Something British this Way Comes
Sometimes monsters aren't the only ones who prey on others.
-o0o-
"Cas…no…Cas!" Dean cried out as the angel fell or more like crumpled against him. Something started soaking through his clothes and Dean was horrified at the sight of Cas' blood covering his fingers.
Dean got an armful of a wounded angel and he looked up only to stare at the grinning visage of the man who stabbed his angel.
"Three down, one to go," Arthur said in a calm tone that belied the savage expression on his face. Before the assassin could do anything else, Dean felt the familiar pull of being transported through space. He closed his eyes briefly and fought against the urge to vomit when they reappeared in the iron bunker.
An agonized moan shook Dean out of his dazed state and the body in his arms became heavier. Dean quickly leaned against the wall and gently turned Cas over.
"Fuck…fuck…" Dean cursed and he grabbed Cas' face in his hand. "C'me on…wake up, Cas!"
Blue eyes fluttered open and Dean's heart plummeted at seeing how dull they were. They were usually so bright with feeling, either of sorrow or the rare occurrence of happiness.
"Hello….Dean." Castiel managed to say before moaning in pain.
"Cas! Don't….don't you fucking leave me! Don't…" His words were shushed by a tender hand on his cheek. Cas never dared to do this while he was alive and well for he knew Dean's discomfort at sharing feelings. The fact alone shocked him and his body shook at the way the thumb caressed his cheek, soft and light. He gasped for breath and clamped a hand over Cas', afraid that if he let go, then Cas would leave him forever.
"I…love…you. Ever…ever since I rescued you…we…we both loved each other…"
"God…don't…don't say that," Tears welled in Dean's eyes and the hunter blinked his eyes furiously, not wanting Castiel to see him as a sniveling shell of a man.
"But…being resurrected…you couldn't remember…" Cas coughed weakly and blood dribbled from the angel's mouth. The crimson set against pale skin starkly reminded Dean of a time when he caused that to happen and he stifled a sob. Instead, he merely clutched Cas tighter to him, his forehead bumping gently against the angel's.
"Sshh, damn it. Don't talk…save your strength," Dean whispered not unkindly to him and another wave of utter sadness and loss crested over his being, causing him to cry out in frustration.
"…Dean…look-look at me…please," the voice was so soft, so gentle that it shook Dean from his despair. Green eyes gazed down at Cas, noticing how brightly the blueness of his eyes shone. Was Cas gaining strength? Was that why he wanted him to look at him?
God….I…I do love him…
Then, whatever issues he had with kissing another dude just flew out of the window. Cas was dying…he deserved an admission and Dean leaned closer till their lips brushed against each other. Finally, at the merest contact, Dean poured out all his fears, his love for the dying angel into the kiss.
"Cas…I love you…please…" Dean breathed out against Cas' lips. Cas' eyes closed and Dean felt his last breath enter him.
Expectantly, Cas' eyes glowed white and for once the hunter was able to bear the stunning hot glare as Cas' grace billowed out and exploded from the body.
When it ebbed out, Dean was left to stare at the burned display of wings that clearly told the hunter that the angel had indeed died in his arms. He, however, didn't have time to mourn the loss of Castiel, as the door to the bunker opened and slow, measured footsteps echoed throughout the empty room.
"Ah, Dean Winchester," the familiar crisp voice said and Dean reluctantly looked up to glare at the man who was responsible for this.
"Seems a shame that Castiel stepped in the way but we had planned that too, knowing how close he would have been to his charge."
"You….you planned this?" White hot rage started to bubble over his grief, almost overwhelming it to the point that he couldn't see the well-dressed man standing so smugly before him. What he did see so clearly was an odd looking blade in Arthur's hand, still dripping wet with blood, and Dean somehow knew that it was embedded deep into Cas' body not too long ago. He could still see the way Cas' eyes widened in shock and how the angel slumped quietly against him, blood soaking into both of their clothes. The memory of how the man who stabbed Cas smirked angered him before Cas managed to transport them to the iron bunker in a last ditch effort to save Dean.
"Well, we knew that your attack dog would be close by. After all, we had been studying you ever since Lady Toni first met your brother."
Jesus Christ…no wonder they knew how to clear out the bunker so fast.
"It's a shame, however," Arthur continued and the man stepped forward, not at all intimidated by how Dean slowly stood up, with Castiel's angel blade in his hand. "I do love angels."
Dean's grip on his weapon tightened at how Arthur said the last part, as if he wanted to do more than study angels.
"Why are you here," Dean asked and he took a few steps to the right, to where he was circling his once work partner.
