Disclaimer: I do not own the awesomeness of this show, that is all Kripke and CW.
A/N: I was attacked by this plot bunny while watching the promo and the sneak peek clips of THE END. Thus, I wrote this guy before watching the episode, my own thoughts about how things came to be. Spoilers for 5.3 and 5.4. I hope you enjoy :)
Standing still
He stands quietly to the side, his hopes crashing into the ring of fire trapping Raphael. All the while, the impassive mask stays on before the golden flames. Behind him, a thunderstorm rages on, flying sheets of rain and debris into him. But the hunted angel remains rooted to his spot, fixating all his pain and rage at the archangel. He is tired, strung out…scared. And with every breath and wing beat, he feels the agonizing pain of being ripped apart.
The only moment of peace he had since his death was found in the back ally behind a brothel house. Despite the crazy antics Dean dragged him into, Castiel felt a burden lift off of him at the sound of his charge's laughter. Braving a rare warm smile, the angel and hunter mused over the backfire plan of trying to get him laid. Both knew the feeling would pass in time. For now though, they could escape the possible outcome of this suicide mission. For a moment, Castiel could not feel guilty in bringing about the Apocalypse. And for a moment, Dean could ignore the aching absence of his brother. Despite the brave face, Dean misses Sam with all his heart and Castiel can see it clear as day.
"God is dead." Raphael's voice booms like thunder, shattering Castiel's small refuge.
Waves of conflicted emotions crash within him. Yet beyond these rocky shores, salvation is present. Dean stands by him, a solid presence as his mouth lashes out with ferocity and passion. For a man who seems skeptical in believing God, Dean's words ring clear and true. In the briefest of seconds, Castiel believes Michael is standing right next to him, defending their Father's name while Lucifer prowled in the darkness gathering his followers.
Blinking, he turns his head as Dean does the same, blue and green meeting over the torrent rain and wind. Resolution and trust shine in the eyes of the hunter. Despite all the harsh words Castiel lashed out back at the hospital, Dean is not frightened or angry at him. Dean would stay, fight with Castiel and not leave him on this suicide mission on searching for God alone. He would force Raphael's wrath onto himself if he had too.
Castiel feels surprise flare to life in him. A memory of flashing white light, a house rocking back and forth as Dean's face conveyed his shock that Castiel would stay by his side, bearing the brunt of the archangel's wrath onto himself while Dean saved Sam. Understanding stills the storm in the angel. Turning their heads back to face Raphael, man and angel realize their relationship went beyond mere guardian and charge. They were brothers in arms.
The memory gives then blue-eyed man determination to move forward. Heat boils in the angel's veins, lashing back that this was not true. Faith in his father is all he has left in this exile he chose. This quest is the only way he sees fit to redeem himself. And he would be damned if this angel would take that away from him. "You're lying."
Those dark chocolate eyes remain steadfast, never blinking as hollow thunder whipped in the air. "Did it ever occurred to you that maybe Lucifer raised you?"
"No." The word whisper past his lips, hinting at the terror sneaking up in the angel. It couldn't be true. Raphael has to be lying. If he truly was touched by Lucifer, there would be some mark, some tainted residue in him. As if sensing his shaking hold, Dean turns his head to look at him as Raphael told of how their older brother would need rebellious angels. Dawning shines forth from the rain streaked face. The hunter's mind is finally coming to grasp how much Castiel sacrificed for him. Empathy mixed with uncertainty betray the confident stance. The angel felt a calmness overlap the agonized mess he unraveling into, hardening into the impassive mask once more. He can't let his guard, not in front of Dean. He had to remain strong for the only person willing to help him.
Lips thinning, Castiel realizes the conversation is over. He might not have achieved what he was hoping for, but he had gained something unexpected. He had a true friend. Voice steadfast in his command, Castiel turns in the rain. "Let's go."
Turning, he faces the entrance way. Raphael, though, is not done. "Castiel." The voice cracks like lightening. Instincts ingrained into him since the beginning of time halt the said angel's movement, pulling his attention back to the dark-skinned warrior. "I'm warning you, do not leave me here. I will find you."
Red fills Castiel's vision. All his suffering breaks past his barriers. Uriel knocking down the foundations of his trust. Zacheriah yanking away the blinds of his allegiance. Raphael...blasting his very existence into oblivion. Eyes hardening, the renegade angel lets rage sharpen his voice. This brother had killed him without a mere blink. Dean was right to worry that this whole plan was about revenge. Taking a step forward, he meets the steady gaze of the captured angel with his own, not blinking as water runs down his face. "Maybe one day. But today you're my little bitch."
