Castiel and Dean head home from the high school after about a minute, and after Castiel brushes off questions about his conversations, Dean launches into a story about how he feels like God with how these kids look at him. It's fun to listen to Dean talk about his moment of fame, even if it's almost exactly what he said last time.

He finally finished with, "And they loved me. It was awesome."

Castiel chuckles. "Sounds like it."

"Well, you'd know," Dean says. "It happens to you all the time."

Castiel just shrugs. It's a nice pick-me-up, sure, but it happens so much that it's mostly just annoying.

"Hey," Castiel says randomly, pointing out the window. "Can we stop here for a minute?"

Dean slows the car down as he looks where Castiel is pointing. "The cemetery?"

Castiel nods. "Yeah."

"Okay...?" Dean says uncertainly, pulling into the graveyard. "Any particular reason, or do you just like ghosts?"

"It's where my dad was buried," Castiel explains. "Over ten months and I still haven't come back. I just feel like I should."

Dean nods in understanding. "Yeah, I get that. Do you know where I'm parking?"

"Yeah, go up there." Castiel guides him through the twisted roads, finally stopping him as close to his parents' headstones as he can get without driving over dead people.

Or so he thinks. It turns out this place is a lot bigger than he thought, so it takes a bit of walking to find them. In fact, they might have passed right over Chuck and Becky Novaks' headstones, had there not already been someone there.

"Michael?" Castiel says in surprise.

The older boy's head whips up at the unexpected sound of his brother's voice, revealing a tear stained face. He's kneeling next to Chuck's grave, on top of what would be his body, had his body actually been recovered. In reality, it's just an empty coffin lying six feet under.

"Hey, you okay?" Castiel asks.

Michael nods. "Mm hmm. I'm fine."

Not believing this at all, Castiel kneels down next to him, putting an arm around him comfortingly. "I miss him, too."

Neither of them speak for a few minutes, just looking at Chuck's headstone. It's Michael who finally breaks the silence, his voice quiet as if scared of waking the dead.

"Remember when Dad surprised us with that trip to Disney World?"

"I can't say that I do," Castiel admits. He didn't realize he's ever been to Disney World at all.

"No, you probably wouldn't," Michael replies. "You would have been one at the time — or two, I think, because Mom was still pregnant with Samandriel."

"Was it fun?" Castiel asks curiously.

"Lucifer and I had fun, at least," Michael tells him. "Dad would take us on the fun rides like the Tower of Terror and Expedition Everest, and Mom would take you and Gabriel to meet the characters. We probably have pictures of it somewhere."

"So mom didn't like rollercoasters?"

"She liked them more than Dad did," Michael says with a small smile, probably remembering their father's reactions when he realized he had to accompany his eldest sons on them. "But she was pregnant, so she wasn't supposed to ride them. Dad hated them, but he knew Lucifer and I loved them, and you don't send a six year old off alone like that, so he came with us anyway.

"We probably have pictures of us there somewhere. It was before they had the new Magic Bands, but I think we got some Photopass pictures anyway, and Mom liked taking pictures with her camera. I can't imagine how many more pictures we would have had if she had a camera phone instead of those old cameras."

"I didn't realize Mom liked taking pictures," Castiel says.

Michael finally tears his gaze away from the headstones and looks over at him. "Do you remember Mom at all?"

Castiel shakes his head slightly. "Not really. I mean, I remember a few little things, but I don't really remember her, exactly. We were so young when she died."

Michael looks over at Becky's headstone when he says quietly, "I wasn't."

"What?"

"You may have been too young to remember her, but I wasn't," he explains. "Lucifer and I were eight. By that point, we really knew her and loved her, and we understood what death meant, and what it meant for us. I think you understood she was gone, but not the way we did."

Castiel looks over at his brother sympathetically. "I guess I never really thought of that."

"You wouldn't have," Michael replies. "Lucifer's always just been a dork, so that wouldn't give anything away, and I clung to Dad, the only parent I had left." He lets out a long breath. "And now I don't have him, either."

Castiel holds him closer in a sympathetic side hug. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I know you two were really close."

