Castiel stood in front of the church holding Lily's hand. He couldn't will himself to take another step forward. He and Luke hadn't been on the best terms, in fact they'd been one step up from being estranged, only seeing or speaking to each other on major holidays. There was no real animosity between them, they just didn't have a lot in common. Castiel was the obedient son, following in their father's footsteps, while Luke was the rebellious one, taking no real responsibility or making any real plans in his life. Cas had always assumed they'd reconnect one day. Going into that church meant accepting that they never would.

Lily fidgeted and Cas realized he was holding her hand too tight. He scooped her up, took a deep breath, and walked inside.

It was an old church. Massive, ornamental, and filled with cold light from tall, narrow windows. His footsteps echoed on the stone floors as he walked past the pews. There was a small crowd of people near the altar where Luke's casket was displayed. Castiel could tell from attire alone that his family was on the right, dressed to the nines in black silk and lace, Luke's friends on the left, clad in hoodies and various off-the-rack black clothing. He paused half-way down the aisle. He didn't know any of Luke's friends, but he also didn't want to talk to anyone in his family. They were all elitist snobs who said derogatory things about Luke behind his back. No doubt many of them were doing so even today. Cas went red behind the ears imaging his stuffy old aunts whispering about the shame of dying in a tenement and leaving behind an illegitimate daughter. He wished he could stand up to them, just once. Luke hadn't been perfect, but at least he wasn't a coward.

As Cas stood debating which side to approach he saw Hannah step away from his father and walk toward him.

"Hey, how are you doing?" She asked gently.

Cas looked around and gestured helplessly. He felt on the verge of tears for the first time in memory. Hannah settled Lily on her hip and pulled Cas into a hug. He held onto her until he felt more composed, then allowed himself to be led to the right of the altar.

"James, you're late," his father said.

Cas said nothing, but shook his father's hand. No matter what, he was not going to let that man under his skin today. He was here to say goodbye to his only brother. Various other relatives shuffled by and patted his arm, saying meaningless phrases like, such a loss, he was so young, etc. Castiel nodded politely at them as he stared at the heavy oak box containing his brother's body.

The only remotely rebellious thing Castiel had done in his life was joining the military to pay for college instead of letting his dad pay. It was pretty much the only life decision that had truly been his choice. Luke had encouraged him to do it, saying it would feel good not to owe his career to their dad. Being an army medic had not only given Cas a taste of freedom, but of the cost of freedom. Luke's casket reminded him of all the military funerals he'd attended during those years. Most were closed caskets. All beautifully polished boxes like this one, buried along with the unfulfilled potential of their much-too-young contents.

Castiel sat numbly through the service, which was short and generic. True to character, his father had hired the church and it's pastor for their prestige. It had nothing whatsoever to do with Luke personally or with what he would have wanted.

At the end of the service Cas sat with Lily while everyone filed past the casket to pay their respects. She'd been a little fidgety through the service, pointing at pictures of her dad and waving at friends that she recognized, but overall very well-behaved. At one point she'd noticed that Castiel was sad and asked if he had a boo-boo. Cas considered trying to explain to her what was happening, but decided she was too young. His mother had died when he was just a few years older than Lily, and seeing the body at her funeral was one of his earliest and worst memories. He could at least spare her that. Hannah took her turn and then came to sit with Lily while Cas said his goodbyes to Luke.

Castiel approached the casket and looked down at his brother. He was clean-shaven, which was odd. The mortuary must have done that. Otherwise he looked pretty much like himself, if a little waxy. There was a thin white scar on his jawline that Castiel didn't remember being there. Had he not noticed it because of the stubble Luke usually wore, or was it an injury from the fire that the makeup artist couldn't completely cover up? He stared at the scar, thinking about all the questions that would never be answered. Of the wasted years spent taking their relationship for granted, focusing on all the wrong priorities. As he stared, the scar started to take up his whole vision, growing and spreading over the rest of Luke's features and blurring into a shapeless flesh-colored void.

Castiel felt a hand on his shoulder that brought him back to himself. When he blinked he realized the blurriness had been tears. He turned to see a man he didn't recognize.

"Excuse me," the man said, "are you Luke's brother?"

"Yes, James Castiel." He shook the man's hand.

"I'm Mike, a friend of Luke's. I wanted to give you my condolences."

"Thank you."

"Listen, I know your dad has this whole fancy reception planned, but a few of us were going out to reminisce over a beer instead. Thought I'd extend an invitation." He gave Cas a scrap of paper with the name and address of a bar on it. "We'll likely be there all night if you want to stop by." He smiled kindly and rejoined the left-side group which was heading out. Castiel walked back over to Hannah.

"Hey," he said. "Want to go get drunk?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

**000**

Dean's third day at the hospital was less peaceful than the first two. The local news had finally tracked down his location and tried to interview him about the fire. A few choice expletives got rid of them, but now that word was out there about the heroic firefighter injured in the line of duty, fans and well-wishers were in and out of his cramped little room all day. It pissed Dean off. He was no hero.

The good news was that his lungs were improving enough that he could get up a couple times to try and get the blood flowing to his leg. Hurt like a sonofabitch, but it was progress. Even Dr. Bedside Manner had been impressed with Dean's rate of improvement and said he could go home the next day and do his own physical therapy until the cast came off. First good news Dean had got in a while.

When Sam came in with lunch for them both, Dean was getting off the phone with a buddy from work.

"I see your throngs of adoring fans have abated," Sam commented as he took two hamburgers out of the to-go bag.

"Yeah, I think they finally got the message. Did you get my pie?"

"Of course." Sam unpacked a boxed mini pie and some fries and sat down across from Dean. "Who was that on the phone?"

"Guy from work. Benny's funeral is tomorrow."

"Oh. You ready for that?"

Dean shook his head. "Doesn't matter what I'm ready for. It's tomorrow."

"I know, I just mean…" Sam sighed. "I know you don't like talking about this stuff, Dean, but he was your best friend. You gotta process this."

"Ok, Dr. Phil, I'll do that."

"Dean…"

"What do you want from me, Sammy? You want me to cry? Rend my garments? You can't just say process it like that phrase actually helps in any way. I'm dealing the way I know how to deal." He was yelling a little and Sam raised his voice to match.

"Like how you dealt with Dad? Like how I dealt with Dad? I'm not trying to tell you how to grieve, Dean, I'm just saying don't bottle it up again because I'm leaving on Sunday and I don't want to go back to school worrying that you'll end up lying in a ditch somewhere!"

"Oh, well we wouldn't want that. God forbid anything distract you from your studies."

"You know what, forget it. Eat your goddamn pie and scare away all your visitors. I'll see you tomorrow." Sam took his hamburgers and left.