Chapter Text
Dean wakes up without quite knowing why. Cas is calm and quiet against him, face squished into the pillow and body curled almost into a ball next to Dean. (How he manages to sleep like that without a killer back in the morning, Dean has no idea.) It’s a normal night. Except it’s not. The alarm clock on the nightstand tells Dean it’s a quarter past four in the morning, and Dean is alone. The thought settles deep, scares him; jolts him into in an upright position.
That’s what awoke him, Dean realizes; that gut feeling. And just like that, he knows.
“Cas?” He puts a hand on Cas’s naked back, but doesn’t expect an answer. Cas’s skin is chilled to the touch; not yet cold, but still lacking its normal, human warmth. Dean carefully turns his husband over, one hand gripping his angel’s shoulder. Cas’s eyes are closed, his face serene. He’s so, so pale, and there are dark patches under both his eyes. He’s got a hint of morning stubble, and the pale quality of his skin makes the wrinkles around his mouth and the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes even more pronounced. The furrows on his forehead are almost smoothed out, his lips dry and dark red, almost blue.
He’s not stiff yet; for now, he’s only lax and familiar against Dean, looking as asleep as ever.
Dean cradles his angel, one palm resting against the old tattoo on his husband’s chest. He pretends he can still hear Cas’s steady, safe heartbeat. His other hand cards through Cas’s grey hair, movements slow, just like Cas loves. Loved. Dean curls up; presses a kiss to Cas’s temple. He’s starting to get cold now.
The phone rings, and Dean doesn’t startle. Isn’t even surprised. He takes his hand away from Cas and grabs the phone; doesn’t look at the display before pressing it to his ear, because he knows who it has to be. “Hey, Sammy.”
“Dean,” Sam says. His voice is scratchy from sleep, but he sounds completely awake. Alarmed. “I don’t – I don’t even know why I’m calling, man.” Dean knows. “Is – is Cas okay?”
Dean closes his eyes and feels almost calm. “Yeah, Sammy. Cas is resting now.”
He hears it when Sam begins to cry. Dean doesn’t, not yet. He lies back down, tries to give some of his own warmth to Cas, presses his face into the crook of Cas’s neck. Coconut shampoo. Earth. Pear pie. Cas.
“Neëg nháim, zeitilith,” Dean whispers to the man he loves. Farewell, brother.
~*~
Sam helps him with the funeral – with everything. He’s got a case that’s supposed to go in court the same day as the funeral, but the judge gives him an extra day.
Dean spends the next week in a haze, expecting to find Cas wherever he goes. Next to him when he wakes up, grumbling and burrowing into his side, long fingers everywhere and legs tangled with Dean’s own. In the kitchen, hips sashaying in time with the song Cas plays inside his head as he prepares breakfast on the days he doesn’t have work early. In the garden, when it’s sunny; back glistening with sweat and the skin around the old scars taking on a darker hue, a tan, as Cas fumbles with the flowerbeds or plays with Inias. On the couch in the evenings, stretched out under that old, ragged blanket Dean’s wanted to throw away from years now, watching a movie and keeping one hand in Inias’s white fur, petting the young Canadian Shepherd absently.
Dean finds himself looking for Cas everywhere. He doesn’t let himself be disappointed when he can’t find him.
Sam takes Inias out for walks alongside his own dog, Echo, when Dean doesn’t have the energy. Sam sleeps in the guest bed, making sure Dean gets up in the morning, eats, sleeps, does something with his time. Dean doesn’t head into work – he wishes he still worked at the auto shop, so he’d have at least one place where he wouldn’t risk the chance of accidentally seeing Cas’s body.
Most of their friends have been over already. Tammi called; said she couldn’t see the house. Not yet. Dean gets that – appreciates it, in fact. Cas has done so much with this house; his presence is overwhelming in here, even when he’s gone. A small, small part of Dean wishes Cas is still around, looking out for him. The rest wants him to have moved on. He hopes Cas is in Heaven waiting for him. God fucking owes them that much.
He wasn’t sick. Dean knows that. The doctor, a colleague of Dean’s, tells them that there’s nothing he could’ve done. Dean knows that too, in some weird way. Cas’s heart was simply tired. It was finished.
Dean gets that better than anyone.
Dean wears his old winter coat to the funeral, even if it’s summer and the sky is bright and blue. He’s wearing the suit Cas got him for his birthday three years ago, but the tie is Cas’s. Was Cas’s. The silver stripes match the worn band on Dean’s finger, and he hides the amulet under his crisp, blue shirt. Sam drives him in the Impala, who looks gleaming and gorgeous in the summer weather.
Everyone hugs Dean and Sam – their friends, Cas’s friends; almost everyone they’ve known for the fourteen years they’ve lived in Grass Valley. More than fifty people are here, and Dean doesn’t even know who everyone is. It warms his heart to see how many people misses Cas, apart from Dean and Sam. How many who knows Cas, who’ll remember his smile and silent laugh and big, goofy heart.
They have a Christian funeral, naturally. And Sam nudges him when the priest asks Dean to step forward. Dean’s not paying attention – too away in his head. Just stares at the white, simple casket that holds his angel. He knows Cas would have thought the white would be the wrong color for him, but Dean disagrees. White is pure, white is clean and pretty. Perfect. Like Cas was. Is.
He stumbles up onto the podium on shaky legs, his notes curled inside his hand. He smooths them out and clears his throat, feels how it’s closing up already. He takes out his asthma medication and takes a puff, just in case.
