Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its affiliates belong to Eric Kripke.
Doubt. It was a feeling of uncertainty or a lack of conviction. It was a concept laced with hesitation, with suspicion and ambivalence. In other words, it was a lack of total trust and absolute faith. Humans were allowed to feel doubtful for though they were indeed made in the image of God, they were creations that were flawed due to sin. Angels, however, were different. The warriors of Heaven were to carry out commands from the throne of the Most High without question. They did not doubt the Lord.
But what if they did?
Somehow despite everything else cluttering his mind and fogging up his awareness- not only the ragged edges of nerves giving voice to the sensory overload but also the overwhelming despair that made his heart sink once he saw Sam Winchester pinned against the wall- Castiel wondered if all this was chastisement for the questions that lurked in the back of his mind concerning the orders he'd been receiving from above, if God was punishing him for nearly being tempted into disobedience.
He hadn't fallen like Anna had, but as he hung there, weak and defenseless, watching Alastair power up the reciprocating saw that had been brought along by the demons for the sole purpose of cutting through his sternum, he wished for swift judgment and penalty from Heaven (as Anna would soon receive) instead of such prolonged torment that would never end.
Was doubt a transgression so terrible that the fitting punishment was an eternity of torture and separation from the Father as a lost, wretched soul in the depths of the Pit?
Yet give attention to your servant's prayer and his plea for mercy, O Lord my God. Hear the cry and the prayer that your servant is praying in your presence this day. The angel's soul cried out for assistance and forgiveness, but it was impossible for the holiness and purity of the Father to be here among such depravity and in the presence of evil.
Was it true, the unclean words the fallen ones had been whispering into his ears the entire time they had been ripping his vessel apart in the abyss? Was it true that he was now so filthy, so soiled and filled with shameful impurity that he was no longer welcomed into the hallowed halls of Heaven? What if the Father really wanted nothing more to do with him?
Demons lied though; they always lied and sometimes even believed their own falsehoods to be truth. But Castiel didn't know the difference between fact and mere fabrications of his own stressed mind anymore, goaded on by external forces that he had no control over. All he knew of at this moment was that another seal was about to be broken, Lucifer was about to be granted a vessel, and the thought even more painful than being flayed to the bone or an eternity upon the rack-
His Father no longer cared as to what happened to him.
And that knowledge, above all else, was enough to make Castiel lose hope.
"They're not going to leave even a piece of him for us?"
"Nah. Selfish bastards, always having all the fun themselves and leaving us nothing but scraps."
Several demons leaned casually against the side of the rundown building bumming smokes off of each other while others lounged lazily around, waiting for the sign, any sign of the ritual's completion. None of them noticed a slim figure scaling the edge of the building and carrying a strange-looking device, dark hair snapping like a banner in wind.
Ruby cursed all hunters under her breath as she sought for another crevice to put her foot in the wall of the decrepit building, trying to juggle the blowtorch and her own form without dropping one or the other. Damn you Dean Winchester, she thought viciously as she reached the script that seemed to be glowing white on the red brick surface, an elaborate symbol only eyes like hers could see and from where she hung, she could see quite a few of them. She heaved a groan of exasperation. Damn it, Sam. The only reason I'm here is to save your ass. Again.
A redheaded girl tossed her head and shrugged her shoulders at her companion's dejected statement, crossing her arms across her chest. "Hell, I'd like to get the scraps of that meat puppet, not to mention the angel that's bound inside."
"Get in line," was the response and she stubbed out the butt of her cigarette on her vessel's tongue and lifted her eyebrows at the dare.
"What, you wanna have a go, you spineless dick?"
"Bring it on, bitch." Too late did the demon realize that the growl had not come from the other demons who were rapidly backing away from something behind her, faces stretching in fear and she turned, long nails ready to do damage when a blast of rock salt erupted in her face. She fell back, screeching and cursing the emerald-eyed hunter holding the shotgun with murder written in his intense gaze and hard features that held tales of sleepless nights and something even darker spurred on by an unnamable emotion akin to hateful desperation.
