Prologue
"Fuck you!"
"Dean…"
"No," The eldest Winchester jerks his arm from the angel's grip. "we tried our best. We did everything you asked for! And this is what we get?"
"Dean, please," Castiel begs, stepping forward to grab Dean's hand. His foot thumps Sam Winchester's wheezing frame in the ribs. The Archangel had struck the half-breed down for much less than how Dean is acting now. And for once Castiel does not wish to challenge God's Will any further. "not here." He finally adds.
Dean turns to face the angel, anger rolling off him in waves. "Then when?" He asks through a tight mouth. "when we're back in Hell? When we're being torn open day after day because these dicks are heartless?"
Castiel opens his mouth to counter him, to say something that will deter him from his chosen path. But the image of him and Dean in Hell; an angel on the rack being tortured by…
Dean squeezes his fingers and Castiel can feel the tremble that vibrates through both their bodies. Dean shakes his head, eyes pleading.
"Don't do that," Dean says. "don't put me there again. Not you."
Castiel nods his head slowly and mouths, I'm sorry. Dean threads their fingers together and turns his attention back to the archangel still standing so fucking still in front of them.
Almost like there was a switch, Dean's rage blows up again. He clenches his jaw and asks, "Now what? Do we just go about our happy little lives, pretending we didn't just kill the fucking world?"
"No. You won't remember the Apocalypse or anything before it," the Archangel says matter of fact. "Everything you know now will be as if it never existed. As if you – never existed."
Castiel feels the squeeze again, and thinks it would almost hurt if he weren't still an angel. Which is where this is going, he knows it. The thought makes his stomach tighten, makes his mouth dry up, and all he can do is squeeze back. Because he can't make any of this alright, he can't tell Dean that the archangel is lying and that he can't do this. 'Cause he can.
And he will.
God, he is.
"What…What the hell do you mean?" Dean asks. Not because he doesn't know, but because it hasn't registered yet.
"Dean...I'm so sorry," Castiel whispers.
The hunter looks at the angel and for a minute it seems like they are in some supernatural romance movie, except that things like this don't happen in the movies. The heroes never get ripped apart for failing. They never stand before something so absolute and wonder whether or not they will ever see their soul mate again. And if they do, it's always comedy, always something to laugh at.
But there is nothing funny about the way the Archangel says, "Because I believed in you once, I'll give you five minutes to say goodbye."
And no one laughs when Dean drops to his knees and clutches his brother for all he's worth. There's no humor in a family torn apart and never being able to repair the damages.
"You can't – do this," Sam challenges, still short of breath, recovering from his mistakes.
"But I am," the Archangel replies. His hazel eyes flash like a strobe light, daring Sam to try and do something about it.
Sam does nothing, says nothing, just wraps his arms around his brother's shoulders and buries his face against Dean's hunched back.
"I'm sorry," he cries, letting the lump in his throat dictate the tones in his voice. "I…I never meant –"
"Sammy," A sob rips from Dean's throat as his body nearly convulses. Sam closes his eyes, though it does nothing to keep him from feeling his brother's desperation. Because he finally gets it, he thinks. Finally understands that Dean's pain is his and vice versa. And maybe, just slightly, he understands Dean a little better, too.
But this is their extent.
"Time's up," The Archangel says, clasping his fingers together behind his back.
They all grab for each other; Sam holding Dean holding Castiel holding Sam. No one wants to let go, this is their last rebellion and they'll follow through to the end.
The Archangel sighs and mumbles something harsh.
"Fine," he huffs. "Have it your way."
Everything goes white.