Title: Come Back When You Can
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Warnings: Major character death. Sad!Dean.
Word Count: 628
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, of course. I also do not own Castiel, sadly.
Summary: The wings of an angel singe the ground when they die, but they singe skin, too. Sometimes trying to live with a permanent reminder of the one you couldn't save is hard, something Dean realizes when Castiel dies in his arms. Warnings: Major Character Death. Prompt Fill.
Prompt: Cas dies in Dean's arms, leaving scorched wing marks on the hunter's skin for the rest of his life.
It was always the first thing anyone asked. 'What a peculiar scar, how did you get it?' Dean knew that he shouldn't let himself get defensive over such a simple, honest question. They had no way of knowing the history behind it, and it wasn't as if he planned to tell him. He knew he shouldn't let it get to him, but he did. He hated the scar, hated that it was a permanent reminder that, for once, death could not be cheated. The scar took control of his life from the moment he got it. He turned his back on Sam, on hunting, everything. He didn't know how to live anymore.
Dean had seen many angels die. It more or less came with his job, especially once the apocalypse started to kick in. However, there was one angel he never though he'd have to see die. Well, he had seen him die many times, but Dean never once thought that he wouldn't return. Cas had always been so… stubborn. No matter how many times he died, he would be back right when Dean needed him. This time, however, was different. This time, Dean knew Cas was gone for good.
Dean stared at his reflection, lifting the hem of his shirt so his torso was bare. His eyes wandered across it. The scars were so detailed. He could see every individual feather that reached across his otherwise bare skin. They were burned in, much like the handprint on his arm. They were Cas' wings, or a portion of them. They had been huge. Even Sam, who had been a good six feet away, had a few feathers on his arm.
Dean got the worst of it, though. When the angel blade had been stabbed into Castiel's back, he had been standing directly in front of Dean, telling him that he needed to take Sam and run, that they had no chance and that he would hold them off for as long as he could. Everything after that happened so quickly. One moment Cas was pushing him forward with a hand on his shoulder, and in the next he was falling forward, directly into Dean's arms. He could feel Cas' blood on his arm and, looking down, he could see the tip of the angel sword piercing through his stomach.
Before he could form any sort of coherent thought, there was a blinding white light, and then a burning pain across his torso as Castiel breathed his final breath. His eyes, normally such a bright blue, were cold and… dead. For a moment, Dean couldn't comprehend what was going on. Slowly, though, it began to sink in.
He shouted and cried, shaking Castiel's limp body, begging the angel to stop fucking around and get his ass back into his body. It wasn't until Sam dragged him away that Dean began to calm. He would never be the same, though. He would drop Sam off at Bobby's before getting in the Impala and driving far away. He would call on every demon he could think of, but none would know of a way to raise an angel, nor did any wish to help him. He would even look for God, though the guy had been gone for a long time.
Eventually, Dean was forced to continue living. There were moments when he contemplated taking a gun to his brain, but he could never pull the trigger. The memory of Cas, of how hard he fought for Dean, stopped him every time. Instead, he would look down at the only thing he had lest of Castiel; the imprint of the wings that had dragged him out of hell. The wings of the angel that Dean had unknowingly fell in love with.