Hi everyone! I hope everyone is doing well in quarantine and is currently burying themselves in fanfics, I know that's what I'm doing when I'm not working. Anyway here is Impure! (personally my second favorite fic I've ever written, second to Hells Bells, my peak in writing) Major destiel of course. (also the metaphors, make my whole world go round. )

HEY ANNOUNCEMENT
If you have NOT read PURE, please go read that first so you fully understand the part two to this story! Thank you!

I hope everyone is well! comments greatly appreciated!

Blue was the sky that tricked people into the idea of warmth even when it hid all signs of another winter storm stirring on the horizon, awaiting its chance to shift the brilliant serenity of the sky into a much darker story.

Green was the grass that poked through the snow mounds, too stubborn to melt in the early morning. The blades clung to hope that spring could arise after the treacherous war with the sky, a game that sucked nature into it's deep hibernation; a game that destroyed what new beginnings stood for and the colors that would arise from all the bleak and bleary. But the grass pushed through the swampy, muddy ground, pushed through the stinging drifts of snow with their jagged edges of ice sharpened, and raised their soft tips to the heavens above. For now it seemed as if the earth had won against the depths of the sky and the storms that brewed in the distance. But there was always a next attack. And yet the grass proved its strength, its newfound roots replacing the dead taken out by harsh winds and heavy blankets of snow that told only beautiful stories on the outside.

Red was the blood that coated the white roses. Red was the hunter blood in him pumping through his body, heightening his senses and sharpening his mind. In a place designed to break every creature that entered. It had succeeded before, carrying its pain over into the outside world, leaking the shadows of the night and the guttural calls of the werewolves in the nightmares that tore away at sanity. Here, of all places, Dean had felt purified, reborn.

Pure.

Not a word thought to describe purgatory, but when he would come back to earth, the reality of things, that purity would slip away, it too, had escaped his tight grasp as he tried to pull it through with him. Maybe it was meant to be let go. Gone.

Somewhere.

But Purgatory now called to his hunter blood again, letting the boil beneath the surface of his skin rise like lava, as he stared at the perfect rip in time and space. The door. It called out to him. Whispering lies and truths, and memories so deep in his subconscious that he winced at the bitter words. Hisses like a serpent whose only fevered desire was to plague the imagination with its deadly venom, running white hot through veins, thoughts, and movements. It only took a single strike for the beast to take him down, its tongue long enough to hold the transcript of the rumors and fabrications of perception. It's fangs held the droplets of animosity that stung his skin and burned the space behind his eyes until the dams fell.

Cas could feel it too. The overwhelming desire, the pulse of the gateway to where his nightmares met his dreams in a brutal battle of his thoughts screaming and stabbing at him. Cas narrowed his eyes at the gateway, the tear watching his movements as if it could stare straight into his soul and see everything within it. He didn't want to go back. It wasn't the monsters or leviathans, or the journey that filled him with dread. It was the memories of a colorless sky, and crimson blood, and the pain he saw in the man that defied the odds. He didn't want to revisit the tiny den Dean and him had squeezed into that night, and he certainly didn't want to see his wings. They were nothing but burnt bones now with ash for feathers clinging to a missing weight on his back.

"Ready?" Dean asked bitterly, slinging his bag behind him. Cas simply grunted in response. If they didn't have to, they were going to talk to each other. Dean blamed Cas, and Cas was so exhausted with his anger, that it was just easier this way. They were nothing, but strangers who had once called each other brothers. And what hurt the most, was that they actually believed that. Or maybe the worst was that they were never brothers to begin with, the soul and grace that intertwined so tightly knew that, but their own heads silenced themselves and fell for the lies of serpents within them.

...

Cas grasped at his side, the pain rippling through his body causing a groan to hiss through his teeth as he leaned against a tree. His head nodded forward exhaustion overtaking him. He waited patiently for those words to run through his head again with the feeling of a dismembered memory that was a prayer. The pain and guilt that coated each syllable when he heard it the first time, created a surge of power Cas couldn't remember having since he lost his grace. But he could feel the rippling effect through his body as "I'm sorry" echoed through his head, creating a shockwave of power to burst through him releasing his wings and electrifying his eyes into the last light the leviathans ever saw.

