Castiel awoke slowly to the throbbing pain he felt. Was the pain everywhere? He couldn't tell. But that was all he could think about.
He willed himself to open his eyes, his vision blurred by his dimly lit surroundings.
He noted the smell. He could smell steel, metal. He wasn't certain at the moment, the sharp and dull pains clouding all his senses.
As his eyes adjusted, he could tell where he was...but it made no sense.
He was in the dungeon in the bunker. Surely, there was something divine at the end of this. Perhaps he and Dean were attacked by surprise?
Cas tried to bring his hands to his head to numb the pain, with no luck. His hands were cuffed to the cold metal chair he was sitting in. He remembered that this same chair held the King of Hell at one point, and wondered what force could have put him there.
"Dean?" He called, his voice was hoarse as if he'd been screaming. If he had, he didn't remember.
All corners of the room were dark. He knew it was most likely daylight, as he could remember the sun rising while he sat in the library earlier that morning.
His pulse quickened, remembering his confrontation with Dean. He had destroyed his bedroom, screamed at him to leave when he had tried to help him.
He could tell that Dean had been losing his "ground", so to speak. He couldn't tell if the Mark was driving him mad, or if it was bringing something entirely new out of Dean that he, nor Sam, had never seen before. Maybe it was both.
Cas attempted to writhe his hands free from the spelled cuffs on the chair he was currently confined in. It did no good, but at least he could say he tried.
Damn it, he was tired. His head throbbed still, relentlessly, and the Angel wondered what in God's name hit him. More importantly, he was wondering WHO had hit him...but honestly, there was just no telling in their line of work anymore.
Castiel groaned. "This can't be good," he mumbled to himself.
Just as he let out a struggled sigh, Castiel could hear the faint sound of footsteps treading down the corridor outside of the dungeon that held him.
"Hello?!" Cas cried out. He decided it was probably better to face whomever was holding him captive sooner rather than later. He needed to know where Dean was, and if he was okay.
He needed Dean to be okay.
"Who's there?!" He yelled again, this time in frustration. The Angel had other things to do besides playing games with a bully.
He heard the door outside the barricading shelves creak open, and he could finally make out a figure on the other side.
The door slammed shut, and there was a brief pause by the figure, and Cas wondered if this person would even speak at all.
He narrowed his eyes, squinting, trying to make out the form approaching him.
"Tell me who you are!" He yelled, but the unseen assailant took his time closing the space between them.
"How's your head?" Came Dean's voice from the other side. Castiel's face fell in confusion as he watched Dean's outline pull aside the shelves and bookcases that separated the dungeon from the doorway to the corridor.
Dean cleared his throat.
"And man...you're gettin' rusty, pal. You never even saw me comin'!" Dean laughed.
Castiel shook his head in disbelief. Dean had attacked him? He couldn't fathom it.
"Dean...are you alright?" Castiel asked, hoping for an explanation.
Dean was walking closer to Cas, and he could just barely make out his face. '*Thank God, he seems to be alright*,' Cas thought to himself.
"I'm fine, Cas. But you...you look shit!" Dean chuckled, walking even further into the dim light the solitary light bulb overhead provided.
Castiel hesitated. "You did this, Dean?" He asked.
He needed to know that his gut instinct was not wrong for telling him to be afraid of Dean in this very moment.
"You put me here?"
Dean was standing in front of him now, peering down at him the same way a predator would at its prey.
"Well, I sorta thought that was what I was implying," Dean smirked.
Castiel's stomach turned, wrenched with anxiety.
'This can't be happening,' He thought.
Dean had finally snapped.
Dean eyes pierced Cas, still holding the smirk he had found when the Angel realized he had absolutely lost it.
Cas's face was solid. He was trying so hard to fake his resolve. Dean was his weakness, and he had no good poker face to use against him.
"Dean..." Cas started, simply staring at the dirty concrete floor beneath his feet.
"...Why?" He asked.
Dean sighed a big, easy sigh.
"Cas, this is me tellin' you to stop, damnit," Dean said.
"This..." He pointed to the chair Cas was in, "...is completely unnecessary, don't you think?"
