You're making the right decision.
Castiel has to constantly remind himself on his drive to Heaven's gate. He nearly turns back on his last stop for gas.
But then he remembers how he'd been grabbing some last-minute ingredients for a spell on their last Hunt, intending to stop what they thought had been a warlock. It wasn't a warlock. It was just a demon dabbling in old, dark magic. And by the time Castiel had gotten to the scene, the demon had been dealt with. Dean had clapped a hand on Castiel's shoulder and said,
"We didn't need the ingredients for the spell after all. Turns out it was just a demon."
Castiel had felt completely useless.
And that's what he is now. Useless. Castiel's relationship with the Winchesters has always been about his usefulness. What he can do to help. How he can help as an angel rather than another man. He knows the Winchesters have kept him around for as long as they have because of his angelic powers. He'd be dead long ago without them anyway. He has died with them and has only been lucky to be brought back each time. But there is nothing to help out with anymore besides Hunts. Which the Winchesters have proven time and time again that they are more than capable of doing on their own. This last Hunt is a prime example.
Castiel's thoughts are ended upon his arrival to Heaven's gate. He stares at the playground and feels nothing. He's cried all his tears. He's doubted himself a hundred times over. He's ready for this all to be done.
He steps outside, and it's quiet. His footsteps seem loud in comparison. A couple of angels are stationed next to the gate. They're standing rigidly, not even attempting to blend in. They probably don't have to. No one is at the park at 3am.
The angels notice him and stand straighter, their hands hovering over their blades.
"Castiel?" the one on the right asks.
"Hello, brother," Castiel answers and looks towards the other angel. "Sister." He nods in greeting. "I'm not here to fight."
"Sorry if we don't quite believe you," his sister answers bitterly.
Shame and guilt strike Castiel surprisingly hard. He swallows. "I understand if you harbor negative feelings towards me, but—"
His sister chuckles. "Negative feelings? That's underselling it."
"Let him speak," the other angel rebukes. He looks at Castiel. "Proceed."
"I want to help," Castiel says. "No. I need to help. I'm not ignorant of my crimes against Heaven and the Host. I want to fix what I can."
The angels exchange a look. His sister raises her eyebrows. His brother appears hesitant, quickly looks at Castiel, then back at his sister. He nods, and they both step forward. They approach Castiel until they are less than a foot away.
His sister says, "You can help. Heaven is far from what it once was merely eight years ago. But you can help. We need all the power we can get in cleaning it up."
Relief washes over Castiel. There is something he can do. There is something he can fix. There are some wrongs he can right. "Tell me," Castiel says. "I will do anything."
"You don't have to do much," his sister says sharply, and the feeling of wrongness shoots through Castiel's gut.
But before Castiel can act on this instinct, his brother and sister each grab one of his arms. "What are you doing?" Castiel asks sharply.
"Taking what little value you have left," his sister replies, brandishing her blade.
Castiel squirms, but it's no use. He's not stronger than two of his siblings. Not two at once. Not while he's unprepared. This was a very stupid decision. He shouldn't have come here.
His sister brings her blade to Castiel's neck while his brother uses his free hand to grab a fistful of Castiel's hair, steadying him while his sister gently slices across Castiel's neck. Castiel can feel his grace pouring out of him. It's a feeling he's familiar with, and he's terrified. All of his power, his light, everything that gives him worth, is leaving. He can already feel the cold from the night air sinking into his skin as more and more of his grace pours out of him. He remembers what it's like to be cold. And hungry. And tired. And weak.
And alone.
He can't be human. Not again. Castiel tries to break free, but it's useless. Just like he's becoming.
"No," Castiel says. "Please, you don't have to do this. I can help! I'm willing to help!"
"You are helping," his brother replies.
And just like that, his grace is all gone. He's human. It's cold, and it hurts where his siblings are gripping him too hard. His arms are going to bruise. His brother releases his hold on Castiel's hair, and Castiel's head falls forward. He stares at his shoes in the sand.
"Why?" Castiel's voice already sounds weaker. He looks up. "Why?" he repeats.
"This is what you deserve," his sister spits out angrily. Her eyes are cold. Her brother's eyes match hers.
"Why didn't you just kill me?" Castiel asks.
His sister answers, "I wasn't lying when I said you could help. Your grace will help clean up the mess you've made."
"Besides," his brother continues, "who says we aren't going to kill you?"
