It was the third day, Castiel had been counting. Counting until he could leave this place, leave the fresh memory of Dean, leave the glares and scoffs at his seemingly constant tears, silence, or both. The nurses tried to make conversation, Gabriel came around once or twice, but no matter what anybody did, Castiel felt completely and utterly alone. Without Dean, without his support and comfort, he felt lost. He sighed as he got out of the bed that morning, as everything seemed an effort. The depression, the deep, sinking feeling he had seemed to acquire directly after the confirmation of Dean's death never left him, no matter what he was doing or who he was talking to. Pushing himself to stand, he got dressed with a bit of effort into a white t shirt and some army issued camouflage pants, sitting heavily on the bed to recover from the task: his concussion had caused fatigue.

"Hey." A gruff voice barked from the foot of his bed, to which Castiel looked up, gaze filled by Dylan carrying his satchel in his good arm, his other arm amputated at the elbow.

"Yes?" Castiel didn't much engage in conversation anymore, especially with Dylan.

"I have your stuff." He said, a rude edge to his tone as he carelessly threw the pack in Castiel's general direction, landing it to jostle roughly on the mattress beside his right hip.

Castiel opened his mouth to utter a thank you, for his possessions were all intact, but caught Dylan wiping his hand on his shirt, a look of disgust on his face. Eyes downcast, jaw set, Castiel stayed silent, knowing the reason for his obvious action.

"You know, fruit," the sneer could be heard in Dylan's voice at the nickname, "I always knew you would turn out queer, that one was obvious. But Winchester? Never pegged him as a fairy, he always seemed so manly, so right in the head." He shrugged. "But, I guess that's what happens in life, there are always one or two rotten apples in the barrel. At least one of you is out of your misery, I know I would want to be if I was sick in the head."

Castiel cringed at Dylan's words concerning his own sexuality, planning to just ignore him and move on, get out of here, get home. However, when Dylan spoke of Dean, Castiel instantly got defensive, anger rising in his gut at every word as he moved his eyes to glare at Dylan throughout his speech. Deciding to leave it alone, knowing he shouldn't get so angry over an analogy about apples, Castiel stood, planning to brush past Dylan's larger frame to exit. However, as soon as the words came out of Dylan's mouth, as soon as he talked about Dean's death as if he was out of his "misery", Castiel stiffened and punched the taller man square in the jaw. "Don't you ever talk about Dean like that, you hear me you ass? He wasn't insane, we aren't insane, how dare you think that you ignorant bastard!" After his angry, violent outburst, Castiel was fuming, until he broke down into a sob at the harsh emotions.

Dylan fell to the dusty floor at the punch, his recently amputated arm throwing him off balance. Looking up from the ground, he wiped a dribble of blood from his mouth and tried to get up, failing for a good minute due to the imbalance his arm created. Finally up on his feet, he found Castiel sitting on the bed, sobbing, the whole hospital staring at the scene, at his struggle to get up off the floor. "What are you all looking at, huh?" Dylan bellowed, anger flashing in his eyes while he looked around. Satisfied when the entire tent turned away, he simply turned to Castiel and spit on him. "Not mentally ill huh?" He mocked, referencing his sobbing breakdown. "Always knew you were a queer." He said with spite, turning to storm out.

Castiel reached up to wipe the projectile off his cheek, wiping away the tears as well, Dylan's words echoing in his head. "Not mentally ill...? Knew you were a queer..." He sat for a long moment, trying to collect himself, and continued trying as he was called to a jeep, driven to the airstrip, and boarded on the plane with other injured soldiers. Castiel kept his eyes down, clutching at his few possessions in the satchel desperately, blocking out the memories of Dean the plane brought. It seemed everything would bring memories of Dean now. Over the hours sitting in the same place, on the same wooden bench, Castiel grew numb with the memories overtaking him, and eventually stared ahead, nothing in his mind at all. It was as if he was incapacitated from all the emotional strain, not able to function, at least until he was shaken on his good shoulder to get off the large DC3.

Again, Castiel was boarded onto a jeep and driven to the station, before boarded onto the train, shuffled through the lines like livestock with all the other injured soldiers. He sat alone on the train, wanting to reach into his bag to find comfort in the items inside, but knew they would only break him down in front of everyone. Again. So he sat, staring out the window at the passing trees, which now were full and green, grass waving beneath their rooted trunks. Usually, Castiel would admire the scenery, find beauty in everyday life, enjoy the nature. But not today. Today, everything seemed gray, lifeless, and dull, as if he was looking through someone else's eyes, through the eyes of depression. It went on like this for the entirety of the seven hours he spent on the train, in a daze, not really registering anything. Once, someone tried to talk to him, but gave up the instant Castiel met their eyes, there was so much pain, so much loss in his sapphire orbs. So, they mumbled words of condolence, squeezed his good arm, and left him alone.

Soon, the train arrived back in his home town, where he stepped off to be met by a tearful Ellen and Jo, a somber Bobby, whom he had sent a short telegram to his first night in the field hospital. Castiel was confused for a moment as to why they were here, news spread fast in this town, he was well known, and everybody already knew why he was home so soon, everybody knew he was homosexual. But, curiously, they were all still here, the most surprising being Bobby. Instantly Ellen pulled Castiel into a deep hug, apology rolling off her in waves. As if her motherly action broke him through the haze he was in, Castiel instantly hugged her back, nearly clung to her for support while he held back the tears stinging at his eyes.

Pulling back after a long while, Ellen held him at arms length and looked into his eyes sympathetically. "I'm so sorry..." She murmured, feeling as if it was the only thing she could say in this situation.

Castiel nodded silently, dropping the arm that wasn't in a sling from the hug. "Don't you all know?" His words weren't accusatory, rude, or spiteful, it was simply a question.