He was knee deep in a fight, but Dean's words coursed through his veins like pure white energy, blasting several leviathans flying through the forest and letting out one last cry before every molecule in them was ripped apart into a sliver of smoke that snaked up to the colorless sky.

It was only when Dean's prayer stopped did Cas notice his power wasn't the only thing that had manifested. His wings, still the massive span stretching across the field, shook off from their time being trapped between worlds in a silent, invisible form, where the atoms passed through everyday objects. Cas was never really sure how they appeared, but he knew better than to distrust them. They had a mind of their own, metaphorically speaking. And even as weak as they were, their magnetic energy to a particular soul was far more intense than Cas could have ever imagined. Checking to make sure he was out of harm's way for the moment being, Cas let his wings flutter and move with the foul breeze, the patches of long sleek feathers still left, sailed across the breeze and urged Cas to move. Begrudgingly he did.

Cas was far too exhausted to want to move, but he knew time was of the essence, and Dean was his priority. He let his wings guide him, beating feverishly, trying to lift off the ground, but the charred bone and feathers couldn't bear his weight. He kept himself steady as he weaved through the trees, wincing as his wings caught twigs and branches and tried to move upwards in their failed attempt to fly. Against his wings' judgement, he found himself heading towards the portal, its warm orange glow, standing out in the dead forest. He collapsed at the base of a towering tree, his wings trying to cocoon him in a warm embrace they could not provide. He let his head fall back, and feeling the flower in his trench coat one last time, he let his eyes slip shut for just a moment.

The sound of a gun startled him from his daze and looked up to meet Dean's worried gaze. He leapt to his feet, noticing that the weight of his back had left him as his wings folded in and once again became nothing but atoms unable to be seen.

"Dean."

"Cas."

…

Nobody was an expert on Purgatory, with the exception of Eve, but there was something else that moved through the portal with the angel and hunter, something that couldn't slip through before. While neither of them could place a finger on what that was, perhaps it was the purity that seeped out, something that Dean couldn't hold onto the first time. It leaked through, maybe only a drop of it fell into the sea of impurity that surrounded them. The death and lies and anguish that created a tidal wave in the real world. In Purgatory, there hadn't been any tricks, any destinies, just life and death painted on a canvas simply in black and white.

But that teardrop of purity was the tear left to shed of the death of something that once couldn't fit in the real world. But now as colors blue and green painted the canvas, the droplet of purity was a tear of relief towards the bleak and bleary that could not win.

Sam had said goodbye to Eileen and had retired to his room. Her words had echoed through his head in the sorrowful guilt not unlike the words of Dean's prayer, although the intensity of Dean's words could not compare to anything else in the world. And perhaps Cas was biased to think this, but in all his time, and all the received prayers from people scattered throughout the world, Cas had never heard something like that. Never had words made such an impact on the dying grace writhing inside him, its blue glow, the symbolism for a light fading from this world, dwindling with each exhale. Out like a candle.

Dean and Cas had stayed up all night, the exhaustion being replaced with the adrenaline still pumping with the blood in their veins. They spent most of that night in silence, drinking, but not enough to get drunk. It was easy, Dean noted, to sit in silence with Cas. He had a gentle stature about him, with his gaze of blue oceans that were so easy to fall victim to. When they did speak, it was of trivial things in the grand scheme of the events that had tumbled them into this moment. But once again, the pulse of the atoms reached out to the bright soul. Dean was the first to bring it up.

"Cas… In Purgatory, um… did, did something happen?"

"What do you mean Dean?"

"I mean, I felt this, this power, it knocked me off balance. A-and there was this, beating, it was like a signal. I don't know, it was weird." He gulped. "The only time I felt that… was when I saw your wings."

So Dean had felt it too. The atoms consolidated to a shadowing formation on his back, the gentle and subtle presence of that purity in the form of ashy feathers, once a symbol of freedom, now the shackling reminder of his grounded state.

"They appeared, with your prayer." It was everything Dean had hoped and dreaded, but he couldn't deny that he had fallen victim to hissing lies of the serpent that was his own warped mind. He had tried so desperately to forget the stars that lit up the ceiling of the den and the warmth he knew could never hold him again. He had done everything in his power to pretend it didn't happen, with all that had happened in between, just maybe Cas had forgotten it too. But the wave of serenity that washed over him as something invisible graced his skin, causing goosebumps to form, it was evident that neither of them had forgotten what really happened. Part of Dean was grateful for it. The other half hated himself for it.

