Operation Overlord -Destiel War!AU

12. Given Rest

There was a procession. There was a flag. There was a little stone with a kind engraving on it. There was a photograph of him, smiling slightly at the camera, adjusting his hat on his head. There was soft, solemn music, a choir of brass instruments trumpeting in a celebration of his life. There were two men standing together, away from the crowed.

One had long hair, was tall and kind of gangly. He was crying, his tears making him look like nothing more than a child. He wiped furiously at his eyes as he squinted at the casket, with its multitude of badges and little coloured flags, the blue and grey badge.

The other man was older, scruffy beard growing on his chin. He looked close to tears as well, but it was obvious that he wasn't going to let himself go like that. He looked far too serious to cry. He held himself straight, like a soldier, his eyes clouded and serious. This wasn't the first funeral he'd been to. He looked to the younger man, slowly reaching out to rest a hand comfortingly on his shoulder.

The young man looked to his father in surprise, leaning into the touch and drying his eyes. He looked around at the other people crowded around the coffin. The furrowing of his eyebrows made him look like he was trying to pick out familiar faces. Did he recognise these people? Had they fought by his brother's side? Had Dean met them in England? How many of them actually knew him? The young man looked towards Castiel.

Cas hurried to look away, back to the cheerful photograph of his best friend, his love. His cheeks burned and his jaw clenched. More than one pair of eyes was on him. Some of these people must have known about him and Dean. He shook the thought away and moved a little closer, so that he could see Dean's face, frozen in a smirk as one hand gripped onto the rim of his fedora. Frozen in a picture. It was a much nicer vision than the one undoubtedly present beneath the lid of the casket. Frozen, picture Dean, was probably nothing at all like the body that everyone had gathered to see off.

The body was probably all raw, red and scabbed over, with large swellings in strange places, obscuring the man's delicate features, smoothing out his frown lines in unnatural ways. No matter how much they tried to clean him up, preserve his dignity, his illness had destroyed too much of what had once been a handsome, strong man.

Castiel hadn't seen him. The stupid war was still raging on, and Cas hadn't even gone home with Dean. He'd gone home as soon as he'd heard the news. He knew Dean's body would be shipped home. He was an important person, not just some random civilian. Cas hadn't shed a tear. He couldn't do it. Even standing by the coffin, with its pretty flowers and decorations, he couldn't quite wrap his head around what was going on. He had got over the state of denial, and moved onto shock, staring at the hole in the ground with blank, emotionless eyes, watching at the casket was lowered into it.

"Are you…. Are you Castiel?" a voice sounded in Cas' ear, sad, tired, and kind.

Cas' head snapped up and he stared at the young man with wide eyes and his childishly innocent look. He tried to say yes, but his words caught in his throat and he let out a nervous cough, clearing it. He settled for nodding and bit down on his lip.

The young man offered a hand to shake. "I'm Sam. Dean's brother." He tried for a smile, but Cas could see the agony in his eyes.

Cas winced at Dean's name, eyes narrowing involuntarily in a quick motion, and widening again just as quickly. If someone had been watching him through the ceremony, they would have thought he had a nervous tick, but it was just that the mention of Dean's name from the lips of strangers, came to Cas like a stab wound, deep and deliberate, piercing into him again and again and again.

Sam raised an eyebrow quizzically, looking down at his extended hand.

Castiel shook it, eyes wide and void of anything but pain. "How do you know my name?" He asked, voice struggling to get above a whisper.