I'm stone. Just another perished angel laid to rest in a cemetery or other sad, barren location. That's what we become when we die, stone angels. My time for resurrections is over, all my chances gone, run out. There's no more time left for me, although I wished I had just stayed alive long enough for Dean to die. That way he wouldn't have to be in pain, he'd be in his own corner of paradise. He'd be able to relive all of our best moments, all of his fondest memories. He'd be happy.
I haven't told Dean about what I'd become after I die. I didn't think I'd need to. I always thought I just might outlive him, although we die often enough to never know for sure which of us would go first.
I wish I at least got to tell him goodbye, I loved him and that I was just selfish enough to ask him to never move on. I couldn't bear the thought of him being with someone other than me. I know how bad that sounds but he is what gave me my free will, gave me my first taste of real emotion and humanity. He's the first and last person I'd ever truly loved.
I wish I could tell him I was still here. I know I can't be awakened from my petrified form, but it's still a nice thought. I'm not even aware where I am, although I know it's the United States. The cemetery looks familiar enough, old and seems to have not been used in a long time. I know I've seen this place before but I just can't get it out.
From where I am, I've got the view of an old, twisted tree, facing away from the small cemetery's entrance. No one ever comes here, it's always deserted, no one but the dead in their coffins. I hear birds though, sometimes. Their songs make the days seem better. They often sing of life, their daily routines. They don't understand the pain of the human race, they ignore it. Ignorance really is bliss.
I've kept a tally of my days here, sixty four to be exact. Each day is slower than the next, all of them quiet. Nothing changes here. I've taken life for granted, taken heaven for granted also. I'm ashamed of my lack of appreciation. My father gave me life, a home, company and I haven't even thanked him. He gave me everything I have and I haven't said a damn word in thanks. I'm unworthy of being his son. I'm unworthy of the wings on my back. This lonely afterlife is a suitable punishment.
Maybe my last years of life were punishment. I was given freedom, love, and it was all ripped away over and over again till the game was done and I was laid to rest here, in desolation. If that is the case, I'm not angry with him. I've gotten what I deserve.
Today is a Sunday. It's a beautiful, early summer morning. The plant life may be dying, but the sunrise is pristine and the songs of the birds seem to be even more brilliant than they were before. Something has changed today, something magnificent.
Later on in the day I hear the familiar rumble of a car coming near the gates. I'm filled with nostalgia, the car sounding so much like Dean's beloved Impala I believed I'd be able to cry in that instant. Faint music spilled from speakers, a song that I believed to be titled Stairway to Heaven. It seems almost appropriate.
The song is sad, but beautiful. It's a strange mixture of emotions.
The car stops abruptly, cutting off the song mid verse. I hear two car doors slam shut and the thud of boots on the ground.
"Son of a bitch. He was telling the truth." A familiar voice said. It cracked, all sorts of emotion flowing through his words.
The thud of boots pounding across the ground became hurried and loud, racing closer and closer to my stone form.
"Dean, wait! It may not be him!" another voice, Sam, called to his brother.
"It wasn't here last time! It's either him or some other god damn angel." Dean shouted back. He came into my field of vision, his face soaked in tears. He reached a hand tentatively up to my face, smiling at me though his tears.
"It's him, Sammy. Trench coat and all." Dean called, unwilling to tear his eyes from my face.
Sam approached, looking bewildered and disbelieving. His mouth broke into a smile and he clamped a hand on Dean's shoulder, gently squeezing it.
"Do your thing." He told Dean, shoving him just a bit.
"Then go wait out in the car." Dean demanded, leaving no room for argument. Sam rolled his eyes, but dragged himself off to the car. I heard the door slam closed, signaling Dean to turn back to me.
"Crowley told me, if you're wondering. There was no price; his reasoning was just that he wanted a chance to kill you himself. I don't know how he knew, maybe the angel he'd been torturing told him. I don't know. I'm just glad I found you, Cas." Dean explained, his eyes pricking with new tears. He wiped them away, leaving a wet blotch on his sleeve.
I could do nothing but watch.
"The ass hat also told me how to break you free. You know, not all angels go like this. Some go off into their own realm of paradise and other end up here if they believe they need to be punished. This is them living out their self proclaimed punishment. To be honest, I'm glad you went like this. Otherwise I wouldn't be able to bring you back." Dean rambled, his fists clenching and unclenching.
He took a deep breath and took a step onto my base, becoming eye level with me. I wanted so much to touch him, to tell him so many things at that moment. But the moment was his.
He smiled to himself, and then leaned in close to press his warm, lively lips to my own cold, stony ones. The touch only lasted a second, but I felt warmth radiating out from my mouth and spread to my head, all the way down to my toes. I wriggled my fingers, relishing in the movement. I felt the soft breeze hit my face, tousle my hair. Never again would I take this life for granted.
I couldn't find the words needed to express my thoughts in that moment. All I could do was smile and stare into Dean's murky, thoughtful green eyes. He was smiling back, taking my chilled hand in his own rough one. He backed down onto the ground, taking me with him.
"How- how did you know where I was?" I asked. The task seemed long and impossible for someone as limited as a human being.
"Crowley said that whatever bone yard an angel ended up I would have sort of significance to them. I didn't quite trust the guy, but it was the only lead I had." Dean explained, making no attempt to move.
"How long have you known?" I asked.
"We found out about angel afterlife a few weeks ago. I was trying to break you out, but Crowley showed up last week and explained you were probably rotting in some cemetery because of all your guilt." Dean said. He was scratching the back of his neck, smiling broadly. I don't think any smile could rival his.
"Thank you, Dean." I say, making no effort to move from my spot on the dead grass.
"Don't mention it. Anyways, why wouldn't I try to get you back? Do you hate yourself that much as to think I wouldn't find a way to save your damn ass?" Dean asked his tone playful and serious all in one.
"I believe so, but I've taken my long life for granted. I won't do that again, I'll appreciate every moment I have." I say, starting to move away from Dean and to the car, because I could. It felt nice to be able to walk, to feel, again.
"You're an idiot sometimes, you know that? We all make mistakes dumbass, stop beating yourself up for it." Dean said, moving to climb into the driver seat of his beloved car.
I took a deep breath and climbed into the vacant passenger seat. Sam had taken one of the back ones. I didn't know why, but I didn't question him. After Dean successfully pulled out of the beaten cemetery, he took my undamaged hand in his own, calloused, weathered one.
We drove for miles and miles, leaving Kansas as fast as we could. After we got out of Kansas, Sam and Dean began telling me of the things I missed, which wasn't much. A few hunts, nothing more. The angels have been 'lying low', as Dean put it.
Late that night we arrived at a motel, one like all the others we came to rest at, and Dean and I made up for lost time well into the early hours of morning.
