Title: And a Little Child Will Lead Them
Author: Lassroyale
Rating: PG
Warning: Spoilers for Season 4 Finale, I suppose
Disclaimer: All the pretty boys are belong to...Kripke. Not me, sadly. I just play and torment,
Parings: Dean/Castiel(implied)
Summary:" The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them." - Isaiah 11:6
A/N: This was written for a comment fic prompt from mummyluvr314 on live journal about two weeks ago(or more) and I just finished it. Well, sort of. The writing has been coming slowly as of late and I PROMISED myself that I would post something this week. THIS IS UNBETA'D. Apologies ahead of time for any errors.
So the prompt was: For some reason, my kink lately has been Dean not saving the world even though the angels told him he would. So: Gen (or slash), who stops Lucifer, if not Dean?
***
Dean will never forget the feeling of her hand within his as they walked along the cracked pavement and smoking debris which was all that was left of Las Vegas.
Her hand was small, delicate, and it fit so completely into his that he felt as if he could crush the bones of her fingers with a single squeeze. It was the hand of someone frail and it was shaking so badly that he could feel the tremors ripple through his arm up to the shoulder.
She walked along next to him with her head bowed, more girl than woman with knobby knees and an awkward, coltish gait. She hadn't quite grown into herself; her limbs were too long, her feet too big, and traces of baby fat made her face childish and round. She was soft and pale, with gentle brown eyes that at that moment were filled with terror.
Her pink, rosebud lips were pressed tightly together into a thin line. Dean thought it was to keep herself from screaming.
She clutched Dean's hand tighter but continued to walk resolutely forward, stumbling clumsily every so often over the uneven terrain. This girl, humanity's one last hope, was but a child...and Dean was walking her towards what should have been his fate.
Nothing moved to stop their solemn trek, though Dean caught glimpses of demons loitering in the shadows, black eyes both curious and insatiable as they trailed behind like hungry dogs. They loitered on the edges of the wide chasms that rent the earth, they lagged over the heated asphalt, and they played a version of Red Light Green Light with one another - always retreating whenever Dean would turn to glare over his shoulder.
Still, not one of them made a move towards the pair - nor would they. Dean and the girl were meant for another. They were meant for the grand finale - the final smear of paint on Lucifer's canvas - and woe to those who denied the Fallen of his fancy.
Beneath their feet, the ground rumbled like the purr of a well-sated cat.
***
They continued, never stopping, and simply walked forward. They knew that their destination would find them before they stumbled upon it.
The path was laid before them, the yellow brick road that led to Oz (oblivion) paved with teeth and fingernails. It was littered with torn feathers; the feeling of crushed velvet beneath their feet. A mix of tar and blood held the soil and rock together in a gooey mess, while the dying - people and things both good and not-so-good - twitched in their final death throes on either side.
A hand, no more than cracked flesh stretched over a brittle bone, reached up and grasped at the girl's ankles. It was attached to a bony protrusion that must have been an arm, which was held together by sheer will and half-chewed ligament. The face that stared up was unreadable, teeth broken and jagged against narrow, parched lips.
Dean couldn't tell if it had once been human, demon, or angel. It just fell into the broad category of: "victim of the Apocalypse". It was easier to think of things that way, to label them in easy boxes, but it didn't make the sleep come. It didn't lessen the heaviness that weighed upon the souls of those who were left alive to witness the unraveling of the world.
Dean aimed a kick at the bony fingers locked around the girl's ankle when she stopped him, one hand fluttering to his arm, her touch soft as butterfly wings. It stopped him immediately, foot poised, and he stepped back. He turned his attention to their surroundings and his eyes were hard and his jaw was clenched.
The girl knelt down before the battered soul and gently pried the fingers from her ankle. She touched its face, her palm flat against the bony ridge of the cheek. Her eyes were so full of love and gratitude and kindness that it made Dean's heart constrict every time he looked at her, which was why he didn't look at her directly if he could help it. The promise of peace and love was too much in this world of smoke, death, and ember.
"Thank you," whispered the girl quietly, "please be at peace." A sigh rose within the hollow moan of wind. It was the long, relieved sigh of an old man settling his weary bones after a long day. It lingered for a moment before fading entirely and the gaunt figure, whoever it may have been, was simply ash.
The girl rose and dusted off her knees, then reached up and held her hand out to Dean. He took it, took into him her strength and confidence for safekeeping, and guided her forward as she again began to tremble.
***
The further they walked the darker the world became around them and the more desolate, the more barren their surroundings became. Slowly, the demons that had followed them for miles began to drop away, having reached some invisible line that they wouldn't - or couldn't - cross. Further still, was Castiel.
