Blood. Blood everywhere. Everywhere around him, pumping through his veins, carrying the adrenaline. Blood is all he can see, all he can taste, all he wants. The blade is speaking for him, the blade is making him kill them, but it doesn't matter. The blade and Dean are one now, there's no reason to fight it.
He's enjoying it. Maybe the blade makes him think that. Or maybe, just maybe it's actually Dean. Maybe buried deep inside him there was this want to kill. Kill because of all the people he failed, disappointed and got killed along his way. All the repressed feelings of regret and anger flowing through him and now it was time to let them out. This wasn't just about killing, it was also about revenge. It felt like justice. It felt right, and damn nothing ever felt right in his life so Dean was embracing this moment with all his being.
Slicing around through the demons trying to surround him like it was a walk in the park made him feel powerful and for once he knew he wasn't going to fail. Because there was no more mission to fail, there were no more people to let down. It was just kill or be killed, and with the blade and the mark, Dean knew the second was not an option, so he kept going. The room was small so he didn't have space to move around but he didn't even need to, the demons were launching themselves at him, getting massacred one by one. There was no light sources in the room but he saw everything clear thanks to the adrenaline. The blade started taking over everything that was left of Dean, blurring his thoughts and mind, making him forget that the goal of this was to kill Crowley and the demons were just a hurdle in their way. He was focused on this, focused on the killing, on the sound of his heart pumping blood through him, on the blood of the demons spilling around him.
The demons stopped coming after a while but Dean couldn't snap out of it. He needed more, he looked around the room in search of a target and he found it. It was a tall demon, walking towards him in a slow rate. Something was wrong. He was too relaxed. Why wasn't he afraid of Dean? Couldn't he see the bodies surrounding him? Suddenly, the shadow of the man, it's face clouded by the blade, put both his hands on Dean's shoulders. He started mumbling; talking to Dean, but the words weren't getting to him, they were a slur like the demon was drunk. The blade started twitching in his hand. He knew what he had to do, why was he sitting here, letting this filthy creature talk to him? What if it was cursing him?
So he swung it at him when suddenly a rustle was heard behind him and his arm stopped in mid air, gripped by someone else's. The demon holding him back was powerful, that was for sure. He could have a lot of fun with him, like a fair and square battle, no blade. Yes, that was a good idea. He punched the demon in front of him with his free hand, knocking him on the ground, and probably also knocking him out. Then he turned around in a quick moment; the other demon, startled by the movement lost his balance. Dean used this to his advantage and pounced on him. He swung the blade and buried it deep in the floor next to the person's head as a warning. The thing underneath him started talking, mumbling, shuffling, trying to escape but it felt as if it were afraid of something else, something other than Dean. Why wasn't it trying to hit him? To kill him. That was what the demon wanted to do, right?
It didn't matter now. He started swinging his fists at it, punching it's chest and face, blood bursting everywhere. It felt good. He felt powerful. He hears the words now. The words the one underneath him is chanting over and over again. It's a mix of "Dean", "please", "stop" and some other words he couldn't understand. The demon knew his name and it was asking for mercy. He couldn't stand beggars so he took the blade from the place it had been shoved in the floor. He took it and then pushed it into the man's chest achingly slow, just barely touching his heart. Not deep enough to kill him, just enough to feel the excruciating pain. The person's hand was desperately clinging to Dean's sleeve as he was mumbling his name. And it felt familiar. He knew this voice. He knew it like the back of his hand, yet he shoved the blade deeper into the man's chest. A bright light filled the room as Castiel's grip on Dean's sleeve loosened.
The light cleared his thoughts. He dropped the blade, staring at what he had done. Cas. Cas beneath him. Mutilated, bruised and scarred, and… dead. And the worst part was that he did all of this. Every bruise forming on Castiel's face, every single drop of blood coming out of his broken nose, it was all his fault. He got up, shaking and backed away. He backed away from the corpse, staring at the wing pattern left on the floor beneath Castiel. He felt sick, so sick. The whole room reeked of blood and death and he couldn't take it. It was his fault. He failed everyone again. He lost a loved one. Who did he have now? It was him and Sammy all over again. This couldn't be it. Castiel might've been still alive; maybe the light was actually him zapping out of the body and into another vessel. Yes, Cas was fine. Dean turned around and saw that the other person he knocked out was Sam. His mind was slowly catching up. Sam saw him go all terminator on the demons so he started talking to him. He put his hands on his shoulders and then Dean tried to kill him, blinded by the blade. Castiel then zapped behind him and grabbed his arm, saving Sam and Dean… Dean killed him. He returned to the angel's body, straddling him again, this time with no intention to kill him. This time he was trying to bring him to life. He couldn't lose him. Not now. Not ever. This was his angel lying under him. His angel in his silly trademark trenchcoat. His angel, "always happy to bleed for the Winchesters". This. Was. His. Angel.
Was.
He started shaking Castiel, yelling his name. He then gave up and started removing Cas' blood stained hair from his forehead. He cleaned the angel up with his sleeve, cleaned him from all the blood and then started muttering "I'm sorry, Cas. I'm so sorry", feeling tears form in the back of his eyes. He prayed to god to bring him back, but nothing happened. Apparently there's a limited number of favours you can ask from God and Dean had long crossed the line.
Dean looked in his eyes. The angel's blue, wide open eyes were staring back at him, emotionless and somehow it felt as if he was alive. But that blank stare didn't bring him butterflies like it did every other time. It brought him pain. He felt his heart shattering into pieces. It was over. This was it. Where do angels go when they die? He hoped it was a nice place. Maybe it was a place where they could be together. Yes, that'd be nice, indeed. A big garden, with bees and flowers. Dean laughed at the thought. Cas would really like that. And they would walk around, and they wouldn't have to fight anymore and the angel would teach him about Heaven and Dean would make him understand better why mini bars were as awesome as they were and what beer was good, and they would watch crappy television together and Sammy would be there too, like a sappy chick flick. "Sitting in pajamas and braiding Sam's hair". He smiled, a bitter sweet smile as the tears started rolling at the things he'll never have, at the opportunities he lost, at the chances he never took. He would never see Cas again. It wasn't the vessel that mattered. It was Cas, his essence, the nerdy angel who didn't understand sarcasm. His angel.
He thought about a few of his favourite memories with Cas and his annoying habits that he learned to love about him, like the way he tilts his head sideways when he was confused. Used to. Used to tilt his head. He buried his head in the crook of the angel's neck and started sobbing, repeating the name again and again until it didn't make sense anymore. Until they were just 3 letters, without a meaning, without something behind them. Just like Cas' eyes didn't have anything left behind them. The light had left them and Dean couldn't stand seeing this. So he started crying and talking. He talked about nothing and everything and he couldn't stop. He wanted to just let it all out. He said everything he never got to say while the angel was alive and he thought about how sad he was that now, when nothing could be done he was confessing it all. Funny how death could change a person.
There was a sound behind him. Sam got on his own feet, recovering from the shock, looking around in disgust. He then saw Dean, hovered over Castiel's body.
"Dean" he whispered
Dean lifted his head from the crook of Cas' neck. His head was completely clear now. He knew what he had to do. He knew what he wanted to do.
"I'm sorry, Sammy" he said, silent tears still streaming down his face. He picked the blade up, fingers now steady. There will be pie and his baby, and Sam, Bobby, Jo, Ellen… and Cas. Cas will be there. If he has faith, if he believes it, he will be there. Maybe it won't be his Castiel, but at least it won't be like this corpse beneath him. They'll be happy. He smiled with the corner of his mouth.
"DEAN, NO!" was the last thing he heard.
And then it all went black.