Stepping out of the room, he hears Dean's boots creak against the floorboards. Then the gruff voice yells out over the wind. "What he said."
Halting by the front door, Castiel takes in a deep breath shocked by Dean's words. He knew Dean was terrified in facing off with an archangel, what human wouldn't be. But he didn't except his charge's trust and support. Things truly had changed from their first meeting of stabbing and doubting.
A shoulder bumps lightly into him. Flicking his gaze upwards from the doorknob, Castiel takes in Dean's soaked, grinning face.
"Guess you were wrong."
Blue eyes narrow in confusion. "About what?"
"You dying." Despite the joking tone, Castiel hears the relief. "Come on, Rambo. Time to boogie." Pushing open the door, Castiel watches Dean's confident stride work its' way gracefully to the Impala. He truly was in debt to his charge. And whatever insane, suicidal plans Dean would partake in the future, Castiel knows without hesitation he would support him. It was what being friends was all about. Sticking with each through thick and thin.
He prays undoubtly they live through it.
----------------Time passes by-------------------------
The hunted angel stands frozen to his spot, pure horror on his face. "...no..."
Lucifer smiles warmly at him, the truth blazing behind those grieving dark blue eyes. With the precision of meager words, the Morning Star blasts away Castiel's faith. "You're welcome, Castiel."
Collapsing onto his own knees, Castiel tilts his head upwards as the trembling body of Nick twists his hand deep inside the kneeledman's chest. Truth resonates loudly in his mind. Lucifer brought him back to life for his own sick games. The Devil counted on Castiel selling his very allegiance for the Winchester boys. What he didn't expect was Castiel's stubborn angelic nature magnifying to new levels. And he was not pleased, not liking when things did not go according to plan.
Dropping his sympathetic nature, Lucifer claims his dues. Flashing a cold weak smile hinting to the twisted creature he truly ias, Lucifer yanks out a clawed hand splattering blood onto his face as well as Castiel's. Tilting his palm upward, the powerful fallen angel cradles blue wisps. With one tiny breath, the Devil blows the purest grace out of existence.
Castiel's mind blanks as he throws back his head, back arching in searing pain, wings snapping to their full wing span as an earth-shattering scream levels everything around them. He's falling but not. Wind whips around him, tearing through his red-staining wings. He's stretched beyond oblivion and for a moment he wonders if he's dying again. It's like the first time around with Ralphael. But Lucifer is not kind, not merciful. A loud and heavy heart presses in his chest, lungs exploding with need. Gasping, Castiel's eyes go wide with painful stinging. He's human now.
As light returns to normal and the dust settles, Lucifer's no where to be seen. Collapsing on his back, Castiel stares hazy upwards into the painted blue sky ceiling where tiny cherubs with white wings and harps danced around white puffs of clouds. The cracking of glass signales the arrival of someone he no longer sensed. Blinking weakly, Castiel watches as Dean's worried face sways, filling his vision.
The hunter's mouth moves but he hears no words. All he can see are the darkening circles around the eyes and the constantly furrowed brow. Despite the fun times when Dean found another way to 'corrupt' his angel, the human is aging before him, hardening more into a soldier than before. The incident at the Hushpuppy Food Festival still made Dean laugh till he cried while he finds himself smiling more and more. Not to mention the whole 'worked at the post office' inside joke.
Dean's head shots up as Sam's face hoveres across from Dean's, face pleading for help. Concern shines forth from those doe eyes. Castiel's relieved to see the Winchesters together again. He didn't know when it happened, but the exiled angel started to care for Sam, wanting to protect him from his own lost brother, Lucifer. He wanted to spare the brothers the pain caused by the fall of all his tainted brothers and sisters.
A groan breaks through his cracked lips, knocking him back to reality as Dean presses hard onto his chest. Sam's eyes flicker to the side, as if he couldn't bear seeing the ragged wound. Castiel narrows his in confusion, wondering why there was a shred of blame shining in them. It was not Sam Winchester's fault. He opens his mouth to whisper the words yet darkness finally takes hold and he finds himself falling once more.
