Dean looked at the yellow rose laying on the dresser, its pins neatly laid out next to it. Dean hesitated, this was out of the norm for him. The lavish hotel, the plain simple yellow rose on the dresser, the wedding. He never imagined any of this, and even if he had it wasn't ever like this. A sigh escaped from between his lips as he picked it up to place it on his vest, fumbling to stick the rose with the pins. "Dammit, Bobby, you were supposed to be here for this," he said to the empty room. He half expected an answer, but there was only the sounds of wedding guests from outside of his window, but no Bobby. He could feel the lump in his throat and the tightness in his chest. It had been a year and a half since he and Sam had lost him. It still haunted him. Bobby had been more of a father to him and Sam than John had ever been. And that thought alone made his feelings of emptiness worse. Not only was Bobby gone, but so was his father. And now, it was his wedding day, and neither John or Bobby were here. He didn't know which hurt worse. Dean could feel the tears welling up in his eyes as Sam walked in the room. "You, uh… You alright over there?" Sam asked, he could see the pools welling up in his brother's eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine." Dean said, composing himself at the last minute, wiping his face to try and hide the tears. "Just a little overwhelmed is all, it's not every day you get married. I think I'm going to go out and get some air."

Sam looked at Dean for a moment, studying his brother's face. He knew it was more than that, he knew Dean was struggling not having Bobby or their dad around. "Dean," Sam sighed, "you're up in 10. Don't be late, ok?"

"I won't Sammy," Dean half-smiled, turning to leave. "Hey, Sam," he said turning back to look at his baby brother standing near the bed and dressers "do you still have Jo's guitar? I think having something to do with my hands might calm my nerves, you know, get me back on track." He said as he opened the door.

"Yeah, it's in the trunk of the Impala."

"Thanks." And with that Dean left, leaving Sam to tend to guests and minor details.

Outside the air was crisp, and cool. "It's a nice day for a white wedding." Dean mused to himself as he grabbed Jo's old guitar out of the trunk. She never really played it much, but it was one of her few surviving possessions, and Dean cherished it, just as much as he had her. Jo was the closest to a sister he would ever get, and for a little while, he had felt more than that for her. Dean sat down on a grey concrete bench, the neatly trimmed bushes behind him rustling in the breeze. "You were supposed to be here too. Dammit Jo, dammit Bobby, and damn you dad." The wind rose, as if to answer, but it was just Dean, alone in the quietest part of the hotel grounds he could find. Dean and Jo's guitar. He moved his hand up the curve of it's body. The wood was a little worn, and it had faded to a lighter shade of brown, but it had always sounded the same. He found himself plucking the first few notes of "The Sound of Silence" and felt the first few tears he had been bottling up finally falling free. The more he played, the more his heart broke for his friends, no, for his family. And the more the tears flowed, the more Dean noticed his vocal cords constricted, choking out the words he had begun to sing quietly to himself, to Bobby, John, and Jo. They were like an near silent prayer, swept away with the wind "Hello darkness, my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again, " he sang as his voice broke. And before long, there were no words, but just the melancholy notes being played across the strings of her guitar.

It was there, strumming his broken heart out, that Cass found him. He could see the heart break written across Dean's face, and it moved him. In all his years as an angel he never really fully grasped the complexities of human emotion, but here now, the same flesh and blood as his beloved, he understood. "Dean," Castiel said sitting besides him, "you're late… The service was supposed to have started 5 minutes ago."

"Dammit, Cass, don't you know it's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding, you should have sent Sam, or hell, even Garth would have done, but this, this isn't kosher."

"Kosher is a Jewish requirement, I don't see how that's applicable to our wedding." Cass said, confused, wondering why Dean would compare him to food. "And besides, you're the one wearing white."

"Dammit Cass, that's not what I meant" Dean said, laughing and wiping the leftover tears from his eyes.

"Dean, I understand that you miss Bobby, and presumably others as well, but this is our wedding day. As I understand it, we're supposed to be happy." Cass said as he took Dean's hand in his.

"You're right, Cass." Dean said, removing his hand from his and cupping his hands around Castiel's face. "This is supposed to be a happy day. Our happy day, not a day for mourning over old ghosts, and thinking about the might have beens. Come on, we've got a wedding to go to." He kissed Cass's forhead, running his hands down his neck, took him by the hand, and walked through the hotel lobby together, separating so Dean could take his place at the alter, next to Sammy, and watch as his soon to be husband walked down the isle towards him.

"Where were you?" Sam asked anxiously as Dean stood next to him.

"Don't worry about that now, do you have the rings?" He said, nervously shifting from one foot to the other.

"In my pocket." Sam said, patting the pocket of his suit pants.

"Good, that's all that matters right now, the rest is history." Dean said, smiling as the music started and Castiel started walking down the isle. There weren't many attending, mostly hunter friends, and few others they had met on the way. But it was perfect, it was exactly what he wanted it to be, right down to Garth, blubbering like a baby in his seat, and Sammy, standing next to him, wiping a tear from his eye. And as he turned to face Cass, the lump rose in his throat again, choking out his vows. And in that moment, while he tried to regain his composure, he felt the faintest touch of a hand on his shoulder, and "Idgit" whispered in his ear.