Michael just sighs.

There's a pause in the conversation until Castiel asks, "How often do you visit them?"

"Not too often," Michael replies vaguely.

"Meaning...?" Castiel prompts.

Michael turns his head away slightly and mutters in a way that's purposely hard to understand, "Five or six times a week."

Castiel gapes at him. "What? Why?"

Michael shrugs slightly.

"I mean, a few times a month would make sense, but almost every day? Are you sure you're okay?"

Michael looks back to their parents' graves as he says quietly, "I don't think it really matters if I'm okay."

"It matters to me," Castiel tells him.

Michael gives him a sad smile. "You say that, but three months from now, you'll be back in New York City writing music and tweeting fans and flying around the country for Dean's football games and the only time your life in Sioux Falls will matter to you is when Lucifer tweets you or puts out a new video."

"That's not true," Castiel protests. "I —"

"It is," Michael interrupts. "You have a life to live. I get that. You built something for yourself, as you should, and this isn't your home anymore. You belong with the rest of the celebrities like you, wearing thousand dollar shoes and going to fancy parties every other weekend. You don't belong in Sioux Falls anymore. It's nice that you come back to visit like this, but you do have other things to do; other things on your mind."

"Maybe I do," Castiel allows, "but I'm not just some celebrity. I'm your brother, and I care about how you're doing, whether I'm around in person or not." He squeezes Michael's shoulder gently. "And I'm around now, so talk to me."

"I don't want to talk about this," Michael murmurs, gesturing to the gravestones with a slight jerk of his head.

"No, but maybe you should anyway," Castiel replies. "Talk to me. What was Mom like?"

Michael takes a deep breath before answering. "She... she was perfect. She used to call us her angels, and we joked that it made Dad God." He smiles slightly at the memory. "She would read us parts of Dad's Revolution books before bed — they never went anywhere, but she loved all his books anyway.

"We went up to New York once — I think I was five at the time — and we went to Six Flags. We were all too short to ride any of the big and scary rides, so Lucifer threw a temper tantrum, and instead of getting mad, she got us all ice cream and we went to an arcade and played that game where you have to stop the light at the jackpot spot. I think the jackpot was up to three hundred when we started, but by the time Lucifer finally got it, it was in the six hundreds. She sat there just watching us press a button three hundred times for over two hours straight while Dad, Gabriel, and you were in the hotel room sleeping."

"You spent two hours playing the same game?" Castiel repeats, dumbfounded. How can anyone be that dedicated to an arcade game? And why?

"And a lot of money, too," he adds. "Mom didn't care, though. We were having fun, and that's all that mattered."

Castiel smiles at that. "She sounds awesome."

"She was," Michael replies. "We had it really good for a while there, until they..." he trails off and shakes his head slightly, looking up at the sky as if holding back tears.

"Until...?" Castiel prompts.

"Until she went to Comic Con and never came home," he finishes. "And Dad got that phone call, and I got one about him seventeen years later."

Castiel pulls his brother into a hug. Michael rests his head on Castiel's shoulder, but even though Castiel can't see his face, he can feel his body shaking, and he knows his brother is crying. Castiel rubs his back comfortingly.

"It's okay," Castiel murmurs. "You've made it this long without them; you can stay strong."

"I don't know if I want to," Michael whispers.

"You do," Castiel replies. "I know it's hard, but you gotta keep going. Always keep fighting, you know?"

Michael sniffles once before saying, "Yeah. And I wouldn't do anything stupid, but sometimes... sometimes it feels like there's really nothing left, you know?"

"Trust me, I get it," Castiel replies. He's felt it before, too. "But if nothing else, one day soon you're going to be a doctor and you're going to help people and make a difference, so there still is something here for you. Don't forget that."

Michael finally pulls away, wiping his tears away with the hem of his shirt. "I never thought I'd be glad you were in the same situation, but I kind of am," he tells his brother. "You know just what to say."

Castiel gives him a small smile. "Well, I may not be a therapist, but I do have that certain little-brother quality to me that you can't find anywhere else."

"And I don't think I'd want to find it anywhere else, either."