---------------Sand in an hourglass-------------------------
Shoulder's slumped, he stands underneath the tattered trench coat. The long tan material is the only remaining piece of clothing he retained from Jimmy. The suit and tie were lost long ago in some small town located in the back hills of the upper Midwest. Fingers curl around the frayed cuffs as he tilts his head downwards. Once cropped, black hair a bit longer spike outwards, ruffled by the wool hat as the snow bits against his exposed skin. Yet Castiel only cares about was the disheveled appearance of his companion.
Dean's broad back slumps into a hunch as he kneels on the ice-laced ground. Arms tighten themselves around his chest underneath the peppered white green jacket. He watches as Dean's body shakes with grief, choked screams cracking into the air. Head hung so low as if touching the ground, Dean mourns the death of a man he considered his father. For before the two, laid out with reverence is one of the greatest hunters of all time. Bobby Singer's face is peaceful, a faithful baseball cap remaining firm on his head as the flames lick, sizzle and dance all around him.
Turning to gaze over his shoulder towards the ruined house that was a home of the Winchester's, Castiel's pained blue eyes seek the figure of another. Sam was by their side when they raced towards Bobby's house a few hours ago. But after, when they found the hunter…he had been so occupied in making sure there were no threats around and keeping an eye out on Dean that Sam slipped into the background. The tall brother had been present at the lighting of the pyre, but now he was gone.
Fear curls over Castiel's heart. In his short time, he knows how suicidal and idiotic the Winchester boys can become in the throws of grieving. Dean selling his soul and Sam drinking demon blood were only a few incidents. Stepping outwards towards the junkyard to find Sam, Castiel pauses when Dean's chocked voice trembles behind him. Turning, his eyes fall onto Dean's stricken face. No longer did the green-eyed man look like a hunter, much less the vessel of Michael. He looks like a lost four-year old boy.
"Is he-"
Shuffling his shoulders, the fallen angel drapes the coat over Dean's shoulders hiding the wince as the biting cold air strikes against his flannel shirt. It might not be enough and too late to stop Dean from freezing, but a little protection is better than none. And Dean needs protection now more than ever. Reaching out, Castiel lays a hand on his friend's shoulder squeezing it gently. Sympathy shines forth through the whiteness. It was all ever he felt anymore besides helpless rage. "He is at peace, Dean."
Dean nods numbly before turning his face into the golden light. In that moment, Castiel sees for the first time the mask of a general falling into place. And the first chip at his steadfast faith flakes off, drifting into the snow covered ground.
------------------Living and dying---------------------
He can't stand still anymore. He has to move. Now. He no longer candafford being some player on the side-lines. Running forward, Castiel throws a powerful punch into the demon's face. His knuckles crack, bones thrumming but he keeps going. Another demon jumps out from his right. Hours of endless drilling underneath the strict eyes of Dean Winchester, Castiel kicks out with confidence letting himself relishing the grunt coming from the demon.
Rushing onwards, he clips another round into his gun and fire into the gang of three demons. The salt rounds are modified thanks to Rufus hindering the demons if only for a moment. Sprinting past them, Castiel feels the recognizable urge to have his powers back. During moments of peace, he never missed them except for flying. His broken wings are ghosts of their former glory, feathers drifting off bare bones like a tree during the autumn. It were moments like these, in the heat of battle, when Castiel wonders if he should have taken up on Lucifer's offer.
Then the thought of Zachariah and the rest of the garrison's slaughter run ice through his veins. A few angels are out there, but they either fled Earth to drift forever in the solitude of space or hid themselves so deep in the planet. Raphael's voice still rings loudly in his head. God was dead and Castiel finds himself agreeing more every day. In the early months after Bobby's death, Castiel placed his hunt for God on the back burner, helping Dean in his hunts and finding Sam, who disappeared without a notice. Dean seemed a bit disappointed when Castiel returned the amulet but worry for Sam settled over the hunter as he hung the necklace in its' rightful place. For months, the pair searched for the wayward Winchester, not catching a decent lead till a few days ago.
Dean. Determination lent wings to his feet as Castiel punches and slices his way through another wave of demons. Their blood splatters onto him. No longer are battles clean and efficient like in the past. Castiel wouldn't change it. For above all, there is one reason he had said no to Lucifer. Dean. If he was gone, then this righteous man would truly be alone. And Castiel can't do that to his friend…his brother.
Breaking through, Castiel takes in a deep breath, chest heaving from exertion. Blue eyes hardened into sternness as he carefully inches his way forward. Sam stands so close to Dean that their chests almost touch. Hazel eyes once caring, beam golden orbs narrowing with sickening joy.
