Disclaimer: Supernatural and all of its characters belong to Eric Kripke and The CW Network. "Crash" belongs to Sum 41.
Spoilers for 8x10, sort of. This is my theory on what the writer's are going to do with the Castiel story line, even though I am praying that I'm wrong. I'm sure this has been done a thousand times already, I just need to get it out of my brain and onto paper or it's going to drive me crazy.
Hold me now, 'cause I couldn't even if I tried.
It's over now, I guess it really is my time.
I don't want to go, but it's time, I gotta say goodbye.
So, hold me now, 'cause this will be our last time.
The hands of his vessel...no...his hands, they stopped being Jimmy's hands long ago, were shaking at his sides as he appeared outside the motel room with the bite of snowflakes falling on his pale skin. He was an angel of the Lord, he did what he was ordered to, and he did so without question. It was his job. It wasn't all that long ago when he didn't have to wonder about what was right and what was wrong, it was just second nature to him. Now? Now it had all muddled together into a mess that he could barely decipher most days.
He clenched his hand into a fist and knocked softly on the door, willing his pulse to stop pounding in his ears as he waited. It didn't take long before Dean pulled the door open, his calloused hand resting on the pistol tucked in his waistband. He visibly relaxed when he caught sight of Cas' unassuming figure staring at him.
"Hello, Dean." He rasped.
I'm slowing down, and I don't think I can fight,
I know somehow you'll find a way to live your life.
Remember just to live every day like it's your last,
And hold me now, 'cause I think it's time for me to pass.
"Hey, Cas. What, uh, what're you doing here? We don't have a case right now." Dean questioned, even thought the small smile on his face betrayed the fact that he was happy to see him.
"I wanted to check in. Make sure that you were both alright. Is Sam here, as well?" He asked gruffly, stepping into the room when Dean shuffled to the side in a gesture for him to enter. Sam peeked at him from under floppy bangs from across the room. He was reclined on his bed, the television remote pearched precariously on his chest, and a beer clutched in his hand.
"Oh, hey, Cas." He said brightly with an innocent smile. Cas' stomach churned as he was bombarded by an onslaught of memories. He'd been watching the Winchesters for as long as he could remember (Not that he would ever tell them that).
He remembered Dean carrying Sam out of the burning ruins of their house. Dean punching some bully in the nose for making fun of Sam on his first day of high school. Dean working four jobs to put Sam through law school. The night that they had looked over their father's journal and decided that they were going to follow in his footsteps. The brotherly gesting, the arguments, the moments when they had always had each other's backs. Watching Dean sleeping, watching Sam slaving over some minute detail of a term paper.
He saw every time that they had both been thrown over the edge of the abyss of death, and the long treks back to each other. All of those memories were reflected in the unwaivering innocence of Sam's smile. His chest clenched as he became acutely aware of the press of the blade in his waistband.
I don't wanna die, I don't know why this kind of fate was meant for me.
You gotta be strong, gotta move on, it's not how it was supposed to be.
What you wanna say?
It was never supposed to end up this way.
What do I have to do?
I was supposed to grow old with you.
But, that ain't gonna happen, no that ain't gonna happen.
"Cas?" Dean barked, snapping Cas' attention back to the boys.
"I'm sorry. What were you saying?" He shook his head, trying his best to focus, and remember exactly why he'd ended up outside their motel. He knew that he had a purpose for coming, but the actual concept of it was fuzzy.
"I've been talking to you for five minutes and you've been ignoring me. What is going on with you today?" Dean questioned, stepping close enough that Cas could smell the unique scent that was Dean Winchester. He inhaled the vague scent of worn leather, the musty, Earthy smell of soil, and something darker, muskier underneath the veil of cologne. Cas always held on to that scent when he thought that things were getting to be to hard to bear.
"Kill them, Castiel. It's what you must do." Naomi's voice echoed through the head. That was it. That was why he had been sent there. "It's for the best." She proceeded when he considered protesting. His hand was reached into his waistband and withdrawing the angel blade without hesitation.
"Cas...what...what are you doing?" Sam muttered, his eyebrow quirking as he eyed the blade.
"What I have to." He snarled, lifting the blade over his head and advancing on Sam first. He had corned Sam, and was throwing the blade downward when a gun calloused hand closed around his wrist. He was pivoting and driving his fist into Dean's jaw before he could conciously make another decision.
