So this is a gift fanfiction for a wonderful artist by the name of Angel of Wine. I recently bought some items from her, stickers and pins and the like. Her art is wonderful but my absolute favorite was a picture of Castiel as an angel of death. It got me thinking about what he'd be like as a reaper, and I was inspired to write this as a gift for her.

Note, this story is based almost entirely around Season 1 Episode 12 Faith, along with bits of the end of the series. If you haven't seen it for any reason then you're going to want to before reading this. Otherwise it's not going to make a whole lot of sense. That being said, the image of Castiel isn't mine, that belongs to Angel of Wine. Supernatural isn't mine either, that is Kripke's and CW's and other assorted people. All that belongs to me in this fic idea. So there you go.

Fear the Reaper

The pain had started sharp, intense and unbearable like shards of glass dug into his skin. That had long since passed though, giving way to a horrid throb. Throbbing could be dealt with, ignored and worked through. Nothing was worse than a sudden stab of pain shooting through your body, seizing up your muscles and making it damn near impossible to move.

Dean felt his life had been long enough that he knew several kinds of pain that one could endure, and he certainly knew which ones he preferred to feel. The thud of pain was easy enough to move through if he forced himself to ignore it. Still made it uncomfortable though, especially with his brother dragging him along for miles and miles just to get to Nebraska for some specialist to see to him.

Because while he thought his life had been long enough, apparently Sam had felt it was being cut horribly short.

It wasn't that Dean wanted to die. Far from it. In fact, there was still a lot he'd like to do before he kicked the bucket. He just didn't really believe in a whole lot of good in the world. Evil? Oh yeah, that was easy to see out there. Good though? Some lousy faith healer was going to make him feel better just with a bit of prayer and some fat donation from his wallet? Yeah right.

Yet he was picked anyway, and the throbbing pain gave way to another kind of discomfort. He didn't believe and yet he still felt hesitant. If he was picked, then someone else wouldn't be. His life would be saved while someone else was given up to wait for another service or not get picked at all.

Dean didn't even know why he had thought that. This couldn't be real, and yet he still had to wonder.

"Dean. I want… I want you to come up here with me," the blind reverend, Roy LeGrange said.

"No, it's okay," he denied immediately. He didn't even want to be at this circus. There was no way he was going to allow himself to become a little performing monkey for it.

"What are you doing?!" Sam hissed at his side, trying to push him out into the aisle even as Dean refused to budge, not easy considering his sick state was not leaving him feeling that strong right now.

"You came to be healed, haven't ya?" Roy asked from up on top of his platform. Dean idly fantasized about chucking something at his face just shock the crowd and make a break for it.

"Well, yeah, but ahh... maybe you should just pick someone else," he answered, hoping the old geezer would take the hint and move on to some real believer.

"Oh, no. I didn't pick you, Dean, the Lord did," Roy assured him with a smile that was almost contagious, almost.

"Dude, get up there," Sam demanded, looking so determined he'd probably carry Dean up there if he had to. The older Winchester could only sigh before eventually getting up as the crowd cheered in such an overdone fashion he was sure someone would wet themselves in the excitement.

"You ready?" Roy asked.

"Look, no offense," Dean confessed, figuring he should give this guy one last chance to pick someone who might actually deserve this," but I'm not exactly a believer."

"You will be," the old man promised him before turning to the crowd and urging them to pray with him.

Dean would have felt better if nothing had happened. Then he could have knocked Sam upside the head for making him go through something so dumb and then found a comfortable hotel room to die in peace at, maybe convince a cute girl to take pity on him and maybe give him a pity kiss or two.
This… this was so much worse.

The hand on his felt cold, too dry and at the same time too clammy. It was like two people were putting their hand to his face, and he could have sworn he felt a drop of something fall onto his shoulder. Was the rain from outside coming into this stupid tent. He didn't have a chance to say anything though before he felt the temperature in the tent go from a slight chill to feel like it was too hot, warm in a terribly sticky way. This was how it was supposed to feel when God healed you?