"Are… are they still there?" Cas didn't answer right away. Shame washed over him as he felt the missing weight on his back was made up by the weight in his chest. He didn't want to look at their disgusting state.

"Yes. But-"

"Can I see them?" Dean blurted against his better judgement. Or maybe it wasn't his better judgement. He cursed at himself, unable to make any real decision. Very reluctantly, the frown faded from Cas's lips as his wings carefully unfolded themselves into their true manifested form. They were in battered ruins, but they still fluttered and stretched across the kitchen, cloaking them in a rich soft black, with holes of light peeking through the missing patches of feathers. Scorch marks covered the bones and ash smudges were left on the floor from the longest feather brushing across the floor. Dean's face lit up. He didn't bat an eye at the state of them, instead he laughed.

Perhaps that really had been purity that slipped through the portal with them.

Cas's wings reached for Dean's stretched out hand, fitting perfectly in his palm and shook the small tufts loose in his hand. If wings could breath, they would have sighed in relief knowing that the bright soul, that through it all, still vibrated and hummed at their touch.

"Never ceases to amaze me." Dean smiled, running his fingers through the long black feathers that still clung to the bone. He paused at a spot where the bone was visible, a deep gash covered in specs of dirt and ash. Cas turned away trying to pry himself from Dean's gaze, but his wings resisted, the left one reaching out, the tip brushing against Dean's jaw.

"Uh, sorry. Mind of their own." Dean didn't say anything as he gently patted the right wing- the one with the gash, and left Cas at the table. He rifled through drawers until he found a rag, and ran it under warm water.

"Dean, you don't have to."

"Please Cas. I can't do much, but this is something I can do." Cas didn't pull away, and even if he wanted to, his wings filled the room and would refuse to budge. Gingerly, Dean pressed the cloth to the gash, wiping the dirt and blood and loose feathers. They shook out gently, their hidden form being condensed for far too long, the blue ombre underneath faded and worn, but still mimicking the lingering winter sky, Dean loved so much.

Dean worked carefully, watching as the wings would shake in response, tensing up and then relaxing under his soft strokes. He worked in silence too, something Cas was more than fine with that, he didn't want to speak. He was ashamed. Ashamed of what his wing had become, and ashamed at the shackles that bound them to the ground. They were now hideous things, things he wanted to hide from the world… and himself. But Dean didn't think about that. He was mesmerized by the way they moved, the power within them and yet the gentle sweeps across the floor expressed the emotion they felt. If it hadn't been for the circumstances, Dean would have been more keen on experimenting their responses. Not in a way that would cause any harm, just rubbing certain spots or seeing how they reacted to certain emotions. He would have given anything to see how they were in battle.

As he worked, he noticed he stopped on a spot where he heard the gentle clicking of a shoe on tile.

"Ticklish spot?" Dean grinned like a child as he looked up at Cas. Cas narrowed his eyes and tired to hide the soft smile as he shook his head. The grin disappeared, when the memory of the den penetrated his head. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, but the feeling lingered as if it had just happened. It was like the whole world was ending and yet he couldn't have cared less. Oddly enough, the same feeling coiled in his chest now.

"Cas? I need to tell you something."

"...I heard your prayer Dean. You don't have to tell me again."

"No… I didn't say it in the prayer. Hell, I tried, I just couldn't. And I'm not sure I can do it now, but… I…" The wings stretched outward and curled around him and Cas, in a gentle, warm embrace that held all the pain and grief waiting outside. It was simple, no baggage, no anger, no weight. The wings emitted a power that disposed of all that. Dean stared at the ground, fiddling with the cloth.

"When I thought I lost you back there, I… it doesn't matter." He shrugged away, staring at the ground intensely. He lifted his head, the raging colors of the sky meeting the fields at the horizon in a beautiful sunset. "I've found what I've been looking for."

Gently moving in, cautious, but holding the still gaze that let his soul be transcribed into the stars that once lingered in an now empty sky, Dean pressed his lips to Cas'. The wings wrapped around them tighter, but they sat still with their rich black. For just a moment the world melted away, the brutal war had stopped.