“Cas has known me my entire life. I haven’t known him for that long, but I’ve known him long enough. A lot longer than I’d thought, and much longer than I deserve. So I’m not really pissed at God for taking him away now. I’m sure Cas needed a vacation from my whining.” Dean crooks a smile and feels his eyes burn. There’s only silence in the church, but it’s a warm, pleased silence. Dean doesn’t look up, but he knows most of their friends are smiling. They should, if they knew Cas.
“I’m pretty sure that if Cas were here now, he’d feel awkward at all the crying. Cas always wanted people around him to be happy, to smile and laugh. He’d bake pies and sign jokes and do whatever necessary to make us happy, which is probably one of the reasons there are so many of us here today. Cas had a lot of friends, and I know he saw you – us – all as one big, close family.” Dean has to stop and wipe away a stray tear that’s splashed down onto the paper, and he can hear Sam’s quiet sobbing from the first row. Dean can do this. He has to.
“I can’t say he gave me my life back,” Dean says and dares to look up at Sam for a moment. “Because there really wasn’t much of a life before he entered it. I was holding on just for the sake of holding on, and for Sam. Cas gave me reason to believe in happily ever after, and then he gave me my own happy ending. I can never thank him enough for that. I can only hope that wherever he is – wherever you are, Cas – you’re happy. And don’t worry, ‘cause I plan to join you when I eventually leave this place. You’re not gonna get rid of me that easily.” Someone huffs a laugh, and Dean thinks it’s Sam.
“It’s gonna get real quiet without you, Cas,” Dean says softly, and now he has to wipe his face because his vision’s all blurry. “I can promise you that. I won’t sit and sulk, ‘cause I know you’d be pissed at me for that, but I am gonna miss you. I love you, Cas. Thanks for everything. You rest now. You’ve done enough down here.”
Sam meets him on his way down, and Dean can’t hold back any longer. The priest says something else Dean doesn’t hear, and the rest of the people in the church say ‘Amen’, but Dean’s got his face pressed into Sam’s white shirt and doesn’t care. He just sobs and thinks about how he’s alone again; how it’s only him and Sammy again now. And Dean’s not sure if that’s enough anymore. He doesn’t know how he can go on, years and years, with an empty bed and a garden slowly decaying and getting swallowed in weeds. Sam holds him tight, and Dean feels his brother’s tears drip into his own greying hair. Dean closes his eyes and tries to breathe, his throat closing up even with the medication as he misses his angel.
He carries the casket. He and Sam in the front, Gil and Jeremy in the middle, Stephen and Taylor in the back. It’s a long way to the grave, and it feels like they’re walking for hours. Dean feels like he’s outside himself, watching the situation from a great distance. He wonders if Cas does the same. Cas and Bobby.
Tammi’s there on his left when the casket’s being lowered into the ground, and Dean feels momentary panic when he realizes that he’ll never, ever see Cas’s face again. He takes a step forward, the panic working its way up his throat, but Sam’s hand clamps down on his right shoulder, and Tammi’s a safe, familiar presence against him.
“You’re doing great, Deani,” she says with a voice that’s thick from crying, and presses against his shoulder. “You’re right – he’s done here. We’ll manage, somehow.”
Dean doesn’t crumple, but it’s a very near thing. Instead he stands, rigid, as the priest sprays dirt on the casket and lists another prayer. Dean whispers ‘Amen’ along with the rest when he’s done, and then, because he has to, he whispers “Tell Bal and Gabe hi from me, Cas.” He stares at the dark gravestone, at Cas’s name and dates, at the small inscription at the bottom.
Death makes angels of us all.
There is a spare space at the middle, where Dean’s name will join his one day.
Sam pulls him into another hug now, and Dean lets him. Tammi holds his other hand, sobbing quietly, and Dean loves her so much for loving Cas. Slowly, the crowd is spread thin, until only a dozen people are left.
“Dean,” a soft voice says, and he turns to Carolyn with a shaky smile. “I’m so sorry, baby,” she says and kisses his forehead. “You know I’ll miss him so goddamn much.” Her face is wet, her makeup smudged.
Dean nods and buries his face in her bright red hair. She’s kept it out today, just like Cas loved. “I’m glad Sam’s still got you,” he whispers.
“I’m not planning on leaving for many, many years yet, baby,” she says and squeezes him gently. Dean’s careful to avoid pressing against her belly, but keeps close for almost a minute before he lets himself step back.
Sam walks up to his wife, and she hugs him tightly too. Sam seems to deflate at that, and his sobs turn wracking. Carolyn shushes him even if fresh tears have started rolling down her cheeks, cards her hand through his short hair, and Dean turns to stare at Cas’s grave. Something’s missing. He’s not done here, he can’t –
Oh. Of course. Dean sinks down to the ground, folding his legs under himself, and presses his palms to the fresh grass. “Hey Cas,” he sings, and his voice is shaky and awful, but he keeps going. It’s the last thing he can do for Cas, and he’ll do this. ”Don’t make it bad. Take a sad song… and make it better.”
There’s a presence behind him, and suddenly Tammi’s sitting down next to him, her scratchy voice joining his. “Remember to let her into your heart… then you can start to make it better.”
Dean curls his fingers into the moist earth. Thinks about how much he fears tomorrow and the days after that. Sam sinks down on his right, Carolyn by his side, and then they’re all singing. Good thing too; Dean’s voice is quivering and shaking, tears streaming down his cheeks as Cas’s family sing his favorite song one last time.
~*~