Destiel One-Shots

Their Old Oak

{Flashback. Warning: Feels...? Maybe? Human!Cas. Child!Dean. Child!Cas. Old!Cas}

Although his old age often clouded his memory, he remembered vividly the time when they had first carved it into this old oak.

It was the last day of summer break, and the two twelve year olds had been riding their bikes up to the top of Mount Street when Cas had spotted a bumble bee. He'd never known why he'd always been so fascinated in the little golden creatures, but even so he was compelled to follow it. He called to Dean, before jumping off his bike and walking after the small, buzzing insect.

He followed it into a small field, full of various wild flowers and wondered why he'd never seen this place before. He rested his jade green mountain bike on a large oak situated close to the centre of the field before sitting on the dry grass and watching the bee land to pollinate a little red flower. He heard Dean drop his cheap and rusting dark blue bicycle much less gracefully or respectfully before coming to sit down next to him.

"Thanks for an awesome break. I just wish I didn't have to move..." Cas spoke up before Dean had the chance.

A moment passed before Dean smiled and replied, "I wish you didn't have to move, too. You're, like, my best friend."

Cas laughed. "I'm your only friend, Dean."

"Well, don't you feel even more special then!" They both laughed before Dean stood up and walked over to the tree. Cas followed, to see what he was doing. He had out a penknife, presumably stolen from his father, and was carving his initials into the bark. When he had done, he scratched a plus sign, soon followed by Castiel's initials.

"Best friends forever, right? Now, no matter what, we have to stay friends."
They both smiled, looking at the 'D.W + C.N' carved messily into the dark, dry, brown bark.

God, that was so long ago...
Cas smiled, his tired, old eyes wrinkling at the corners. He lifted that same old penknife out of his pocket and after a few shakes tries, he managed to carve an untidy heart around the letters. He felt a tear slip down his delicate cheek and he let out a soft sigh, looking at the tree one last time.

He stepped back and leant down, pressing his lips to the tombstone. The little marble rock read:
'Dean Winchester-Novak. Loyal friend, caring brother, loving husband. You will never be forgotten.'
And then ever so slowly, he left the small field, leaving his true love and leaving their old oak.