Author's Note: I'm feeling especially mean today, so I thought I'd write some Destiel with Demon!Dean and a whole lot of angst. You're welcome.
Disclaimer: I do not own the show Supernatural nor its characters. Obviously, this would be a scene if I did.
When Metatron told him Dean Winchester was dead, Castiel remembered diving off a cliff of agony and despair, his chest clenching painfully as if his ribcage had caved in on itself and one of his rib bones had pierced his heart. He remembered feeling hopeless and hollow, disregarding Hannah's offer of staying in Heaven and replenishing his grace. She was so idealistic and pure in Heaven's infiniteness, Castiel didn't know how to tell her that even though he still had the ghost of a fading grace, he wasn't an angel anymore. The Righteous Man—his charge, his hero, his friend, his everything—was dead, and along with him died his devoted angel's hope and will to survive.
He remembered that moment of euphoria bliss when Sam called him later that day and told him Dean was alive, and he remembered when that happiness shattered when Sam continued to admit that he was also missing. He remembered his downward spiral of depression and heartbreak shatter as did the fog around him, vowing to find Dean whatever the cost, whatever the repercussions that fall upon him in doing so.
He remembered the tang of bitterness that stung his chest and soured his heart when his failing condition prevented him in going on this quest. Hell, Sam broke his arm and could have broken a lot more because of his lack of diligence and health. After that, he was forced to be stuck on the sidelines, watching as Sam worked himself weary and ill and not having the strength to lessen his burden. That was what Dean would want—what he always wanted. And Castiel couldn't even give him that.
He remembered being so wrapped up in Hannah and the reconstruction of Heaven that he missed Sam's phone calls, telling him that while he discovered Dean's location and was on his way to collect him, he had changed. He was a demon now, black eyes and tarnished soul and loosened morals and all. He was with Crowley—enjoying being with Crowley. He remembered feeling that searing burn in his blue eyes as salt water began sliding down his cheeks. He remembered Hannah—bewildered at the grieving action, bewildered at how human it was—demanding why he was acting this weak, this human when he was neither of those things. Bitterly, without thought, he remembered snapping that she wouldn't understand because she had never been in love.
And that was what it boiled down to, in the end. He loved Dean—He adored him, in fact. Everything he ever did was because or for Dean Winchester. For his survival and safety and happiness...he always put Dean in front of everything else.
He remembered hardening his heart that night as he bid Hannah goodbye for now and drove to the bunker where Sam had told him Dean was, reminding himself that this wasn't the Dean he loved. Not anymore.
And in the end, he was foolish to think that that actually mattered.
Even though Sam had prepared him all he could on the phone and at the entrance of the bunker, Castiel was still taken aback when he caught sight of Dean and found his new true nature hidden under those rugged, handsome features. He was shining the First Blade, grinning with a murderous glint in his eye as he polished the damned weapon that turned him into a monster.
Sam cleared his throat awkwardly, the shakiness and uncertainty in his voice when addressing this new colder, crueler version of his brother identical to the mixed feelings brewing in his heart, "Uh, Dean? Cas is here."
At the angel's name, Dean flickered his gaze upward, ominous black turning deceivingly green as he said with a cold chuckle, "Wow, Cas, you look like shit."
The lack of good-nature and jest in the statement made Castiel bristle, narrowing his gaze as he replied stoically, "Trust me, with my all-seeing eyes, I certainly appear better than you."
His bitter, angry response made Dean's grin widen, "What's wrong, Angel? Too dirty now for your self-righteous ass?"
Sam noticed Castiel locking his jaw and held up a surrendering hand, saying gently, "Chill out, you two. Cas," He turned to him, sympathy and understanding in his soft voice, "I know he seems bad, but he's still Dean. Just...please try to remember that."
Castiel responded with an icy glare shot at the grotesque monster, causing Sam to sigh with exasperation and Dean to smirk in satisfaction. With a sudden surge, Castiel somehow found him wishing he had died before he could witness this—his Righteous Man, his Dean becoming the very creature that destroyed his life and turned him into a scarred, guilt-ridden shell of what he could have been given an "apple pie life."
When Sam deemed it was safe enough to leave them alone together and left the room to take a shower, Cas was worried, of course. Not worried for his safety (he might be dying, but his dwindling grace was threefold more powerful than a demon), but for what he might have to do to Dean in self-defense (or, more accurately, what he might do to Dean of his own free will in result of the demon's cruel mockery and baiting). And low and behold, the danger arrived just as the sound of Sam shutting the bathroom door and locking it echoed through the bunker and Dean pounced on him...
But not the way Castiel had expected.
"Dean?" The angel demanded in both alarm and confusion as the demon slammed him against the nearest wall and nipped at his jaw, biting bruises into his skin like one would a lover, "Dean, what are you—stop!"
"Oh c'mon," Dean said with a dark chuckle, finally pulling back to grin ferly at him, "I know you've always had a boner for me, Cas. And to be honest?" He leaned in and caught Castiel's bottom lip with his teeth, worrying it slightly before letting it go to whisper huskily in the angel's ear, "I've liked you, too. Pretty angel like you? Who could resist?" He turned mockingly thoughtful and added after a moment, "Well, maybe the old me. You know, the one with enough abandonment and self-loathing issues to be a one-trick whore. But guess what?" His eyes turned soulless black, and Castiel's pounding heart stuttered, "Not anymore, Cas. I take what I want. And right now...I want a piece of heavenly ass from a former God himself."
Before Cas could protest, Dean dove in and sealed their lips into a hard, bruising kiss, teeth clashing and tongues battling for dominance in each other's mouths. The angel felt weak and human as his knees buckled under him, his body reacting to the physical contact in a way his mind was screaming was wrong.
Finally, after a longer time than Cas cared to admit, he found enough strength to shove Dean back, gritting out through clenched teeth and swollen lips, "You are not Dean Winchester. You are an abomination wearing his skin."
Something flickered across Dean's true face in that moment—something vulnerable and almost human in that dark, sinful essence of darkness and damnation, and it gave Castiel hope. But in less than a second, it was swallowed up by the overwhelming amount of decadence and iniquity as Dean took a few steps towards the angel and put their lips only a fraction of an inch apart, close enough for Castiel to feel his breath ghosting his shivering skin, "Yeah? Well, too bad, Sweetheart. Right now, I'm all you got."
And this time when Dean kissed him, Castiel didn't fight back, despair chipping at his heart as he wrapped his arms around the demon—not Dean, not really—and met his eagerness with the kind of hunger he'd always held for him—the old him.
Because he knew, deep in his heart, that what he said was true. This demonic, perverted version of Dean Winchester was all Castiel had left, and he was damned sure to cling to it with a white-knuckled grip and a breaking heart.
Author's Note: Reviews would be awesome, thanks.