Ruby watched as Dean's presence instigated a brawl that shattered the quiet darkness and as the other demons reacted to the hunter's presence. Taking a deep breath, she ignited the blowtorch and slowly began to sear through the symbols on the wall.
The saw's whirring blade stopped an inch away from Castiel's chest and a pleased smirk crept onto Alastair's face. "Oh, we have an audience," he purred, turning his head toward the swinging doors, outside of which screams and sounds of melee were flooding the hallways and crashing against the walls of the empty building to echo back their ghostly refrains. The demon inhaled deeply. No, there was no mistaking the redolence of that soul and he flashed Sam a grin that made the hunter involuntarily shudder. "Guess he couldn't bear to miss the show, eh?"
Sam's eyes widened and darted toward the door, the demons occupying the room did the same and all was silent save for the sound of Castiel's wheezing breaths and the sound of the commotion nearing closer and closer to the door-
"-send all of your sorry asses back to Hell!"
BANG. CRASH.
A body was driven backwards in through the swinging doors, momentum bringing the man flat on his back but he continued to fire off rounds of rock salt from the shotgun he held against his chest even as the horde of demons within the operating room swarmed him, grabbing the barrel and other miscellaneous weapons on the hunter's person. Presently though, Dean was hauled up onto his feet, defenseless and with his arms twisted behind his back and with blood running down his chin from a split lip.
Dean! Sam tried to yell out his brother's name but it came out as a muffled "mmmph!!" and he struggled against Belial's telekinetic power hold over him; the possessed Brit cast him an amused glance at his efforts before an unctuous voice filled the room, commanding everyone's attention.
"Dean, Dean, Dean. We just keep running into each other, don't we?" Alastair lifted his chin, looking down in what seemed to be a curious manner, when in reality there was nothing but ridicule in the gesture. "Here on a little rescue mission?"
The hunter didn't answer. His gaze had traveled over to his brother and after a brief once-over that concluded Sam was free of any immediate life-threatening injuries (the only thing that would be bothering him was that rather nasty-looking bump on his head), Dean's attention fixed upon center stage and something dark and foreboding boiled over.
Alastair smiled smugly; he knew the reason for the dawning outrage on Dean's face and it was actually quite entertaining to see the boy's features transform from pure shock to determined hate. "You like my work? I'll admit that he wasn't as compliant of a canvas as you were Dean, but you know what they say: art is art," the demon sighed and carelessly flicked a finger against the brand on Castiel's forehead before drawing back his fist and slamming it against the angel's exposed and already abused abdomen. Fresh blood wet his knuckles. "What do you think, Belial?"
The well-dressed demon hissed in admiration, lasciviously licking his lips. "Delicious."
Castiel was instinctively trying to curl in on himself to absorb the damage, doubling over as far as the restraining straps would allow and the eyelids that had fluttered shut slammed open, irises growing glossy with moisture at the unexpected blow and his mouth opened, hollow like a cavern, gasping for breath. His reaction garnered loud and brute laughter from all the demons in the room and from his position flat against the wall Sam flinched and looked away; Alastair was drawing his fist back for another blow-
The thinning string of self-control that dangled taunting in Dean's mind suddenly drew taut. Belial's reply sliced through his consciousness, quite neatly and efficiently clipping the strand in half. He located the feeling swelling up within his chest and scrutinized it, measured it and let it sift through his mental fingers because it was as tangible as the smirking face in front of him, as real as Castiel's broken frame on display for all to see, as breakable as every bone in Alastair's body (or at least his vessel's anyway) and he surged against the hands holding him back, rage so deeply etched into his face that one could have carved it with a knife. "SON OF A BITCH!!"
Alastair dropped his clenched hand; he'd gotten a reaction. Slowly, he approached the hunter who this time had been forced onto his knees, the sheer press of bodies keeping him from rising but all the same, he glared hatefully up at the creature standing above him. "So much for your noble act of self-sacrifice," the white-eyed demon sneered. "We've angel-proofed this building all around, or did you somehow figure that you could take down this seal on your own? Hmm? Come, come- don't be shy. I'd like you know how you think you could've managed to get the upper hand here."
