Author's Note: This is my first foray back into fanfiction, written whilst on a plane, and hardly edited. I guess I just caught a bug. Timeline-wise this is pretty loose, but I guess it would fit somewhere within Series 8, if things had gone differently.
This was everything they had wanted, wasn't it? A way to close the gates of hell forever; a way to banish every son of a bitch demon that had ever plagued the earth. By all rights, Dean should be beaming. However, he couldn't manage to even tug up the corners of his mouth into a smirk.
Everything had gone to shit. The demons were banished, yes. But at what price? Dean was still crouched on the ground where he had fallen, clutching Castiel. Sam and the others stood off to one side, looking simultaneously relieved and concerned. Not concerned for themselves, but for Dean, who couldn't seem to manage to get off his knees.
For his part, Dean was unsure whether his limbs reluctance to move could be attributed to the shock of the immense struggle it had taken to close off hell, or if the paralysis was the result of the massive burns Dean had suffered to his chest and arms. Dean himself suspected it was a combination of both.
Shutting the Hell gates had taken over a year, and they had only survived through a combination of whiskey, angel blades, sweat, and Kevin Tran's massive AP brain. It had taken a lot out of everyone involved. Dean suspected Sam needed some time of to unwind, although Dean doubted his brother would take a break of his own accord. Quickly, various deceptions flashed through Dean's mind; ways he could force his giant brother to rest. He shrugged them all off as infeasible and turned his mind back to the issue at hand.
How to make himself move. It's not that Dean was enjoying his position on the ground, in fact, every muscle in his lower body was screaming at him to stretch. But Dean couldn't bring his mind to communicate properly with his limbs. The hunter couldn't find the strength in him to leave. After all, Dean's mind whispered, this was the last place he had held Castiel. The Lord only knew if he would ever be able to do that again.
Although Dean's shell-shocked mind shied away from the memories, he couldn't help but dwell on the events of just a few minutes earlier. Sam, Garth, Benny, Castiel, and himself had been engaged in the most important battle of their lives. Sam, Garth, and Benny had been fighting off nearly forty demons who had been drawn to the graveyard by the power of the spell Kevin was attempting to invoke. Dean and Castiel had been working in tandem, trying to keep Crawley from Kevin long enough for the young boy to seal of the glowing portal that had appeared in the sky above them.
Ignoring Crawley's swearing and furious quips (that man was witty even whilst attempting to stab and not be stabbed), Dean and his angel were doing quite well. Crawley hadn't managed to come closer than 25 feet to Kevin. All had seemed simple. Sam and Garth were slaughtering most of the lower level demons, and Benny was whooping and hollering as he wielded Ruby's angel knife. So no problems there. Dean and Castiel had to work hard to keep the King of Hell at bay, but it was exhilarating. Dean, Castiel, and Crawley were engaged in a sort of deadly dance that was as energizing as it was dangerous. Dean was close to giddy laughter as he realized that soon, it would all be over. Everything that the Winchester family had worked for since Azazeal had appeared in Sam's nursery all those years ago, the cause that had claimed the lives of so many friends and fellow hunters would be won. Earth would be safe from the scum of hell, who would henceforth be trapped, burning and tortured for all eternity. Dean let out a brittle laugh as he took a swipe at Crawley. It was nothing the oily mouthed bastard didn't deserve.
Looking back on it now, Dean should have realized it was going to smoothly. Nothing ever worked out like it was supposed to. Dean stumbled trying to land a debilating blow, and Crawley used the opportunity to lash out at Castiel with an angel sword that suddenly appeared in his hand. Castiel, suddenly caught off guard was unable to defend himself. The blade sank into Castiel's chest just as Kevin cried out "Got it! Finished!" and the portal in the sky started to slowly fold in on itself. With a scream that was almost animalistic, Castiel pulled the blade out, held his trembling hand to the glowing gash in his chest and threw himself at Crawley. His strength was magnified by his righteous rage, as the angel crashed into the demon, throwing the King of Hell back into his dominion just as the portal sealed itself off with a blinding flash.
Dean could hear shouts from the other men beside him, and knew that all the demons in the graveyard had been killed by his friends. The flash had blinded Dean temporarily, and for one heart stopping moment, Dean thought Castiel had been pulled into Hell with Crawley. His heart seized up and ice shot through his veins. When the spots in Dean's vision began to fade, a sense of relief so strong it was almost painful washed over him, as he saw the angel kneeling on grass that was slightly singed. Dean wasted no time to even look over at his brother before racing over to his ally. When Dean reached Castiel, he pulled up short.
