Golden Californian sunshine filtered between the slats in the dust coated hospital blinds. Pale green paint clung to the walls, speckled with a thin layer of grime. The room was sparsely decorated; a projector sat discarded in the corner of the room, and a heartbeat monitor was quietly flatlining next to a single bed. A medical assistant bit back tears as she flitted between the beeping machines, struggling to maintain her composure.
On the bed lay the body of a young man. He was thin and feeble looking, skin sunken and papery. A pale blue blanket covered his toothpick thin limbs. Brown hair grew matted and unkempt, and a thin stubble greyed his jawline. His icy blue eyes- almost closed- stared at the wall. As the hours dragged past, thins bars of light from the window crawled across the room and settled behind the figure as distorted golden wings. His expression was relaxed as though he was in a deep sleep, peaceful. Almost content. He might have been handsome, once.
At his side knelt a broken man.
His dirty blond hair was cut short, splaying from his scalp in every direction. Gold stubble decorated his chin and neck, making him look rugged and worn. His heaving shoulders were encased in a black leather jacket, and a grey tear-stained shirt hung lamely from his vaguely muscled chest. Weathered, calloused hands supported a face damp with tears, and a small golden amulet hung loosely from his neck. He whimpered quietly, then gently clasped one of the dead man's hands and pressed it to his forehead. The assistant laid a hand on his shoulder, attempting to sooth him with her apologies. She lent over to loosen the man's grip on the cold hand he held so tightly, only to be savagely pushed away. The man loosed a mournful wail, a bass note of pure animal grief, and a fresh wave of tears slowly rolled away from his bloodshot green eyes.
"I- I love you. Please Cas. Please come back."
The nurse tried desperately to offer her condolences, then gave up and backed away from him. Glancing at him sadly, she continued tending to the machines. The man continued to sniff and whimper, and outside the hospital the sun continued to shine, the brightest it had in days.
And this should be where the story ended. Later, the crying man's grief should subside, he should attend the dead man's funeral, and he should continue living his life. Much later, he might smile again. Perhaps he'd even love again. He'd be a doting uncle to his brother's beautiful children. He'd watch them grow, maybe even teach them to ride his motorcycle. The crying man would grow old and pass away, surrounded by his loving family. Dean Winchester wouldn't even be a footnote in history, an old man from a forgotten time, who fought a forgotten war, and loved a forgotten man. His name would slowly fade into obscurity, as though he'd never lived in the first place. But someone hadn't planned for the story to end that way. So the story changed.
Castiel sat up, slowly, and rolled out of bed.