His kneels buckled as he fell to the ground, unable to keep upright any longer. The world went out of focus for a long moment and the next thing he knew Sam was shaking him to try to get him to wake up. His vision was blurred, but just over the reverend's shoulder he saw another man dressed all in black who hadn't been there before. His skin looked pale, almost sickly with deep lines under his eyes, red as the vest he was wearing and the blood on his fingers.

Dean jerked back at the sight of the guy, but he'd already faded away as if he'd never been there in the first place.

"Dean?" Sam asked him uncertainly, but Dean's throat was too tight to even answer.

They stayed through the rest of the sermon, on Sam's insistence. Running off after getting what they'd wanted would have been rude, his brother had firmly informed him. Dean wondered why the guy didn't heal anyone else, and occasionally wanted to wipe at his face. It felt like there was paint rubbed right into his pores, feeling thick and tacky against his skin.

It wasn't until they were finally allowed to leave did he get to see just what was on his face, looking at himself in the side-view mirror. A fresh hand-print of blood was on the side of his head, opposite of where Roy had touched him.

"What the hell?" he breathed. How had no one noticed that? "Sam!"

His brother rushed over to him, but even as his brother stared at him with wide eyes, he realized his younger brother couldn't see it either.

It took several showers before Dean felt clean enough to look at himself, but the mark was gone. He silently thanked… whoever was listening for that. He wouldn't have wanted the reminder of it every single time he looked in a mirror. Sam wanted to not worry about it, to climb into the Impala and move on, thankful for Dean's life being spared.

Every instinct in Dean's mind was telling him that he needed to stay and figure this out. After a trip to the hospital and learning about a man by the name of Marshall Hall dying of a heart attack, he was on edge. Nothing could help him shake the idea something was terribly wrong and this time he was the brother insisting, insisting they investigate this despite Sam's protests.

It hadn't led to good answers, and Dean felt even worse going to visit Roy and hearing his little life story about how he'd been struck blind and with cancer out of nowhere. It seemed lives could be ruined even without something with teeth and claws out to get you. What felt even worse what when Roy told him the reason why Dean of all people had ended up chosen to be saved.

"The Lord guides me. I looked into your heart, and you just stood out from all the rest. A young man with an important purpose. A job to do, and it isn't finished."

Nothing had made him feel more uncomfortable than that, even when he got outside and was confronted by Layla's mother, demanding to know why he had been saved and her daughter wasn't. What was he going to tell her? Apparently God just thought he was the gifted kid in class and deserved it more?

He went back to the hotel room, feeling sicker than when this had all started.

It felt wrong to keep Layla from being healed, it really did. When Dean had realized a reaper was being used to trade one life for another, knew deep down it would for sure help the girl but at the cost of someone else. What was he supposed to do though? Allow it to happen and give up some stranger's life just so another could survive? It tied knots up in his stomach to know he was condemning the poor girl, but he had to stop it so someone else wouldn't be killed. Calling out for a fire in the tent had stopped it soon enough but seeing the reverend's wife, Sue Ann, was chanting in Latin while holding a cross caused anger to bubble up inside of him. That bitch had been the one doing it!

He found he wished he could have traded her life for Layla's, even as he was drug out of the church by the police and forced to drive off with his brother to plan their next move. Realizing who was controlling the reaper, both Sam and Dean knew they had to do something and fast. With a service tonight to try to heal Layla for a second time, if they didn't stop this soon then it would mean a corpse somewhere for sure.

Which is why he found himself outside of the reverend's house, calling out to the cops who'd tossed him off of the church grounds in the first place. All he had to do was cause a distraction long enough for Sam to get rid of the alter controlling the reaper and they could get out of here and never look back. However, as he ran from the cops, he couldn't help but stop and look around. It was starting to feel warm again, like it had been when his life had been saved. The air was thick and damp, almost like he was wading through water.

"Hello, Dean."

The hunter whipped around to see the same man from before, hair and clothes blacker than the night sky around him. In his hands was a long scythe, resting casually on his shoulders with blood-stained hands gripping the wooden handle.

Somehow he couldn't find it in himself to run, even as the reaper walked up to him, the scythe sliding off his shoulders and in a position to swing. He cried out in pain as it came down on him, sinking in painfully to his flesh. A garbled scream filtered out of him as he went down to his knees, staring the reaper in the eyes that seemed less like pupils and more like pools of blood. Hot, sticky fluid pooled in the wound of the metal dug into his body and the reaper reached for it, pressing his palm into it as it soaked into the thing's skin.

