A/N: The page number sent for this was 17, sent anonymously. The entry I took from this page was Ankou - the Celtic personification of death. Upon further research, I came to discover that, according to Scottish lore on the personification of death, "a black, dark green or white dog known as a Cù Sìth took dying souls to the afterlife. Crowley being Scottish got me on the train thought of Hellhounds and...thus the chapter unfolded. I know I sort of went with a loose interpretation of the prompt entry but... I wanted it to remain true to what I had already created. I hope you all enjoy and please, please let me know what you think! This is my sort of... inner thoughts on how the demon!Dean plotline could go. I wanted it out in the world before the premier Tuesday and busted my depressed butt to achieve that. I am rather satisfied with the outcome. Had to actually take a small break from writing it because I was so emotionally invested in Dean.
Anyway! Read on, my wayward sons and daughters!
No longer being able to feel the bite of cold night air was something Dean still wasn't used to. Strutting around the dark, abandoned streets of Omaha, Nebraska in the middle of October wearing nothing but a black t-shirt felt unnatural. But he couldn't deny the effectiveness and added mobility of it. It was quite convenient not to feel cold any longer. It made him stronger, faster, more powerful.
And better able to track prey.
Flexing his fingers around the First Blade, Dean's candy-green eyes cut to pure black. "Come out, come out wherever you are…," he chuckled. His work boots barely made a sound upon the cement, maneuvering around the puddles of recently melted snow with ease. "Go on, sniff him out, Little Bitch," he grunted, motioning forward the beast walking a few steps behind him.
A particularly scruffy Hellhound whose fur was the likeness of black mold, gave a soft growl in acknowledgement to her new master. She padded silently off ahead of Dean, leaving him alone in the coming fog. "Told Crowley she'd come to appreciate the name," the demon said to himself, smirking at the canine-shaped shadow.
"Hellhounds don't have the mental or emotional capacity to appreciate pop culture references, Dean."
It had taken Castiel's last functioning ounce of stolen grace, but it had been worth it. Castiel had finally found Dean Winchester. One absolutely draining Enochian spell was all he had needed to obtain a location. And, after a hasty and hapless flight, the angel was finally looking upon his Righteous Man again after what felt like years away.
All he could hope now was that the effort was worth it. He could feel the fatigue in every single cell of his body. His knees were buckling and his breaths were coming in sharp rasps. Consciousness threatened to evade him, but he was battling tooth and nail with himself to hold on. His grip upon the corner of brick wall hiding his slumped form was that of a desperate man.
Dean was there. He was a mere thirty feet away. If Castiel could only hold on for a few moments longer – if he could strengthen himself for just a matter of minutes – he was sure he could find the courage to approach this demon of a man. It was these distressed thoughts alone that kept the fading angel in his shallowly cognizant state.
All of a sudden, a sharp scream pierced the dark night air. Castiel's eyes moved along with Dean's to watch a struggling form being drug upon the ground toward the demon. Dean crossed his arms, the satisfied smirk hard to miss upon his cruel lips. The leg that was within the Hellhound's jaws was snapped at a funny angle, gushing more blood upon the pavement than could be safe. Not that it mattered, the squealing man wouldn't be alive much longer.
"You can scream all you want, buddy!" Dean yelled back at the pathetic mass of human flesh. "No one can hear you! Call it a magical barrier around this alley you deserve to die in." To all other mortal creatures, the man would appear as an attractive and successful tall, dark, and handsome hunk. But Dean was no longer mortal. He could now see beyond that exterior shell and into the soul. Inside, this man looked just as slimy and despicable as he had on the outside when he'd traded his soul ten years previous. One snap of the fingers had transformed him from the pudgy, pale, bespectacled waste of oxygen he had been into a man that just looked the part of a successful businessman. A look he had wasted on gambling, bad investments, small-town success that mean near to nothing, and a long string of women who were so out of his league, they didn't much care for losing him after a one-night-stand.
He had squandered his gift and his life and now it was very near to ending.
