Anyone would say that their meeting was beautifully tragic, one to write stories about, to rival that of Romeo and Juliet, however much the lovers would disagree with that fact. Because for them love was simple, with no grand gestures or declarations. For them it was Dean loading up a ghost with some rock salt while Sam was digging up the lost soul's grave, Dean grabbing Castiel's hand in attempt to pull the pedestrian away from danger. Both would admit that the shock that traveled through their bodies as they touched was something bigger than themselves, but the way that Dean pulled Cas even closer to himself, guarded him with an even more fierce protectiveness, was not.

After seeing the ghost go up in flames as Sam finally did his job, they did the obvious thing of removing their rings, Dean's flashlight shining on the small, now pink lettering that wrapped around their ring fingers, providing light where the edges of the fairground could not. Of course, they already knew the names that they had been branded with since birth, had known them for a long time, but the color was important, the rosy pink instead of the usual white that indicated a soulmate had been found.

When Sam found them they were leaning against the Impala, pressed so close that Cas was practically in his brother's lap. He could tell by the joy on the boy's face as him and his new soul bond talked that he didn't know. He couldn't really blame Dean for not telling yet though, the news that your days were numbered was unbelievably depressing.

And Dean only had four months left to live.

When Cas did find out though when he saw them again the next morning (as they couldn't very well leave now that Dean had found his soulmate) it only gave the boy more reason to want to come with the Winchesters, to abandon collage in order to spend the last days that his soul bond had with him. Dean of course didn't object, couldn't really, knowing that it would hurt just as much when he was gone whether they had spent time together or not.

Thus found Castiel taking a year off from his religious studies major to travel around with the Winchesters, spending his days either in the motel or library doing research, and his nights with Dean wrapped around him in their shared bed like the cuddle whore that he was. And of course there were those rare nights, where the hunt was easy and where Dean would let him come along, because Dean would die before he let anything that belonged in hell to touch Cas, but at the same time wanted him to be able to protect himself once he was gone.

And in theory it was a good idea. After all it wasn't his fault that it was on one of these hunts that they lost him.

It was supposed to be an easy hunt, one that if need be Cas could be put inside a circle of salt until it was over. But then those imbeciles of hunters showed up, with cameras and a whole truck load of idiocy, and suddenly there were so many more people being thrown under the care of Sam and Dean. Cas came first, Cas always came first, but then Sam along with some other kid went missing, and Dean, Cas, and some camera dude got locked inside the basement, and it all just became one bad decision after another.

When it was all over, Dean would blame himself for what happened. Would claim that he had been distracted yelling at the camera man, when in reality very little could have actually stopped Castiel's fate. And maybe Dean should have taught him more, maybe he should have left him at the motel in the first place, but when the ghost finally did get Cas it was sneaky and quick and neither of them could have stopped it.

Dean was in denial the first minute after Castiel had died in his arms, the same pole that had skewered the intern still protruding from his stomach from where it had been shoved through his back. It had taken him hardly any time at all to pass, just enough for Dean to catch him as he fell and to hear his mate call his name before he was gone.

Thankfully Sam found them before any harm could come to Dean in his vulnerable state, and not long after that the dead intern came back to kill the ghost as well, leaving the death toll at a meager two. To Dean it was as if the whole world had up and died on him though, so that after the Ghost Facers left the old house feeling victorious, he exited with his head down, and Castiel's body cradled close in his arms.

Later that day Dean and Sam buried Cas at the edge of a small local cemetery, his headstone a wooden cross that Dean had carved his name into. They dug the grave themselves, and when, halfway through, Dean couldn't bare it anymore and fell to his knees, Sam told him that it was okay, and that he'd finish digging the hole. He also didn't judge his brother when he clutched Castiel's long since cold body to him for the last time, rocking him like the shell of the man was the one that needed comforting instead of the living one that was in the process of falling apart. Sam had the unhealthy job of taking Cas away from Dean, prying the body away from him so that he could be placed in a cheep wooden coffin and buried six feet under.

If anyone were to ask the younger Winchester, he would say that was the day that the light officially went out in his big brother's eyes.

"Dean, is it true that when virgins die they become angels?"

Castiel's blue eyes shone bright as he peered over the top of his novel at his boyfriend, silver ring flashing as it caught the sunlight streaming through the motel window.

The hunter looked up from the gun that he had been cleaning, gaze soft but mouth forming the beginnings of a grimace. "No Cas, I don't think that's how that works."

Cas gave a hum of acknowledgment for his answer before turning back to his book, the rustle of pages being the only noise in the room before the clicks of of guns joined it once again.