However before Dean could even think of what to do, the reaper blinked a few times before smirking darkly. Yanking the weapon out of the hunter, he was suddenly gone. Confusing filled him as he felt at the wound, finding it completely gone and not a drop of blood in sight. Pushing himself up, he ran to the tent to try and find out what was going on.

The scene of the reaper met him when he reached the mouth of the tent, Sam and Sue Ann staring at the sight of the creature with its scythe still in hand. Before any of them could react, the thing leaped at the woman, bringing the weapon down harshly on her. It embedded right through her skull and tore all the way through her until the curve of the blade was poking out of her stomach. The reaper paid little attention to the gore, simply putting its polished shoe on her torso and kicking outward to rip the metal away from her body. When she fell to the ground, her body was whole, not a mark on her but very clearly dead.

Sam and Dean could only look at each other in silence before they both turned to leave.

It felt like a punch in the gut when Layla came to see him. It almost felt like she was comforting him when it should have been the other way around. He should have died anyway, and if he'd been killed to save her life…

Maybe it was why he hadn't run from that thing. He'd never had a problem giving up his life for someone else. Still, it had worked out the way it had, and he could only hope that he'd done the right thing even when it felt like he hadn't.

"Must be rough. To believe in something so much, and have it disappoint you," he said, hating himself for thinking he was why she had been disappointed in the first place.

"You want to hear something weird?" she asked him. "I'm okay. Really. I guess if you're gonna have faith… you can't just have it when the miracles happen. You have to have it when they don't."

"So what now?"

"God works in mysterious ways," she said before she reached out and traced a hand over his face. It almost felt like the blood on him again, the reminder of what his own life had cost someone else. This was like someone else was being sacrificed now so he could keep hunting.

The Lord's work. Yeah right.

He wanted to surge forward and kiss her, to pull her into his arms and show her a little bit of life. He wanted to crush her body to his own and tell her what he'd cost her on more levels than what she could ever really understand. Instead, he allowed her to pull away and stand up, ready to go.

"Goodbye, Dean."

"Layla," he said as he stood up as well. "Look… I'm not the praying type but I'm going to pray for you."

There were tears in her eyes and a soft smile on her lips that made his heart ache for her.

"Well, there's a miracle right there," she whispered before she turned around and walked out the door, closing it gently behind her.

"Would you like to know if she makes it?"

Dean spun around and pulled his gun out of his pants, pointing it at the source of the voice that had just spoken, low and rough as if coming from the grave itself. The reaper eyed the weapon before raising them to meet the hunter's.

"If this is a nonverbal cue of your answer, it's leaning very heavily towards no. I would have figured you'd be curious."

"Why the hell are you here?" Dean demanded.

"It occurred to me that I never showed my appreciation towards you for what you had done. Your actions freed me," the reaper replied, the long scythe leaning against his shoulder. He didn't seem worried about the gun, but Dean kept it pointed at him anyway. What could he say, it made him feel better. Everything about this thing was making him feel tense as a bowstring, on edge and ready to do anything he had to defend his life. "Do you want to know what will happen to her?"

"Get out of here," he hissed angrily. "You like to play with your food or something, you sick asshole?"

"There's a certain satisfaction of doing my job well," it admitted. "I haven't been able to attend to any of my duties since I was captured. This last year was less than satisfactory thanks to that woman who thought she could hold me."

"Yeah, the one you killed. You looked like you enjoyed it."

"Oh, I did," the reaper replied, a wicked grin spreading over his face. Tilting his head to the side, he watched Dean with an almost manic look. "But no more than she enjoyed the killing of her own kind for fame and profit. It seemed a fair trade, all things considered."

"You do seem the type for fair trades," Dean muttered.

"You're referring to the life for a life exchange I had to do," the reaper noted. "A proper balance has to be maintained for such things. There was little choice in the matter. I am… overly enthusiastic about my work at times, but even I didn't enjoy that."

"Because you can actually feel pity for the people you killed or because you didn't like her forcing your hand?"

The grin only got wider, his head crooked to a degree that would have snapped a human's neck.