They all nodded, Bobby being the one to speak up. "It doesn't change a thing."

At this, Castiel let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding in, relief flooding through him: he had been ridiculed enough in his life, especially in the past three days, and to know his closest friends didn't outcast him for being who he was, was a relief beyond measure. "Thank you." He said quietly, looking to all of them.

A silence surrounded them all, Castiel looking at his feet, scuffing the dirt with the toe of his boot. It was Bobby, again, who acted, murmuring to the girls he would catch up before coming over to Castiel. "Let's get you home, boy."

Castiel looked in the direction of his apartment and nodded, beginning to walk on with Bobby by his side the whole way, a silent, strong comfort.

"Not to be insensitive by bringing this up..." Bobby started when they arrived at the front of the building. "But are you gonna want to be at Dean's funeral?"

Castiel looked to Bobby, the question he had avoided silently to himself now out in the open, like a knife to his heart. "Yes, I would like to." His voice caught slightly. "He was sent to his father, won't get a military funeral because of the nature of the discharge..." His voice had grown almost mechanical as he listed off the facts. "I would like to be there, but I don't even know where his father lives."

The fact that Dean wouldn't get the honor he deserved angered Bobby, but he pushed it down. "Well, you're in luck. I know John, he's an old family friend. It's part of the reason Dean moved down here, to at least know one familiar face. Anyway, John lives about fifteen miles from here in Lawrence, you could go talk to him."

Castiel's eyes shone with gratitude at Bobby, who was writing down the address.

"I don't know if he'll still be here, haven't heard from him in a while." Bobby muttered, finishing the short note. "But it's your best bet." He finished, handing it over.

Castiel took the paper, clutching to it gently. "Thank you, Bobby." He said softly.

Bobby simply nodded with a gruff "your welcome" and gestured to his apartment. "Go get some rest."

Castiel gave him a small smile, all he could muster, and made his way up to his home, ignoring the glare from his landlord; it seemed everyone knew. Shrugging it off, Castiel entered the familiar surroundings, breathing deeply as he closed his door. He felt weak, with everyone saying how sorry they were, with his seemingly constant tears, with the ever present sadness looming around him. Setting his satchel gently on the coffee table, he went to switch the radio on low and laid on his couch, not bothering to change his clothing. He felt the impending tears, the crushing sadness closing in on him with nothing to focus on, but pushed it away, not wanting to feel weaker.

Instead, he reached over to unpack his satchel, pulling out the clothing and unused paper, then the pens, and finally the pictures, which were tucked away at the bottom. He couldn't bring himself to look at Dean's, and set it aside, breath shaky with effort to keep strong. Looking down, his gaze was filled with the last thing in hand, the picture of his mother. It seemed that whenever he was sad or beaten down, she was always there for him, in spirit, her memories and wisdom resonating with him, one memory sticking out now in his grief, one of the last memories he had before she had died.


His mother laid still in her bed, her dying condition evident in her graying eyes, the tumor killing her gentle features as she reached out and took Castiel's hand with weak, fragile hands. "Castiel, momma's not gonna be around for much longer."

At his tender age of six, he didn't quite understand, but nodded, sapphire eyes sad and confused. "I don't want you to leave."

His mother nodded, a sad smile playing at the corner of her lips as she gently stroked her thumb over his small hand. "Sometimes we have to leave people behind." She said gently, looking into his eyes. "But when we are left behind, we shouldn't focus on the loss, but rather the time we had with them, because that's what is important."

Castiel's young age did not allow him to fully understand, but still logged his mother's words as truth, whatever they meant.


He knew what they meant now, and clung to the memory of her words, trying to focus on the good memories he had with Dean, for there were many. His efforts, however, were destroyed when a soft, recognizable song came playing from the radio, the soft lyrics humming through the air.

"I'll never smile again... Until I smile at you..."

At this, Castiel broke the wall he had built to try and stay strong, and sobbed, mind filled with images of Dean's smile. At the dance, where they had first met. In the alley way outside of the diner, where he had accepted him. In his kitchen, when he helped with his burnt hand. In the bedroom, after the first time they made love. In the barracks, after their stolen kiss.

Then, Castiel remembered the last time Dean had smiled. It had been when they were walking up to receive orders from the sergeant, when he brushed his hands lightly along Dean's arm. Dean had turned around and gave Castiel a playful smile, and that was it. The last time the expression graced his features before he was gone. At this, Castiel cried out in pain, soft sobs wracking his body as he clung to his mother's picture through the song. Slowly, he fell asleep, tears staining his face, picture in his arms, the last lyrics of the memory inducing song playing out.

"I know I will never start... To smile again... Until I smile at you..."


Castiel did not wake until the next morning, sleeping through the previous afternoon and night. Groggy and emotionally drained, he got up, now fully numb. Slowly, he grabbed a towel and bathed, the warm water soothing on his dusty skin before he got out and dressed, not really feeling anything, just going through the motions. He selected a slightly formal black suit with a blue tie, grabbing his everyday leather shoes, getting ready to go see Dean's father. Running his fingers carelessly through his wet black hair, Castiel shaved quickly and grabbed the piece of paper with John's address on it from his coffee table, along with the picture of Dean.

Taking a deep breath, he collected himself to a state of slight normalcy from the devastating loss and walked to the train station, boarding the first one out that morning. It only took half an hour to get to Lawrence, Castiel silent among all the other talkative patrons riding that morning, exiting the train quickly and quietly to the unfamiliar town. He was going to ask for directions, but found the residential area so small he could simply look at the street signs. So he wandered around for a while, finally finding the street, lined with green trees and white picket fences, John's house the first one on the right. Taking a breath, Castiel clutched Dean's picture in his pocket, approached the door, and knocked.