So, I decided to do two more little bits. Cause Dean's not dead, oh no. He just wasn't there. And I couldn't decide which I wanted more, Castiel's POV or Dean's. So I'm doing both. Cas is up first. R and R!! Thanks.
EASIER
He's hunched on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, hands clasped and head down when the door opens. He doesn't look up, he can feel the confusion and concern swarm the room.
A dirt caked boot kicks the door closed and only when the lights come on does he raise his heavy head. He does it out of respect, and a desire to see it coming. He's sure of the mortal's response.
It'll be wrath. Worse than.
The man's jaw is clenched. Distrust and anger twisting every sinew. As first, he hadn't understood his Fathers need of this man. He can see it now, the man was a masterpiece.
He was an instrument, a disciple, a warning and a risk all at once.
He hadn't wanted to have to face him. He knew it was cowardly, even though it was the first time he'd ever experienced the feeling. The form he'd been using was capable of tears. His Being had wept with sorrow. His eyes could be nothing but red.
"Dean." he whispers, standing.
Dean's intelligent, "Where's Sam?"
Castiel's shoulders slump as his lips come together. The response was immediate; Dean was on him, fists twisted in his Host's jacket, pushing him back into a wall. He let the beating happen. He understood, the Host did, too. Those tears had been shared.
The first blow didn't hurt, not physically, but it felt like the core of his Being was taking each hit like a lash from a whip.
"Where. Is. He?"
He casts a pained look at the floor where Dean had been standing, unknowingly. Castiel hadn't taken Sam, but he hadn't stood to save him either. He knew Dean's forgiveness would never be forthcoming. It shouldn't have mattered, but it did.
Dean's eyes slid to the spot Castiel had motioned to, and slid back icy. He felt they should be black, they were devoid of anything.
The next thing he knows, he's on his back with Dean atop him, arms flailing. He takes the beating, doesn't raise a hand in his defense. "You and God can go to Hell!" Dean spits.
Castiel lay still. Dean was a risk. A risk with factors they had badly miscalculated.
He didn't have to go to Hell. He knew, that now, Hell would come to him.
