Six months later, two brothers drive too fast down a barren highway. The rising sun illuminates the black impala with soft light. Classic rock cassettes litter the back seat, alongside fast food burger wrappers and beer bottles. Led Zeppelin plays just loud enough to hear, while the younger brother sleeps, his head rested against the window. The older one just drives, his focus remaining on the road and the beer in his hand. Towns fly by, forgotten through the sidewalks and picket fences.
No one pays any mind to the muscle car passing by. Not a soul knows that the men inside have been to hell and back in the most literal sense. No one here knows that just miles away, an angel lost his wings. Nobody saw while a grown man wiped away tears as he buried his best friend in the dead of the night. No one has seen the prominent burn mark on the older one's chest, a mark which has refused to fade over the years, even after the men bearing it had died three times. No. How could they know? To them, the Impala was just a car, and the abandoned warehouse outside of town was just someplace teenagers went to scare each other. There was nothing special about today, or that place, or that car.
But Dean knew all about it. There was no way he could forget. The night the sun rose as the stars fell from heaven.
A disheveled angel that took his last breath under a goddamn tin roof. Castiel should have had the honor to go out shooting. He was supposed to have died a hero's death. He was a soldier of God, that must have meant something. Instead he died quietly, in an old warehouse, buried in an unmarked grave by the highway, forgotten by all but two brother's. That was not a hero's death. It was a death for a coward.
The black car pulls into the familiar gravel driveway, pebbles crunching under the tires. Sam wakes up with a start and looks around, trying to figure out where he was. He looks at his brother's sullen face, staring at the unimpressive metal building.
"Dean, where the hell are we?" He asked, slightly concerned by the look on Dean's face.
"Morning Sammy." The words sounded chipper, but the voice behind them was dull and emotionless.
"What's this place?" Sam reiterated, more forcefully.
"Stay here, I have to do something." Dean commanded, opening the car door.
"I'm not staying in the car, Dean." Sam said, getting out of the car himself.
"Stay in the car!" Dean shouted, pulling his brother back in. He got out and slammed the door, leaving Sam behind him.
The small building rattled slightly in the wind as Dean walked to the wooden cross sticking out of the ground. Birds chirped above him and the trees rustled, like everything was normal. Wild flowers and weeds grew on and around the lump of ground in front of Dean. Everything around him was happy and beautiful and he hated it all. How dare anything be happy here? How dare life go on, as it always does? It just wasn't right that while he cried and begged and prayed to a merciless god for months, years, on end, it wasn't fair that life go on, happily and beautiful.
In the rising sun, the area looked like a painting. It was fitting, because none of it felt real to Dean. Even after six months, he still didn't expect to see the very grave he dug. He didn't want to. He wished he was in a painting. At least then someone would find beauty in all this.
He knelt beside the raised earth, clutching a trench coat tightly in his arms. Tears ran down his cheeks, not a sound to be heard. He sat there for what felt like hours, holding on to the last piece of Castiel he had. The sun rose behind him, shining down on a lonely man and a grave.
"Why?" He whispered into the cloth. His hands gripped tighter to the fabric, trying to hold himself together.
"This is bullshit, Cas. Fucking bullshit." He muttered, his voice cracking ever so slightly.
"It should be me in the ground, not you." Dean choked back his sobs as the wind blew the smells of spring around him.
"It's not right. You should still be here. You don't deserve this, Cas. You're supposed to be here. Goddammit, why the fuck aren't you here?!" Dean allowed himself to snap, openly crying into the coat.
"Why did you have to die? I needed you. I still need you! I need you, alright?" He shouted, trying to make sense of it all.
"I prayed for you! I begged for you! I have tried everything to get you to come back! You've always come back! So, what the fuck are you waiting for?!" The birds stopped chirping and the deer in a nearby field ran away.
"I told you I'd never let go! I didn't let go! I promised you I wouldn't, and I didn't! I can't fucking let you go, Castiel! Do you hear me?" The man screamed to a lonely grave.
"It's not fair! You didn't have to go! Why did you leave? Why did you die? I knowing your listening! Answer me! Why aren't you here? Why did it have to be you? It could've been any angel, why mine?" Everything was calm now, like the earth was standing still as Dean cursed fate for taking everything he had from him without remorse. He stood, shouting to the heavens, begging for answers.
"You finally did it, Cas. You broke your righteous man. Is this what you wanted? Did you want to make me cry?" Dean shook his head, the anger subsiding, being replaced by crushing, overwhelming loneliness.
"I loved you." He whispered, falling to his knees once again, finally letting himself say those words, after six months of praying and begging. He finally said what he'd felt the whole time. "I still love you, Cas. I love you so fucking much. Please, just one more miracle. Please come back."
Dean's voice cracked and tears fell from his eyes as the world resumed it's happy song to accompany his sobs. He buried his face in the sun faded cloth, which had long since lost the smell of spiced honey and downy feathers. It no longer smelled like Castiel had.
Dean had lost him, every trace of the angel was gone and only the memories remained. The memories kept Dean going, hoping that maybe someday he'd return. But it had been to long, and Cas was too far gone to return to him. And, try as he might, Dean couldn't stop those treasured memories from fading.
The wind picked up, blowing pollen through the warm air. The birds resumed their chirping as they went about their lives. Dean payed no mind to the beauty of the world around him. It meant nothing to him. Without Castiel, everything was pointless. Hunting was just killing time, sex was an empty attempt to feel something, and alcohol was an even more empty attempt to feel nothing. And now that Dean had screamed out all he had to feel, there was just an empty pit in his chest where Castiel used to be.
Hours passed, alone by that grave, as the righteous man cried. He didn't pray or speak, just cried. Nothing was going to change, he knew that now.
At last, he decided it was best to move on. He got up and draped the trench coat over the wooden cross.
"I love you, Castiel." He whispered, before turning away.
"Hello Dean."
Author's Note: So it's been two year's since I completed Chapter 2, and I decided a story's no good unfinished so here's the last chapter. Be sure to favorite and review. Bye :)-Christopher