Naomi watched from above as Castiel cornered the fourteenth Dean. He restrained the human, trembling as he raised his sword for the kill.
"You can do it," she whispered. It hurt to see her brother so broken, the once-captain of most respected garrison fallen because of two insignificant, petty, recalcitrant humans.
Castiel held that blade in the air for several long, painful seconds. His entire arm shook, his grip on the blade weak, and even with all his strength he was barely able to keep the struggling human restrained.
It had always been here that he had failed, when he would let Dean go, sword clattering to the ground, when he would fall to his knees begging please, don't make me do this, there has to be another way. Naomi would then walk onto the field herself and pull her brother to his feet, telling him gently that it's going to be alright and she'd place the sword back into his hand and guide it into Dean Winchester's heart. Then he would cry into her shoulder as she held him and told him that he did good, that he did right.
But this time, he plunged the sword down without help and he let the body fall unceremoniously to the ground as he withdrew his blade. Naomi felt relief flood her as she went down to Castiel's side where her brother stared down at his bloody blade, eyes glazed with pain and guilt and apology but it was a start- her broken angel was finally healing.
"I'm proud of you," she told Castiel gently as she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
He couldn't do it. Castiel stared into green eyes widened with fear, spilling words that didn't have to be spoken; Cas, no, please! No matter how many times he did this, with Naomi's commands echoing in his head, he just couldn't kill Dean with his own hands. He just can't, he can't he can't he can't he can't. Dean was a good man. A friend. A brother. Castiel has killed hundreds of his brothers already and he won't kill another.
Especially not this one.
His vessel shook, throat constricting, chest tightening, like something was trying to squeeze him until he burst; a war was raging inside of him and it was tearing him apart. He can't do it anymore and for a split second of clarity, Castiel saw what he had to do- the only thing he could do. He could end this, permanently. All he had to do was to bury the angelsteel into his own Grace and it would be over-
Cas, you got your ears on? Listen, you know I'm not one for praying-
Castiel's breath caught in his throat as the voice reached him. His mind swirled in confusion as it tried to make sense of what was going on. Who was this man that was praying to him? It seemed so familiar but it made no sense. Who could be praying to him, to this broken thing?
-this is about Sam, so I need you to hear me-
Sam. That name sounded familiar. A good familiar. A friend. Someone he could trust.
I know that he is hurting-
Hurting? Something was hurting Sam? Castiel felt something rise inside him. A need to protect, to heal.
-you keep a lookout for my little brother, okay?
Little brother. Sam is Dean's little brother. The prayer was from Dean.
Dean.
Dean!
Castiel buried his blade into Dean's heart.
Where the hell are you, man?
Though Castiel shook, disgusted at his own actions, somewhere inside he was smiling. He didn't just kill Dean. Dean was alive. Somewhere out there, his friend, his brother, was alive and safe and had still had faith in him, still prayed to him. He clung desperately to that thought as Naomi praised him and left to prepare the next kill. He would never kill Dean, never, and a certain peace settled within him at that thought.
Thank you for saving me again, my friend Castiel prayed back.