2053

Dean noted his brother's very calm demeanor. He was frowning into his computer screen, squinting through bifocals, his knotty hands shaky on the keyboard. Dean drank in the sight of Sammy, an old man, his gray hair short and thin. He was so thankful to be lucky enough to see the sight. He never thought, when he was younger, that either of them would see forty, let alone many years after that.

Dean noticed that Sam's long limbs seemed even longer now that he was not the solid man of his twenties, but a thinner creature. Smart-looking and more graceful now that he bothered to move slower. Sam frowned into the laptop and Dean couldn't help but recall those times, it must have been a million years ago, that his brother would be up all hours of the night doing research for a hunt.

Sam looked up from his computer, seeing his brother grinning at him. Dean still had the most captivatingly menacing smile. "What?" Sam asked in a wary tone.

Dean shook his head. "Oh... Nothing."

Sam shrugged off his brother's vagueness and concentrated on the computer again. "Ok, I found something here," Sam started, "it says that there are these new medical trials that've been having an increasingly high percentage of success. We could easily get Cas into one of them. If there's even a small shot it could help him, he should do it. Apparently the risks are small..."

Dean soaked up the earnest naivety in his brother's voice. He sighed and responded evenly, "I know."

Sam looked at his brother with confusion. He waited for an explanation.

"I know the treatments Sammy. He won't do it. You know that. He's kind of a naturalist that way. Thinks when it's his time, he should just let go."

"But he could get months out of-"

"I know. He knows."

"He's giving up?"

Dean shook his head, certain on the matter. "No. Just doesn't feel he should argue with his Father."

Sam nodded, and Dean could see he was understanding as best he could.

In a way Dean and Cas understood each other perfectly well where Fathers were concerned - at least, the desire to please them, to do what they would think is best. In the very least, it was something Dean could respect.

Dean was slouching in his chair, oddly quiet, until he could practically feel his brother's eyes boring into him. "You ok?" Sam asked quietly, in that way he does.

Dean smiled at him, "I will be." Sam's brow furrowed again. Dean explained, "I don't want him to go. I don't even know if I know how to live without Cas anymore. But... I don't want him to hurt."

Sam understood. And Dean noted, that even as an old man those puppy eyes were ridiculously sympathetic. "Besides," Dean started more lightly, "we both know the cost of getting between Cas and something he believes in. If he believes his Father is 'calling him home' or whatever he says, I'm not going to shut him down."

Sam smiled, "That's probably smart."

They wouldn't talk about it again.

When Dean got home he found Cas out on the back porch, staring out into the yard like he used to stare back when he saw everything, back when his vision much like the rest of his body, was powered by Heaven. But those days had passed a long time ago. Now he was a regular, ordinary old man - if not one with stunningly blue eyes and now-wiry dark hair.

Dean sat beside him silently.

They spent much of their time in those last weeks in a companionable silence. Everything that needed to be said, had been. It felt good to know that.

Dean fought with himself for a long time on what was better for Cas - to burn or to bury. The Hunter within said it was always better to burn. For everyone's sake. But the lover said he couldn't bear it. So he buried Castiel beside Bobby, in South Dakota, by the old house. They had spent many of the early years of their relationship there, and it was as much of a home to Castiel as anything on Earth could be. Now, it was a place Dean hadn't been in a long time. A place full of echoes and memories - some good, some downright gut-wrenching. But Dean couldn't deny there would always be a fondness for the house, if not just for it being a staple in the origin of his and Cas' love story, than also for its direct connection to his and Sam's second father. Bobby had left them the house when he passed, but Dean being who he was, found it too hard to be around it without the crotchety bastard. It seemed only right, now that he had to lay Castiel to rest, that he should come home.

Sam cried as they stared at the headstones - good friends, gone to rest.

Dean couldn't muster tears. They didn't seem a big enough expression.

He and Cas had said their goodbyes. They'd faced this thing head-on and they were ready. And when Cas went home as the angel preferred to call it, it was quiet and graceful and he let Dean know that he wasn't afraid.

And something in Dean didn't let him fret quite like he should have - like he would have when he was younger. Something, in the back of his mind, just wouldn't let him panic. This...insinuation, it had him feeling like somehow, it wasn't over. He and Cas, they'd never be over.

That night Dean went to sleep in an empty bed for the first time in four decades. But before he did, he did something else he also hadn't done in decades - he prayed. Once Castiel had been his, he hadn't needed to call out to heaven. But much like riding a bicycle, he found he didn't forget how it was done. He prayed to Castiel, that he hoped he was happy, hoped he was safe and comfortable back home. He said he hoped he got his wings back, if that's what he wanted. He jibed at the silent Angel that he hoped he missed him desperately and that he was pleased with himself for leaving Dean a "crazy old spinster guy". Dean let out a quiet laugh. And he prayed he would see him soon.

He laid back on the bed, keeping to his side of the mattress out of habit, and smelling Castiel on the pillows.

Don't worry... story's not quite done yet...