Faster than Castiel can process, his brother's blade appears in his hand, and in one swift motion, he plunges the blade into Castiel's stomach.
Castiel stares at the metal sticking out of him, glinting in the moonlight. It doesn't feel real. It's all so cold.
Then his brother pulls the blade out, and Castiel's siblings release him. Castiel stumbles backward but doesn't fall. He places his hands over his wound. His blood warms his hands. Castiel looks up to try and plead with his siblings one more time. He doesn't believe they are completely heartless. Mercy isn't dead. He's been a part of Heaven far longer than he's been here. That has to mean something.
But his siblings are already heading back to the gate. His brother steps inside, and his sister turns to look at Castiel one more time with a sneer. She disappears in a flash of light.
Castiel blinks. He feels dizzy. Something warm and thick and metallic is in his mouth. He coughs and blood spills out, dripping down his shirt. He looks down to see how much he's ruined his clothing, but he can't quite manage it and falls backward.
He hits the sand hard but manages to keep his hands on his wound. He swallows blood. The stars above are twinkling silently. It's actually quite peaceful. But cold. Castiel presses harder into his wound to hopefully slow the bleeding.
Then he laughs. What is he doing? He is dying. There is no one here. No one is going to help him. He will die. Why is he trying to cling onto life?
Besides, he doesn't have much to go back to. It would be more of the same. Third-wheeling while Hunting. But now he'd be helpless. He'd just be a burden to the only people he truly cares about.
Castiel supposes it's a good thing he's been stabbed. Dean is going to think he just left regardless if Castiel makes it back into Heaven or dies here. It's the same ending for Dean, and that's all that matters.
The cold hurts, and Castiel's wound throbs painfully. He closes his eyes. He's ready. He honestly didn't think he'd live this long anyway. Castiel swallows more blood and breathes in deeply. He's drifting, and it feels so much like falling asleep. He's glad. He needs to rest. His surroundings feel as if they're melting away. The cold seeps into his bones, slowing his thoughts. The pain from his wound feels distant, and Castiel knows he's close.
At least he knows the King of Hell, so he won't be completely alone for where he's going next.
Something jars his consciousness back forward. He isn't sure how much time has passed. He thinks he heard something, but he's not quite sure. Was it even real? His grip on reality is slipping. He's beginning to fade again, but there's a noise. He's sure of it this time. He isn't quite sure what it is, but it's familiar. And angry. No… Scared. He hears it again, and he's forced even closer back to fully waking. It's annoying.
Something warm touches the side of his face, and it feels nice, but before Castiel can enjoy it, it's gone. Pain erupts from Castiel's stomach, sharp and stabbing. It makes him dizzy, and he cries out. Castiel reaches towards its source and finds something solid and warm. Skin. But not his own. Someone is touching him where it hurts. Are his siblings back? What cruel joke is this?
"Please, stop, please," Castiel begs them. He can feel warm blood falling out of his mouth as he says it. He tries to open his eyes, but his eyelids are impossibly heavy.
A hand grabs his wrist and presses his own hand onto his wound. Castiel isn't sure why his siblings would do this. He knows he's injured. He knows where he's injured. He tries to move his hand away, but it's grabbed again, insistently, and placed back on his wound.
Keep your hand here.
Castiel frowns and continues to fight to open his eyes. He's already kept his hands on his wound. It's pointless. Where did that thought come from? Or was that a thought? It sounded like a command.
Before he can figure out what's happening, the entire world shifts, and the ground is no longer beneath him. He's being lifted up somewhere. His siblings have him! They're taking him somewhere! Are they going to torture him? He deserves it, and his siblings know this. They did just stab him. They're going to hurt him!
"Please," Castiel tries again and moves his arms in an attempt to push whoever is holding him away. Castiel tries to lift his head. He just needs to open his eyes.
"—your hand on your stab wound, dammit!"
Castiel instinctively reaches for his wound. It hurts.
"Yeah, I know it hurts, but you have to keep pressure on it."
But what's the point? It's too late.
"It's not too late. This isn't a debate, Cas."
Castiel is hallucinating, because that sounds like Dean. And Dean isn't here. Castiel really is dying.
"Don't fucking say that."
It's cold. So cold.
His consciousness starts to slip again, and he's not quite sure where he is or who he is. Or what's happening. Everything hurts and everything is cold. He just wants to sleep forever. Maybe he should do that. Yes, that sounds nice.