"Which do you think, Dean?" he breathed out with a tone that reminded him of dead leaves dragging over a sidewalk.

"I think you got a pretty sick sense of humor, Mr. Death," he muttered as he glanced away, not wanting to look at the reaper like that.

"Castiel."

"Huh?" he asked.

"My name is Castiel," he stated as his neck moved back in place with a crack, causing Dean to look back at him. "It is considered very bad form to wear the name of our leader."

"Your boss is actually called Death?"

"Among other things," Castiel replied smoothly. "You never did answer my question, you know."

"About Layla?" he breathed. He almost didn't want to know, but he was also wary about this thing being so close to him. Dean didn't think he knew anything that would keep it away from him if it decided to kill him. He should keep it talking since it seemed so chatty. "Is she going to die?"

"You all die, Dean, sooner or later. I think you want to know if she'll expire in the next year to the diseased brain inside of her skull?"

He glared at the reaper, his fists clenched into fists. He wanted to punch the smug bastard for being so nonchalant about the pain that young woman was going through. It wasn't fair for her to die so young, through no fault of her own.

"Will she?" he growled out.

"No. She survives, with grandchildren actually," Castiel replied. "In a month her mother will find her a specialist with a high success rate in experimental surgery. The process will put her in a coma for a month, but she'll survive it. Come next year, her belly will be swollen with new life. A male nurse she meets in recovery will find her most lovely."

Dean was surprised by the news, having expected the reaper to have pushed the death of the woman in his face just for the fun of it.

"So… she was never going to die?" he asked softly.

"No. It wasn't in the original plan," the reaper informed him. "You seemed distressed about your actions. Your death would have changed nothing. In fact, without her needing to go to the hospital that could have been an entire family line that never came to be. Rejoice mortal. Your actions, however bumbling, ended up doing more good than harm."

The hunter scoffed and lowered the gun. He wasn't sure what to make of this guy, finding him way too odd. Then again, what did he expect from a psychopomp?

"Is that all you came here to tell me?" he asked, trying to hide how relieved he sounded. Good news or not, this thing was still dangerous and had killed people, even if it had been against its will. He wasn't going to allow himself to relax around it too much.

"Just one other thing," Castiel admitted. "I was hoping since you helped release me that you'd be willing to do me one more favor."

"Oh yeah. What's that?"

"Would you mind dying for me?"

That shocked Dean and he took several steps back, but the reaper made no move to get closer to him.

"You're on borrowed time, from another life," Castiel explained. "You shouldn't be alive now. Granted, it was paid for, but it's vexing to me. I have all these mortals running around as reminders of what happened to me. It's rather embarrassing."

"Don't seem that embarrassed to me," Dean snapped.

"Believe me, I'm awash with shame," Castiel replied blandly, his expression completely neutral. Dean couldn't tell if he was being made fun of or if this thing was honestly for real.

"Are you going to kill me?" he asked but the reaper only shook his head.

"No. I don't plan to kill anyone. Usually, I just wait for the ones I've come to reap to expire on their own," he assured him.

"Look kind of messy for someone who doesn't cause it," Dean noted, indicating the blood on the reaper, to which Castiel only grinned.

"Never do what you enjoy without passion, Dean," he breathed out. "Now, I do believe we should focus again on the life you currently possess. The others are immaterial. They'll die on their own eventually. It'll take time but eventually the wrinkles will smooth themselves out. You though, I can tell you're going to be trouble."

"Trouble? What the hell are you talking about?"

"There's a vacuum about you, Dean. Dragging over you, around you, but not dragging you in," Castiel explained softly. "It wasn't there before I healed you. A black hole of existence that should not be there. Those other lives, they're small, insignificant. They'll change nothing, no new pattern, but you… You're different."

Dean couldn't help but remember what Roy had said to him, being a young man with a job to do.

"Do you pick the ones Roy saves?" he asked. Had that been what the reverend had felt?

The reaper only shook his head though.

"No, I never gave input on that, but neither did the man of faith," the reaper informed him. "Those words he spoke about being moved to save you were not untrue."

"You heard that conversation?"

"I never moved far from the house, except for when the wife wanted me to work," he explained. "You are curious if someone has some higher plan for you?"

