It'd taken three days to find Castiel. He had walked 4 miles into the woods when he took his own life. Five days after the accident, the funeral was held.
Both bodies needed to be there, because as the living will said, if they were to die together, they would be put in the ground together. Because of the morbid gunshot wound and the mangled remains of Dean, the single casket was left closed.
Not many people showed. Not many people knew how significant the loss was. But it wasn't about the body count, not really.
Sam Winchester walked in, silencing the room of about 10 people. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, from the sleepless nights and tears shed. There were no flowers in his hands, but his fist was enclosed around a hidden object.
He walked up to the casket, a sob lodged in his throat. This wasn't how it was supposed to end. He opened the lid, having to see his brother and friend one last time.
A few tears escaped his eyes as he looked at what was left of his brother. You couldn't even tell it was him, and that was the worst part.
The men were holding hands.
Sam reached his hand up and wrapped the amulet around the men's clasped hands. "Jerks." He muttered, before closing the casket and leaving.
The deaths of Dean Winchester and Castiel will not make front pages of the newspaper. They will not be spoken of in day-to-day conversation. No. The story of Dean and Castiel will be told in the darkest hours of the night. The story of a man who was afraid to love and an angel who never knew he could.
I believe it's what you would call a tragedy, from the human perspective.
Fin