Not a single fiber of Dean felt remorse for what he was about to do. The First Blade buzzed with the electricity of anticipation in his palm. It sung to him a song of righteous murder and satisfaction. Killing a man whose soul was so disgusting it curled his stomach would be an absolute pleasure.
"Please God, no! I'll do anything! Just spare me…." The man's voice trembled with pure fear. It was always in their last moments that people chose to become religious. A man pleading with God to spare him from a deal he'd made with a demon was a perfect example of just that.
His laugh sounding as chilling as the night air around them, Dean stepped closer to where the Hellhound had taken to gnawing upon the man's leg as if it were a treat. He affectionately patted the creature's head, running his fingers through the mangy 'fur'. He crouched down, his forearms resting upon his knees. His hands dangled in the space between himself and the pathetic excuse of a human, the Blade threateningly close to the man's chest. "God?" he questioned on a hiss, rolling his eyes back to their less-threatening green color. "Don't waste your breath, pal. God's dead.
"Right, Castiel?"
A physical chill running down Castiel's spine, he snapped his eyes up to meet Dean's. The demon was staring straight at the shadows that concealed him. He raised a brow, cocky as anything. Nothing less than proud of himself. To say the least, Castiel was shocked. He had underestimated Dean's power. Or had he merely carelessly overestimated how well he had hid himself due to his delirious state?
"Oh, yes, I can see you. Or more…see your presence. I like to call it Angel Radar – one of the more handy powers that come with the Knight of Hell title." Squinting his eyes just slightly, Dean tilted his head to the side. It looked as if he was having a hard time holding onto the image of the celestial being. "Although…you are hardly a blip, Castiel. Hardly there at all…."
No doubt, this meant that the endurance of Castiel's stolen grace was nearly extinguished. He could feel it in every breath he took. Every pump into his lungs felt more and more human in weight. Less special, less worthy, less heavenly. Plain. Boring. Pathetic. Clearing his throat, Castiel forced himself to stand taller and took a shaky step out of the shadows. It was taking all of his remaining energy to keep this strong facade. Inside, he was screaming in as much agony as the man covered in blood hanging from the Hellhound's jowls. His entire existence up until now, however, encouraged him to keep the pain hidden. Any weakness could yield a less-than-desired result. "Sam and I have been looking for you, Dean," he said bravely, only a slight waver to his deep timbre coming through. "But I'm sure you are already aware..."
Hallucination Dean had seemed to know that he was being searched high and low for. He just hadn't seemed to care. The sentiment was absolutely lost on him.
And Dream Dean was...somewhere in the happy middle. Somewhere this wasn't even spoken of. Maybe there would be soft whispers of thanks in the middle of the night, but he hadn't stayed in the delusion long enough to find out.
Reality Dean, quite oppositely, seemed to give a flicker of regret at the mention. His eyes softened and his face shifted from the stone-cold soulless expression for just a fraction of a second. In that small window, the human part of him was still rather visible. The part that hunted things like him was still inside, threatening to break through. Trying so hard to be given the reigns.
It was this small peep that gave Castiel the strength to move forward. He forced his legs to carry him towards the demon, trying not to focus on the man pleading with him to be a merciful angel and stop this madness. He claimed to be an innocent, but in the flickering, fading gaze he was able to get of the man's soul, he couldn't believe it for a second. Some older version of Castiel would have helped him. The version of now, who had been hardened by humanity and war a poor choices, didn't even give this passive decision a second chance, however.
"Dean, just come back with me," Castiel urged as he moved. He didn't break eye-contact for a second, knowing this could be the last time he looked upon the brilliant green. "Sam has been researching, tearing everything apart, to try and find a cure. We have options. We have things to try. Just…come with me."
It was a useless plea. Castiel knew that from the moment he opened his mouth. By the time he was finished speaking, the spark of something human inside of Dean had already disappeared. His eyes again hardened and flicked black for a moment. It was a constant war inside of him, it seemed. For a moment, he could take control back, but then he would be pushed aside and reminded of the evil he had been forced to become. It must have been a vicious cycle.