"Would you know about that?"

The reaper stared at him hard for a second.

"You'll be better off dead, Dean. Do both of us a favor and make it quick," he stated before he was suddenly gone.

If Dean had thought that was going to be the last he saw of the reaper, he'd been way wrong. At first it had seemed to be the end of it before he glanced a glimpse of him standing behind the treeline in Cape Girardeau, while investigating the crashes that had taken the lives of people living in the town on the behalf of an ex-girlfriend, Cassie. Dean had forced himself not to look at the reaper, not wanting to know what he was doing here. Either his rounds or for Dean himself, neither of which made him feel happy.

The constant presence wasn't that hard to ignore, at least until Dean was in his car, driving literally for his life as the haunted truck sped after him.

"You know, this would be easier if you just let it catch up to you," Castiel remarked idly from the back seat.

"Shut up, man!" Dean snapped over his shoulder, swerving around the corner so fast it made his baby's tires squeal in protest.

"I'll even reap the ghost of Cyrus Dorian in exchange. Just hit the brake, Dean. I promise I'll make the pain stop when it gets to be too much to bear."

"Don't suppose you'd be willing to just reap Dorian now and save me the trouble?!" Dean asked as he pushed his foot on the gas as hard as he could despite already going top speed.

"Mmm, no. It wouldn't do to not take both of you. You should feel grateful, Dean. You're not going to the same places. I'm already putting myself out by making two stops."

"You know what, bite me!"

Dean screeched to a stop after passing over the old church grounds, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw the truck fade away when it tried to do the same thing. He felt downright smug when he saw the reaper actually looked a bit put out.

"You're more clever than I would have thought," he admitted. Dean just beamed at him mockingly.

"Dean."

"Go away," Dean hissed.

"Dean, this is really starting to get ridiculous."

Dean grabbed the reaper by his coat and shoved him against the wall, glaring at him. He was too pissed to even be surprised that he was able to grab ahold of the reaper and manhandle him like this.

"Don't you ever shut up?" he growled out. He had just seen some shit he would much rather forget, drown it with a bottle of whiskey and never let it surface again. Killing monsters he could handle. That he'd gotten used to a long, long time ago. To see a kid though, Sammy's age, so scared of the world that the only way he'd thought he had to fight back was to murder his own family… it was too much.

It was all too much. He didn't know what this all meant, what it meant for Sam, what it meant for his family or even what it meant for what they were chasing. Dean didn't like to admit it, but he was feeling scared.

"He was supposed to shoot you," Castiel informed him coolly. "Dean, the hole isn't closing. It's getting bigger. You need to do the responsible thing. Let me take you before you regret it."

Dean suddenly reached back and slugged him. It didn't even look like it had hurt the thing, despite the agony shooting up Dean's arm.

"What are you going to say?" the hunter hissed. "Sammy stopped it. What, are you telling me I should have died and Max should have lived?"
Castiel didn't reply, yet for a second it seemed as if he almost wanted to apologize.

Then he opened his mouth.

"If you had died, you wouldn't be feeling this sorrow right now," he informed Dean honestly.

This time, Dean didn't even feel the pain as he punched Castiel again, so angry he felt numb to everything else. He forced himself to walk away though, not even wanting to look at the reaper. It was with fierce determination that he ignored him for days afterward, even when he found himself in a house of crazy hillbillies and saw Castiel behind a deranged little girl holding a glowing poker to his eye, waving his hand a bit as if to encourage Dean to get a show on the road.

Screw him. Dean was going to stay alive just to waste his time. Asshole.

It was only the sound of footsteps on the loose gravel of the playground that cued Dean into the fact he was not alone. Dean swung a bit on the swing that really was much too small for him, his hands loosely gripping the chains on either side of him holding up the seat he was on.

"Haven't seen you for a while," he said as he looked up. Castiel was standing in front of him, twirling his scythe idly with his stained hands. "Here I thought you'd given up."

"I was required to stay away," the reaper admitted. "There were things around you too dangerous to allow myself to get close to."

"What, the tulpa? Don't tell me that thing was so nasty you feared it?" Dean scoffed.

