Cass sprinted down the well shaded streets of Lebanon. Sam and Dean were alive. Sam and Dean were alive. He couldn't believe it. Up until this point, Cass had been becoming increasingly sure that they had long since passed. Especially Dean. Dean who always said he was going to die young. Dean who always said he would go out in a blaze of glory on a hunt. He let his mind wander again to the thought of Dean living a happy life. In his mind, Dean had settled down with some gorgeous woman and built a life, became a father and a grandfather. He imagined that Dean had left Cass in his past but hoped that he thought of him from time to time.

Cass made his confession all those years ago without any hope that Dean would return them. But his love being returned wasn't the point. The point was that Cass got to let himself be honest.

The truth was that Cass had been miserable since before he met Dean in person. He had been miserable since Dean came on to his radar when Uriel began to have him watch over the Winchesters.

He thought back to the first time he interfered in their life. He had been put in charge of making sure they didn't get themselves killed before Heaven's plan could be laid out. Uriel had realized after Dean's recent brush with death in a car accident, that the Winchesters weren't to be trusted with staying alive on their own.

That night he interfered, the brothers had been investigating a recently deceased priest who thought of himself as an avenging angel and Dean was having a crisis of faith. He had been told that Heaven couldn't have their vessel be a man without faith and was granted permission to intercede in ways that could illicit devotion. Small persuasions to a god-fearing man that inspired him to drive down a specific road at a specific time. That inspired him to be a bit lax when tying down the metal pipes in the bed of his truck.

It's fine. They're tied down well enough. Just drive slowly.

Cass oversaw the whole deal. But when he saw Dean close up for the first time, passion and determination embodying his entire being, Cass began to crack. The empathy he felt through the street urchin in the 19th century was flowing through him without a corporeal body. He should've known then that this was the beginning of his end.

But all these years, Sam and Dean had finally proved Uriel wrong. The Winchesters could be trusted to stay alive on their own. Maybe it was Heaven's, intercessions that put them in so much danger in the first place.

Panting, Castiel had finally found the right house. He didn't realize what little lung capacity his mortal body had. In fact, he didn't think he had ever been this tired.

It was an idyllic little house that fit perfectly into the quaint suburban neighborhood. A perfectly manicured lawn with a flower garden that lined the front of the house under large bay windows. It looked like the perfect place to settle down. Much better than the bunker or a musty motel room.

"Maybe this is the kind of life I could have," Cass thought to himself.

In truth, Cass wasn't sure what he was going to do with his life. He wasn't even sure if he even wanted to be back. Being human was uncomfortable and, if it weren't for Sam and Dean, he would be totally alone in a world he no longer knew how to navigate. He was sure he could learn but, at the moment, the prospect of being alive for another 30- or 40-years felt very daunting.

One step at a time. He could figure out what to do with his live tomorrow, but today was for reuniting with his friends.

Cass walked up a little up to the front door. He took a deep breath and knocked.

He was not ready for who answered.

Dean Winchester was looking through a box of mementos and photographs when he heard a knock on the door. He was a bit confused as he wasn't expecting anyone and all of Sam's neighbors had already dropped by or called to offer their condolences. Through the window he could see the figure of a man in a tan overcoat and figured that it was some sort of lawyer coming to talk about the will or estate.

When he opened the door, he saw the perplexed face of a middle-aged man in an ill-fitting suit. The man was vaguely familiar to him, but Dean couldn't quite place where he knew him from. Perhaps he was an administrator from the company the family had used for Sam's in-home hospice care. "Hey."

Castiel looked at the dark-haired man standing before him. He must have been in his early 30s. He had Sam's eyes.

"Hey" The man said.

"Hello." Cass replied. He wasn't quite sure how to start. He figured "hello, I'm your dad's long lost angel friend back from the dead" might be a little jarring and hard to believe, even by Winchester standards. The man shifted uncomfortably as Cass realized he had been standing there for too long without speaking. "I'm looking for Sam Winchester." He finally piped up.

The man had a puzzled look on his face. "Are you not from the hospice care?"

"No, I'm not." Cass replied.

"Law firm?"

"No."

"A notary? I don't know why we'd need a notary but I'm realizing there's a lot more that goes into planning a funeral than I thought."

Castiel was growing frustrated. "No. No, I'm not with any of those things, I don't even know what two of them are. I'm just… an old friend."

"I don't think so. I knew most of my father's friends. We've lived in this town my entire life and I've never seen you before. Plus, you're way too young to have known him before he moved here." Dean was beginning to get snippy. Who was this guy? Some sort of door-to-door salesman trying to make a cheap buck off his grief?

Castiel was caught off guard. "You're Sam's son?"

"Yeah." He replied shortly and crossed his arms. "I'm Dean."

Cass felt his world come crashing down around him.

He's Dean.

Dean saw the man's face fall. "Could I please talk to Sam?" He pleaded.

Dean shook his head. "I'm sorry. Dad passed away yesterday afternoon."

In the course of a few seconds, Castiel was completely alone in the world once again.

"Who are you exactly?" He was becoming annoyed. This man comes to his doorstep asking to see his father yet seems to know nothing about his life. He had to be some sort of Jehovah's Witness trying use Sam's death as a talking point. He was certainly dressed like he could be one.

"No one. No one at all. I'm sorry for your loss." Cass turned on his heels and began to walk away. Dean went back inside, completely puzzled by the entire interaction, but he shook it off and went back to his work. He was going through his father's things to find mementos to display at the funeral. He reached into a dusty box full of photo albums that his mom had compiled. As he opened one a tattered photograph fell out.

The photo was his dad as a young man posing for a photo with his friends. He had heard stories about all of them. His Uncle Dean, Bobby, Jo, Ellen, and… "Holy shit." There, in a dingy trench coat, was the man he had just had a conversation with. "Holy shit!"

Dean dropped the photo and sprinted outside. He could see the Castiel disappearing down the street and began to run towards him as fast as he could. "Castiel! Castiel!"

Cass turned as he heard his name.

"Castiel! Stop!"

Cass stopped as Dean caught up to him. He rested his hands on his knees and panted. "We. We should talk." He gasped.