Hi guys! Wow, it's been a while since I've posted anything x_x Well I wrote this a while ago, but I thought I should put it up here as well. Destiel drabble. Enjoy :)

-Hana

Dean can't swallow, can't move, can't even think. His green eyes grow larger by the second, overcome with the horror and despair that comes with knowingthat you can't do a damn thing. Not this time. Cas is on the ground, clutching his side, spitting out an endless train of blood, rivers of red dribbling down his face like sweat. There is a dark, ominous stain painted across the angel's waist, liquid steadily seeping, growing, forming a velvet puddle under his body.

And the light, it is shining, flickering through the blood and torn flesh. Castiel lifts his gaze, blue eyes so tired, so worn. The lump in Dean's throat thickens. He wants to move away his eyes from the angel's dying form, doesn't want to look on while his best friend, his only friend, slips into oblivion. But he doesn't move.

There's still a war raging outside, even though it will all end soon. Sam's all bloody and torn, but still strong, still breathing. He's got Jesse (the kid that hell desperately wants, that heaven desperately needs) in a tight, protective embrace, as if he lets the boy die, he'll be letting himself die as well. Strangely, Sam looks much more afraid, much more desperate than Jesse. The kid looks…well…he looks calm.

"Take the kid outside, and run, Sammy." Dean says quietly. His eyes are still trained on Cas, still blankly looking at the light that rises and falls from the ripped skin.

"But Dean…" Sam starts, gaze shifting frantically from Cas, to Jesse, to Dean. He looks scared, like a scared little kid. Dean hasn't seen that look in years. Since Jessica. Since Dad. Since the Harvelles. Silently, he wonders if whatever died in Sam that dark, dark night in Cold Oak was somehow revived by the hunter's growing bond with the anti-Christ. The thought both pains and comforts Dean.

"Just go, Sam." Dean repeats. He shifts his eyes towards Sam, catches his gaze. The younger Winchester swallows, giving small trembling nods. "Come on Jesse," he says quietly. "Let's go find Kevin and Meg."

They shuffle into battle-torn distance. Dean looks on for a bit, watching his brother all but carry the kid towards the Impala. He would be worried for their safety, but Jesse's finally got a grip on his powers (though they aren't as omnipotent as they were during the Apocolypse), and Sam's about as ferocious as a mother bear around the boy.

A sputtering cough grabs his attention once more. Cas's struggling to sit up, writhing in a pool of blood. He walks swiftly towards the wounded angel, kneeling down next to him, helping him sit in an upright position. He's practically cradling him in his arms. Another time, another place, Dean would have cringed at the idea, at having a "chick-flick moment". Right now he doesn't give a fuck.

"That's…that's some papercut you got there," Dean jokes. His eyes are far from humorous, though; they are torn, injured, so very hurt.

Castiel manages to roll his eyes over to Dean, cracking a small hint of a smile. "It was…necessary." the angel mutters before taking in a wheezing breath. "You and I both know my grace was the only way Jesse could have lived." For a brief moment, Dean distantly recalls a time, so very long ago, when Castiel would have never referred to Jesse by his name.

"He's safe now," Dean says. He gives Cas a half-hearted smirk. "You'll be good as new yourself, too. In no time." As if on cue, the light burning from Castiel's side flickers brightly.

The angel winces, groaning slightly. "Dean…"

"Come on, Cas" Dean's saying, unconsciously rocking back and forth. "Come on, you'll be okay. Just hold on."

Castiel glances up to him, his eyes murky and unfocused. "Dean…" he manages to say before erupting into another erratic fit of coughs.

"Stay with me," the hunter says, his voice threatening to break. "Stay with me, don't you dare close your eyes on me, Cas. Inias is close by, he'll heal you no problem." Dean's grinning, that awful, painful smile he gives only when he knows there isn't any hope.

"Dean."

Dean stops his rambling, surprised by the sudden hand that grips onto his leather jacket with a vice-like hold. Castiel's steadied his dazed look, his form is trembling with sheer concentration on staying alive. He spits out another stream of blood before opening his mouth to speak. "I am dying, Dean." he says quietly. There is a calmness in his voice, a sort of acceptance that not even Dean can argue against.

"Cas…" Dean's voice is cracked, breaking, about to shatter into a million pieces. "Cas I can't see anyone else die. Bobby, Jo, Ellen…they're all dead. All I got is you and Sam."

Castiel's grip is shaking, his blue eyes, so distant and alien before, swimming in a sea of emotion. "It's alright, Dean," he breathes out. "You…and Sam…all you need…" It's getting harder to talk; there's a thick, wet feeling in his lungs, and a part of him knows he's drowning in his own blood. His sight is getting blurry; he feels as if he is watching the world from the bottom of the sea.

"No, Cas. No more dying." Dean croaks out. He doesn't know it, but he's got a hand over where Castiel's holding his jacket in a death-grip. "You're like family. You're my best friend. My brother. My…" he loses his train of thought, suddenly numb to everything but the pulsing, vibrant blue that is Castiel. There's sorrow there, pain and misery, so full and acute. There's an ache that stings, that lashes out with each look into the angel's eyes. But there's also…

He doesn't remember when he bent down, or when buried his hand into the short, black hair. He doesn't remember whether he leaned down or Cas reached up. All he can think of is the feel of an angel's lips against his own, chapped, pressed firm. There is the coppery taste of blood mingling with the salt of tears. Dean doesn't care. He doesn't give a fuck. It's all Cas. It's Castiel, with his final embrace of humanity, saying goodbye (hello) to something that could have been, might have been, should have been. It's Dean emptying all of his sorrow and despair, flinging it all into the wind. It's them becoming…what? Giving answers and even more questions.

Dean pulls away slowly, leaning his forehead against Castiel's for just a moment before looking into his eyes. There's life there, still flickering sporadically. But the light in his eyes are dimming, and the light of his grace glowing brighter.

"No more dying, Cas," Dean repeats softly, running his thumb against the angel's lips. Castiel's dazed eyes shift towards Dean, full of something that Dean doesn't know what to call. But there is a smile, a grin so sincere and burning brightly, and Dean thinks that maybe Heaven's scorched its mark into his soul. "Okay," the angel says.

And the light in his eyes blows out.