"No, the demon," the reaper admitted. "You are starting to play with dangerous things, Dean. You should really allow me to save you from it while you have a chance."

Dean just hung his head.

"I'm not planning on dying. I got people depending on me," he told the reaper. He couldn't even find it in himself to be angry about it. He was just tired. This last hunt had taken it out of him, fighting off the shtriga that had once tried to kill Sam. It was one of the few honest screw ups on his part from his past. It had felt good to finally put it to bed but it was also leaving him feeling drained.

"Your pain will eventually become unbearable, Dean," Castiel informed him. "You can not run from your fate."

"What would you know about my fate, jackass?"

The reaper gave him a hard look.

"More than you would want to know."

Dean only rolled his eyes, not surprised when the reaper was gone before he could come up with a reply.

Apparently, that thing about not wanting to get near the demons wasn't untrue because he didn't see hide nor hair of the reaper for a while after that. Between chasing down the yellow-eyed freak that had killed his mom, and all the fighting between Dad and Sam, he was too preoccupied to look for the thing that had been hounding his steps.

It was all going too fast now, trying so hard to keep on top of it all. When they'd found the colt, Dean hoped desperately it would be all over, only for John to get captured and he felt terrified he'd lose him the whole time. The danger was only mounting up higher and higher though, the demons on their heels no matter what steps they took to try to stay safe.

When the demon riding around in his father tried to kill him, he was so sure it was the end he was surprised he didn't see Castiel, only for John to somehow fight it off until the thing was out of his body. Bleeding and his whole body screaming in pain, he'd found himself collected and put in the Impala, Sam and John driving as fast as they could to get out of there and get Dean to a hospital.

Dean was barely able to scream out a warning as they all saw the reaper waiting for the oncoming car coming speeding right at him in the middle of the road. Sam didn't even have a chance to hit the breaks before the semi-truck slammed right into the Impala and Dean only saw blackness around him.

Dean heard the girl screaming before he saw her, calling out for help, for someone to acknowledge her. Despite the thing that had been pawing at his body in the hospital only minutes ago, Dean fled to the sound. What could he say? He wasn't good at resisting people who needed his help. Figuring his body would be safe for a little while, his spirit made its way to whoever was causing such a ruckus, only to see a girl with black hair and dressed in hospital clothing like him, begging people around her to look at her.

"Can you see me?" he asked as he went up to her, the girl looking at him confused.

"Yeah," she replied, seemingly uncertain why she shouldn't be able to.

"Alright. Just calm down. What's you… HEY! DON'T TOUCH HER!"

He'd suddenly yelled at Castiel standing behind her, about ready to launch himself at the reaper when he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Tessa, I'd appreciate it if you leave Dean to me," the reaper said, ignoring the hunter entirely. She turned to look at him, a little surprised but not in a way someone should be when confronted by a guy looking like a deranged funeral director.

"Castiel," she sighed out, confusing the hunter. She knew him? "What are you doing here? This isn't your area."

"I'm following a case," he replied before jerking his head at Dean. "He's mine."

She grimaced a bit before taking Castiel's hand in her own and forcing him to drop it from her shoulder. It took a couple wipes at her shirt to get the stain of red off from her white shirt.

"I don't know what you're doing, but please leave when you're done," she said before walking away.

"The hell was-"

"Tessa is a reaper like me," Castiel explained curtly. "Dean, we don't have a lot of time. You need to come with me before it's too late."

"She looks a lot prettier than you..." he mused before making a face. "Was she that creepy looking specter from earlier? Well, at least she doesn't look like she just bathed in tomato juice."

"Dean, this is not the time to joke around. I told you before that you were on borrowed time. This is it. No more second chances, no more free time. You need to move on, or you're going to regret it."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Dean growled out. "My family needs me. What, do you get some sick thrill out of this?"

"Believe it or not, I'm trying to save you."

"Shove it," the hunter snapped before turning on a corner and determinedly going back to his room. Any reaper tried to come for him, he'd make them regret it. However, his act of defiance didn't last long, a wet hand wrapping around him and yanking him close. "Hey, I already said no! I'm getting back in my body and I'm going to-"

"You are going to doom yourself!" Castiel hissed to him angrily. It was such a fierce look it actually caused Dean to stop.

