…a letting go…

.

.

.

Castiel was worried.

Dean had not moved for a full sixty seconds.

He was pressed back up against the wall, his head tilted to the ceiling, his eyes shut.

If Castiel didn't know any better, he could have sworn Dean was praying.

Eventually, Dean lowered his head and met his friend's eyes. He pushed up off the wall, a pained, but grimly determined mask falling into place.

"Screw the world…" he hissed.

Dean swung away and stomped towards the door. Unable to teleport inside the cell, Castiel was forced to run after him.

"You can't, Dean!" he grabbed his arm, halting him.

Dean sagged.

"She's gonna die, Cas…" he choked, "Whoever he's got in there… they're gonna kill her…"

"I know."

"She just wanted to help me," said Dean, "This wasn't her fight. I gave her every chance to get away, but she wouldn't listen. She wanted to help. She wanted to stand with us."

"She was…" Castiel paused, searching for the right word, "A hero…"

Dean blinked back a tear.

"Heroes die…" he whispered.

Steeling himself, Dean came back into the room. Patrick had a soft, pitying expression on his face.

"Is everything ready?" asked Dean.

"Just about," said Patrick, "All I need are the remains."

Dean reached into his jacket pocket, and removed a small strip of plastic. It belonged to Sam. He used it as a bookmark. Inside, was a lock of hair.

"You can conjure things, right?" said Dean.

"Of course," said Patrick.

"Good. Conjure the incantations for me," he said, "Both of them."

"Why?" Patrick frowned, "Think I won't do a good enough job myself?"

"No," Dean shook his head, "You're not gonna be here."

"What?"

"Neither of you are."

Dean grabbed Castiel by the shoulder, locking him with his gaze.

"Cas… we're friends, right?"

Castiel looked perplexed. It was his default expression, but still…

"Yes…" he said, unsure where this was going.

"Then, can you do something for me?" asked Dean, "A… last request kinda thing?"

"Dean… what is it?"

"Go get her," said Dean, "The both of you. Go bust her out and kill every stupid sonofabitch standing between you and her. Please, Cas… Please! Do that for me!"

"You gotta be losin' it, boyo," said Patrick, "You wanna stay here by yourself? Cast two highly-complex spells and face off against the Devil on your own?"

"That's exactly what I'm going to do."

Dean still hadn't broken his stare. Castiel could read him clearly.

This was it.

The end.

Dean knew it.

"This is between me, and him," said Dean, "It was always gonna come down to us."

After what seemed like an age, Castiel nodded.

"I'll save her," he whispered.

Dean's jaw clenched. The ghost of a smile whispered over his lips. He pulled Cas into a hug.

"Thank you."

Dean broke away. He offered a hand to Patrick, who shook it.

"You got a pair o' brass ones on ya, Dean Winchester," he said, "The luck o' the Irish go wit' ya, yeah?"

"You too."

Patrick clicked his fingers, and a sheet of computer paper appeared in his hand. A series of lines were printed across it in what looked like Helvetica Bold.

"What did you expect?" asked Patrick, catching the look on Dean's face, "An ancient scroll, or somethin'?"

Dean took the printout and studied the incantations. They weren't long, thank God.

Patrick led Castiel to the door. The angel paused on the threshold.

"Dean?"

Dean looked up at his friend, framed in the doorway.

"Yeah?"

"I am… unsure how to phrase this…"

"Just say it, Cas."

Castiel nodded.

"Kick it in the ass," he said, "Don't miss…"

Dean felt a stab at the familiar words. Ellen's last words to him, the first time they hunted the Devil. Cas backed away up the steps.

Then they were gone.

And Dean was alone.

.

.

.