Dean opened his eyes and parted, his whole body shaking. Cas looked at him, his soulful blue eyes filled with the roaring oceans as if they had been crafted after him. When they had kissed in Purgatory that night in the den, it had been pure. And the wings reflected that when they found his soul, lighting up in a pattern of the cosmos, and frankly, the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen. But Dean glanced about now, waiting to see the stars that would illuminate around him, mapping constellations and telling the stories of his dreams just by the twinkle of light. It was dark.

"T-they… they didn't light up." He moved away, the same crumbling fear restricting his lungs and crushing what little hope still blossomed from the heart of the leviathan flower. Maybe the purity that had slipped through the gate hadn't been enough. Maybe the world was just so cripplingly destined for failure, intertwined with the lies of the serpent and immorality that boiled in the waters of greed and pain, surfacing the impurities of humanity. Dean had fallen into a black hole and no matter how hard he fought against it, his whole world was swallowed up in the dying hope of feeling pure, even for just a second. He had always left it behind in purgatory. He had left everything in purgatory, and he wasn't going to get back.

His soul strayed from the wings, in a pain that couldn't be extinguished from the warm embrace and Cas's grace felt it too. The soul and grace, and bright as they both were in each other's presence, dimmed ever so slightly, as it was realized that nothing could ever bring back to the den that showered the lonely night with the lost souls of hope shining as stars. Cas sighed softly, reaching out for Dean, but he pulled away. He had to tell Dean.

"They know they can't. Dean"

"Why? They don't-"

"Dean, they found you. Found what they were looking for, just as they always have. And so have I. But if they light up like the night sky, then that is a sign of hope. A sign of happiness. I can't be happy. God, I want to be. You, right here are safe, cared for, happy. That is all I'll ever need. But I can't be happy Dean."

"Cas… I, what do you mean?"

"I made a deal. With the empty. Back when Jack was in heaven. The empty wanted his soul and I traded places. The empty said it would take me when I was finally happy." Fear was written across Dean's face, anger was there too, but it was hidden beneath the surface, waiting to burst through. Dean tried to wrangle the rage in, but he knew it was only seconds before he exploded.

"Cas-" Cas lurched forward, grabbed his face and kissed him. It was urgent and filled with grief of everything they lost and gained, but it was pure. Perhaps it had slipped through the gateway afterall. Dean kissed him back, wrapping his hands around his neck, rocking back and forth in the kitchen softly, as Cas's wings intertwined what broken feathers were left in an attempt to shield them from the rest of the world. They broke apart and the wings itched to light up and maybe from the corner of his eye, Dean saw just the faintest hint of stars against the rich black feathers. He'd suddenly give anything to be back in purgatory with Cas, in the crowded den, with the werewolves snarls in the distance and the warmth of the sun sucked away. But there, Dean could just be.

They parted, but still clung together as if their molecules were suddenly going to be ripped apart at any moment. Tears filled Cas's eyes, and Dean wiped them away. They knew what they couldn't be. Cas knew it would be the death of him and Dean knew the guilt would have driven him mad. So for now they held each other, wrapped in the safety of the angel wings, strong and protective of the soul that lit up the night sky for them.

"Maybe this was just meant to be left in Purgatory. Where things were… pure." Dean gulped, pressing his forehead to Cas', his hands falling to Cas's hips as they swayed gently. Cas shook his head with what little strength he had. Or maybe he had all the strength in the world to shake his head as their noses touched softly and their breaths warmed their cheeks.

"If that purity was meant to be left in Purgatory, I would have never let go of your hand that day you went through the portal."

The real world was a horrible place, filled with corruption and greed, and above it all, a true darkness that loomed over the head of the hopeful, ripping every last breath from the souls who dared. The monsters that hid in the tree line of the dying sun, were not the real monsters that hunted in the night. It was the people and supposed protectors of the light that stole the stars and burned what innocence dared to stand against them. Here, things were impure. Where lies were the norm and the artificial sense of security was the only thing to latch onto. Here that impurity painted the sky with red and let the clouds open up and cry out in the endless agony of what couldn't be. And the grass, folded in on itself, the heavens above no longer there to support their fight. Even with what little was held between the angel and hunter, the constellations knew it had no belonging in this world of impurities.

Maybe that's why they had to let it go. Gone. Somewhere

Thanks for reading! Comments are loved and make my entire week! Until next time,

-Daisy