"Yeah, well I'd like all of you evil sons of bitches to go back to the craphole you crawled out of," Dean spat in response and earned a bloody nose for his answer. Alastair sauntered back toward the angel and fisted his fingers in the blood-crusted dark brown hair, jerking up the angel's head and revving up the sternum cutter, placing it dangerously close to Castiel's face.
"Just answer the question boy, and I'll keep the angel's face pretty just for you," the demon snarked. "How about it?"
A vein Dean's temple pulsed but he forced himself to remain calm and bit out a reply highlighted by a sardonic smirk. "How 'bout a shower?"
Certain logistics behind the abandonment and subsequent degradation of Our Lady of Mercy Hospital were murky and unclear at best, but they sure had a damn good emergency response system that still worked, for right then as if on the hunter's unspoken command, a siren wailed and sprinklers embedded in the ceiling began releasing a rain of water sanctified by the crucifix Dean had dropped into the reserve tanks out back before entering the building.
"Shit!"
The instant moisture made contact with the possessed occupying the room, there arose such a shrieking that would have immediately rendered a sensitive ear deaf as the demons howled aloud, trying in vain to shield themselves as the heated mist arose from their vessels' bodies and curled up into the air like ribbons of grey smoke. Dean's arms were released and he rolled out of the way and into the room's far corner, getting to one knee and discreetly pulling Ruby's knife out of his right boot.
"Goddamn you wretched whoreson-"
The demons dashed blindly for the exits, some frothing at the mouth, running into walls and even trampling over each other in their frenzied efforts to escape the stinging needles of the purified spray and hurling insults right and left all the way. One of them crashed headlong into Belial, breaking the elder demon's focus on keeping Lucifer's vessel pressed against the wall like a trapped rat and Sam fell heavily to the floor.
That's it you bastards, run, Dean thought, eyes fixed on Alastair through the crowd. The demon's face was a mix of disbelief as if he couldn't fathom the idiocy and weakness of those below him and annoyance at having his fun disturbed. I know holy water doesn't affect pricks high up in the hierarchy of Hell, but until I know of a way to send Alastair's ugly black soul back to the Pit, a distraction to lure his attention away is the best I can offer, Cas. Gathering himself, he took a deep breath and recklessly launched himself at the Chief Torturer of Hell and his current victim, brandishing the demonic blade as if it was his last defense.
Belial threw the fool who had the nerve to bowl him over out the swinging doors, across the width of the hallway and through the open window, scowling and adjusting his green and white paisley necktie. "You sorry little shit," he said, voice dangerously soft and directed at a specific hunter's retreating back. The demon was one who kept up with his appearance and appreciated the finer qualities of life. Given the fact that silk didn't come cheap these days and leather shrunk, having to stand in an inch of holy water while wearing Italian loafers and such a fine suit did more than piss him off. After all, he wasn't heralded as the lord of lust and arrogance for nothing and he raised one finely manicured hand, intending to crush the life out of Dean Winchester. It would have been more than easy, like squashing a bug-
Sam's jaw tightened at what he saw and his teeth clenched, hands opening and closing into fists. His nostrils flared as he breathed hard, getting to his feet as the holy water pounded his frame and he glared hard through the liquid curtain coming from above at the demon that was intending on finishing off his brother. "Your fight is over here so turn around and face me, you conceited ass!"
"Why hello Sam," Belial smiled congenially, turning and obliging to the other's request. He and the hunter matched each other step for step, eyeing each other warily- a demon of old that radiated evil even through the neat, combed back blonde hair (now dampened by the holy water that did not affect the creature from Hell) enhanced by pretty boy features that screamed British exchange student versus the infamous boy with the demon blood, known by demons and angels alike. It was by no means a fair match, but no one could've been able to point to a clear victor. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure of being introduced before now." He cracked his knuckles. "Let's play, shall we?"