The angel looked nothing like Jimmy Novak, for in this war, in this final rally of Heaven and Hell, no vessels were needed.
The toll of such a choice was near worldwide destruction. The battles of angels and demons had wounded the earth until she wept bitterly and held the edges of her torn and burnt body together with charred fingers. She grew wrathful when the land was desecrated, made barren where the vents of Hell bubbled up and oozed damnation like infected pustules. She shook with rage when her children, all of the living things that supped off of her vitality, were incinerated by fire and brimstone that rained down from Heaven itself.
Beneath the balls of his feet Dean could feel the earth shift and tremble, shaking like a mad dog trying to dislodge an infestation of fleas. Somewhere to the right he heard and felt a split in the ground open, the groan of shifting rock and pavement a bit like thunder as it cracked in a jagged line. It was a sound he had become accustomed to. It the sound of new fissure opening and it meant that Hell had just expanded its territory yet again.
The demons were winning and the angels had all but lost. Castiel was one of the few left.
***
Castiel's true form was that of light and movement, though overall looked to be close to human. He was sculpted more gracefully, the limbs elongated and fluid, the column of his neck as elegant as a swan's. His eyes were still the same shade of undefinable blue, however; a shade in which Dean had drowned himself on countless days and nights, losing himself in the angel's arms and lips.
It was a shade of blue he had come to love.
Castiel hefted a halberd on his shoulder and approached the pair as they drew near, the tips of his wings grazing the uneven ground. He sunk to his knees in front of the girl, head bowed in a gesture of reverence. The girl once again let go of Dean's hand and stepped forward. She placed her slender fingers on either side of Castiel's face, so small and delicate-looking against the glow of the angel's cheeks. She leaned forward and placed a petal-soft kiss upon his brow; the gesture one of a mother kissing her son.
"You have done well, Castiel," she said in a low, quiet voice, which reminded Dean of the stirring of dust on an old, forgotten tome. It was the sound of a wet quill scraping against parchment in an empty room. It was an ancient sound and it no more belonged to the girl than Jimmy Novak's voice had belonged to Castiel.
This girl, this young child just barely on the cusp of womanhood, was the last vessel that would be used by Heaven. She would be the one to greet Lucifer and the fallen angel would once again be reunited with whom he desperately sought.
"It will happen here," stated the girl with quiet assurance, "he comes now." Castiel rose swiftly and turned to look towards the West, where long shadows began to stretch across the land like clawed fingers. It covered everything it touched in inky darkness, stealing away light and hope all at once. The shadows moved steadily towards them, creeping slowly for time had little meaning in this final moment. In the distance like a great, slinking beast, Lucifer slouched towards them.
"This is not for you," stated the girl, no fear or trembling to be found in her eyes any longer for the one occupying her skin had taken over completely. "I must confront my brother alone." She turned to Dean, her eyes a myriad of hues all swirling into one another in constant flux. "You have done everything you were meant to do, Dean Winchester. It is time for you to go home."
The elder Winchester wasn't looking at the girl, however. He was fixated on the sight of Lucifer in the distance, sauntering towards them with slow, unhurried steps. His heart ached and his throat stretched to accommodate his words as he forced them through his suddenly constricted airway.
"Please take care of Sammy," he whispered, "he's scared, I know he is."
The girl reached out and took one of Dean's hand in both of her own. "I know," she replied, "and he will be joining you soon."
She turned from him then, her thin shoulders squared against the encroaching darkness. "It is time for you to go."
Dean felt Castiel move beside him and closed his eyes when the angel clasped his hand in his own. It was like his fingers were wrapped around a firebrand but it didn't matter. It would all be relative soon. However, he spared a look for the girl, question and concern in his eyes. His jaw was tense, teeth clenched tightly around the question he longed to ask.
"Do not worry, Dean, I have sent this vessel's soul away now. She has gone home in peace, as should you."
Dean nodded, slightly comforted by the knowledge. "I'm ready," he said, finally. He had said his goodbyes long before he had begun this journey, though he still felt a twinge of deep sorrow in his heart when he thought of his brother. "Come home soon, Sammy," whispered he.
Castiel gripped him tight as he had once before and spread his wings wide. There was a flash, a lightening strike bright against the approaching gloom, and they were gone. They went home.
The girl wore a benign smile as she watched the pair depart, and twisted back towards Lucifer as he approached with languid, slinky steps. When she spoke her words were soft, though the cadence twined on the currents of the air itself.
"Hello Samuel."
(The End.)