hey guys :)

I'm sorry for writing this. It's...depressing. At least, it was for me to write it.

It contains a lot of character death. Actually, it is character death. That is what this is. It strongly hints at Megstiel, and I guess there's Destiel if you squint, but really I meant it as close friendship. You're free to interpret it as you please :)

I meant to give a little more detail to some of them. I guess I gave the most effort to Cas with this one, although I'm actually very unsure if I like how that turned out. At least, how parts of it turned out.

I don't really know if this is good or not. I wrote this yesterday, and I was in a feverish delirium and listening to sad music. I figured I'd publish it and see what anyone else thought.

I don't own Supernatural and I have no correlation with it whatsoever.

Enjoy!

It was no surprise that it was Meg who went first.

She didn't go very quickly, or particularly painlessly. She screamed. And screamed. It was no use. An angel blade is given its name for a reason, and all it took was a scratch to infect her with the essence of it.

They managed to get her back to the cabin, and Castiel gripped her hand like it was a lifeline. She asked him not to lie to her. He frowned, brushed her matted hair out of her face, and told her that she was going to die.

And she was alright with that. Really.

There was nothing much for her to miss about her life, and not much that would miss her.

Just him. Her death was a burden that he would carry alone.

Castiel had always been the strong one, the one that they could fall back on. He was almost like a deity in himself to the Winchesters, something that they could call on whenever they needed help. A guardian. An ally.

A friend.

The blade plunged into his side, straight through him, and the leather-gloved hand of the vessel gave it a sharp twist, prompting a groan from Castiel's lips. He dropped to his knees, blood trickling from between his lips.

A strangled noise forced its way out of Dean's throat and he broke into a sprint. "Cas!"

"D...Dean? Why are you here?" He coughed weakly, and the sticky crimson fluid now stained his much-loved overcoat.

"Where else would I be?" He applied harsh pressure to the wound, causing the angel to flinch. "I'm gonna make this better, okay? I need you to tell me what to do. Cas?"

His eyes started to roll up into his skull. An eerie white light was leaking from him; from his wound, from his eyes. It wafted off his skin. "Cas?! No, stay awake, no-no-no, not good..." He swore under his breath. "Sammy, you there?"

"Right behind you." There was an odd note of sympathy in his voice. Dean didn't know why. It wasn't like Cas was dying or anything. That's not how this was supposed to happen.

"I need...bandages. I don't know...what do I do?" It was an honest question. "Sam..."

"We can't help him like this, Dean... I'm gonna call him."

For once, he didn't even argue. This was Cas they were talking about; he could put up with his asshole older brothers if it meant saving his life.

Gabriel and Balthazer were there within minutes. Well, he was pretty sure it was minutes. He lost track after a little while. By the time they got there, Dean was barely conscious, clutching his angel's motionless body to his own blood-soaked chest, listless and empty.

It was all a blur after that. Suddenly they were at Bobby's, and Cas was bandaged up on the couch, but Gabriel was yelling, and Balthazar was too quiet and Sam looked borderline suicidal and Dean was just wondering how it was that he'd woken up that morning thinking it'd be a good day.

"You never should have called him in the first place! He was never your personal little bitch, he was...he used to be happy. He's young. He still...he had..." Gabriel's fist slammed into the wall, shaking the foundations of the house. Balthazar placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head.

Gabriel laughed cynically. "Feels like it was yesterday that we were just teaching the little twerp to fly."

"I know."

When Castiel died, he was surrounded by his friends and his family. Dean squeezed his hand to keep him grounded, and Gabriel told him about the time he and Balthazar took him down to the earth for the first time. His eyes closed for the last time.

He could see the sky somewhere. It was beautiful.

It was a little ironic that of all things, the thing to take Sam's life was sickness.

Cancer was a nasty thing.

It started with headaches. They just got worse and worse and Dean would never stop cursing himself for not taking Sam to the ER sooner. He should've known, with their luck.

After the X-Ray was done, one of the surgeons came to talk to him about what they found. A lot of it was doctor-speak that he didn't really understand, but he was no idiot, and he'd have to be an idiot to not be able to figure out what 'inoperable brain tumor' meant.

Sam lasted for another seven months. It was longer than any of the doctors had expected.

Early in the morning on the 1st of July that year, Sam roused Dean with a feeble shake. He didn't have the energy for much more.

"Sammy? Wha's happenin'? 'Re you okay?"

"Dean...it doesn't hurt anymore."

Those were his last words.

Dean didn't last much longer after that. He went back to hunting, but he'd never operated well on his own, and Dean was well and truly alone.

He became reckless and uncaring, going on increasingly dangerous hunts, with decreasing sobriety.

It was a demon that took him down in the end. It was fitting, he thought. It started with a demon, and so it would end with one.

And end it did. He understood now, what they'd all said. His body relaxed, and a moment of perfect clarity was achieved. Nothing hurt. Bright lights danced before his eyes like the most beautiful stars in all the galaxies.

He smiled. He was going home.