It took a moment, but soon Castiel heard locks clicking, looking up to meet the face of an older man that held some of Dean's features. The very sight caused Castiel's chest to tighten, but he pushed back the feeling and put on a slight smile, all he could muster, and held out his hand. "Hello, John."

John looked puzzled, tired, and emotionally worn, but shook Castiel's hand nonetheless. "Hello. Can I help you?"

At the simple question, Castiel's stomach jumped and tightened at his gruff tone, but he again pushed down the anxiousness. "I was a good friend of Dean's." He looked from his own fidgeting hands to John's now emotionless face. "We were in the army together before..." He shook his head, collecting his slightly fumbled words. "Bobby told me where you lived, because Dean came to you..." His voice caught slightly, but he again pushed it away. "I was just wondering if you were holding a funeral that I could attend."

John looked Castiel over, sizing him up before he stepped aside, motioning him in. "I think we need to talk."

Castiel's stomach did another flip at his cold expression, but he stepped inside nonetheless, sitting at the wooden kitchen table John motioned to. While the older man disappeared into what seemed to be the kitchen for a moment, Castiel looked around at the simple furniture. An old, worn couch, a slightly scratched coffee table, and a radio decorated the small living room, which lead into the small entrance hall he had just come in from. Spotting some pictures near him, Castiel rose from his chair to take a closer look. Pictures of a beautiful woman and a young boy filled his peripheral vision, but the one frame he was focusing on was a slightly fuzzy picture of a young boy, eyes sparkling, smiling widely. Castiel only had to stare for a moment before he realized exactly who he was looking at, who's smile he was gazing at. It was Dean, smiling with the same brightness he did when Castiel had known him, eyes glittering the way they had when Castiel told him he loved him for the first time. At the sight, Castiel fingered at the picture in his pocket, pulling the slightly wrinkled print out, eyes falling onto the same expression as in the hung picture. "Hello, Dean." He whispered to the picture quietly before hearing John's voice from the kitchen.

"So, Bobby sent you?"

Castiel made his way back, sitting back at the table right before John came back in. "Yes. He knew I would want to be here for Dean..."

John's face went cold as he sat down, nursing a nearly full glass of whiskey. "So you were a buddy of Dean's?"

Castiel nodded, fiddling with the photo in his lap he hadn't placed back into his pocket.

John eyed him warily, half buzzed, cold pain in his expression. "You do know, right?"

At this, Castiel's heart sunk, he hoped this wouldn't happen. "Know what?"

"Dean was a queer." John said, shame and anger in his green eyes, eyes that looked much like Dean's.

Castiel took a moment to collect his anger, seeing as this was Dean's father. "Yes, I know."

John's suspicious gaze only grew. "Yet you still want to come to his funeral?"

Castiel pushed away his tears at the words, and nodded, collecting his voice. "Yes." He looked to John, who appeared to be putting something together in his mind, a look of realization clouding his features the moment he looked to Castiel's hands, at the picture of Dean.

"You weren't just his friend, were you?" His tone was angry, words drawn out just slightly from the drink. "You know, I was wondering why you weren't still in the service, they don't just let you out because of a shot to the shoulder. Then, I saw you looking at Dean's old picture over there, which also struck me as strange. But now, I see you holding a recent picture of my son, and his death is affecting you far more than it would if you were just his buddy." He looked to Castiel, who had his jaw set, trying to be respectful. "Were you the one he was queer with?"

Castiel met John's hostile eyes, putting the picture back in his pocket, taking a deep breath. "Yes. I was."

John instantly got up, a disgusted look on his face. "You were the one who corrupted my son."

Castiel also stood, backing away slightly, betrayal rising in his gut. This was Dean's father, and he couldn't just accept his son had found love. "Loving someone is not corrupting them."

"Oh really? Well then why don't you tell me why he made this decision, when he was raised to know that it was sick and wrong?"

Castiel met John's accusing gaze. "He grew and formed his own opinions, made his own decisions. He decided to love someone, and there is nothing wrong with that."

John narrowed his eyes, the sadness gone, replaced by anger. "You need to leave."

At his words, Castiel started towards the door, feeling ashamed for the first time about his decision to love Dean. "What about Dean's funeral?" He forced out, eyes downcast, jaw set tight.

John glared at him, a sound of disgust sounding in his throat. Going over to a small desk, he pulled off a thin stack of papers and made his way angrily over to Castiel, shoving the papers into his chest. "If you're so concerned about your boyfriend, you make the arrangements. I will not honor my son in his death, when his life was a disgrace." With this, he opened the door and pushed Castiel onto the porch.

Castiel lifted his good arm and grasped the papers, right as he was shoved out on the porch, the door slammed in his face. Eyes brimming with tears and shame, he turned and walked out of the neighborhood, out of the town, until he was at the train station. He clutched the papers the whole short ride home, pushing away the embarrassment he felt. However, the shame didn't leave for long, and came back as soon as he entered the diner, pulled Bobby aside, and explained what had happened.

"That son of a bitch." Bobby growled when Castiel finished his story, fending off the embarrassment as best he could.

Castiel simply kept his head lowered, holding out the papers John had shoved at him. They were the rights to Dean's body and burial, and he didn't know how to deal with them. "I don't know where to start..." He mumbled through the growing lump in his throat.