"Oh, yes, the constant Winchester need to fix things," Dean spat, gripping the First Blade rather viciously in his fist. He stood, lashing out with a harsh kick of his boot to the mewling man's gut. "To save people. Such a useless existence. Dying and coming back so many times we've all lost track. Watching everyone else die around us because they just weren't worthy enough to come back from the dead. They weren't Sam and Dean Winchester. They weren't destined from the beginning of time to save the world over and over and over again." Another kick brought blood trailing from the man's mouth into a shining pool of melted snow on the pavement.
Everything that Dean had once strived for was being twisted by the monster he now was. All of the good he had done and the sacrifices that had been made for those goals now meant something pathetic to him. It all accumulated into one giant reason why he hadn't deserved to live in the first place. Why he thrived more as the bad guy. Castiel had been to that point after letting the Leviathans loose on the world. He knew that self-hatred and every other questionable thought and feeling that went along with it.
But so did Sam. And if the two of them could overcome the mistakes they had made and keep fighting the good fight, so could Dean. His status as a demon changed nothing. They just needed to get him to see that reasoning. They just needed to break through to him. Which seemed like it could be an impossible feat, at this point.
"This is who I am now, Castiel." Dean's words were solid and icy. "I don't need saving this time." He looked at the angel he had once called friend like he was nothing better than a worm to him now. And, Castiel noted, he seemed to insist upon referring to him by his full name. Something he hadn't done since having met him all those years before after his rescue. The nickname was gone. That meant that Dean had lost the part of himself that had enough of a personality to remain consistent. That part that always insisted upon calling angels by shortened versions of their names.
The real Dean was now either buried so far deep he rarely saw daylight, or he was gone completely but for those seconds in which he might question himself.
Hanging his head, sensing a stubborn defeat, Castiel nodded. He just barely tilted his eyes up enough to watch the demon grasp the man at his feet by the hair. Yank him into a forceful standing position. Bring the Blade to his throat, teeth side threatening to scrape harsh gashes into the vulnerable skin. Drawing it roughly across his neck in one quick motion. Holding a too-satisfied smirk as he dropped the body carelessly to the ground. Playing up the gratification to see Castiel cringe.
"Better get out of here, Angel, before we decide you're next."
The casual death threat was almost so expected that Castiel couldn't help but to laugh. It was by no means humorous, but it did feel like such a Dean thing to do - warning him via vagrant threat. The fact that he felt light-headed and nearly dead on his feet certainly didn't help to quell the hysteria, either. He took another step closer to the man, lacking balance, which sent him crashing against a collection of trash bins up against the alley's walls.
Dean watched on with something like disgust written upon his face. His lip was curled up and he couldn't hold his gaze upon the shell of an angel. How could he ever have been associated with someone so weak?
Noticing the shifty demeanor, Castiel righted himself again slowly. He pulled his trench coat back into place and attempted to look dignified. Humiliating himself wasn't going to earn him any respect with this version of this man. "This, by the way, is what you would have become if I hadn't saved you from hell all those years ago. A demon…," Castiel said gruffly, trying to shift the attention away from himself. Get Dean to focus on what he had become. Get him to change his mind. Shed some light on himself so he could maybe begin to understand.
The silence in the wake of Castiel's words was hard to judge. Dean's eyes, appearing so human at the moment, were trained upon the Hellhound as it eagerly lapped up the dead man's blood. His expression was unreadable, but his grip upon the First Blade had slightly slackened. Taking this as a good sign, Castiel took measured steps closer to the demon. Careful to keep his body steady and in an upright position, as much as he could while feeling as if he would collapse at any second. "It was inevitable, I suppose. Fate does often have a way of circling back to her original plan…."
"Which is why you always end up broken, I suppose." The words hit Castiel like being plunged into pure ice water. His jaw dropped and he settled a few feet away from Dean. Those brilliant blue eyes shined with hurt and absolute shock at how true that felt. "God can bring you back as many times as he wants, but you will always end up making the wrong choices..."