Hold me now, 'cause the time I've got is runnning out,
No tears allowed, even though we've become without.
I just want to feel your head lying on my chest,
So, hold me close as I take my last breath.
Castiel followed Dean to the ground, straddling his waist and snarling low in his throat. He pounded his knuckles into pliant flesh repeatedly until blood splattered his face and Sam's fists pounded against his back. He turned slightly and placed one hand in the center of Sam's chest, sending him reeling across the room and crashing into the wall.
When he turned back, he lifted the blade over his head, but froze when terrified green eyes met his own blue ones. He stared down at Dean, listening to the whimpered pleas to 'get on with it' and to 'do it, damn it'. His heart stuttered a beat in his chest as he recalled the way that Dean had pleaded with him in the alleyway when Cas thought he was going to say yes to Michael.
He recalled all of the jokes, and the smiles, and the ways that Dean had taught him to be...human. He had made him smile, and he had made him realize that there was more to life than just...Devine Purpose. The strip club, the trip to 2014, fending off of the apocalypse. They had been through much together, he and Dean. And here he was, trying to kill the man that he'd loved since the moment he had seared his hand print into his shoulder.
"Kill him!" He fell away from Dean and backed away until his back his the rickety air conditioner, his blade still clutched in his hand.
"NO!" His voice rattled the windows in the motel as he curled in on himself. When he opened his eyes again, Dean's face was looming in front of him. He reached out his free hand out in front of him, trying his damndest to push Dean away. "Dean! No! Run!" He snarled, his hand quivering around the blade. "Th-they want me to kill you. You have to run!" Dean's fingers rested shakily on his knee and he shook his head.
"M'not going anywhere, Cas. You've gotta fight it, whatever it is. It's not you! You're strong, man. The strongest guy I know, you've got this." Dean's voice was strained and quivering as he spoke, even though it was laced with conviction. Cas knew better though, there was no fighting this forever. He knew that he needed to act quickly.
"I'm..." He swallowed thickly and reached his free hand up to touch the stubbled side of Dean's face softly, forcing the other man to look at him. "Dean, I'm sorry."
"What the hell are you apologizing for, Cas?" He gave a strained chuckle and shook his head at the angel who was staring at him through tears.
"For everything. For all of the pain and suffering that I've caused you. Just...I'm sorry." He smiled sadly at the other man seconds before driving the blade unceremoniously through his heart, the sound of his insides being torn apart not loud enough to drown out Dean's screams.
I don't wanna die, I don't know why this kind of fate was meant for me.
You gotta be strong, gotta move on, it's not how it was supposed to be.
"CAS!" He barked, gripping Cas' shoulders and shaking him as light erupted through him. "Cas, no, what're...nonono, c'mon. Cas? Cas! Damn it, this isn't supposed to happen!" Dean snapped as he watched the light dimming. "You gotta come back, Cas. I need you, buddy. I need you."
Castiel watched from the corner of the room as Dean cradled his vessel's head in his lap, his long, lithe fingers carding through dishevled hair as tears dropped off the end of his nose. Dean pressed their foreheads together and whispered over and over that he loved Castiel, and that this wasn't how things were supposed to end. He whispered apologies, and words of anger as he placed chaste kisses to the other man's temple. It broke Castiel's heart to witness such an open display of mourning.
He glanced across the room to where Sam was coming around and pushing himself off of the ground. Drywall dust was clinging to his hair as he crossed to where Dean was openly sobbing, his shoulders shaking as ragged cries ripped from his throat.
"It's time to go, Castiel." Came a familiar voice from behind him. Crowley's hand was on his shoulder, turning him away and pulling him into the cold depths of hell. He knew that he wasn't getting back in after rebelling against Heaven...again. So, he sat there, hooks sinking into the flesh of his body as they carved into him like a Thanksgiving turkey and blood streamed off of him like the Amazon. He took the punishment that they doled out silently, because penance was not supposed to be protested, and Lord knew that he had a lifetime of mistakes to make up for.
However, even as the blades of hell sliced through his chest, he knew that he'd accomplished his goal. He had kept the Winchesters safe, even if, in the end, it had been from himself.
What you wanna say?
It was never supposed to end up this way.
What do I have to do, when I was supposed to grow old with you?
But that ain't gonna happen.
No, that aint' gonna happen.
I feel like this got very cliched. Sigh. Well, I hope it wasn't too painful to read...