Title: I'll Follow You Into the Dark
Word Count: 2,465
Warning: Character Death
Rating: K
Summary: Castiel makes a tough decision and let's a bond come to an end; Dean's sick and dying, and a familiar face comes to take him home.
Author's Note: I have been working on this for forever and I am so happy that it's finally complete and to a point where I love it. I started this after listening to I'll Follow You Into the Dark by Death Cab For Cutie over and over. I thought it fit them perfectly, especially if you think of it as Cas's voice. Together, Dean and him have seen a lot and have been together through the thick of it. I just wanted to write this down. Also, this is probably not the end of this little series. After this one, there will probably be two more installations, so keep an eye out!
The years have not been kind to you; your body is bruised and battered. You've suffered from sprains, from breaks, and from a matter of lacerations. But those had healed a long time ago. Scars cover a large portion of your body; they mar your arms, your chest, and your forehead.
Come to think of it, I was there for most of those. I had fought by your side and watched in, I admit, wonder (or was it awe?) as you overcame every obstacle flung in your path. You were stubborn, even sometimes indignant, always burrowing down your roots and ideals and keeping hold to what you thought was right. Which in truth, it always seemed to turn out just that way. You were always right. Right about me, right about Sam. Grudgingly, you were also right about Benny. There was always some form of wisdom in you, a logic that couldn't be shaken. You were a rock. Not just any old rock either, but my rock, my hold on to what world was left for me to reside in.
In truth, I had used you as a crutch in the beginning, not in spite, mind you, but because I had to to just find my footing. And could you blame me? You were someone… someone I trusted, relied on. Someone I came to love with my whole being. I loved your odd habits, your ability to quote popular culture, even though I rarely understood what you were trying to get at, and your strength. You may disagree with me, if you were awake and listening to this simple monologue, but I assure you, you were strong.
When you lost the people closest to you, you never gave up. I watched, unbeknownst to you, as you suffered through the grand-daddy of them all, the loss of Sam. You had every opportunity to eat that barrel of your gun and end it, had almost talked yourself into many times in a drunken stupor while Lisa and Ben slept soundly upstairs, but never could muster the "courage" to do it. And when Sam came back, something other than himself, you muscled through the dark tides and stayed by his side until he was made right. You gave up a life that made you happy, made a tough decision and took away the memories of those you loved so that they wouldn't feel the pain of your loss, and did your best to protect the world as I fell in the name of rage and grace, polluting the world with darkness and bringing about an almost pre-mature end to all of humanity in my state of delirium. You played an integral part in saving humanity, twice, and succeeded.
So who would've thought that almost twenty years down the road, now fifty-six and out of the so-called "family business", a "faulty ticker" would be the thing to do you in?
Shaking my head, I step farther into the room. There's no point in living inside my own head. It's time to stop thinking of the past and to deal with what's ahead of me, of us. You've been in and out of consciousness for a week now, the doctors say that's to be expected. You had a pretty serious heart attack. To be honest, they're surprised that you were able to stabilize this much. They said that you had a… well, it's all technical doctor jargon. I know that you wouldn't want to sit through them saying it to you, so what makes me any different, right, Dean? I turn to you, wanting to tell you something, to see you smile, hear your voice, but you just lay there, the tubes inserted in your nostrils keeping your breath steady as you slumber on. Every time I look to you, it's as if someone's closed a hand around my throat and punched a hole into my chest.
God, this is pathetic. I need to accept the facts, don't I? I keep expecting you to just open your eyes and chastise me for being a whiney little girl. After all, I'm just a "baby in a trench coat", right? But, dammit, Dean. You're everything I have. I need you. I have ever since the beginning…
There's movement to the side of your bed that startles me, a shape unfurling from the chair that's been pulled close to your bedside. I could have sworn that Sam had left just a moment ago for coffee, passing by me in the hall with a nod of his head and the tip of an empty Styrofoam cup. Maybe I could have been mistaken. It is possible. I haven't necessarily been on the top of my game recently, what with not sleeping regularly and all. I have spent nearly all of my time by your bedside, speaking to you in soft tones and telling you of all the life that you are missing. Then the figure seems to blur and swim at the edges of my vision, a billowing cloak of rotted gauze floating on the wind over skeletal features, face bony and hag-like. I decide with a start that that is most definitely not the hulking frame of Sam. Still, I hold my ground and peer at the being with my true vision, tapping into my angelic grace, a power that I have almost let dwindle into nothing, to see what, or better yet, who, is visiting us. As I squint at the figure, its shape shifts again into something more familiar, a woman dressed in muted colors with long dark hair.
"You still have your angelic sight, Castiel," she says with a smile, voice subdued, dark eyes twinkling with a supernatural light. "I thought you'd have lost that long ago."
"Tessa," I breathe out, the blood in my veins freezing as I glance from her to your prone form and back. I pinch my eyes closed for a moment and focus on the air whistling in through my nose and out between my teeth, trying to keep myself from panicking. "I had a feeling that you'd be making an appearance soon," I mutter through numb lips before I open my eyes to find that she is still there, her lips still curved into a smile albeit a bit more apologetic one. I move to your side, reaching for a calloused hand that had been resting at your side, intertwining my fingers with yours as I stare down your reaper from long ago.
"Dean's been away from his home long enough," she says, inching closer to your bedside, hands resting just on the sidebar, waiting for the appropriate time to touch your hand, your arm, anything, to guide you towards your final resting place. I know what she is saying is true. You escaped her guidance to a better place years ago after your father sold his soul for your life, upsetting the balance of things for a while I suppose. It's only fitting that she's the one to collect you, but I don't want to let you go. I know this is selfish, but I can't imagine a life without you.