As he stood there, every breath Castiel took brought him closer to again losing his immortality. Blue-black feathers molted off his wings, the angelic aura around him slowly faded into nothing, and his powers became nonexistent. He was wasting the last moments of his grace trying to talk sense into a creature that would never want to hear it. Speaking to the demon like he was capable of understanding the hurt he had been putting those close to him through.
What was he doing? Why was he wasting his time with this man?
Sighing heavily, Castiel allowed his weariness to show through. The act was draining him more than he would have liked. He gave up, sinking down to his knees and bracing his hands upon the pavement. The chill of the cement felt soothing upon his warm skin and letting out the fatigue was a great relief. "Dean…. I know it goes against everything you are now, but would you…. Would you please just sit with me a moment? You are absolutely correct. I always do end up broken. I will end up broken again tonight. Very soon. And before that happens…. I need to see what you have become through my remaining sight."
As much as he feared seeing Dean's demonized face, that was Castiel's last wish as an angel. He wouldn't have the ability much longer, he might as well take advantage of it while he could. Because he was quickly losing everything that made him powerful, he couldn't see it without being close. Which could either be a brilliant way to humanize the demon or be the end of Castiel.
"You want to see what I have become?" Dean questioned, his voice low and menacing. "By all means, take a good, long look, Castiel." His steps long and full of purpose, he closed the remaining distance between them. "Be sure to tell me how adorable I am." Not even a foot from Castiel, Dean again crouched down. This time, however, the First Blade was carefully holstered on his hip. Seemingly a sign of nonviolence.
The smile Castiel gave in response was delusional. There was no way he had really heard this demon say that, was there? He looked up at him, only slightly shocked by the faded sight of the new face lurking beneath the one he could paint in the clouds with little effort. His breath hitched for a moment, but he had prepared himself for this. Ever since experiencing the hallucination, Castiel had forced himself to be ready for this. Plus, it wasn't quite as hideous as he had expected, and that helped. It was soft around the edges, dark but still not quite grown. A baby demon, if there was such a thing. Which meant that Dean still had a chance to force out that new part of him before it grew to full stamina.
"I wouldn't exactly say...adorable," Castiel said, interrupted by a weary cough. Once he became human, he was sure he would be left rather ill. He really should be resting more than he was. "But, uh...you do still have your appeal."
"Has the apocalypse resumed? Because that sure sounds like an angel is flirting with a demon..."
"I am not much of an angel, as you can see..."
It was Dean's turn to chuckle. The first noise he had made that actually seemed slightly human. Stunned by the intense emotion that brought him, Castiel whipped his head up to meet the other's gaze. In that moment, he was able to forget everything they both were turning into. In that moment, they were Cas and Dean, staring into one another's eyes for uncomfortable periods of time. In that moment, they were linked in that sort of trance-like state that neither could explain.
In that moment, everything was okay.
But, of course, that couldn't last. Seconds later, Dean broke the contact. He looked away, seemingly hardening himself. His eyes again flashing black momentarily, like a warning, he shifted them over towards the Hellhound. It was almost nothing but a shadow to Castiel now, but he could still hear its answering snarl. "Well...this has been...fun, Feathers, but..." He shrugged, making a point out of keeping his eyes downcast.
"Wait!" Out of a desperate need to never lose sight of Dean again, Castiel recklessly reached out for him. As the demon went to stand, the angel grabbed for his hand quickly. Feeling just how cold he was, despite not being able to feel it himself. "Please…. Don't go," he pleaded, over the angel act and fully immersed in his desire. His incredibly human need to be loved. He was to the point of delusion that he was begging a demon of all creatures for affection.
The sharp, bewildered look Dean gave in response was absolutely chilling. He narrowed his eyes, staring down at their clasped hands for a long period of time. Obvious indecision shone in those eyes that seemed so unbelievably normal at that moment.
"I know that it is…a lot to ask," Castiel said slowly, making certain he was absolutely sure of his words. This may be his last chance to use them – who knew when they would be this close to one another again. Next time, one of them could be killing the other. Angels and demons had a tendency to do that to one another, even if Castiel wasn't all that celestial any longer.