"You should have listened to your father Dean," whispers Satan in a soft familiar voice purring with unabashed power. "You could have prevented all of this, could have saved Sam."
"Shut up, you sick bastard," coughs out Dean, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth.
Lucifer, within the body of his true vessel, twists Ruby's knife out of Dean's stomach spilling red dots on the tarmac. Without pause, Dean collapses, staring painfully up into the clear blue Montana sky without a single white cloud in sight. Stepping back, Lucifer gazes sadly upon the broken man looking for a split second like Sam. Then in a tell-tell flutter, he is gone taking his demon horde with him
Throwing caution to the wind, Castiel springs forward skidding onto his knees. Not wasting time, he bunchesup Dean's shirt to slow down the bleeding. Taking in every bit of knowledge he learned about medicine, Castiel eyes the wound relieved to see that despite being deep, the hunter would live.
Flashing concerned eyes, he whispers out in his gruff voice. "Dean."
Dying green eyes once full of hope and righteousness gaze at him. "My brother's dead, Cas." Squeezing his eyes tightly, Dean jerks his head to the side, voice chocked with torment. Tears would be streaming down the pale face, but he's all dried up. "Sammy's dead."
Kneeling in the searing black pavement, his faith in his father groans at what has happened. Swallowing, Castiel tries to still the earthquake in him for the first time with a lie. "He's not Dean...Sam's in there. You can still save him." Pressing hard, he fingers out a cellphone to call for backup. All the while, blue eyes never leave the stricken pale face. He stares till Dean drags his lost eyes onto him. Then in a voice soft and caring, he adds. "Have faith."
-------------------Sun rising and falling--------------------
Standing on the edge, Castiel stares with distant eyes down the stairs. The Harvelles are chatting softly behind him, the mother and pregnant daughter arriving at the camp barely in time. Rufus is pacing back and forth, agitation shimmering off of him. There are a few other hunters and some soldiers and a handful of civilians in this small meeting room. They gather around a large green tennis table, sharing information and other tactful components.
Sam—no Lucifer and his demon armies are pursuing any traces of angel activity. Yet, the most dangerous news comes not from the demons but the human population. Poor, naïve humans, who didn't know of the Apocalypse, caught in the crossfire. It seems something is spreading through the cities. People are getting violent and killing each other before disappearing completely. The only clue being a single word: Croatoan.
Someone asks his advice, his skills as a hunter and vast knowledge on ancient symbols and practices wide-known in the rag tag fighter groups. No one knows of his former status of being an angel except for Dean. And that was fine with him. Castiel can no longer feel the pride and wonder of being such a celestial figure without disgust welling in him. He is cracking; his once devote faith crumbling every day as refugees flood the camps. Giant blocks crumple when people die under his hands or look to him as someone to confide in...someone with salvation. The stories he hears…the things people did to survive…
Shuddering in a deep breath, Castiel shakes a no at the man's question. The person's afraid to ask Dean. It's becoming well-known that Castiel is easier to approach than the remaining Winchester. It is Castiel people went to see if they could have a private audience with the cold-hearted general. It is Castiel that speaks of other important issues such as keeping hope alive without fear of retort. It is Castiel that is the only person who calms Dean when he's on the verge of exploding. Ellen once was able to do such a feat, but that was before HE was lost.
The stranger seems to get the hint and leaves, but not before flicking his own gaze downwards at the end of the stairs. Two doors are present, one to a tunnel that leads outside, the other to a room that Castiel hoped never to see again. As if on cue, the tunnel door opens and Dean hauls in a blindfolded and gagged individual. One arm locked over the throat, Dean throws open the other door and tosses the tied up man into a room with a salted metal chair and a devil's trap barely illuminated under the single light bulb.
"Dean," Ellen's voice flies past Castiel's ear. She is the mother figure to everyone, loving and compassionate one moment and in the next an expert hunter. "We're-"
Dean's green eyes flash darkly up at her. The dispassionate mask of the general hard on the tanned face becoming a second skin. "I'm busy," growls out an inhuman voice.
Ellen nods, fear for Dean flooding her face as she turns and rejoins the others. Castiel continues to stare down as Dean locks his own onto him. Despite the cold exterior, Castiel still can read his friend. Despair is driving Dean insane, the hole of Sam's betrayal sucking him down a dark path. It is without dark irony that Castiel finds it interesting that while his brother ripped out his essence, he has become more human. But when Sam ripped out Dean's, the eldest Winchester is becoming less.