The books hadn't done hell justice. It was so much worse, and so much more terrifying. And, Dean had thought, much harder to escape. But yet, here he was, lying back on a motel bed as he dug through book after book of lore from the library, trying to figure out what monster had brought him back.

"You're not going to find what you're looking for in there." The voice was rough, gravely even, and oh so sweet. Dean tensed but didn't look away from the book, even though he no longer comprehended the words on the page. "Dean?" Suddenly the book was across the room, slamming into the far wall with enough force to break its ancient bindings. Dean was sitting up with his head in his hands, still adamantly refusing to look at the angel standing at his bedside.

"NO." It came out ragged and wrecked, 30 plus years of mourning leaking into one word.

"Dean." This one was softer, caring, but the hunter was not having it.

"No!" This time the refusal was forceful, its sender nearly in tears.

"Dean, look at me." Castiel insisted, ever patient with his lover.

"I said no. For 30 years you tortured me with that image. I won't have it anymore." He struggled to keep his voice steady, to keep his mind sane.

"Oh, Dean." This time it came out pained, and it didn't take long for the angel to cross the room, attempt to turn the hunter's face towards him with a gentle grasp on his chin, only to have Dean's demon knife shoved into his hip.

But yet...

It did nothing.

It was with wide eyes that Dean finally stared up at Cas, looked at him with a delicate blossom of hope that just maybe...

But no, even if it was a demon knife it would still kill a human, and this creature that had sweet Castiel's face pulled the blade from himself with ease. Still, he smiled, placing the knife back into Dean's hands.

"I told you that virgins become angels when they die." Dean held to response to that, only the gathering of tears in his eyes, threatening to fall. "That was a joke, Dean." He explained gently, and dear God if this wasn't Castiel then Dean was going to tear the world apart. "What really happens is when one soulmate dies they're given temporary powers by heaven so that they can watch over their other half on earth."

"Heaven isn't real." Dean croaked, despite how badly he wanted all of this to be true.

"Then tell me something." The angel said as he lifted Dean's left hand into his own, threading their fingers together. Dean let it happen, too compromised at the moment to protest. "Does this feel real to you?" And it did, the way Castiel's hand was solid and warm and just the way that he remembered.

"Cas." Dean somehow managed to choke out, using his free hand to grab the back of Castiel's head and bring their foreheads together, Dean's eyes squeezed shut as he simply relished in the proximity of his other half.

"I'm sorry that I don't have my mark anymore." The angel sounded apologetic, and Dean looked down to realize that there was in fact no trace of his name on his partner's finger anymore. However, after using his thumb to life up his own silver ring, he found that there was none on his either. "I took it away." Cas answered before he had the chance to ask. "You always look so pained whenever you see it, I didn't want you to have to hurt anymore."

"Give it back." Dean left no room for questioning, and Castiel immediately did as he was told, running his finger along the silver band so that when Dean lifted it up again the angel's name was once again branded there. This time it was written in black.

"I have to go." The words were said with reluctance, saturated with regret.

"Why?" Dean's hand gripped the angel's at his words, the one that was in his hair sliding down to cup his cheek, each move trying to pull the man even closer to himself.

"I wasn't even supposed to come in the first place. I'm breaking more rules than I can say. I just...I didn't want you to worry yourself with what brought you back anymore."

"What brought me-... Wait a second, Cas. Are you saying that you pulled me out of hell?" Emerald eyes tried desperately to meet their blue counterparts, but the angel was too busy studying their intertwined hands.

"I couldn't just let you rot in there. I only wish I could have gotten to you sooner." And Dean couldn't do much else but breathe his soulmate's name, run a thumb reverently across his cheek, wish that he could do more for this man that had pulled him from the furnace right as he was about to break. "I should go." Castiel forced the words from his lips again, but yet despite his words he made no motion to leave, simply allowing his mate to pull him closer, grip him tighter.

"Stay. Please." Dean held no shame with the fact that he was begging. He knew he would do a lot more than that if it meant he could keep Castiel next to him.

"I can't." Than angel's voice broke, its shards stabbing at the hunter's heart, killing him slowly.

"Cas, please." He nearly sobbed, the man that survived hell reduced to pieces, falling apart in his lover's arms.

However, all Castiel could do was bite his lip, hold back his tears, and disappear, unable to help his most important person this time as he left empty arms and a broken heart in his wake.

When Sam found Dean, as he always did, he was on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest, back against the side of the bed, and head hanging low. The young hunter pretended not to see the tear tracks along his older brother's cheeks. When confiding in Bobby later, Sam would say that despite his brother being alive again, his eyes still looked dead.