[fic] Like Grade-A Idiots
Rating: T, for foul language.
Summary: The damn Apocalypse is nigh, and there's nothing they can do about it. As in, forget-it-Michael-I'm not-going-to-be-your-vessel nothing. [Alternate ending-- Dean Winchester, Castiel]
Note/s: Written for iu_fanfiction's 30th Challenge // prompt: Asunder. And oh, spoilers! The Apocalypse is coming.
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The Apocalypse is upon them.
The Apocalypse is upon them, and they can’t afford to just sit their lazy asses around and be idle. Except that’s what exactly they’re doing right now, what exactly they’re going to do until the Apocalypse is literally upon them- Dean started the whole thing unknowingly, and the one chance they got, the only chance they got slipped right through his fingers when it’s already there and who is to blame? Who got the burnt end of this deal? Now Lucifer freely walks the Earth, wearing Sam like a fucking suit and spreading bullshit around like it’s nobody’s business. And God, Sam. Sam. He’s wasted a bucket of tears already over Sam, but that won’t drag Lucifer out of his vessel.
Obviously, no one can stop Lucifer.
Obviously, the archangel Michael can, but Dean? Dean refused to be an archangel’s suit to the bitter end, and now he’s sitting on the hood of his Impala, absently watching the neon signs flicker on and off ahead. But he’s not alone; he doesn't think he’s ever alone his whole life, that his late mother’s words (angels are watching over you) are never truer than they are now, with a fucking angel on his side, drinking copious amount of alcohol beside him.
Castiel is done. He hasn’t Fallen yet, or he might as well have, but how would Dean know? Castiel has not spoken even a single shit since he suggested that they should just imbibe copious amount of alcohol and wait for the inevitable blast. It’s unheard of, those words, coming from an angel. But the Castiel now, the fucking angel who’s not exactly Fallen but should have, the Castiel he has corrupted, the Castiel he knows- he’s showing more human traits than he’s ever shown ever since they met, and all he’s ever done so far is sit beside him, shoulders sagging in silent resignation, eyes now a dull shade of blue.
“Hey,” he begins, trying to get rid of the dryness in his throat, “Lay down the alcohol, alright? Fuck, I don’t want to haul a drunken angel around when the end of the world’s right upon me.”
“It’s the Apocalypse, Dean,” Castiel says, as if it’s enough of an answer. Maybe it is. Or Castiel is simply too drunk to dignify his answer. And so the silence thickly stretches between them again.
“Did it occur to you,” he starts again, because no, he’s absolutely not going to die because of the deafening silence before the Apocalypse got to him, “That whatever happens, only the humans die, you angels- the still-living ones, anyway- would only return to Heaven, begin the circle of life all over again?”
Castiel sighs, and says shortly, “I can’t go back to Heaven.” And, now holding Dean’s gaze with his, adds, “Not anymore.”
“Yeah, well, maybe after this whole disaster- fuck, Cas, will you live?”
At this, Castiel purses his lips together and says, quietly, “Angels who turned to Disobedience has a lesser chance of surviving this war. That much I’m aware of, Dean. But, after this, I- I’m not sure.” and God, he looks so very vulnerable, so easily fragile, so ready to break that Dean wants to reach out and assure him that it’s not going to be that bad, that dying is just a process, and not an end.
That dying is for humans, and not for angels. That dying is the only thing, in the end, that Dean has managed to give Castiel, even if the latter has gone through such lengths just to help him and humanity.
Fuck, that’s depressing. What’s more troubling, in this case, is that with all the things Castiel has done for him, has felt for him, Dean doesn't have the time to reciprocate them all, not anymore.
Instead, he says, “What can I say? You and me,” he waves at the air, a careless gesture, “Against the world.” And then he offers Castiel a lopsided grin, which earns him a look of priceless puzzlement and an unspoken I don’t understand that reference from the angel.
What he means to say is, Live for me, live enough for both of us, because Sammy’s- Sam’s not around to do that anymore, and someone has to do it, and if you can’t then I will, if I can live through this.