He put both hands on his own knees and bent forward, addressing Cas as if he were a child.
Castiel met his eyes.
"Yes! This is ridiculous, Dean. I-I was leaving, I was going to give you some time. The Mark-it's doing something to you...just uncuff me and let me help you!" He exclaimed, his frustration breaking his resolve further.
Dean straightened back up.
"See, I know that deep down inside...you weren't gonna leave. You were gonna sulk in the freakin' library until I cooled down..." Dean said, shaking his head at Cas.
"...and then you were gonna try, try again. Try and fix me, right? Isn't that what its always about?" Dean questioned him, but Castiel's eyes only found the floor again.
Dean was definitely under the Mark's influence, but he was right. Cas never planned on leaving the bunker.
"Dean, I-" Cas started, but Dean cut him off angrily.
"No, Cas! I'm done. Alright?!" His voice bellowed, out shaking the room as if an avalanche were hurdling upon them.
Cas glanced up at Dean. He still wore the wrinkled black t-shirt he had been in earlier, his hair still a mess, and his eyes...they just didn't seem like Dean's eyes.
They were still the wondrous emerald color Castiel had instantly admired the moment he had first met him in human form.
He recalled the shed, or barn, whatever it was he toppled on top when Dean and Bobby had first summoned him. He remembered how much he admired the strength in Deans eyes, and how he challenged him when Castiel revealed his identity as an Angel of the Lord.
He had to try.
"Dean..." Cas said quietly, "I know you're tired. I can't imagine how hard it's been for you. The Mark's hold on you is strong...," Cas decided to say only that much for now. He had no idea where Dean was at emotionally (besides "snapped").
"I know Cas, and I don't wanna fuckin' fight it anymore..." Dean said, as if his words bore no weight.
"I want you to let me go. I want you to let me handle this, 'cause...hell," Dean paused, and put one hand behind his back, reaching for something.
"My life's never been easier, Cas!" Dean revealed his hand, yielding the First Blade.
'No. He couldn't possibly have that. Sam took it, didn't he?' Cas thought when he saw the Blade. It didn't matter now.
Dean held it in front of him like a trophy, gazing at it with admiration.
"Cas, I don't feel much of anything anymore," Dean said casually. "And I don't fuckin' want to. I'm opting out," Dean stepped forward and put a hand on Cas's shoulder, still holding the First Blade.
"You know you can't fix me. You've known it all along...and if want, I can help you."
As Deans last sentence rolled off his tongue, Cas stared at him. This was not the Dean he knew.
"What do you mean, Dean? How can you help me?" Cas asked, struggling to make sense of all of this. He could barely catch his breath, his heart racing, feeling like a trapped rat.
Dean kept his hand on Castiel's shoulder, and smiled at him. There was so much anger in Dean's eyes Cas could almost taste it.
"I'm gonna leave, and you're not gonna stop me Cas. That's how I'm gonna help you...you care way too damn much, my friend," Dean said.
Cas took a deep breath, trying to think of what to say. He knew he couldn't give Dean what he wanted. He could never let Dean leave. They could find a way to remove the Mark, they could fix this...
"Dean, I-I-" Cas was stuttering, unsure of himself. "-I can't do that."
Dean withdrew his hand from his shoulder, and Castiel dared catch his empty eyes. Dean ran his fingers through his tousled hair and sighed.
"Wrong answer."
Cas felt the blow of Deans fist on his left cheek, momentarily causing him to lose his bearings.
He cried out in pain, tasting his own blood in his mouth. Dean withdrew his fist after the punch he'd just landed.
"Change of heart now, Cas? Are ya gonna let me go?" Dean asked, now pacing in circles around him angrily.
"No, Dean..." Cas said carefully, spitting the blood out of his mouth and onto the floor.
"...I care about you. Sam and I...need you." He could barely breathe his words to life.
Dean stopped in his tracks. His knuckles were white around the First Blade, and his jaw was clenched rage.
He let out an exasperated cry of frustration.
"Why the hell do you care, Cas?! You don't need me! Sammy sure as hell doesn't need me, so WHY-"
Dean punched Cas again in the face, drawing more crimson blood and another painful cry from him.
