Et Lapsum Angeli
"Cas!" The distant voice echoed off the grimy walls, but he knew it right away: Dean. His bloody, and bruised image appeared over him, cradling Castiel's neck and head. He tried to choke out Dean's name, but only silence ensued. "Cas. Cas, buddy. Are you okay?" He sounded frantic; his lips quivering, his eyes red in protest of tears. Castiel convened all the strength he could to answer Dean, but it was like swimming in mud. It enveloped his mouth, and threatened his ability to talk.
"Dean," blood sputtered out of his mouth. "get...Sam."
"I'm not worried about him."
"G-Go." Dean shook his head, eyes snapped shut in protest. Cas commanded through gritted teeth, "Go!"
"No, damn it!" Dean's voice started shaking. He wouldn't look Cas in the face, instead his eyes lingered on the floor.
Cas closed his eyes and drew in a shaky breath: he knew he was going to die. Lucifer had done too much damage to him, and God wasn't going to bring him back like he had a thousand times before: even God had given up hope. Castiel knew these were going to be his final moments with Dean, and deep down, he felt Dean knew that too.
He grabbed Dean by the collar of his shirt and drew him close; he could smell Dean's breath: It smelled like whiskey and toothpaste. He realized then he was going to miss that smell. "Dean," he gasped. Dean's eyes were locked with his, vacillating ever-so slightly. "Dean," he wheezed again. Cas held Dean's collar in his hands, and said conscientiously, "I am going to die. I can feel my body going into shock."
The tears leaked down Dean's cheek, and dripped onto Cas' hands. "No."
Cas struggled for breath. "D-" His hold on Dean was abating. His hands dropped and hit the concrete floor with a thud that made Dean cringe.
Dean's eyes grew wide in panic. "Cas?" He tightened the hold on his friend as his body temperature declined. The fire that once made him glow from the inside out was fading. The eyes that once held the light of a thousand stars created by his father, now glazed over focusing on nothing. He cradled the angel's body, and muttered his name through gritted teeth into the ear without audition. The forlorn, cracked whispers dissipated throughout the godforsaken building, melting into the brick and denying Dean the company of his own voice.
Then, in a flash of light much too quick to notice until it's already gone, an intense burning sensation tore across Dean's abdomen. Almost dropping Cas, Dean let out a roar of pain. He looked down at his body and saw that his shirt had been burned off and the flesh of his stomach had been seared. Castiel's wings had ignited and left behind a shadow burned into the faces of stone and skin. And Dean Winchester, alone in the hollowed out building that took every last shred of hope and threw it on the concrete and seared it's remains of his skin, vowed to end this apocalypse. No more death, he thought. Let's end it now.