"Castiel." Her voice is soft, but commanding, catching my attention so that I'm meeting her eye to eye. As if she knew my train of thought, which she probably did for I am not the only grieving partner to be left behind, she whispers "He'll be okay, where he's going. I can promise you that." I stare at her for a beat, trying to decipher the meaning behind her words. I can tell that she is being truthful. When she takes you, you'll be free from pain, from heartache. I take in a deep breath, holding it in long enough so that my head begins to feel fuzzy before I let it out, eyes closed tight as I gear myself up to make the toughest decision I've ever had to consider.
And that's when I feel it, a tiny squeeze to my cold fingers. I would have most likely missed it if I hadn't been so in tune to you. Both Tessa and I turn to you, but your eyes are only on me, can only see me. You squeeze my fingers again, clearing your throat, the noise grating in the silence of the room.
"Cas," you begin slowly, words tumbling from your lips on the ghost of a breath. I lean over you further to catch everything you're saying, your voice so soft and garbled from days of misuse. "Who are you talkin' to?" you ask, your question causing me to pause and cast a nervous glance to Tessa. She just shrugs her shoulders, lips pressed tight to avoid from speaking and handing out advice. You look from me to the empty space to your left, your breath leaving in a whoosh of air as you ask, "Reaper?" There's nothing I can do but squeeze your hand and nod my head yes.
"Guess I should've laid off all those bacon burgers," you say weakly to try and lighten the mood. Despite myself, I still find my lips curling into a smile. Tessa, too, shakes her head, her smile a bit brighter. The moment doesn't last long, though, your own smile fading as you look up into the empty air to your left, eyes squinting to try and see through the veil. I assume it worked after a short beat because your eyes grew wider, lips pursing together in a low whistle turned puff of air. You stare for a moment before turning your gaze back to me.
"It's Tessa," I say, answering your unspoken question. I look from you to her, locking eyes with her as I continue, "She's here to guide you."
You squeeze my fingers again, tugging lightly on my hand. I look back down to find that your eyes are shining with fear, the bravado and jokes gone. There is a tear glistening on your cheek and I'm at a loss. "There's no need for tears," I say, unsure of how to go about consoling you as I wipe away your troubles with the brush of my thumb.
"I don't want to go back," you whisper, turning away from me, head tilted down so I can't see your anguish. The words shock me to my core, my mind not able to comprehend your meaning. When it finally clicks, the breath leaves me in a rush, my chest feeling as if it's concaving. "Hell? You think you're going back to hell?"
You keep your face turned away from me, not allowing me to see the defeat. I call you by name, trying to get you to just look up, to look me in the eye so you can see the truth. I'm the one that raised you from perdition, the one that knitted your soul back together piece by piece, and I'm the one that did everything in my power, fell for you, to keep you from the turmoil and pain of going through it all again. I take your chin between my thumb and index finger, grip loose so as not to hurt you, making you look up at me. "I saved your soul for heaven, Dean," I say, the words slow and clear. "You're going home."
You take in a deep breath, letting it out slow, your eyes closing for a moment. I can see the moment when you finally resign yourself to this; your face relaxes, pinched eyebrows slackening, lips parting slightly on an exhale.
"I'm ready," you say softly, opening your eyes to look from me to Tessa. You reach for my hand for what would be the last time, and I gladly intertwine my fingers with yours. I brush back your hair, now thin and gray, from your forehead and bend down to press my lips to your wrinkled forehead. As I pull away, you give me a watery smile before nodding your head to me as a wordless goodbye. I do the same, finding myself unable to say the words, my throat closing up as I try to hold back the wave of emotion threatening to take hold.
"Don't worry, Castiel," Tessa says, startling me as she unfreezes from her place and inches closer to the bed. "He'll be fine," she says with a smile before touching your arm. I stand there and watch as you sit up in bed, move so that your feet are now touching the floor, and stand up. Except it's not really you, but your spirit. Tessa steps around the bed and stands next to your ethereal form, taking your hand before stepping forward toward the wall. As you near it, the hard cement wall begins to shimmer like asphalt on a hot day. Right before my eyes you pass through the wall with Tessa, a light shining in the moment you disappear so bright that I have to turn away.
The machines begin their cacophony of noise as the heart monitor begins to lose a heartbeat to, well, monitor. And at that moment, as the many monotonous beeps quickly turn into one long tone, Sam chooses to make an appearance, dropping his coffee cup to the floor in a moment of shock, brown liquid shooting over the rim and splattering the floor. He shouts to me to call for help, rushing to your side and pressing two fingers to your neck to check for a pulse. He shouts a few other choice words, calls me a name that I don't care for, but I can't fully hear it. All I'm focusing on is your prone form lying on the bed, slowly growing cold because it's too late.
As the nurses begin to rush in, one of them wheeling a crash cart in front of them, turning so quickly to angle it at your bedside that it precariously tips on two wheels before righting itself, I make my final decision: I'll follow you into the dark. I can't see myself staying here without you, there's just no meaning. I gave everything for you. I rescinded my membership to a higher club; I've let most of my grace dwindle so that I'm just a shell of an angel, an empty carcass left to slowly rot. Yet, I'm almost giddy at the prospect of returning home, even though I know that I'll never be able to make the trek back to Earth because I'll be spent. I catch Sam's eye and nod to him, giving him the same wordless goodbye that I gave you, except this one a little less painful. He looks at me in confusion, a question forming on his lips, I can tell, but, in the moment our eye contact is broken by a passing nurse, I'm gone.