"To get rid of the world its monsters. That includes angels too. They're not supposed to be on Earth. None of them are." Arthur calmly stepped by the cooling body of his friend and Dean's heart clenched like a fist when the British man casually kicked one of the feet, as if he was just kicking a pathetic toy out of the way.
"Seems like you're the monster here," Dean growled and he got into his defensive stance, knowing that Arthur would always make the first move. Despite his seeming lack of intelligence, Dean had trusted his instincts from the beginning of working with this man. He took notes on how Arthur handled his hunts, what made him tick and what made him smile that smug grin.
"Hmmm," Arthur chuckled, "in order to fight monsters, sometimes you have to be like them."
The phrase, while slightly different from what Cas had said to him a year earlier, made Dean aware of how intuitive his angel could be and of how he could never get Cas back to say he was sorry.
"You need to pay attention, Dean," Arthur called to him and it was a good thing he listened for the man quickly turned only to strike at him with another blade, a cruel-looking scythe that seemed too comfortable to be held by a man.
The hunter instinctively stepped back and blocked it with his own weapon. As it clanged harshly against Arthur's, Dean swore he could feel Castiel's grace seeping through his hand, as if the angel was here fighting by his side. However, as he dodged another attempted strike at his abdomen, he tripped over something and landed on his back, a fatal mistake in any fight.
Arthur, like any predator seeing its chance to finish off its prey, lunged at Dean and it was only by sheer luck that Dean caught the man's hand in time, with the blade close to his throat.
"Seems fitting that you would die by his side," Arthur laughed in his face, taunting Dean to dare take a look at the corpse that used to be Castiel. Not rising to the bait, Dean managed to deter the knife's current track just enough to where it was at his collarbone instead.
His strength was failing him, however, as wounds and exhaustion from the earlier fighting began to take its toll on him. The knife slipped ever closer to him until it pierced the skin and muscle. Agony shot through his entire body and his right arm suddenly became numb. The only thing that kept Dean from giving up was wanting to wipe that smug grin off the agent's face.
"You know, Dean," Arthur whispered to him, "I always wondered what fucking an angel would be like. Must be Heaven, huh? Too bad we'll both never know."
White hot rage fueled Dean like a shot of adrenaline to the heart. No way this bastard was gonna talk about Cas like that. He let the knife go through his chest and clamped down on the man's hands, forcing Arthur to kneel over his shoulder.
"Go to hell, you son of a bitch," Dean growled and he bit into the side of the neck, where the carotid artery would be. The shrill scream brought him a brief moment of sick satisfaction and Arthur stumbled back, his hand clamped tightly unto the bleeding wound.
Dean slowly got up and he wavered unsteadily on his feet for a bit before grabbing the lapels of the man's jacket. Ignoring the fact that his enemy's knife was in his chest, he reared his head back only to bring it down against Arthur's nose. Blood spurted out into his forehead and Arthur cried out in agony. The man fell back onto his knees, blood spilling out horrifically on the floor from his throat and nose.
"Go ahead and kill me, Dean," Arthur managed to gasp out. "If I go to hell, I can just come back and find you again."
"You do that," Dean replied and he thrust the angel blade upwards, into the man's mouth and through the head before viciously pulling it out. The man didn't even have time to scream and finally, finally, the last look on his face was one of utter shock that Dean Winchester had bested the London's Chapter most successful agent.
Killing the man brought Dean a modicum of satisfaction but it still didn't bring Cas back to him. As the realization of what the man had done to his life, tearing his family apart one by one till Dean was left with nothing, agony over took him and he stepped back to lean against the wall where Castiel was, only to slide down in a bloodied heap. The angel blade clattered uselessly to the side and Dean groaned as the room began to darken. He reached out for Cas' hand and fought back the tears as the coldness of his angel's hand seeped into his.
"Well," another British drawl echoed in the chamber but sounding so far, far away. "It seems like you handled feathers' death quite nicely."
Why was Crowley here? Did he come to gloat about how out of the way Cas is, was now.
"Crowley, for once, can you just not say anything?" Another voice called out to him and Dean didn't want to believe it. He must be hallucinating. Yes, this was all just a delusion brought about by his own impending doom. At least, at least he gets to meet Cas in heaven, if the angel wants to even see him.
A blurred figure crouched down in front of him and, even in his fading state of mind, Dean could tell that the scruffy beard and those impossibly kind eyes belonged to only one being.
"Oh Dean," God, no, Chuck spoke softly to him. "All these years you've never said those words to anyone, not even Sammy. But Cas, well, he was one of my favourites for a reason."
"Pl-please…" he gasped and he could feel the blood filling into his lung. His eyes pleaded with Chuck to bring Cas to life.
"Sshh, my son. It's time to rest. You've earned it." Dean let out a pained whimper as Chuck covered his eyes and he soon plunged into darkness.