"All I want, Dean, is to have one last conversation with you. You seem…dead set on remaining in this form. Otherwise, you would have come to Sam and I…long ago. When you caught wind of us searching for you, you would have come. And…I know from experience, that changing a Winchester's mind is often…difficult…. To say the least." Even though he was lacking any single fiber of humor in this situation, Castiel found his chest bubbling with short laughter. Despairing laughter. "Fine. You're a demon. And…maybe you will eventually find your way home. I have had a long time to reconcile this, and have come to the conclusion that…that is all that matters. You eventually coming home."
A disgusted sneer marring his face, one that allowed the demon inside of him to truly shine through, Dean thrust Castiel's hand away. Like it was vile and he didn't want a disease to transfer. "Home?!" he sneered. "And where exactly is this home? I haven't known a home for my entire life."
This was foolish. Reasoning with a demon was absolutely foolish. Castiel cleared his throat, shifting on his knees and straitening enough to look Dean directly in the eye. He looked absolutely pitiful in the most submissive of ways. "Home would be...anywhere you are once again by my side. By...by our side. Sam and I. Both." He sighed, knowing that the correction was for the demon's sake and not his own. He had meant by his side alone because that was all that mattered in this moment. After the hallucination and the dream, all that mattered was Dean wanting him as much as he currently desired.
In a swift instant, Dean had Castiel by the lapels of his trench coat. He forced the broken angel to his feet, throwing him up against the nearest alley wall and pinning him there with nothing but the will of his mind. Castiel struggled with a soft, scared noise for a moment, but gave up when he realized that would only aggravate him further.
"How about I tell you a story, Castiel? Hm?" His face was so close that Castiel could smell his sulfur breath with every inhale he took. It scared him just how tantalizing the tingle it sent through his body felt. "Once upon a time there was a little boy named Dean Winchester. He had a house and a wonderful, loving, normal-as-expected family. Until, one day, some demon decided to change that. You know, for the greater good of the fucking apocalypse.
"This demon burned this boy's mother alive, turned his brother into a monster, set his father on a drunken and abusive path of vengeance, and threw absolute chaos at this boy until its death. Dean Winchester's life was absolute hell for all thirty-five years of it. He died more times than he could recall and lost more than any one person should ever have to endure.
"And in the end of it all, he was still expected to keep his shit together. After losing his father, a man he wished was his father, his brother multiple times, his friends, his family, anyone he came close to. After going to Hell, Heaven, Purgatory, and everywhere in between. After fighting angels and demons and Leviathans and all the scum that walks the Earth. After Azazel, Eve, Lilith, Lucifer, Abaddon, Crowley, Castiel, Dick Roman, Metatron…. After all of that and doing everything possible to ensure that all of this ended smoothly…. This boy was expected to be a man and take everything with a grain of salt.
"And then he died. And then because he had taken the damned Mark of Cain so he could just kill one of those bastards, he became a demon himself. A Knight of Hell, no less. And then he was expected to follow orders in his death just as he had in his life from every single person that viewed him as nothing but a little soldier. He was expected by his supposed 'boss' now, fucking Crowley, to become this…Ankou, this personification of death he desired. The one to deliver the souls of any crossroads deal the high-and-mighty King of Hell may have made before he discovered his true calling. He was expected to use this power that had been the death of him for something so petty as collecting souls. Because that is all that this boy was ever good for – taking orders.
"Even if that boy was still somewhere on the inside, screaming for this home you talk about, there is absolutely no way he could be heard. Dean Winchester is too far dead and buried for his dreams to matter anymore."
At the end of Dean's self-loathing-soaked monologue, Castiel felt nothing short of pure sympathy for this demon. He had, himself, played a part in molding the man he had once been into this thing he hated. It wasn't something he was proud of, having used his angelic status to force the Winchester family into their 'destined' roles. It was actually one of his biggest regrets – one he had spent the last few years attempting to remedy however he could. His hands shaking from the cautious voice in his head and the tears wracking his chest, Castiel reached up to gently touch the face mere inches from his own. Stroke at the ever-present frown lines and hang his head in shame. "I know it may not feel like it…but you still have a choice. You will always have the option of turning your back on Hell and Crowley and everything you feel like you deserve for what you did with your life." He quirked a barely-visible smile, raising his eyes just enough to meet the ones he could be satisfied dreaming about for the rest of his life. "I have faith that eventually you will return home, Dean Winchester. And when that day comes…." Castiel shrugged, a gesture that was easier than it should have been, given his currently pinned state. He took this as a sign that Dean was loosening his demonic grip. That he was listening. "When that day comes," he continued on a whisper, "I will be waiting. And we will figure this out."
