Dean woke to the scent of bacon and eggs wafting through the air vents. He rubbed at his swollen eyes, looking down at the pajamas his father must have changed him into the night before. There was a dull, burning ache in his gut and chest that wouldn't go away no matter how much Dean rubbed at it.

He slipped out of bed, shuffling downstairs to see everyone sitting quietly at the dinner table. Sam and Adam were both silent, and Dean was surprised to see that his father was sitting at the table as well. John was nose-deep in the newspaper, a mug of coffee occasionally making a trip to his mouth. His mother grinned softly at him, setting down a plate of eggs and sausage in front of Sam.

"Morning, sweetheart. I was just about to wake you up for breakfast. Did you want bacon or sausage?" She asked, gesturing to the plate laden with scrambled eggs that sat next to the stove. Dean pulled out his seat, plopping down in it with a muttered, "bacon, please."

Mary slid two strips of bacon onto Dean's plate and put it before the teenager. Dean ate quietly, ignoring the way everyone was staring at him like he was a loaded bomb. He finished quickly, rinsing off his plate and thundering back upstairs to get his book bag.

He was intercepted on the way out the door by his mother. She grabbed his shoulder, pulling him into a hug. "Its okay, baby. You don't have to go to school today."

Her words struck him as odd, like he couldn't comprehend why school optional. Numbly, Dean muttered into her neck, "It's okay, mom. I feel fine."

Mary shook her head, pulling away and running a hand through his hair. "Are you sure, sweetie?"

Dean nodded, glancing over to his father, who had folded the newspaper back to watch the exchange. Mary released her son, but not before giving him a gentle kiss on his forehead.

She looked over to Sam, who was stirring his eggs around listlessly and then back to Dean. "Sammy's going to stay home today, alright?"

Dean gave her a halfhearted shrug. "I don't care," he murmured, and headed for the door.

"Dean." His father's deep voice barked from the table. Dean turned around in the middle of grabbing the doorknob. John stared him down and Dean returned the look dully.

"Be careful, son." John pulled the newspaper back up to continue reading. Dean took this as an invitation to leave and opened the front door, stepping out into the clear morning sky. There were signs of the rain from the day before, mud streaking the dirt road and thick dew on the grass, but the sky showed nothing but white clouds and a rising sun.

When Dean reached the bus stop, he was alone. Pain struck him at the sight of emptiness where there should have been Castiel waiting patiently. He clenched his teeth, breathing in hollowly and closing tear-prickled eyes. Castiel was just out sick, today. That's it.

Convincing himself that Cas was home in bed, curled up with a bowl of soup and a thermometer, Dean watched the school bus approach slowly. He boarded silently, ignoring the hesitant and shocked look from Mrs. McCreedy, and the stunning silence that ate away at the few students who had gotten on the bus that morning.

Dean sat alone in his seat, but didn't scoot over to the window. Just because Castiel was out sick, didn't mean that Dean should take his spot.

Dean pressed his forehead against the seat in front of him. Things were too weird, everyone was too quiet. Why couldn't things go back to normal?

School was the same story, only bigger. Raphael cornered Dean in the hallway before first period and the Winchester held his ground, ready for a fight.

Instead of swinging, however, Raphael placed the palm of his large hand on top of Dean's head.

"The Lord is with us all, Winchester. All good souls find their place in Heaven." Raphael's words were low, soft. Dean felt anger boil up inside of him and he shoved Raphael's hand off of his head and stomped to his first period class.

The morning announcements came with abruptness, and as his principal's voice echoed over the intercoms, Dean's gut filled with dread.
"As many of you know, last night a young student of ours lost his life. Castiel Hatfield, a freshman here, died during the rainstorm. Let us all bow our heads in mourning for this bright soul."

Dean didn't bow his head, but he opened his backpack to grab paper for the morning lesson. His hands grasped something soft, and Dean found himself pulling out his and Castiel's journal instead. Placing it on the desk, Dean opened it silently as the students around him fell into a hushed silence. There was sniffling from a couple students, and one girl was covering her mouth to keep from sobbing loudly.

Dean opened the journal, staring down the drawing Castiel had done of a striga. His precise penwork was immaculate, each line knowing where it was going and how it would connect to the other lines, forming a hooded figure with white eyes.

The sob that escaped him took Dean completely by surprise. He clapped a hand over his mouth as his eyes and nose burned, trying to stifle the second whining cry that his body forced to escape him. The teacher hurried over, placing her hand on Dean's back and Dean ignored it, hunching over his and Castiel's journal. He clutched to it, forehead pressing against the paper and willing Castiel come back.

"It's not fair." Dean whined. He wasn't sure who he was talking to anymore, but he had to tell someone. It wasn't fair that Castiel died. It wasn't fair that anyone died. It wasn't fair to Dean, or Sam, Gabriel or Kali. What had Dean done to have this supposed 'God' take Castiel away? Was it because he didn't believe enough? Or did Castiel believe too much?

