Title: we sit with the gods and design ourselves
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Dorothy Gilman.
Warnings: future!fic AU, I'm thinking
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 200
Point of view: third
Castiel does not hesitate, on the very last day of all. He wings his way to the brothers, stands at their backs, eyes on their foes and swords in his hands.
He fights for the world he's come to love, for the warm ocean breeze and the dry mountain air. He stabs and spins for a meadow of wildflowers, for does and their fawns, for lions and eagles, for whales and stingrays. He bleeds for an infant's first cry and a horse's first gallop, for a peasant in China and the President of the United States. He gasps for a termite mound in Africa and a squid in the Marinas Trench, for all life, innocent and guilty, dying and unborn.
Finally, the horde stops coming, all of Hell's soldiers either dead or surrendered. There is light to the east, soft and gentle and warm, and the brothers stand bathed in its glow.
It is done, the battle over, Hell defeated and Life saved. He turns to look at the brothers, at what remains of Hell at their feet, cowering and cowed.
Sam says softly, "Heaven's turn, now."
Dean smiles, turning to look at Castiel.
It is a relief to bow.