Writing's on the Wall Destiel

Epilogue

Salt was scattered onto the wrapped body. Oil was poured over it. A match was lit and thrown down onto the body, the sheet catching fire and spreading until the body was engulfed in flames.

Dean watched Bobby's body burn, mist in his eyes, reliving all the times he had with Bobby from childhood to now. He tried to ignore Sam crying silently next to him. In his hand he was holding Bobby's cap. He stepped forward and threw it onto the flames, watching it curl and blacken.

Sam dashed away his tears on the back of his hand. "Bobby's....gone. He's really gone."

"Yeah," Dean agreed absently. He turned his head and saw Sam barely holding it together. He opened his arms and pulled Sam into a hug, feeling his own tears course down his cheeks as Sam's body wracked from his sobs. "It's okay, Sammy. I miss him too. I miss him too."

Sam turned his gaze towards the crackling flames. In his head he could clearly hear Bobby tell him, Oh, don't get sappy over me, ya idjits. Crying ain't gonna bring me back, so...you might as well go on without me. "Why'd he have to die, Dean?"

Dean was hesitant to answer. "I don't know," he said finally. "Honestly, I don't know."

Dean went to bed that night with a heavy heart, not sleeping at all. He slipped under the cold covers and laid on his back, arm bent beneath his head, and he thought. He thought of all the people he loved that he lost. His mother, his dad, Jo, Ellen, Ash, Lisa, Ben, Kevin, Charlie, he could go on for hours. Now he lost Castiel and Bobby. He bit his lip and quelled the anger rising in his chest, the place where the Mark used to be tingling. Why did he lose everyone he ever cared about? Where did he go so wrong as to deserve this? Sure, he had made  crappy decisions, some which he would have given anything to reverse, but it seemed that everyone he got close to died. He remembered telling Sam, I'm poison, Sam. People get close to me, they get killed- or worse.

He had a lifetime to prove that statement right, and he was tired. Tired of losing family and friends all the time. Tired of seeing Sam and himself say goodbye over and over again. Out loud, he said to no one in particular, "I'm so damn tired. I just want it to be over."

Nothing replied except the loud silence that fell. Dean rolled over and peered at his bedside table. On it was the neatly folded blue tie. Reaching over, he wrapped it around his hand, bringing it to his nose. It smelled like Castiel. "Cas, I don't know whether you're dead or alive, and I don't know what to think. But man, if you really are out there, I need you to come home. Hell, I don't care if I'm going to be in danger. I need you here. Cas, I think about you all the damn time and...I have dreams about you. I miss you so much, it hurts. I love you, angel. And I'm sorry I ever said yes to Lucifer. But I frigging love you. Just...please. Come home. Come back to me, okay?"

Seven weeks later

Sam saw what was happening to Dean. He saw the shock and the reality  of Castiel and Bobby's death hit him for the first time, sinking into his mind. Dean reverted to his old self when Castiel died, sitting quietly, not feeling like solving cases, just drinking beer and staring out the window. For a while, he kept his concern to himself, but now he couldn't take it anymore. He pulled up a chair in front of Dean and sat down. "Dean, talk to me."

Dean raised his head and looked at him blankly. "What?"

"We really need to talk about Bobby and Cas."

"No. Not happening. Good talk."

Sam sighed and rubbed his forehead. Even though he expected this reaction from Dean, it was still exasperating. "I want to help you, Dean, I do. But I can't if you won't let me in."