Musical dare;
"Gortoz a ran" from the Black Hawk Down soundtrack (performed by Denez Prigent and Lisa Gerard). Note that there are several versions, because it's a folk song not protected by copyright, but only Denez Prigent's version is worth listening IMHO.
If you're not into this kind of music, the other options are: "When the smoke is going down" by Scorpions or "Wasting love" by Iron Maiden, but I strongly recommend the first option.
Dean wakes up in a motel room. The first thing that dazes him is a soft, light, herbal scent of fresh laundry lingering in the air - something he hasn't felt for a long time. He is neither cold nor in pain; his back rests on something perfectly smooth and soft. A feeling of comfort and safety floods him, makes his body pleasantly heavy and his head drowsy. For a moment he fights the temptation to simply stay like this forever, but his hunter's instinct makes him shake off sleepiness and sit up. As soon as the dizziness eases out he takes a look around. Much to his own amazement he sees a perfectly normal motel room - normal to the pre-apocalypse era, without bars or barbed wire in the windows; clean, recently redecorated. Good, bright and safe.
"You're awake finally," Dean hears a pleasant, somewhat hoarse baritone. From the tone he can tell that the man who speaks is smiling. It takes him a while to recognize the voice, though. He jolts up and almost surges towards the source, but the sight stops him in tracks. Thrill hits him like a wave, welling up in his chest, making his heart skip a beat, but it is tainted with a bitter gut feeling that something is wrong.
"You..."
He manages only to mouth this word without making any sound, but the man takes a few steps towards Dean anyway, staring at him with a peculiar mixture of curiosity and confusion, tilting his head in an unnatural, bird-like tic.
It is Castiel. Not Cas. Castiel in his beige trench coat, white shirt and loose blue tie. Castiel with his hair in a mess just like back then when he hadn't yet grasped the idea of grooming the vessel he was possessing. Castiel with an inept attempt of grin on his youthful, smooth face; his eyes aren't bloodshot, there is no sign of aging, sunburn or scars that made Cas's face so human.
"Wh... What are you doing here?" Dean finally manages to force a question through his cramped throat.
"I thought you and Sam might use some help with that rugaru. I have some downtime. Accept my apologies for appearing out of nowhere. I keep forgetting it makes you uncomfortable.
Whatever energy He had bleeds from Dean's veins, leaving empty space that throbs with dull pain. The crushing weight of realisation pins him down; he has to sit down again and hide his face in his palms. He couldn't tell if the whole world really stopped around him or it was just his head shutting out every sight and sound. The veil separating him from this fake reality, the vortex of anger and despair rising around him, locking him inside his own mind is almost palpable.
After what feels like eternity his rage comes down a bit. He hears the door creak, but he doesn't even care to look in that direction. Scent of cheap cologne foreruns the newcomer like a herald.
"You sucker, you fucking asshole, you dickhead..." Dean drawls out, trying to choke back nausea that quakes his gut.
"No need to thank me," Zachariah boasts merrily, "I admit that restoring heaven required a certain effort, but that's what friends do, isn't it? Anyway, you're welcome."
It takes all Dean's willpower to stifle a growl. Disgust and rage make him want to spit Zachariah in the face, but he has to swallow the pride and ask. He needs to know.
"Where is Sammy?"
"Just where he belongs. In Hell, of course."
Dean curls up as if he'd been hit in the stomach.
"And Mom? Dad?"
"If memory serves, they are together," Zachariah scratches his huge bald head in a gesture that is so fake that there is no doubt that he knows exactly what happened to the Winchesters, "Oh, by the way, they are with you, or at least they believe so," he straightens up, gloating in Dean's horror, "You see, it is forbidden to present those who rest in the Fields of the Lord with any sources of torment. They have been blessed with their own version of you. A better one. One that has not shed blood in Hell. One that has not brought the End upon the World. One that has not broken an angel."
The silence that falls after Zachariah's explanation vibrates with white-hot, barely restrained rage.
"Cas?" Dean can't force much more through his knotted throat. Even whispering this one syllable hurts.
"Oh, you must realize that angels don't have souls. Becoming human didn't grant him one. The moment those croats dug their dirty fingers into his chest and ripped his lungs out, he - poof - ceased to exist. There was nothing left of him but the mortal shell for these creatures to defile," Dean has an impression that the angel relishes revealing this piece of news. He stands up and gives Zachariah a dark glare; a glare of a tortured soul would give his carnifex. All these years of false hope, strain, humiliation, bleeding, screaming his lungs out in pain... A cloud of dark energy discharges in the room, making Zachariah take a step back, wiping the sleazy smirk off his pudgy face. The angel rises his hands in a gesture of surrender.
"Well, I'll leave you here. Enjoy your afterlife..."
The next second he is gone. The wall merges and smoothens in the place where the door has been a moment before.
Castiel moves. He takes two bottles of beer from the fridge and offers one to Dean and the second to Sam- happy, young, careless Sam - who has just appeared next to the counter.
Dean reaches out for the bottle, but clasps his fingers on Castiel's wrist instead. This sad mockery of his Cas does not laugh, does not fight back, just cocks his head sheepishly. Dean grips Castiel's wrist so tight he is sure he would leave bruises on a real man, but it is not a man. The look of these unearthly blue, blank, soulless eyes skims the surface of Dean's mind, unable to pierce it, to see his soul. Perfectly safe in his own mind, alone in a crowded room Dean stares into Castiel's lifeless eyes and doesn't even try to stop tears rolling down his cheeks.
The lyrics of Gortoz a ran translated from Breton into English.
I was waiting, waiting for a long time
In the dark shadow of grey towers
In the dark shadow of grey towers
In the dark shadow of rain towers
You will see me waiting forever
You will see me waiting forever
One day it will come back
Over the lands, over the seas
The blue wind will return
And take back with it my wounded heart
I will be pulled away by its breath
Far away in the stream, wherever it wishes
Wherever it wishes, far away from this world
Between the sea and the stars
Author's note
I do realize that "a collection of one-shots" does not sound like the description of someone's opus magnum, but this work is so far my most cherished child. That's why I'd like to thank all of you who accompanied me on this journey: those, who commented, requested, followed and faved, and the lurkers who checked this work out from time to time (yeah, I can see you guys in the traffic stats ;) thank you for staying tuned!
Besides, that's why I feel I need to explain one thing.
I know that this work was heavy on angst, emotional abuse and dark feelings. I was trying to balance out this total, painful desperation with staying true to the canon, which is not that heavy (although, you know, The End kinda is). Anyway, I like the original characters for being so complex and so not black-or-white. I was trying to capture them as accurately as I could here, but I fear I might have gotten carried away; I have a feeling that sometimes the story here is oversimplified, with Dean being the bad guy and Cas being the good guy. That was not my intention.
In my opinion, each of them has his flaws and weaknesses - Dean is obviously emotionally constipated, jaded and easily aggravated; he resorts to violence whenever he feels helpless, and Apocalypse makes him feel helpless quite a lot. Cas, on the other hand, is an example of victim mentality, which is expressed by his this peculiar penchant for passive aggression, guilt tripping and poking at Dean's insecurities. I tried to draw a picture of a toxic, no-win relationship in which both sides are equally incompetent, and in which neither side knows how to deal with the tragedy they are facing. I doubt that I managed to do it properly, so please let me know how you feel about it. I won't get mad or post nasty comments under your works out of spite if you write that my plan went south and that the story was totally Evil!Dean and CasWhump ;) Honest criticism is always welcome here.