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Death's Dearest

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Castiel finds himself standing in front of a newly filled grave. Unlike a cliched movie scene or novel, the day is bright and the weather isn’t half bad.

 

A man that Castiel has only met twice puts a comforting hand on his shoulder before departing. He doesn’t remember the man’s name, but that won’t really matter anymore. The last few mourning members of family depart the gravesite, leaving Cas to stare down at the gravestone in silence.

 

Here lies beloved wife, sister, and friend, Hannah Milton.

 

“Another one bites the dust, huh?” an airy voice speaks up from beside him. A man stands to his right, wearing an old leather jacket, a plain T shirt, jeans, and combat boots. All a dismal color of black. The spiky haired man puts his left hand on Castiel’s far shoulder while his other hand rests on his own hip, it’s fingerless leather glove the same black colors as the rest of his ensemble. The man finally turns his head away from the grave to address Cas, waiting for a reply to his rhetorical question.

 

“Why wait so long to appear this time?” Cas asks instead of providing an answer.

 

The man only snickers before crouching down to caress the tilled soil of the grave with the exposed fingers of his gloved hand. “Had to wait till the people were gone. You wouldn’t’ve been able to talk to me otherwise. Don’t want you to look like a basket case, now do we?” he says more to the dirt than to Cas.

 

A moment of silence pass between them before Castiel speaks up once more. “I’ve been waiting for you since our last meeting. You sure took your time.”

 

The light haired man stands, dusting his hand off with the other and turning back to Castiel with a teasing quirk of his head. “Aw, is that why you keep killing people? Cause you miss me?” A flirtatious grin spreads across the man’s freckled face to accompany his childish tone.

 

“Well at least it’s easy for me to find patrons,” Cas huffs smuggly.

 

The man lets out a low chuckle, placing his arm back around Castiel’s shoulder. “I’m pretty sure being killed isn’t what they’re expecting when they go with you.”

 

Castiel’s gaze wanders upwards to the almost clear blue sky. “Hmm, maybe suitors is a better description?”

 

“Either way, it keeps me on my toes, and as long as I’m still your one true amans,” the man chuckles, rolling on the balls of his feet before playfully nudging him.

 

Cas takes ahold of the other’s chin to make the man face him. He gives a quick peck on the freckled man’s lips before answering with, “never the least bit of doubt, dear.”

 

The man scrunches up his nose. “Ugh, no cutesy pet name.”

 

Castiel leans away from the man in black, raising a teasing brow and letting a smirk pull at one side of his mouth. “You call me your Angel all the time.”

 

A black boot kicks at the trampled green grass and the man drops his gaze to watch his feet. “That’s… different…”

 

“How so?”

 

The man begins to fiddle with the bottom hem of his jacket, then reaches into his front jeans pocket to grab an intricately designed watch that hangs at the end of a silver chain clipped to his belt loop. The polished silver shines in the sun, not unlike the reflective silver aviators that sit perched on the top of the man’s head. He checks the time and gives a dejected sigh.

 

“My times up, I gotta go.”

 

Cas slides a hand under the man’s jacket to hold him closer. “Must you? Can’t you stay for a little longer?” he pleads.

 

“I have to do my work, you know this.” The man slips his pocket watch away, caresses Castiel’s cheek with his ungloved hand, then places a reverent kiss to his unoccupied cheek before vanishing right out from under Castiel’s fingers.

 

Heaving a sullen sigh, Castiel turns away from the grave and heads for his car.