A/N: First Supernatural fic, this was originally intended to be a short, fluffy one-shot that would toy with the concept of reverse!verse Dean being a demon. This did not happen, evidently, and there is as of yet no end in sight. I do not own Supernatural.
"Is it done yet?"
"Almost, unless something happens. Shame, really. I liked this one. Kind of wanted to see it go on a bit longer."
"No!" Castiel screams. "Not my brother, my brother, not him!"
Gabriel lies limp in his arms. Blood has long since stopped flowing from his throat and shoulder. The aghast hunter at Castiel's side stammers apologies, unknowns; "I- I was just hunting and he was there chanting and-"
Castiel ignores him, pressing Gabriel to his chest like it would tether his elder brother's soul to his body.
The hunter seems to sense that he is not wanted and so he leaves, quietly, scuttling off like a little cockroach. Castiel thinks venomous thoughts of destruction at the man, vainly hoping they would catch and follow him until some psychic beast or vengeful ghost chose to act on them.
But the fleeting though is gone and all that is left is his brother, bled out into the dank dust of the storeroom, swimming in his own blood over a ritual circle.
Castiel is alone.
There is a crossroads just outside, and it takes Castiel only a few minutes to scrape together what he needs and bury it, digging the hole by hand into the packed earth. By the time he is finished, his fingers are raw and a nail has broken and pierced the skin.
"Well." Says the sibilant female whisper he was waiting for.
"Give him back," Castiel hisses, his raw throat hoarse from bellowing pleas and denials to the unsympathetic sky.
"I can. But-"
"Back. Alive, unchanged. Just give him back." He stares at the woman, long black gown, silver pins, darts along the waist. The clothes and hair change every time, but the colours remain the same.
She hesitates. "You sure?"
"Yes. Always." He stares at her, focusing in a way that has been called frightening, in the past.
"You can't try to renege," she prods. "Any sign of a deal breaker and plop- he's rotting six feet under."
Castiel is lightheaded from rage and grief. Privately he knows James and Claire and Balthazar and Gabriel and everyone will be angry beyond belief but he doesn't care. He can't lose Gabriel.
"Yes." He says instantly.
"You have ten days," the demoness says.
He nods, no longer trusting himself to speak. Because ten days, ten days with Gabriel will be like an eternity and so much better than never again.
"Sign on the dotted line," she says, kissing him.
Never, Castiel thinks, will he kiss a woman again. Because he can taste sulphur edging her lips and just the faintest hint of smoke, in a way that will haunt his nightmares for years to come.
Then she is gone, and Castiel hears Gabriel's hoarse cries from the house, and no regrets will ever come to him.
Gabriel is, of course, angry. He rants and calls Bobby and Balthazar, but Castiel cannot find it within himself to regret the decision, even faced with the angry expressions of his friends.
"As I did that night, I would do a thousand times over," he tells Gabriel, and confusedly bears and embraces the lapful of teary-eyed older brother he receives after that. It is lucky, he thinks, that Gabriel is small and light.
When his ten days are up, Castiel goes with grace, a prayer, and a dignified seat at his desk.
He pretends to himself that Gabriel will not cry over his grave.