Dean's feet pounded the floor, splashing water everywhere and he was almost there, so close- and then came the awfully familiar feeling of weightlessness as his body went airborne with a mere wave of Alastair's hand. The demon hadn't even turned to look at him as Dean was flung across the room like a fly bouncing off the screen door, head striking hard against a sharp edge and he fell haphazardly to the floor, dazed. His vision went blurry and stars exploded across his world as he tried to prop himself up, palm slipping against the sanctified water-slick floor. Something warm and sticky was trailing down the back of his head, dripping down his neck to stain his collar and it didn't take a genius to know what it was. Great… just when I can't afford to have a lack of motor coordination or double vision. What shit luck…
"Dean!" Sam called out to his brother, alarmed, as he watched the other crash against the operating table that had streams of watered down crimson waterfalls running off the tabletop. Taking advantage of the distraction, Belial lunged like a predator pouncing upon its prey, growling like an animal with bared teeth. Bloodlust and a thirst for destruction shone clearly in his white, pupil-less eyes.
Damn! Sam turned and caught the momentum full on, falling like an aged oak tree with the demon on top. Straining heavily, the hunter just barely managed to pull his knees into his chest and send his feet into his opponent's chest, kicking Belial over his head. The demon collided solidly with the wall and there was a terrible crack as his skull took the brunt of the impact, but he was on his feet in a flash. This time though, Sam was ready. "Come and get me," he challenged beckoning the demon forth.
Alastair's features were twisted in a vicious snarl, dual anger and malicious mirth carved into the lines of his face, even more deeply etched than the fingers clenched around Castiel's throat. He could feel the weak and thready pulse underneath his fingers and it gave him a rush, to feel the once-formidable angel's life in the palm of his hand, in his unrelenting grip…
"You think they've come to save you," the demon sneered into the faded blue gaze that once held so much power and authority, now all of which had been driven out by sheer torture. Castiel, having been shaken to wakefulness by the meek relief the water blessed in the Father's name provided tried in vain to turn his face away, unable to do anything else but beseech God above, the plea for salvation falling from trembling lips like gasps of air.
"Domine… libera tui vernula, audi tui-"
" 'Save your servant'," Alastair mocked with a smirk filled with scorn. "No one can save you, kiddo. No one wants to save you now…!"
If there was anything true ever said about the mystery that was time, it was that the ever-terrifying, unstoppable hourglass that transcended through the ages and poised as an enemy to all living things was relative. Years passed in what seemed like a blink of an eye and one hour could easily feel like an eternity. Even though life wasn't a movie in which one could hit the pause button or hold the fluidity of existence in his hands, Dean Winchester swore that had he tried hard enough, he could've charged forward through the curtain of holy water falling from the ceiling to stop the hand that swung forward in slow motion, a monster's claw tipped with razor-sharp talons.
"Cas!" he hollered.
Too little, too late.
His surroundings morphed into a fiery landscape and voices were releasing their screams from throats torn asunder by the sadistic practitioners of Hell. Dean knew this scene; he'd seen it many a time before and even this part was the same, the part in which he couldn't do a damn thing but stare in horror as Alastair's hand tore through already shredded skin, muscle and flesh, so forceful that it even splintered bone and sent gouts of blood spurting forth.
"NO!!"
Someone was yelling full-throated at the sky, a near-crazed plea filled with disbelief and furious lividity. It took Dean a moment realize that the adamant insistence of the denial of reality that rang out in the form of such a desperate shout was in fact coming from him. Just like when Sam died… Maybe if he bellowed out that one word for long enough, time would reverse itself and all could be made right again, he wouldn't have to go through the process of reliving his nightmare, he wouldn't have to see an angel of the Lord slowly dying before his eyes. Mind as sluggish as his body, Dean willed his limbs into movement and scrambled to his feet, slipping in the inch of bloody water swirling around his ankles as he fought his way out of his frozen state and across the room.
Castiel's back was arched off and away from the stretcher; the angel's face was contorted in agony and indescribable torture. A low groan escaped his throat then, so helpless and heart wrenching to hear that it seemed to emanate from his very soul. And yea, though I… though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death… The hand within his chest twisted and tore through a lung. Castiel's throat filled with blood and his mind went blank for an instant. Of Death… He couldn't remember the rest.