Dean hadn't realized he was asking these questions out loud until his teacher crouched down to hug him sideways and murmured, "I don't know, honey. I don't know."

In Science class, Lisa Braeden shot him sympathetic looks the entire time and Dean hated it, hated her. He hated his father for never being there, and he hated Castiel for leaving him. Dean withdrew into himself, focused on his work, and tried to ignore the empty feeling that was eating away at his very being.

The ride home was just as silent as the trip to school had been. He stepped off of the bus to see smoke billowing down the road, gushing from the location Dean knew was Castiel's home.

Dean's feet were running before he could stop himself, bolting down the long and winding road until he was breathless and standing twenty feet from the burning house that Castiel had once lived in. Kali and Gabriel stood a little ways off, watching the firemen trying to put the flames out, Grace's cage clutched in the hands of Castiel's father.

Gabriel, sensing Dean's presence, turned to watch the Winchester boy. He smiled weakly. "Hey kiddo... I guess it looks like it's time for another change of scenery."

Kali said nothing, and Dean looked from them, to the burning house, and back again. Gabriel held up Grace's cage. He looked at the chirping finch for a moment, and then held the cage out to Dean.

"I think..." Gabriel started, his voice hitching at the end. The man cleared his throat and started again. "I think Castiel would want Grace to be free with him, don't you think?"

Gabriel's words struck Dean in a place he'd thought had died with Castiel. He was walking forward instantly, reaching out to hold part of the cage. Gabriel and Kali watched him silently as Dean flipped the latch and opened the door. For a moment, Grace hopped around in his cage, but as soon as the small bird realized it was free, it was bursting out the small opening and into the afternoon sky.

Dean watched Grace disappear into the sunlight, and turned back to see Castiel's parents watching him. Kali stepped forward, looking Dean straight in the eye.

"He loved you, you know. More than the moon and the sun could compare." She said. Her voice was clear and sharp, void of any emotion. Dean, taken aback by her demeanor and even more by her words, watched the woman walk away and get inside of the packed car that was parked in the driveway.

Gabriel ran a hand through his hair, glancing back at Dean. "Please, don't let this hold you back." He began, "You're a strong kid - you had to be, if Castiel was willing to be your friend." Gabriel set a hand on Dean's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "He's still your friend; you just can't see him or hear him as easily. Listen hard, Dean. okay?" Gabriel's voice was solemn - the most serious that Dean had ever heard the man be - and Dean nodded slowly. Gabriel grinned with watery eyes, patting Dean's shoulder and turning to head for the car with Grace's cage still in hand.

Dean stood silently as Gabriel started up the suburban and pulled out of the driveway, heading down the road. Dean played back everything Castiel's parents had just said to him, looking up at the clear sky and closing his eyes. The sun heated his cheeks and arms, warming up the empty cold that had settled over his entire body.

Dean turned, heading back to the main road and stopping when he reached the crossroads, where Crowley - now crooked in the ground - guarded the road.

Dean made his way down the small and narrow pathway that lead to The Garden, stopping when he caught sight of their wagon, overturned and filled with wood rails and rope. A few rails were hammered into the ground on the edge of the pathway, rope tying them together.
Dean laughed dryly, the irony of the situation hitting him. Castiel had come out here to build a fucking railing.

Suddenly struck with motivation, Dean turned the wagon back over and grabbed the next rail and the discarded hammer. He was going to finish what Castiel started.

Hours had passed, and Dean was nearly done when he heard the faint sound of someone calling his name. The voice was garbled over the sound of the river that ran next to the path, but Dean knew who it was.

"CAS!" He cried, dropping his hammer and bolting down the small walkway as fast as he dared. "CAS!"
Dean stopped mid-run to see his little brother, Sam, standing there and hugging a few papers close to his chest. Sam's eyes were wide and rimmed red, bottom lip trembling.

"Dean, I miss Cas!" Sam whimpered. Dean recognized the papers as a series of drawings Castiel had done for Sam on request. Dean felt anger, first. Anger at Sam for deceiving him, making him think that Castiel was alive. That anger gave way into sorrow upon realizing that Sam had been Castiel's friend, too.

Dean held his hand out, nodding to the pathway. "C'mere Sam."

Sam, still holding Castiel's drawings, hurried over and snatched up his older brother's hand. Dean turned to look at the pathway - complete with a new rope railing - and then down to Sam.

"Have you ever heard the story of a Hunter?" Dean asked his brother softly. Sam sniffled, looking up at Dean with watery eyes and shaking his head.

"No... what do they do?" The ten year old asked quietly.

Dean clutched to Sam's hand. "They keep you safe, and you know they're doing a good job if you don't even know they were there."

End.

I'll just uhm... -holds out a box of tissues-

yeah.