Title: and unto him, a grace
Author: drpepperupper
Rating: PG
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: None, after Apocalypse AU-ish thing-- Sam is back, but that's just about as canon as it gets as for season 6 spoilers
Warnings: None, really
Word Count: idunno :(
Summary: His bare feet leave imprints behind him as he walks the few feet to the silent water for everyone to see, but no one to understand. He breathes deeply and lets his wings unfurl from his shoulders as he steps onto the water; it ripples beneath his feet and he doesn't stop walking until he can stare the sun in the face. It is getting brighter; he can see writihng, beating wings and knows his Brothers have found him. He clenches his sword in his hand and holds out his arms. He does not ask forgiveness. He knows he can receive none.
A.N: I listened to
this and
this song while writing this short piece. I don't even know how it inspired such a vague, shitty thing, but. I just needed to get it out of my head.
Lucifer doesn't lie-- Dean knows that, now. He just makes you wish that his truths were lies and it just makes everything that much worse. So, when Lucifer says that Hell is cold, Dean believes him. When Lucifer says that he can't be stopped, Dean believes him. When Lucifer says that Cas is next, the next public enemy number one, Dean knows that he's telling the truth.
So, yeah. Dean knows this (he knows he can't keep Cas locked up in Bobby's panic room forever, no matter how appealing the idea is), but it doesn't make him feel any freaking better when the time comes to say goodbye.
He's never been good at that.
-----
The sand gives beneath his knees and his hand, making way and shifting for the impression of his body as he waits alone on the precipice of a reality he never wanted. The water just before him is still as the sun, bright and brilliant and mocking in its glory, begins to rise over the abandoned shore he kneels on. It is beautiful-- he catches his breath. He does not know where he is, nor what time he is in; he waits.
His head is bent in prayer, a non-existent wind tickling his face while he clenches sand in his fist-- the leather he wears creaks and protests after centuries of disuse (and he smiles as he remembers the way it slid back onto skin, helped by three sets of shaking hands--awed and afraid and guilty all at once; a man healed by a demon, the Righteous Man with blood on his hands and the brother Resurrected. He lifts his head to examine the way his skin and the send mesh, blend, the deep Earthy color of his armor and the flighty, unsubstantial sand grains are in contrast to one another; he can almost feel a sense of irony, but he's not human enough to know.
He has never been on this side-- the infuriating wait, the deep sense of uneasiness is unpleasant, to say the least. He has been through many a battle, but never before has he stood alone on the brink of a war. He lifts his head to the sun as the swirls and intricate lettering of blood on his face and exposed skin dries and closes his eyes, leaning his body towards the warmth it offers-- it's blood red. He supposes the water will be, too, soon enough.
He stands and digs his toes into the sand as the comforting weight of his sword slips into his hand. He is only one-- he is only one. He faces multitudes; the Fallen brother-- this time for the love of Humanity. For Humanity he was created and so for Humanity he will die-- and he remembers the look on his friends' faces, the crushing guilt and disbelief and pain and Cas, you can't do this alone, you can't-- and he knows.
For Humanity he was created, and he will defend his birthright. He is the only one that can. He is the only one left with the power, however little he has against the Host of his Brothers and his Father himself, and he stands, facing the sun with all the defiance he has; his eyes burn with the will to fight for this, for this one insignificant but beautiful thing. (I'm not a hammer--You're just a bunch of dicks--Why I can't help--Thanks, Cas--You poor stupid son of a bitch!--I'm a soldier--I see nothing but pain here--if anything's worth dyin' for, this is it--i do not envy the weight on your shoulders, Dean--Cas--it's not blame that falls on you--find someone else. It's not me.)
His bare feet leave imprints behind him as he walks the few feet to the silent water for everyone to see, but no one to understand. He breathes deeply and lets his wings unfurl from his shoulders as he steps onto the water; it ripples beneath his feet and he doesn't stop walking until he can stare the sun in the face. It is getting brighter; he can see writhing, beating wings and knows his Brothers have found him. He clenches his sword in his hand and holds out his arms. He does not ask forgiveness. He knows he can receive none.
He remembers the way it felt for his hand to be engulfed by the warmth of another, the way it felt for gentle fingers to brush his hair back (he now knows the way lips, wet with tears and begging and humanity feel against his own-- he knows how it feels to be loved) and he knows he will be remembered-- at least, for a time.
He wonders if this is how Lucifer felt, just before Michael came upon him and threw him into the depths of the Veil, into his eternal (or not so freakin' eternal, he knows Dean would say) darkness.
Then, he contemplates the red sash tied over his shoulder (trembling hands-- don't go, don't go, Cas, I love you) and the red band fastened securely around his wrist (we'll keep you safe, here, just stay with me-- Cas? Cas!-- I'm sorry, Dean) and decides-- no. This is different.
A.N2: Red, for those who don't understand the reference, is the color that represents the Kingdom of Man. Blue represents the Kingdom of God. I know this whole short piece was awful and vague and I'm sorry-- I didn't know what I was writing, either. So, uh. Sorry?