A/N: My first Destiel fic EVER. I feel like I should celebrate. Or not. This is just a drabble that hardly makes any sense but was fueled by all the Dean/Cas love I've got bundled up inside. Also - I haven't finished watching Season 6 yet so please no spoilers/I apologise for any inaccuracies.
ONTO THE FIC.
Castiel's last words will be 'Tell him I'm sorry.'
Chuck thinks it's funny, really – you know, in a sick, twisted way – that there's no question of who 'he' is. It's weird, except not really, because it could have been Sam that the angel was talking about, or even, er, Bobby – but it's not. It's Dean. Because it's always been Dean.
Chuck's not even sure whether it's the whole fact that Cas brought Dean back from Hell. If, he thinks, it had been Sam who had to be resurrected, nothing would be different.
Maybe it's his slightly creepy and borderline psychotic visions that makes him think this, being in tune with the things Cas feels and does, or maybe it's because he can see, as any fool would be able to see, the way Cas's eyes soften when his human friend appears, even – especially – when Dean is acting like a total dick.
After Dean leaves, Cas stands in the centre of the room, staring at this spot of dirt on the ground like it's going to come to life and put a knife through him. He even manages to look determined while he does it.
Chuck knows he's anything but determined at that moment.
"Hey, Cas," Chuck says, and coughs when the angel turns to look at him. Castiel has this way of looking at people that sort of makes them want to, well, crap themselves. And then die. He tries again, "Maybe you should leave. Things aren't going to go so well for y—"
"I am aware of that."
Of course he's aware of it. He's an angel, for Christ's sake. But he's just going to stand there and take on the archangels when it's going to get him turned into confetti, and all for the Winchesters.
"For Dean," Cas corrects, his expression solemn. "I'm doing this for Dean."
Chuck narrows his eyes at his soon-to-be-dead companion, but doesn't comment on the freaky mind-reading thing. "Not for Sam?" Chuck asks, even though he already knows the answer.
Cas shrugs. He still manages to look classy when he shrugs. Chuck will never admit it, but he's jealous. "They are not going to stop the apocalypse," Castiel says flatly. "I have seen it; you have seen it; we all have. It is very hard to change destiny."
He does not meet Chuck's eyes.
"You are going to sacrifice yourself for nothing," Chuck clarifies incredulously, because he has brief visions that are even briefer when it comes to angels, and he certainly did not see this coming.
Castiel is already shaking his head before Chuck has even finished his sentence. "Not for nothing," he says calmly. "For Dean." He hesitates, like he's unsure of how much to say, but clearly he thinks, fuck it – in his own Castiel way – because he adds, "If the archangel gets to Sam, he will kill him. I would not want Dean to have to lose his brother again."
Chuck stares. "That's not the full truth."
Castiel sighs, as if to say, Who the hell even thought up prophets? "The archangel will most likely kill Dean also." His smile is wry. "I do not wish that. I would rather die. So my intentions are purely selfish, I assure you."
"But Dean won't stop Sam," Chuck argues, not quite absorbing this. "You will die and the apocalypse will still continue. You would sacrifice yourself for one human?"
"Not one human," Castiel corrects, with a small smile. "Dean Winchester."
Chuck's not really sure what to say to that.
It turns out he doesn't have to say anything to that, in fact, because the archangel suddenly decides to make its appearance. There's a flash of light so bright Chuck is sure he'll be seeing white spots for days, and then there's a man standing in the middle of Chuck's filthy old living room, looking quite like a king in a cesspool.
"Castiel," the archangel greets flatly. Well, it's not a greeting, exactly – more like a threat. Like, by saying Castiel he's secretly saying you are a failure to our kind I hope you're ready to die you have given up everything for one petty human have you completely lost your mind?
Mind on the task at hand, Chuck berates himself. "Chamuel," Castiel returns, equally as emotionless.
"I really must apologise for this." Chamuel looks pretty sorry, too. "I do not wish to kill you, but you stand in the way." He sighs, like an older brother might when berating a younger sibling.
Cas doesn't say anything, and then there's a screeching, like nails being dragged down a blackboard, and the two angels fly into action. It's a fight that doesn't last long, only a few seconds, if Chuck's correct, but then suddenly Castiel is kneeling before Chamuel, his head hanging but his eyes full of a fire Chuck's never seen before.
Chuck's waiting – waiting for those words. He wishes he could do something, something to help Cas, help the broken angel on the floor who is about to meet his inevitable death, but he is only one human and also painfully weaponless.
So Chuck waits. Tell him I'm sorry.
Cas looks up, his eyes glistening in the dim light that filters through the murky window of Chuck's living room. He inhales, not looking at Chamuel but at Chuck, his gaze heavy.
"Tell him –" Castiel chokes out. Chuck almost frowns, because this is not the way things happened – Cas did not stutter or pause. Chuck should expect it, he supposes, because, really, Cas never was one to do things by halves. The angel speaks again, and the words tumble out like a collective sigh, like it's a huge weight off his shoulders, "Tell him I love him."
Chuck opens his mouth to say something, anything-but it's too late. Way too late.
Chamuel clicks his fingers and Castiel's vessel explodes, and then Chamuel's gone and Chuck – well, Chuck's left there alone on his knees in his filthy old living room wondering how Cas always manages to take everybody by surprise and why his cheeks are suddenly wet with salty tears.