"-DO YOU-"
PUNCH. More blood. More pain.
"-KEEP TRYING?!"
PUNCH.
Dean pulled away, pausing the brutal beating he was giving to his friend. His breath was heavy, but he wasn't sorry; He was only angry.
Castiel's nose and eyes were swelling. The blood from his face that Dean had just drawn covered him. He closed his eyes.
'Wait it out... he'll come to his senses. He'll stop.' Cas thought to himself.
Dean resumed his restless pace around Castiel. He methodically cracked his knuckles that wore Castiel's blood, then began tossing the First Blade between them.
"What're you thinkin'?" Dean asked in a low growl. "You gonna 'leave well enough alone', so they say?"
Cas didn't answer. He wouldn't give in to Dean's tactics, he wouldn't give him, or what he was now, that satisfaction.
After several moments passed by, Dean stopped pacing just in front of Cas.
By the tension in the air, he could tell that Dean didn't like the silent treatment.
He eyed Castiel, his hands still cuffed, and only staring at the floor expressionless.
"Ya know feathers, I never took you for the passive aggressive type..." Dean cocked his head, still waiting for a response.
Holding his ground, Cas still said nothing.
"...that 'quiet game' crap ain't workin' on me." Dean said, a new tone in his voice.
As if the crazed man had suddenly had a change of heart, Dean began to walk away towards the door.
Cas breathed out a quiet sigh of relief.
"Maybe it's over...please let this be over. This isn't Dean." Cas thought.
As if Dean had heard his very thoughts, he stopped suddenly, back turned to Cas.
"I bet you're thinkin' this is over," Dean taunted over his shoulder, turning back to face him. He had a grin on his face that Cas didn't recognize.
"It's not." Dean gripped the blade in his hand until his arm trembled.
Castiel finally mustered the courage to look him in the eyes.
They held each other's gazes for a few seconds, but it didn't last long before Dean rolled his eyes in boredom.
"I'm done fuckin' around, Cas," He sauntered toward his friend, who had returned his eyes to the ground beneath them.
"It's over." Dean held out the First Blade.
Just as Cas heard what Dean said, he slashed through the air with the First Blade furiously, with a cry of rage that Cain himself would envy.
Dean sliced at Castiel's chest, leaving a wound that would kill him in moments if he were fully mortal.
Cas's screams filled the dungeon, echoing from wall to wall, floor to ceiling.
Dean stood in front of him, heaving from the restraint he'd shown, the Blade dripping with Castiel's blood.
Cas tried to quiet his cries of pain. He closed his eyes-not because he didn't want to see what was coming next, but because he didn't want to see Dean doing this to him. That would've been more painful than the wide gash on his chest.
It spewed scarlet red, spattering onto the ground below. He could hear the drops hitting the floor. He felt his shirt and trenchcoat dampen with warmth, the deep red stain blooming out in all directions.
"Cas, if there has ever been a time to pray, this is it!" Dean snarled at him. He still stood before him, arm shaking and out of breath, attempting to restrain himself.
Then it hit him. Castiel hadn't prayed since...he couldn't remember when.
"God, if you're even there anymore, I need you. Dean needs you. C'mon, coward! Help me, just this once!"
Cas prayed. He wasn't sure if God would answer him (or if He was listening at all), but at least he could take comfort in the fictitious idea that help was coming. But, he knew better.
"Did ya pray, Angel? We good?" Dean asked impatiently.
Cas jumped at his loud voice, snapping back to reality. God-damnit, this was real.
Castiel found the courage within him to lift his head, and look Dean in the eyes again. His breathing was shallow, and could barely see past the swollen lids over his blue eyes.
Dark brown blood was drying on his lips, constantly being covered by a new layer of crimson.
"Dean," Cas breathed. His assailant met his eyes. "Dean, it's going to be okay-" He coughed, trying to get the words out.
His body was betraying him, and he didn't have much time. He needed to say it. He'd practiced it over and over in his mind, countless times. Why was his tongue failing him now?
Cas cleared his throat, and found Dean's eyes again, who was impatiently waiting on him to finish his sentence.