"Later," a flash of the old Dean is there. Concern for his people overriding his drive to find Lucifer whispers in the silent conversations only they understand. Nodding his head in reluctant support, Castiel folds his arms across his chest as Dean enters the torture room, slamming the door closed with his foot.
It isn't till everyone leaves when the fallen angel wanders the camp. He keeps smiling and giving compliments to all, trying to keep their hope alive as his dies with every slice Dean does onto the demon. It isn't till he reaches the outskirts that he allows a tiny tear to slip past his defenses. A newcomer spots his moment of weakness and offers him his salvation in form of a plant. It will make him feel good, says the man, make him feel like he is once more flying through the air with his brothers and sisters. Make him forget for a few minutes about how he is failing Dean.
The man wasn't lying.
--------------------Time marches on------------------------
He finally stops moving, standing still as a statue besides a precious relic. No one remembers what it used to look like. Rufus has passed on. Ellen was infected and had to be put down. It was something Castiel did himself, not informing Dean till later. If he could, he spared Dean the burden. The general, for no longer was he the cocky hunter of before, had enough to deal with in moving survivors, running supply runs and sadly executing any traitors or up-risers. Now is not the time to rebel within their little community.
A baby's hungry screams permeate the cold night air. Castiel glances towards it, hoping that it is not Robert. Jo's son is strong, but he misses his mother. Castiel can't muster up the urge to look at the child, only to see Jo's cooling body as she died while giving birth.
Reaching out he grasps onto the dirt covered roof, eyes falling on the broken remains of a familiar small rustic gold amulet buried in the dirt. Hanging his head to fight back the tears, Castiel rides out a wave of grief. As always, he mutters out a pray of thanks to this relic for providing him something to lean on.
The once gleaming black beauty of the Impala was a gem to behold back in the day. He still remembers her warm purring, the soft feel of leather and the thrumming of some guitar as he rode in one of the seats. Dean would be driving, never trusting Castiel or anyone except maybe Sam on occasion to lay a hand on that sleek steering wheel. Head bopping up and down, the loud mouth Winchester explained the finer things in life such as hot dogs, playboys, Die Hard and above all pie. Sam sighed loudly, telling him to ignore everything Dean was saying for his older brother was mixing reality with porn again.
But that was before.
When despite the world ending, Dean still had Sam and Castiel still had his faith. Lucifer raising him no longer bothers him, but it is the absence of God that disturbs him. How can such a father save Dean and Sam from the convenant only to allow all this suffering and pain to happen? How?
Leaning forward, Castiel rests his forehead on the door frame. Across from him, the driver door is long since gone. Shattered windows twinkle jagged edges. They are remainders of a night long ago during one of Dean's explosions. A night Castiel remembers well since he was the one who had stitched up the cut up hands and arms while Dean drank himself into a stupor. The dents and ripping of the Impala's guts all happened under the Winchester's rage filled acts. No one touches the car except Dean, but Castiel sneaks a few tender caresses trying to ease the pain of the car. It might not be a living breathing creature, but it is a family member to Dean and it too suffers through the Apocalypse.
Ever since Sa—Lucifer almost once again tried to kill Dean, the Winchester lost all motivation to maintain the car. He cut off all ties to the Dean Winchester that was about family and protecting little brothers. Left parked on the side of the road, now covered with weeds and grass, the Impala crumbles underneath nature's relentless attacks.
Nature did its toil on the fallen angel as well, his faith and hope rubble in the five years of fighting. He is a washed up, battered, discarded creature seeking escape in drugs and women instead of prayer. Yet, he miracously maintains the mask of a man brimming with it. Dean never says anything. Instead, the eldest Winchest plays along, escaping once in awhile with a woman after some coaxing. He never allows himself to be drunk in public, though. No. That only happens in the darkest hours of the night and only then does Castiel know.
Stepping back, Castiel mourns the death of this beloved car. The shell of the Impala a manifestation of how gutted and broken Dean is and how he is lost and abandoned. The crunching of boots pique at his ears and despite not being an angel anymore, Castiel knows who it was.
Dean halts to the right. Always moving, the general stands by his side in a rare moment. The dark green jacket's too big, but so was Castiel's own clothes. They have lost weight, faces and body hardening to the harsh conditions. A hint of whiskers etch Dean's face into a chiseled appearance as if carved from stone. Castiel's own beard only made him blend in easier with the humans. Hell, everything that once made him stand out is gone now…except…
Tilting his head slightly to the side in an old fashion, Castiel stares at Dean, blue eyes fill with concern for his charge. "Hello Dean."
