When the darkness reaches the bunker, they know they've lost. The inky smoke seeps through every crack in the wall, walls that were never supposed to have cracks. It licks its way into every room, every book, every crevice, until the only thing any of the three can see is black.
The Winchesters and Castiel are huddled together under the table of the bunker, breathing as silently as they can to hide from the evil that is invading their home. But their attempt is pointless. The lights have gone out, and each is consumed in the horror of the Dark.
Sam is rigid in fear. In the false night he hears the cackling of hundreds upon hundreds of clowns. He grips the leather of his brother's jacket, knowing the older man is sitting right next to him, but he isn't grounded. He's lost in the consuming fear of the laughter.
It grows louder as if the monsters are approaching. Suddenly, they're there. All Sam can see is an endless cluster of clowns clad in a rainbow of poke-a-dots, grinning at him with big, red lips, ceramic-white faces, and two-sizes-too-large shoes. And they're coming closer, reaching for him, grasping at his clothing and pulling him to them. Sam can't hold back his screams of terror.
Dean feels Sammy's grip tighten as his younger brother begins whimpering with fear. The older brother turns to comfort him, placing a hand on Sam's knee and squeezing tight.
"It's okay, Sammy, we're gonna make it through this." He whispers, wishing he could come up with some way to get the three of them to safety. But so far he has no ideas.
"Dean." Sam says loudly, the fear making his voice quake.
Dean shoots him a glare he knows he can't see. "Dude! Shh. We've gotta be quiet!" He hisses.
"That's right. Always the leader." Sam whispers, his tone suddenly spiteful. The smoke between the brothers clears, and Dean can see Sam clinging to him, a smug look on his face as he looks up at his older brother from his cowering position.
That's when Dean knows that he isn't talking to Sam.
"Whatever you are, fuck off right now, you hear me? Get out of my brother." Dean snaps, shaking off Sam's hands. Sam laughs sinisterly, sitting up and leaning away.
"I'm not going anywhere, Dean. You don't want that. You've always wanted me to be little obedient Sammy, trailing along like the dog you've never let me have. But you hate that I don't let you control me. I've gone out, done my own thing, and every time, I end up back here with you because you can't live without your little Sammy. " The grin on his face makes Dean's stomach curl.
Before he can lash out at whatever is posing as his brother, Dean hears Cas call his name and whips around to find the angel–completely visible–staring at him, blank-faced.
"Cas?" He asks cautiously, unsure if the angel is a lie like his brother.
"Dean. Leave."
Dean stares back, frozen. "What?" He says out of shock.
"Get out before I make you." Cas snarls, his face twisting into one of pure hatred.
"C-Cas, I can't. The Dark it'll–."
"You disgust me." The angel snaps, and the look on his face is enough to convince Dean he means it.
Dean turns away, glaring straight ahead and trying to ignore the angel. It isn't Cas. It's the same thing that was 'Sam'. It's just praying on his fears. That's it.
"You can't keep pretending that you're keeping us together, Dean. We're better apart and you know it." Sam says on his left, making Dean shudder. It sounds like Sam. It talks like him, says things Dean knows his little brother has thought more than once in his life.
"You drag me down. I'd be happy if it weren't for you!" Sam shouts, and Dean can't help the wave of guilt that washes over him.
"I've only been using you Dean. All you are to me is a pawn. I have bigger, better things to do than help you with your petty, human problems." Cas hisses on his right.
Hell, Cas has said nearly those same words to him before. Maybe this is real? But how can they be? How can they attack his insecurities right now, while their enemy has them surrounded? Dean claps his hands over his ears.
"You're not real. You're not real!" He screams at them.
Sam pries away the hand blocking him from reaching Dean, and Cas copies.
"Oh, we're real alright. You just like to deny everything that you don't like about life. Like the fact that I don't want to be a hunter, or a murderer."
"I've been alive for thousands on thousands of years, how could you be important to me?"
"We're better off alone and you know it."
"All you've ever done is brought me unnecessary pain. You've caused so many delays in my plans. You've only ever gotten in my way."
"You hold me back." They say in tandem, and Dean screams, his heart racing as he begins to panic. It's so hard listening to this. He can't decide if it's actually his brother and his best friend, or if they're apparitions, and it's driving him mad.
"What should we do?" Castiel asks in a hushed voice, looking at Dean, who is sitting on his left and is mostly visible, for an answer. The angel can hear Sam's cries, and knows they need to act soon. The older Winchester turns and looks at him, eyes flat and expressionless. He almost looks bored.
"Sacrifice." He deadpans, no emotion in his voice. Castiel squints at him, unsure what he means.
"Clarify." He asks.
A grotesque smirk slides across Dean's features. "Gladly. I'm sayin' that one of us should go out there and die. And my vote is you."
Castiel stares at him, horrified. Does Dean actually mean that? From the way he's looking at Castiel, the angel almost believes it. Almost.
"I see. You're joking." He finally replies, hoping with everything he's got that that's all this is. A joke. But Dean shakes his head.
"No, Cas, see, Sammy over here is too important to sacrifice. He's my little brother. I couldn't live without him. And me, well, I can't live if I'm dead. But you. You're the best fit. I don't need you."
Castiel's heart breaks immediately. The way he said it! Logically, as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe that Dean doesn't need Cas. At all.
It's downright contradictory, and Castiel wishes he could see Dean's soul through the blackness so that he could verify that this was a lie. That Dean isn't saying this to him, that he's just imagining it.
But it feels very, very real. And Dean's soul is very, very hidden.
"Seriously. Get your feathery ass outta here. Maybe the Dark will go away if you give it your angel grace." Dean insists.
Castiel feels like crying. He latches onto Dean's jacket, but Dean instantly shrugs him off.
"Dean. You're lying." He protests, but the Winchester just looks at him. There's nothing in his green eyes that says he has any interest in what Castiel has to say.
"You can't..." But he doesn't know how to finish. He has no idea what to say. This hurts too much. So he just stares helplessly, until Dean sighs and rolls his eyes, looking lazily at the floor.
"The staring has always been one of your worst habits." He comments.
Castiel feels the first tear fall down his face. More and more follow until Castiel is downright sobbing.
"You can't say that to me! You can't! After all we've been through together, you cannot devalue me like this!" Castiel screams through his tears, violently grabbing Dean's arm and shaking him vigorously.
Dean just scoffs, not bothering to glance at Castiel. A ripple of pain shoots down the angel's spine, and he lets out a broken sound.
"Dean!" He shrieks, and the torture of Dean's disinterest finally brings him to the end of his line. Castiel's grace overtakes him, his eyes glowing bright blue as his body becomes engulfed in white light. He rises, knocking over the table and disrupting the darkness, which begins to peel away from him as if he were a disease that the air did not want to carry. His screams battle the whirling hurricane of the darkness, which begins to recede into the cracks of the walls to escape the blinding light of the angel that is pulsing and pushing away the night.
Castiel notices none of this, he only feels the pain, is consumed by it. Hates it. He wants Dean to take back his words more than he's wanted anything else in his existence. That is all he wants.