There wasn't a single sign of warning to indicate Dean's disappearance. One moment he was there, nostrils flared as he stared down at the once-angel. The next, he was just…gone. Castiel fell harshly to the ground, scraping his hand upon the cement and drawing blood. Another grim reminder of his humanity, as there was no longer a single doubt that his grace was entirely gone. He looked around the alley quickly, seeing not a single sign of the demon or his familiar. Just a shredded corpse that was missing most of its internal organs.
Sighing in defeat, Castiel raised himself to his feet. He walked out of the alley as if in a trance, meandering down the quiet, practically deserted streets. He had no idea where he was and hadn't thought far enough ahead to bring money or a cell phone. In absolute defeat, he found a convenience store, called Sam, and waited out on the curb for the man to find him. Thought over just what he was going to say as an excuse for being here.
Telling Sam that he had found Dean could only spur his manic search on further. It would renew his hope, but that might not be for the best. Right now…Dean needed to be left alone. There was nothing they could do. It was all up to him to come to decisions on his own. It had to be his own buried conscience that brought him back to them. It had to be whatever remained human inside of him winning out, and that was nothing they could influence.
When Sam pulled the Impala up to curb where Castiel had sat unmoving for four hours, the former-angel was set on his lie. He rattled off something that may not have been all that convincing about meeting with some angels and the trip having drained him. About him no longer being an angel and, therefore, the angels he had met saying their farewells. Seeing the grief lingering in Castiel's eyes, Sam didn't dare question his story.
They drove back to the bunker in silence. It was the same silence that would hang over them for months as they just tried to get through life together. Eventually, after not a single whisper of where Dean could be, Sam would give up on looking for his brother. He would one day sit down in the crow's nest of the bunker, looking absolutely defeated and shattered and finally allow himself to mourn for his lost brother. The next day, all his things would be gone. Every trace of himself would be removed from the bunker because he just couldn't be there anymore. It was too much of a reminder of everything he had lost.
Castiel would stay because where else did he have to go? He couldn't bear to leave all of Dean's things. Not when Dean may still come back one day. He would spend his time reading anything and everything in the library. When he would leave for supply runs, he would cherish his time spent in the driver's seat of the Impala. Sometimes he would even pretend that Dean was sitting beside him, chastising him for accidentally tending the door or for running it through a carwash every now and again. He would bide his time patiently, waiting for the man to come walking through the door, begging for help.
Time would keep passing by and still he would wait.
A/N: Small note of worth, as I went through writing the second part, it came to me to create a different sort of... aesthetic for each part. The first is, obviously, what Castiel fears will happen when he finds Dean. He fears the intimacy actually coming to folds and then having it ripped violently away from him as he is killed. He fears Dean toying with him just like any other demon would; that their history together will be nothing in the end. The second part, is what Castiel wished and dreams for. He wants everything to be normal and happy and to be able to go back and fix the mistakes he made. For them to have killed their threats and just moved on like they could actually settle down for once. And this last part was, as you can probably guess, the reality breaking middle between the two. Showing Cas that he doesn't need to fear dying at Dean's hand because deep down he is still the man he used to be. But he also can't have the 'apple pie life' with him. It is this reality that sort of jolts him into understanding, showing him that he can only wait patiently because what he wants won't change what really is.
I really hope those that stuck through all three parts to see all of this enjoyed the effort I put in. It's not even close to what the plot for the tenth season could ever be, and I know that. It's just... you know, my own thoughts and feelings on a page. That's all. Thank you for reading! I really appreciate it.