The earth might be a hell in a hand basket. Sam is gone, replaced by Lucifer. And God's no longer here. But his support towards Dean never changed since that day when they faced Raphael. He still places himself every day at risk of exposure to the demon disease or plain old getting shot. All for Dean. If only to see him smile carefree once more, laugh with utter abandonment or finally to see him at peace.
"Last night..."
A dead look stares down at him. Castiel flashes an ever-growing natural grin. "Anything you want...booze, women..." Shoulders slump as the old tease flies over the spikey-haired man. Finally, Castiel understands the exasperation Dean must have felt every time one of his jokes flew over him. Frowning, the ex-angel stares unblinking back. His voice loses its' humor. "You should have meet Peter. Persecuted, hunted and still somehow he found the time to throw a party every Sabbath day, much less relax every now and then."
A chocked laugh breaks free from his silent companion. Eyes crinkling in content relief Dean gazes at him, the mask falling free. Sheer suffering spills forth. Eyes drowning in weariness and anguish. Once more, Castiel sees beyond the general, the hunter or the grieving brother. He sees beyond the corrupted soul Dean became when he first raised him from Perdition. All he sees is a friend who wants to be reunited with his family and no longer have to blame himself for causing Man's utter destruction. He sees a brother hell bent on fixing his mistakes.
Reaching out, Castiel lays his hand on Dean's shoulder. His rough, dirt encrusted fingers squeezes gently, pressing perfectly onto the burn mark hidden from the world. Dean's eyes fall onto the hand, eyes distant as if remembering how that same hand was once a fiery white fire of an angel.
"Cas…" whispers out a cracked lost voice. "I can't do it...it's..." "Too much."
Tightening his hold, Castiel leans forward not caring about personal space. A memory of long ago when Dean told him about the concept flutter through his mind. Dean's eyes shoot upwards, caution and curiosity tugging at his features. The blue-eyed man halts a few inches away, surprised to feel a wave of renewed strength and determination fill him. He wouldn't make the same mistakes as before in a white-washed hospital room.
"We'll save him, Dean." His voice rings true, once a lie blossoming into truth. "We'll save them all."
And for the first time in a long while, Castiel is on sure ground. Knows it with absolute conviction just like those days when he knew that God was alive, that this path he walks on is right. Dean smirks, looking like his old self before breaking the gaze. Hope flares to life once more in the hunter. Eyes falling back down on the Impala, the righteous man finds the strength to live and fight another day. And that is enough for the fallen angel.
Understanding the quiet message, Castiel breaks his hold. Slowly, he meanders back to the camp leaving Dean to his solitude. Two guards shuffle by, nodding to him in greeting with their guns propped over their shoulders. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Castiel finds himself staring upward into the night sky taking in the sparkling stars that he knows by heart.
"Father…they need you. All is lost for the angels and me, but please. They are your creations, your favorites. Please help them…" Closing his eyes, Castiel stops and stands quietly once more. The first prayer he ever said since his grace was destroyed drifts away. "Give us a sign that all is not lost."
Running footsteps pull Castiel's attention downwards forcing his own cocky mask into place. Turning to the side, he watches as Dean jogs up to him face all grim and business like. Something large draps onto his back and right away Castiel knows it's a person. "Dean, what is it?"
"I need your help," rasps out Dean, eyes flying around them making sure no one was listening.
"Ok, but may-"
"Get the basement room ready and make sure no one sees us," orders the general, all pretenses gone.
Castiel narrows his eyes, falling into hunter mode. "Right." Sparing a glance at the unconscious body, he swears he spots a familiar silver ring and the spiky hair of the man before him…only younger.
Dean shuffles impatiently. "Cas."
The dark-haired man nods and begins to sneakily make his way to the basement of headquarters. Dean is not far behind. Was it a shape shifter? A new trick from Lucifer to gain insight on the camp? Yet a voice chastises him, telling him this new person is no shape shifter or spy. That he knows exactly who it was and how he came to be here. Sending a quick glance upwards, he allows himself to feel a hint of faith. Maybe there was a God after all.
Maybe there was hope for mankind.
Maybe.
------------------------For all eternity-------------------------------
A/N: The end. Thanks for reading :)