Bobby held up his hand, leafing through the papers, sadness in his eyes. "I could take care of it if you want."

Castiel nodded, head down, tears falling from his long lashes, unable to speak.

Bobby sighed, putting a strong hand on Castiel's shoulder. "Get some rest, boy. I'll come by when everything's done."

Castiel looked up with grateful eyes, conveying the thankfulness he could not put in words before he turned to go to his apartment, the long afternoon sun casting his slumped shadow onto the pavement while he walked.

It only took a week. Castiel didn't do much except sleep, barley eating, he didn't feel very hungry lately. It was a relief when Bobby knocked at his door, telling him the funeral was the next day, for Castiel just wanted this all to be over, so he could finally accept Dean's death, instead of fighting the validity of the occurrence. That night, the night before the funeral, Castiel cried himself to sleep, Dean's dog tags cold against his bare chest, a bitter reminder of the icy loneliness that was wrapping it's way around his heart. The next morning felt no different than all the rest, and Castiel simply went through the motions. Mechanical in his every move under the crushing weight of loss, he bathed and dressed, selecting a black suit, black shoes, a black tie, and a crisp white shirt, which he gently tucked both dog tags under.

It wasn't a long walk to the graveyard, but it felt like hours in the slight rainfall as Castiel gently ran his hand along Dean's picture in his pocket, wishing it wasn't true. However, as soon as his leather shoes met the manicured grass, as soon as his eyes fell upon the simple, closed wooden casket that lay waiting to be buried, he let it all go, all the denial, all the refusal, all the held back grief, and he nearly buckled under the weight. Luckily, Bobby, Ellen, and Jo were all there, and huddled close to him for support.

The priest's words were monotone, lifeless, without true meaning, and Castiel drowned his voice out, eyes focused on the casket, what it represented, and who it held. The light patter of the rain above him only brought memories. Memories of Dean and his death on that rainy battlefield, the last time he saw Dean's green eyes close, the last time he saw his chest rise with breath, blood mixing with rain beneath him. It was only Jo's soft touch to his arm that shook him from the painful memory, shook him from the fear.

"They are going to lower him into the ground. Do you want to say anything?" She asked softly, voice breaking only slightly.

Castiel nodded, reaching up to wipe his face of the tears he had shed remembering Dean. "He was my best friend..." It was all he could manage before he broke down, words lost in his throat, tears unrelenting and hot on his face. With the emotion, he stepped forward, jaw quivering and set, and took off his dog tags. He ran his thumb once over his own etched name and set the item on top of the flat pine casket, stepping back with only Dean's tags left around his neck. As the box was lowered, Castiel could no longer look and turned away, hand quivering at his eyes to stop the tears, head bowed before Ellen pulled him into a hug. He stayed clutched to her, silently crying until the first shovel of dirt was placed into the grave. He stood after a long moment, turned, and had his gaze met by the marker, a delicate inscription on the stone.

Dean Alexander Winchester

January 24, 1920 – April 23, 1943

Loving companion and friend

At the sight, Castiel felt acceptance wind it's way into his chest, and finally, he could accept Dean was gone, and he was never coming back. The thought alone caused a lump in his throat, but also gave him a sense of peace. He could now clutch to the good memories he had made when Dean was alive, rather than cling to the memory and details of his death.

It had been a month since the funeral, and Castiel moved through his grief with the support of Ellen, Jo, and Bobby. He still cried himself to sleep most nights, clutching to Dean's picture, but moved into acceptance, and remembered the good times, just as his mother advised all those years ago. He had not been to visit Dean's grave yet, it was still too hard. But today, on a cloudy summer afternoon, Castiel decided he would go, he was ready. The walk, again, didn't take long, and he soon found himself at the graveyard. He started to head for Dean's burial site, but decided to first visit someone he hadn't in a long time.

Standing in front of the older stone, he looked to the familiar surroundings fondly. "Hi, Momma." He said gently, looking to the angel that was carved into the stone. "I'm sorry I haven't been around for a while, life hasn't been that good to me lately." He took a deep breath, pushing down the lump in his throat. "Dean's gone. He was taken from me in the war..." His eyes filled with unbidden tears, his voice choked off. "I miss him. I wish he was still here, he was my source of comfort after you left..." He wiped at his eyes gently. "I just wish you both didn't have to leave." His throat bobbed once as he stepped forward, placing his hand on the stone marker for a moment before heading off to Dean's grave.

The two sites were close, and Castiel only had to walk a couple minutes to reach Dean's. "Hello, Dean." He said, voice thick with the familiar phrase he had uttered so often. "I..." His eyes had already glazed over with tears, making the words difficult. "I miss you, Dean. More and more each day... You were my life, my support, the one who carried me through all my problems..." He blinked out some of the tears, the moisture making trails down his face. "I just want you back, I want to hear your laugh again, I want to hold you again... I wish you didn't leave." He wiped at his eyes, taking in a shaky breath as his gaze fell upon Dean's name. "I will never stop loving you, Dean." With this, it became too much to handle. So, under the crushing loneliness he felt, Castiel walked off, Dean's name tucked close to his chest on the tags, a single song playing out in his thoughts.

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

((Finished.))