His cheek was slammed down against the floor and Sam struggled against the knee pressing into his back and the steely fingers clamped around his wrists that wrenched his arms behind his back, wondering how he'd gotten distracted to the point that he'd allowed Belial to get the drop on him. The cause for him faltering was probably because right when he'd been about to expel the demon from the young man he was possessing, Dean's frantic shout drew his attention to the corner of the room, where the OR's spotlight was illuminating a sight that no surgery the overhead light ever focused upon could've matched.
Alastair clenched a fist, feeling his fingers tearing through tendons and ligaments, absolutely loving how he could make his victim jerk in uncontrollable spasms with just a twitch of his wrist and demon twisted his hand casually around in the thick fluid streaming down his arm like paint, probing hard at the ragged edges of fractured bone just for the hell of it. Just to hear the angel scream- and he was going to make him scream; the demon was going to hear the sweet voice begging for mercy and for death even he if had to reach down his victim's throat and yank it out himself.
Castiel convulsed terribly, his vessel finally unable to take the abuse anymore and his eyes rolled back in his head even as he remembered the last part of the psalm but all he could manage were heaving gasps. And yea though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I shall fear no evil. His head fell against his chest and the angel's light faded along with one last, shaky exhale of a whisper.
"Pater."
Dean was within reach; the demonic weapon made the hissing sounds of a snake as droplets of holy water plinked against the metal blade but the handle was warm within his grasp and he reared up, ready to plunge the blade into Alastair's exposed back even though he knew it would have no fatal effect on the powerful demon. He was close enough to hear the air rattling in Castiel's torn lungs, close enough to see the angel's blue eyes rolling skyward beneath fluttering eyelashes, close enough to perceive the angel's groan and it was painful to hear. By God, that inarticulate utterance so filled with agony and despair killed him.
Belial grabbed the back of the human's neck and forced Sam's face into the water, flicking a quick glance over at Alastair's handiwork and growled in carnal pleasure at the macabre view. "Now ain't that a beauty?" he drawled in appreciation, enamored with the blood seeping through innumerable wounds that marred the angel's frame.
Alright, almost done… and this is the last time I'm ever scaling a vertical surface this high again… Ruby groused mentally and pulled herself up onto the rooftop of the hospital, making her way towards the largest seal right over the room where the angel was supposed to be sacrificed. The surface under her feet trembled as she ignited the blowtorch again and vaguely she wondered if Dean had been too late. The screams erupting from the building mingled along with the hiss of the activated sprinkler system was enough to make anyone wonder exactly what the hell was going on inside.
"I'm sorry, but I can't let you do that."
The demon looked up at the sugary sweet voice full of fake contriteness and an open hand made contact with her cheek with astonishing force, knocking her clear off the rooftop; her hands scrabbled for a firm grip and her fingers barely managed to catch the rooftop's rough edge. The blowtorch lay where it fell from her hand.
"Bitch!"
Ruby glared up at the white face framed by dark red locks and small, pink mouth that laughed down at her and the demon spat at the fallen angel's feet.
"Oh, no harsh feelings Ruby," Anna cooed, kneeling down toward the demon. "We're both traitors to our own kind, so you should understand where I'm coming from, hmm?"
Ruby's arms were burning and she grimaced, hanging on for dear life when a shadow fell over Anna's form. The redheaded girl looked up and instantly jumped to her feet, backing away slowly from the young blonde man clothed in a pristine white suit and gold necktie. Ruby stiffened, nearly petrified in terror for even she recognized that presence but the messenger angel Gabriel didn't even cast a glance in the demon's direction as he advanced with silent footsteps resounding with authority and power that was not of this world.
"Gabriel," Anna whispered, half in contempt and half in fear.
The archangel continued to approach stealthily, a menacing light shining in his cool silver-green eyes (or perhaps it was just the light from the stars) and something deadly written in the details of his seemingly expressionless mien. "I am to deliver you to God Almighty for judgment," he said calmly in a ringing voice.
"Are you sure you don't want to save the seal first?"
A muscle in Gabriel's jaw twitched. "You will not lead me astray with your temptations, fallen one."