"Get it over with." Cas told himself.
"I love you, Dean," A breath of relief left Castiel's body as if a toxic weight had been lifted from him. He kept his eyes on Dean, who's interest seemed to pique.
Dean raised his eyebrows, looking more lost than ever.
"I love you, Dean," Cas repeated. "I can save you if you let me try, but I know you won't. You're too damn stubborn,"
He felt like he was chasing his own words.
"I've failed you so many times, and I'm sorry. I've been trying to understand what this meant, why I can't stand to see you suffer...and that's what it is, Dean. It's love-and you know what it feels like. Maybe not the way I do, maybe not today, but I know you've felt it before..."
Cas caught his breath.
"...and that's why I can't walk away."
"I did it. I finally told him." Cas thought.
Dean looked confused, and took a few steps back in what Cas could only assume was shock. He continued to hold his breath halfway, gritting his teeth through the pain that emanated through him.
Dean started to say something, then put his hand to his furrowed brow. He shook his head, and starkly began to laugh. Not a laugh of relief, not a maniacal laugh...just a laugh.
Cas closed his eyes, hanging his head in defeat.
He was suddenly terrified of what Dean could do. His honest words had no effect on him, and now he was probably going to end him. Just like that. He wasn't going to ask Dean to stop, or not to hurt him anymore.
Dean taught him begging was for cowards; and he'd sooner be killed than having the only human he cared about seeing him as a coward.
"Ya know Cas, that would've been nice to know. A year ago," Dean announced. Purposefully, he retraced his steps closer to Castiel.
"Hell, I've felt it. Maybe I still do. Jesus, maybe that's why I've chased your crazy feathered ass halfway around the world countless fuckin' times. But...who knows? 'Coulda been love, 'coulda been bullshit." Dean said.
His words were like a knife in Cas's wind-pipe; he'd never felt that before, but he imagined this was pretty close. He could only focus on trying to stay awake. He knew he had to keep his eyes on Dean, listen to him.
They'd done so much together-Hell, they stopped the fucking apocalypse for God's sake! He only prayed that help would come soon.
Dean leaned down toward Cas, his face inches away. Cas could feel his breath on his own. He could almost taste the cheap whiskey Dean enjoyed so much the night before. He didn't want to look away from the green orbs that filled his view.
Dean lifted his left hand and held Castiel's face with it. Cas closed his eyes at the comforting sensation, letting Dean's hand support his head a bit.
At the feeling of Dean being so close, he realized that for the first time in a long time, he was angry.
"We could've had this," he thought, "If only Dean hadn't been so stubborn."
"Hey!" Dean demanded, waking Cas from the daze he'd slipped into. The blood loss was finally taking its toll on him.
Dean still held his face with his hand, his face still inches from his, and he stared into his eyes once more.
"Cas, God's not here." Dean said, staring into the blue eyes before him.
"You're nothing but a failure in a trenchcoat."
Castiel's face fell. The last shred of hope he had for Dean was tarnished. His head was whirling, his surroundings blurred together. He felt as if he were falling asleep.
"God is gone, and so is Dean."
As the weight of Castiel's near-unconscious body fell on him, Dean let go of him, retrieving the key to the spelled cuffs from his pocket. Freeing his hands, he guided Cas's limp body to the floor, and stood over him for a brief moment.
Then, without hesitation, Dean bent down and plunged the First Blade through Castiel's core.
An explosion of white-hot, blue light shot up and out, escaping the dying Angel. The lancelike rays of pure grace and energy emanated throughout the dungeon. It was the most terrifying expense of incandescent light that Dean had ever seen; the horrific holy flash nearly blinding him.
The single dusty light bulb overhead burst, and a sheet of shattered glass sprinkled the two of them like snow.
The door to the corridor was blown off its creaky hinges, and the lights that had been trapped by the dungeon's confines would have bore a hole right through the ceiling, had they not been underground.
The blue and white lights were fading from Castiel quickly.
And although Dean couldn't hear it, the shrill cries and shrieks of thousands of Angels rang out, Cas's brothers and sisters, flooding 'Angel Radio': "Castiel is dead."