"What… what are you talking about?" he asked.

"Dean… this really has gone on far enough. You're hurting yourself for no reason now," the reaper explained, his expression calming down, but not to a neutral position. There seemed to be a bit of pity in his eyes. "There's nothing left for you now. You're going to die. Not because of me, not because of some monster. Your body is failing and it's not going to get better. You've only death to look forward to now."

"Real convincing. Like all the other times you've spoken like that."

"I saw this from the start. You were always destined to end early, Dean. If you continue to fight it, you'll only twist yourself up into the very thing you fight against," the reaper explained. "Where do you think restless spirits come from? They're the ones that won't move on, that cling to life too tightly, like you are. You need to let it go before the pain consumes you and there's nothing left."

Dean risked a glance of the hand holding him before drifting back to the scythe. Castiel followed his gaze but shook his head.

"I'll be gentle with your soul. That's not something I promise to most," he admitted, his tone actually a little soft. "Come now, for your own good."

"I can't. My family needs me. We're in the middle of a war and-"

"There's always a war, Dean. There's always a fight for men and women like you," Castiel replied. "I've carried plenty, too many for there to be a named number. You think victory depends on you, but it'll go on when you don't. You don't have to carry this pain. You can let go."

"Will… will they be okay? Like Layla?" Dean found himself asking.

Castiel hesitated, looking away before sighing.

"The path your brother is on, he might just go on forever," the reaper promised him.

Dean felt like that was the best he was going to get. He didn't want to go, didn't want to leave Sam and his dad. They really did need him, but what good would he do them to die and become a ghost? Would they find out, have to put him down before he became a danger to others? He dared to look up at Castiel, fear bubbling in his heart as a decision came to him.

"Cas… I..."

He drifted off when the hallway started to shake, Dean looking around wildly and not feeling at all comforted when the reaper looked just as shocked.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, but Castiel only shoved him away, gripping his scythe in both his hands.

"Dean, you need to run!" he yelled just as black smoke erupted from around the corner, billowing out at them at a terrifying speed. The reaper swung at it, but while it sliced through it, the reaper was shoved into the wall roughly, smoke forcing itself into his mouth as Castiel choked out a scream.

Dean could only stare in shock before Castiel's head snapped around to look at him, teleporting right in front of the hunter and grabbing him by the throat.

"Today's your lucky day, kid," the reaper hissed at him, pale yellow eyes boring into Dean.

The man gasped awake, choking on the breathing tube in his mouth. From what seemed far away he could hear his brother calling out to him, but he couldn't focus on it. Ripping at the tube, he clung onto Sam as his younger brother called for help from the staff.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, his whole mind screaming at him. He didn't know why he was in a hospital bed, didn't know where he was, but it was starting to come back to him. Of course, the rawhead. Those kids they'd saved… Dean had been in a hospital after he'd electrocuted himself. Once he ripped the tube away and could breathe, he fell back onto the bed in relief.

"Dude… remind me not to handle stun guns in puddles again," he sighed out, while Sam stared at him in confusion. "What?"

"Dean… what are you talking about?"

"The rawhead. You know, it had the kids. We got them out, right?"

"Dean, that was months ago. How can you not remember that?"

The older Winchester looked at his brother in confusion. Months? No, that had just been the other day. Hadn't it?

He gripped at his head, wondering what could have happened to have knocked his memory so far out of wack. In fact, why was he still in a hospital if it had been so long? It was then that his eye caught something on his forearm, a red and wet handprint of blood on his arm.

"The hell? Sammy, what the hell is this?" he asked as he raised his arm to show his brother, but Sam only looked blankly at his skin.

"What? Is something wrong?" he asked, making Dean realize he couldn't see it.

He cradled his arm in his hand, the blood smearing on his skin as his stomach sank. For some reason, he felt like he'd lost something, and it actually terrified him that he didn't know who or what it was.

End

Well, there we go. I know, very open ended ending. Kind of Lady or the Tiger sort of one. I figured this one-shot kind of needed that.

Did Cas die? Is he okay? Is Dean gonna remember him? Who knows? It's the end, so that's up to your interpretation! Mwahahaha!

Anyway, hope you liked it. Please review if you did.