The angel knelt shaking on the ground, still holding his chest. Dean dropped to meet Castiel, and noticed for the first time how pale Cas was. Dean was terrified to note the bright flashes of grace showing through Castiel's clenched fingers. When Castiel's free hand gripped Dean's lapel tightly, Dean looked into his eyes with a sick feeling of dread. Castiel's familiar gravelly voice addressed Dean, quiet but strong. "It's done. You are safe." Something about the way that Castiel said this, a mixture of faint relief and unbearable sadness, that made Dean shudder. He replied, "Thanks to you buddy. Without your angel mojo, we would have failed," He tried to keep things light, but Castiel's grip on Dean's lapel was fast feeling like a lifeline.
Castiel groaned and started to fall even lower to the ground. Dean, not sparing a thought for the audience a couple steps away, gathered the familiar trenchcoated body into his arms, and settled them into a slighty uncomfortable sitting position. Neither man could seem to let go of the other.
Dean knew what was coming. Unbidden, a single tear trecked down his face, wiping the grime off of his chin. Castiel spoke softly into Dean's chest, "Thank you. I've been trying to atone for all of my mistakes; the things I did both in heaven and on earth. I think that this might make a difference when I'm gone. At least you and your brother are safe." Dean choked back more tears and tried to laugh, "Cas, man. You're not going anywhere. We need to celebrate this victory. Maybe finally get you laid, huh?" Castiel gave a weak chuckle, them clutched tighter at his wound. "Dean, you and I both know what's about to happen. I can't hold my grace in any longer. Crawley got in a good shot, I'll give him that," Dean was shocked to hear Castiel whimper a little in pain before continuing, "Now. Dean. You must get away from me. Leave me here. When my grace leaves this body, my wings with burn away. They are a part of my true form, and cannot exist if I do not. This is dangerous. I have an enormous wingspan, as I have mentioned, and I don't want to hurt you anymore. Please. Go." Dean did nothing but clutch tighter.
"I understand what you're trying to do, but you don't need to protect me anymore. You've done enough. You're not dying alone in the middle of a graveyard. I'm staying right here." The hunter's voice dropped to a whisper, "Where I belong,"
Castiel shifted as if trying to move away despite what Dean might say, then gave up with a grunt. "Fine. But get the others back," Dean nodded, and motioned to his friends to move farther away. Only Sam looked as if he wanted to resist, but when he saw the tears in his brothers eyes, he nodded and stepped back. Dean turned back to his Castiel. The angel said, "almost time," before being interrupted by Dean. "Hold on man. I need to say something." When Castiel nodded briefly dean continued haltingly, "Thank you. For everything. I know you give yourself a hard time, but you've helped all of us more than you could ever know. I didn't even really believe in God before I met you. I still don't know if I really do, but at least now I want to. I want to believe that there is someone out there that is not a huge bag of dicks, someone looking out for us. And you. Hell, maybe it's Chuck. That'd be something" Cas rasped out a laugh. Dean said, "But mostly thank you for giving me something to fight for other than rage. I've never – I've never cared for anyone other than Sam as much as I do you. I just – well – I guess what I'm saying is, I love you man. God. I'm in a sick twisted chick flick, aren't I?"
There was a long pause before Castiel responded, the pain evident in his voice, "Dean I – I've been watching Earth for thousands of years, observing humans and their emotions, but never understanding. You are the only person I have ever felt anything for, and if my observations serve true, I think it would be safe to say I love you too. Thanks for teaching me that," Castiel went white, and Dean heard him mutter, " I can't hold on any longer" and Dean didn't think, only moved, and before it was too late, covered the angels mouth with his own. For Dean, this was a desperate, longing goodbye, a physical manifestation of all his pent up emotions, and the only way Dean could think of to comfort this man in his last moments. As more tears began to fall, he felt more than heard Castiel exhale Dean into the hunter's mouth before everything went blank, and for the second time in five minutes, Dean saw nothing but all engulfing white light.
Dean heard the men behind him shout in alarm, but all Dean could process was the moment when Castiel's body left his arms, and all that remained was the burning pain on his own body where Castiel's wings had been seared into his skin. When the light had faded, Dean looked down at himself. He supposed he was glad to have the burns; the only reminder he could keep since the trench coat had disintegrated with the body. Now wings to mark the end, where a handprint had marked the beginning.