He goes somewhere, but he's not entirely sure where. His eyes are closed, and he can feel his body, but just barely. It's as if his soul is trying to fly away but is still tethered to some part of his physical form. He wants to fly away. His body is too cold. And it hurts. There is something wrong with it. There is something wrong with him.
A warmth spreads across his body, across the painful part, bringing his soul back down. He's connecting with his body once again. He doesn't want to. But the warmth is persistent. It presses against him. Curls around his neck. Runs through his hair. Pushes into the small of his back. It breathes gently across his cheek. His lips. It smells like Dean.
Dean.
Dean Winchester.
Light.
Warmth.
Family.
Love.
Castiel craves it. Craves him. Castiel craves Dean.
Dean is worth fighting for. He's worth rushing back to his body for. He's worth feeling the pain for.
Dean is worth living for.
"—called an ambulance. It should be here soon, okay? Hang in there, Cas. Please. You gotta keep fighting. You're still alive. You're still here."
Castiel is laying on his back. He can make out the roof of the Impala in the dark. Dean is pressed against him. His chest against Castiel's. He's holding Castiel gently but firmly. One of his hands is on Castiel's lower back, between the seat. His other is holding the back of his neck.
Castiel's wound hurts. He can feel his own heartbeat inside it, pounding sharply as if he's being stabbed again with each beat. It also feels itchy as if there's something wrapped around it. Castiel wants to claw it off. He whimpers.
"Shh," Dean says. His voice close to Castiel's right ear. "It's okay. Help is coming. You're gonna be okay. You're gonna be just fine."
Castiel lifts his hands. His arms are heavy and slow, but he manages to rest them on Dean's back. Dean is very warm. It's nice.
Dean starts at the contact and pulls back. "Cas?" Green eyes meet Castiel's, and Castiel has never seen Dean look so relieved. "Hey," Dean says softly, and it's only then Castiel notices the tears running down Dean's face.
Castiel frowns. "What's wrong?" His voice is hoarse, and his mouth is dry.
Dean blinks in confusion. "What?"
"You're crying. What's wrong?" Castiel can tell he's missing something. He still feels spacey and dizzy and not quite fully back in his body. He knows he should be able to tell what's upsetting Dean, but he can't. But he should. He needs to protect Dean from things that do this to him.
Dean chokes out a breath and leans his forehead against Castiel's. Castiel relishes in the contact.
"I like this," Castiel says and then realizes he never heard Dean's answer.
Dean jerks back. "Like what?" His eyes are searching Castiel's. Dean is scared.
Castiel frowns. "Touching you. What do you think I meant?" Castiel knows there's something wrong about telling Dean he likes when they touch, but he can't quite remember why.
Dean looks relieved for the second time and rests his forehead on Castiel's again. "I like this too."
Castiel allows himself to enjoy the moment. He knows this is rare, but, again, he can't remember why. He gets lost in Dean's warmth and starts to drift again. He realizes he's closed his eyes. "I'm sleepy," Castiel says.
He feels Dean pull away. "No, no, hey. Cas. Cas. Look at me."
Castiel reluctantly opens his eyes, but sleep still tugs at him. It's got its claws in deep and pulls at the very center of his being.
Dean is staring down at him, worry etched across his face. He places a hand on Castiel's cheek. "You have to stay awake," he says gently. "Can you do that for me?"
Castiel nods. "I'd do anything for you." And it's true.
But Dean apparently doesn't know this and stares in surprise. Dean might not know a lot of important things like this, Castiel realizes. That isn't good. Castiel can feel himself sinking back towards unconsciousness. He doesn't have a lot of time to tell Dean the important things.
So Castiel tells him, "I think you're beautiful."
This only makes Dean look even more concerned. He opens his mouth to reply but suddenly freezes, his eyes snapping to something above Castiel. The Impala's window. "Do you hear that?"
Dean's actions all seem fast and slow at the same time. Like being drunk. Castiel's being pulled under again. He struggles to keep his heavy eyelids open.
Dean continues, still staring out the window, "Sirens! They're here! The ambulance is here!" Dean looks back down and instantly frowns.
Castiel grips onto Dean's shirt tightly, but his grip is still weak. Everything is already beginning to darken. "Dean." Even words are difficult now. "I can't stay awake anymore. 'M sorry." Castiel closes his eyes.