Anna smirked mischievously. "Alright, then let the demons have their fun with Castiel. I've heard stories of what Belial does to the souls he likes-"
The two angels were moving further away now and Ruby scrambled back up onto the rooftop, straining hard. She would've kissed the solid surface but instead grabbed the fallen blowtorch and burned a blackened trail through the demonic script, freeing the building of its preventive barrier against the warriors from Heaven.
At that moment, a bright light flooded the space and she stumbled backwards, shielding her face from the luminescence and there was a flurry of movement and what sounded like the rush of a thousand feathers passing by so swiftly that dust swirled up off the rooftop. When she could see again, both Anna and the archangel Gabriel had disappeared and Ruby collapsed in relief onto her back, breath coming in hard pants.
Shit.
Sam thrashed wildly against the Belial's hold, nearly throwing his back out in his attempts to free himself and he couldn't hear anything as water filled his ears; he wondered what the hell was going on and how Dean was holding up, if Castiel was still alive and grey spots clouded the edges of his vision as the supply of oxygen within his body dwindled when suddenly, the demon holding him down let out a wild yowl and the weight on his back disappeared.
Dazed, he turned and blinked water out of his eyes to see a blonde man tackling Belial full on with incredible strength, knocking the demon into the far wall with so much force that the plaster cracked like a giant mirror and for a second Sam gaped wordlessly for the man's shadow on the wall revealed large, feathery appendages rising from each shoulder blade.
"Gabriel," Belial hissed, holy water dripping from his vessel's hair and into his face. "Come to see what we've done to your little brother?" A sneer twisted his features as the demon threw the taunt boldly up into the angel's face.
Had the expression of sudden and terrible blankness on Gabriel's face been given a voice, Sam had no doubt that it would have erupted in the form of a roar of outrage as angel and demon lunged for each other's throats-
Get up, you idiot! shouted a voice in the back of Sam's mind and he blinked. Huh?
I said 'get up' and make yourself useful instead of sitting there and watching like some dumb, overgrown, circus ape! The voice that sounded suspiciously like Ruby screeched and he was quick to obey, getting to his feet and raising his head just in time to see his brother sinking Ruby's dagger into Alastair's throat.
The demon screamed out in an unintelligible language native to the fiery pits of Hell but it sounded more like a gurgle and reached up, jerking the blade out forcibly and flinging it across the room. He yanked his hand out of Castiel's chest with a sickening sucking sound that would've made even the most experienced surgeon with a stomach of steel nauseated and swung around, blood stained fingers clenching firmly around Dean's neck.
He felt the warmth of Castiel's blood, slippery warmth against his own throat and it made him sick. The cold needles of holy water pricked his skin and Dean choked against the fingers threatening to crush his trachea, pulling uselessly at Alastair's hand. The demon grinned, blood bubbling up in the corners of his mouth and gushing from the gaping wound in his neck but squeezing, squeezing all the tighter; there was something familiar about this scene and it was that annoying déjà vu type thing as Dean found himself standing in a corner watching his own face going blue as Alastair choked the life out of him-
This is it. Sammy, I'm sorry I still wasn't strong enough this time around. Cas, I guess I'm going to get the last word 'cause I told you so. I told you I wasn't worthy enough to be pulled out of Hell… you shouldn't have gone through the trouble and now all of it's going to be for nothing.
As if in slow motion then Alastair's head seemed to snap to the side, deformed grin fading as the jaw went slack and then black smoke was funneling out of his mouth and Dean was wondering where the fire was if there was that much black smoke and why did it seem to be going out the window now? God, he was so tired, all he wanted to do was close his eyes and go to sleep…
"DEAN!"
Who's that? Who the hell is yelling like a maniac, can't they just shut up? I swear I'm going to kick that little punk's ass… Someone was shaking him firmly and he blinked slowly, mind sluggish. A familiar face was about an inch away from his and he frowned, he knew those puppy-like brown eyes. Sam? No, Sammy was dead; his little brother was dead because he'd failed to keep him safe and suddenly he was scared because Hell was a terrible place and no one deserved to go there-
"DEAN, SNAP OUT OF IT!" Sam wanted to whack his brother upside the head but was afraid of causing even more damage but goddamn it, Dean was scaring the hell out of him, the way his brother's green eyes were darting everywhere with panic deep in their depths and not responding. "C'mon!" He snapped his fingers in front of Dean's face and slapped the other's cheek none-too-gently. "Help me get Cas down before-!"
