My Wayward Son

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The day was bleak.

The grey storm clouds blocked the sun from shining its brilliant rays to the earth and the wind howled a restless tune, squealing and screaming as it rushed through the mausoleums and empty tombstones in the graveyard. The wind cried in Castiel's ears as the priest was finishing the final rites. Dean was officially dead. No one had come to the funeral except for Castiel because Dean was the only one left in his family. The coffin was lowered into the ground and Castiel then left. He didn't want to watch Dean be buried, he was barely holding on to sanity anyways and seeing the burial would only poke the bear. He wrapped his trench coat around his body and trudged to Dean's house where he walked in and began to sob louder.

"I can't believe you're gone Dean! You said you'd stay, you said you'd be by my side until the end but now you're gone."

Castiel couldn't get over his grief. It covered his mind, blocking out all thoughts and creating a maelstrom of misery a mile wide. Castiel had found the last bottle of scotch Dean had and he poured himself a glass.

"This is better then finding a liquor store and drinking it but I miss Dean." Castiel just stood by the window, watching as the sun rose, casting its coral rays on his face. He felt the heat wash over him and a bittersweet feeling envelop him. He held the scotch in his hand and thought of Dean.

He thought of all the good, the bad and the ugly memories.

He remembered meeting Dean and saving his life.

He remembered hiding to keep Dean safe.

He remembered his joy seeing Dean after the war.

He remembered the taste of Dean's lips. The taste of whisky and just faintly cherry pie.

Castiel remembered Dean and he couldn't have been happier. All he said while staring out the window at the sunrise before him was

"Carry on Dean, carry on my wayward son."

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