-
END
.
Summary: The damn Apocalypse is nigh, and there's nothing they can do about it. As in, forget-it-Michael-I'm not-going-to-be-your-vessel nothing. [Alternate ending-- Dean Winchester, Castiel]
Note/s: Written for iu_fanfiction's 30th Challenge // prompt: Asunder. And oh, spoilers! The Apocalypse is coming.
-
The Apocalypse is upon them.
The Apocalypse is upon them, and they can’t afford to just sit their lazy asses around and be idle. Except that’s what exactly they’re doing right now, what exactly they’re going to do until the Apocalypse is literally upon them- Dean started the whole thing unknowingly, and the one chance they got, the only chance they got slipped right through his fingers when it’s already there and who is to blame? Who got the burnt end of this deal? Now Lucifer freely walks the Earth, wearing Sam like a fucking suit and spreading bullshit around like it’s nobody’s business. And God, Sam. Sam. He’s wasted a bucket of tears already over Sam, but that won’t drag Lucifer out of his vessel.
Obviously, no one can stop Lucifer.
Obviously, the archangel Michael can, but Dean? Dean refused to be an archangel’s suit to the bitter end, and now he’s sitting on the hood of his Impala, absently watching the neon signs flicker on and off ahead. But he’s not alone; he doesn't think he’s ever alone his whole life, that his late mother’s words (angels are watching over you) are never truer than they are now, with a fucking angel on his side, drinking copious amount of alcohol beside him.
Castiel is done. He hasn’t Fallen yet, or he might as well have, but how would Dean know? Castiel has not spoken even a single shit since he suggested that they should just imbibe copious amount of alcohol and wait for the inevitable blast. It’s unheard of, those words, coming from an angel. But the Castiel now, the fucking angel who’s not exactly Fallen but should have, the Castiel he has corrupted, the Castiel he knows- he’s showing more human traits than he’s ever shown ever since they met, and all he’s ever done so far is sit beside him, shoulders sagging in silent resignation, eyes now a dull shade of blue.
“Hey,” he begins, trying to get rid of the dryness in his throat, “Lay down the alcohol, alright? Fuck, I don’t want to haul a drunken angel around when the end of the world’s right upon me.”
“It’s the Apocalypse, Dean,” Castiel says, as if it’s enough of an answer. Maybe it is. Or Castiel is simply too drunk to dignify his answer. And so the silence thickly stretches between them again.
“Did it occur to you,” he starts again, because no, he’s absolutely not going to die because of the deafening silence before the Apocalypse got to him, “That whatever happens, only the humans die, you angels- the still-living ones, anyway- would only return to Heaven, begin the circle of life all over again?”
Castiel sighs, and says shortly, “I can’t go back to Heaven.” And, now holding Dean’s gaze with his, adds, “Not anymore.”
“Yeah, well, maybe after this whole disaster- fuck, Cas, will you live?”
At this, Castiel purses his lips together and says, quietly, “Angels who turned to Disobedience has a lesser chance of surviving this war. That much I’m aware of, Dean. But, after this, I- I’m not sure.” and God, he looks so very vulnerable, so easily fragile, so ready to break that Dean wants to reach out and assure him that it’s not going to be that bad, that dying is just a process, and not an end.
That dying is for humans, and not for angels. That dying is the only thing, in the end, that Dean has managed to give Castiel, even if the latter has gone through such lengths just to help him and humanity.
Fuck, that’s depressing. What’s more troubling, in this case, is that with all the things Castiel has done for him, has felt for him, Dean doesn't have the time to reciprocate them all, not anymore.
Instead, he says, “What can I say? You and me,” he waves at the air, a careless gesture, “Against the world.” And then he offers Castiel a lopsided grin, which earns him a look of priceless puzzlement and an unspoken I don’t understand that reference from the angel.
What he means to say is, Live for me, live enough for both of us, because Sammy’s- Sam’s not around to do that anymore, and someone has to do it, and if you can’t then I will, if I can live through this.
-
END
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