Cas? Do I know a Cas? Do I know a… Castiel! Blurs disappeared and everything in mind fuzzy mind clicked into place. Dean lurched unsteadily to his feet, Sam had a firm grip on his elbow but he was swaying this way and that like a drunken man, staggering toward the angel still bound to the stretcher and then his hands were fumbling clumsily with the restraining straps, half of him wanting to get Castiel down as soon as possible and half of him terrified to even touch the angel for fear of causing even more pain.
Sam caught the limp frame as Castiel fell headlong into his reach and he couldn't believe how frail the angel was; it was like holding a child. Dean helped him gently lower the angel to the floor but after that neither knew what to do. Chest compressions? Mouth to mouth? The freakin' Heimlich? Even checking for a pulse seemed absolutely ludicrous.
The angel's face held a waxy pallor in stark contrast with the red that seemed to be everywhere else around his form; his lips were as blue as his eyes which were now shut and the brand on his forehead glared accusingly up at them, the angry red skin puckered up in red ridges and lines that seemed like they would never fade. Small convulsions wracked the damaged frame even as the angel remained unresponsive.
Neither of them could speak. Dean's lips were pressed so tightly together that he thought he wouldn't ever be able to peel them apart again because that was the only way to smother down the frantic should in his chest; his hands were curled into fists that remained stiffly at his sides because as he knelt there beside the angel, it was all he could do not to grab Castiel and shake him until there was some sign that he was going to be alright. Damn it Cas, I've already had too many people die on my watch; don't tell me that I'm going to have to add a freakin' angel to that list.
Movement came from the left and Dean's head snapped to the side, fists up and at the ready at the swirl of footsteps through the water but his hands fell back down to his sides when he was lucid enough to see through the haze of guilt, shame, and anger to recognize Gabriel making his way over from where Belial's vessel lay slumped against the wall. The angel's usually blank face was haggard; his previously impeccable appearance now disheveled. As if for the first time Dean noticed the dark circles underneath the penetrating eyes and the grim set to the angel's mouth.
Sam was staring too, but for a different reason. He had not met this angel before and was unsure as to what this one's opinion about the boy with the demon blood would be and so he hastened to scoot away as Gabriel took to one knee and placed his palm gently against his brother's forehead.
Castiel went completely still.
What the hell? Dean's mind spun and every instinct he bore was screaming that something was wrong, that Castiel was dead but his limbs would respond. Gabriel scooped up the limp form with obvious great care, and Dean could read distress and what seemed to be grief in the angel's face; the blood drained from his face and an odd croak came from his throat. Is it too late?
The archangel nodded once to the Winchesters and then disappeared in a flash of light.
Outside, bodies littered the corridors and lay on the floor, and the fall of holy water from sprinkler system was gradually diminishing into small streams that dripped upon unresponsive faces. In about an hour or so, these people would wake up with no recollection as to how they'd gotten to this abandoned hospital in the middle of nowhere, without the slightest idea as to the struggle between good and evil that had transpired there. Two brothers stood in what seemed like the carnage of a cheap horror flick remake, covered in blood and staring blankly at what was no longer there.
Standing there with crimson-slick hands and the remnants of holy water sliding down his face, even with Sam standing next to him, Dean Winchester knew that he had never felt so alone.
There was a soft beep that came from his left and he looked to the side. Sam was pressing a button on his watch and the elder Winchester raised an eyebrow. "What was that?"
The timepiece displayed 6:30 AM and Sam nodded out the window at the devastatingly beautiful display of oranges and pinks that streaked across the sky, rays extending from the scarlet, flaming orb that rose up over the horizon-
"Dawn."
A/N: This chapter was just…I really need some feedback. I'm usually not one to beg, but please, please, please review this time around!! Even if it's just to tell me what was horribly off, just let me know!
And is this really the end, you ask? Well... we'll see, won't we? ;-)