently stuck to the wall by the force it had taken to explode the archangel.

"Death?" Dean asked, although he knew, without a doubt, that it was the fourth horseman. Death turned, hair slicked back, suit impeccable.

"Hello again Dean," he said, calmly taking everything in with his distant eyes.

"Why are you here?" Dean asked, choosing to get straight to the point.

Death turned his eyes on Dean and Dean swallowed reflexively. "Surely if you think about it you'll remember."

Dean was only confused for a second before he understood. He did remember. His first conversation with Death, in that pizza parlor in Chicago. He remembered very clearly all the things Death had said.

"No," he whispered, face pale.

"I am afraid so Dean. I told you one day I would reap God," Death said, calm as ever. He folded his hands behind his back and paced over to the frozen angel-turned-God. He gazed at him curiously. "Although he is a poor God. Castiel gave a valiant effort, but he just isn't quite up to par with the real thing. That being said I still must reap him."

"No," Dean said more forcefully, pushing the word out from behind his clenched teeth.

"Dean, you have walked a day in my shoes, you have seen what happens when the natural order has been upset. Natural order has called for the reaping of this pseudo-God, so he shall be reaped," Death said, voice calm as if he were explaining why leaves fall in autumn.

Dean could feel the anger bubbling inside, but he tamped it down. He knew Death was right. If so much pain had been caused by the delayed reaping of one little girl, Dean could only imagine the disasters that would come if Castiel was not reaped. But it didn't take the hurt inside of him away. Cas had betrayed him, sure, but Dean understood. He'd been out of the game, and Cas hadn't wanted to pull him back in, even though everything was at stake. Everything he'd done, from dealing with Crowley to taking in all the souls of purgatory, it had all been for Dean, and to a lesser extent, the rest of the world.

Dean hung his head, unshed tears making his eyes blurry. He silently prayed for a day when he wouldn't see someone he loves die bloody, and then he realized how asinine that was. He was praying to a man just a few short feet away from him, a man about to be reaped.

"Please…" he began, desperately wishing he didn't have to speak these words aloud.

"You don't have to ask Dean, I already knew you were going to want to do this yourself," Death said, gesturing at Dean's hand. He looked down, surprised to see Death's sickle in his hand. "I said I would reap God. You may have this pretender," Death said, vanishing at the end of his sentence.

Dean hated the cold weight in his hand more than he'd hated anything in his entire life, and Dean was a man who knew how to hate. He looked at Castiel and wondered if his friend was even still in there, or if he had been consumed by the souls. Dean tried to comprehend the number of souls Purgatory must have contained. All the souls of all the monsters, many of which Dean had sent there personally.

He took a few hesitant steps forward until he was face to face with Castiel. He was still frozen and Dean understood that he and the others would remain that way until he had been reaped. Green eyes searched blue, desperately seeking any sign that this was Dean's nerdy little holy tax accountant, but all Dean could see was a vast expanse of blue.

"Cas…" Dean started, knowing that even if Cas was still in there, and at this point that was a huge if, he probably couldn't hear him. "Cas, I'm sorry. I'm so incredibly sorry. And I know I've said some horrible things to you lately, hell, I've said horrible things the entire time I've known you. But you're part of my family Cas, just as much as Sam and Bobby are. I'm so sorry that I have to do this. And I gotta say, I'm pretty sure this is it. I don't think God's going to bring you back from this one. He should, because this is all his fault. You were the only angel that ever had any faith in him, and if he had just paid attention to that we wouldn't be here. But I somehow doubt he's going to see it like that."

Dean felt a wetness on his cheek and he realized there were tears rolling down his face. Before I… Do this, I want you to know that I understand why you did it. All of it. If I was in your position I'd probably do the exact same damn thing, except I'd probably do it a lot sloppier and with a lot more casualties. I'm sorry it has to end this way, Cas," Dean finished, wiping a sleeve across his eyes.

Dean had felt sympathy for Sam when he'd had to kill that werewolf, Madison, all those years ago, he really had. He'd known it couldn't have been easy, but he had know idea how just the idea of it could wreck someone so completely.

He took a deep breath and stepped closer to Castiel. His hand tightened around the sickle until his knuckles turned white. Dean stared into those impossibly blue eyes and, before he could think himself out of it, sunk the sickle into Castiel's torso. He expertly slipped the blade between the new God's ribs, instinctively knowing the second it slid into his heart.

Time started again and Dean's eyes were burning with the tears freely flowing down his face. Castiel stared at Dean in shock, but it took only a fraction of a second for a blue-white light to overtake his eyes, spilling out of his mouth as well. Dean had seen angel's killed but he knew that wasn't what he was seeing, he was seeing all of purgatory's souls being extinguished in short bursts. One more bright burst and all that was left was Cas, slumped around the sickle, the handle of which was still in Dean's hand.

"I'm so sorry," Dean whispered.

Cas raised his head, eyes foggy with pain but clearly his own. "I heard… Everything," he said, just as he slid free of the sickle, landing with a thump on the ground. Dean could see the beginning's of a pure white light spilling from the wound in his chest and he shielded his eyes.

There was an impossibly bright flair and Dean knew Cas's grace, and by extension, Cas, were gone. He opened his eyes, looking down at the pitiful form on the ground, ash wings seared into the floor on either side of the body.

Dean unclenched his fingers, only then realizing his nails were digging into his palms in lieu of the sickle's handle, but Dean knew it was gone just as he knew Bobby and Sam were behind him, time having started again.

"Dean…" Sam started, but Dean just shook his head.

"Not now Sammy. We have to give him a hunter's funeral first," he said, crouching down next to the body of his friend. He stared into those blue, blue eyes one last time before pressing his fingers into their lids, closing them for good.