Wake Me Up When November Ends (supernatural)

Sorrowful Aftermath

A single pair of lonley footsteps softly hitting gray pavement was the only sound being heard a late November morning at a local cemetary in a smaller town. No birds tweeting, not even crickets, nothing but steps and silent breaths. The feet aimed at two graves that hadn't been visited since they where put up.

There was no flowers or candles to decorate the plain graves, no quotes or birds or dates at the tombstones. Just two gray gravestones with two different names carved in.

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

There was no bodies buried here, of course. They had been burned, like every real hunter.

But Charlie had insisted on putting up something to memor the brothers with, even though she had never visited them either.

The monuments was scruffy. The grass had grown, and a layer of moss had started to grow over the stones.

But what was the point of cleaning them? Would that change anything, at all?

The person walking along the pathway looked rather shabby too. Dark, unwashed hair had grown long, not even pushed back from the blue eyes. It almost hid the nearly black circles under them. The chin was covered by more than scruff, but not yet a full beard.

The pair of old leather shoes finally reached their goal, stopping so he stood just as much on one grave as on the other. The silence was so loud it hurt his ears. The tanned trench coat softly brushed against the black pants he never seemed to change.

Castiel peered down at the tombstones that stood for the only two friends he ever really had.

He rested his eyes at Deans, and it was like he could see the man standing there. The green eyes, ridiculously long eyelashes and the remarkable jawline. Dean smiled, because that's the way Castiel wanted to remember him.

Not covered in blood, lying pale and dead next to Sam.

Sam.

The image of Sam was just as clear. Next to Dean because that's how Castiel wanted to remember them.

Together, Dean calling Sam "Sammy" and Sam laughing and rolling his eyes.

They belonged together.

Well, at least they where together now, riding that car of theirs, listening to Dean's rock, in peace. In silence.

Castiel didn't drive the Impala. He didn't wear the clothes. He hadn't cleaned out of the their rooms ether, he had simply left. Charlie had wanted him to stay but he just couldn't.

It was Sam's eyes Castiel remembered the clearest about him. No matter how much Castiel stared into the younger Winchester's iris', he had never fully comprehended exactly what colour they where. On cloudy days they seemed hazel, but quickly shifted to blue or green on more sunny ones, often a mix of all.

Beautiful.

Sam and Dean were so troubled, so flawed, so human.

So beautiful.

Castiel trew another glance at Deans stone, before inhaling deeply, and stepping to the right, so he stood in front of Sam's.

Castiel clenched his fist, before he slowly started speaking.

"Sam." he said, swallowing.

"I'm speaking to you, because I know that Dean would have thought this was senseless. I know that he would have rolled his eyes and compared me to some fictional character."

Castiel had to stop, and take a deep breath. Memories rushed trough him, and they where such good memories.

"But you always had faith, Sam. From the very start and before that. You always believed in me when no one else did, when even I didn't. I never quite understood how, or why. But maybe I do."

Castiel inhaled again, closing his eyes.

He chuckled softly.

"I remember, watching you when you where little. My father told us to, to watch you because you where special. You prayed back then too, to me. To us. I could hear, but did I ever really listen?"

He paused.

"The reason I'm still talking to you is because I know you're still listening. Dean would have left long ago, because that is who he is, but you are still listening because that's who you are."

"Like I said, you never lacked of faith. And that made you special. Not the demon blood, not the prophesy. That might have made you special to Heaven and to Hell, but not to me. Except I was a little too late realising that."

Castiel stopped, to blink away the tears pecking his eyes.

"We never got that close, Sam, and for that I am sorry. You had faith in me when I never had in you, you prayed to me and now I'm here, praying to you. No, that's not why I'm here. Because you are gone and that's too late now. When I walked here, didn't know why. Why now, why this late? But now I think I do."

Castiel blinked, and inhaled deeply, even though he didn't need air he did now.

"I asked myself, why? I have asked myself that a lot lately, why?
Dean asked me that once, "why me?". And I know you have asked yourself that many times too, "why me?"
And now I have questioned the same thing, "why them? Why is at always the best people that have to pay the highest price?"
And I, whatever did we do, to deserve this? What did I do to get you ripped away from me, I didn't even get to say farewell."

A tear escaped Castiels eye, and ran down his chin, detoured by the corner of his lips and finally dropped from his jaw, hitting the frost-white grass.

"But maybe I do understand. Because this isn't about what we did or didn't do."

He gulped, snapping for air and swallowing spit that rapidly filled his mouth, without making it any less dry.

"Everything is temporarily." His voice broke, but he kept on talking, faster and faster until tears was frozen all over his cheeks and his mouth was bone dry.

"Because that is life and life is cruel and this is my goodbye, Sam."

This was things he maybe always had known, but never thought of, never wanted to admit, not even to himself.

"Life is supposed to be beautiful." he whispered, throat too dehydrated to function any other way.

"We often symbolise life with a blooming flower, or a sparkling flame. But that's not the truth. The truth is that the flower is going to wilt and the flame is going to die. In the end, everything is going to die. We already are, dying."

The final phrases barely made it past his lips before they blew away.

The graves stood with no more than an inch in between them, beacuse that's how Sam and Dean is supposed to be; together. Side by side.

Castiels face hadn't changed at all since he approached the two graves. The crying, the talking, his face still felt like it was made of stone. The frozen tears covering from under his eyes to his jaw had numbed him, but it didn't change how he felt, the numbness was far from new. It felt like it had been like that forever.

And it felt like it would be like that forever.

There was no flowers at the graves, because flowers die. There was no candles because the flame will eventually always fade away.

There was no text, because no words, in any language no matter how they where written, could describe Sam and Dean.

And then there wasn't any trench-coated angel there ether, beacuse it's only for so long you can stand there knowing that your only friends are gone and there's nothing you can do to fix that.

Hesitatingly, the black birds sitting side by side on the frostcovered branch started to sing.