Into the Dark

[makemestrange]

Title: Into the Dark
Author: makemestrange
Rating: PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Cas
Spoilers: If you've seen 5.04, you're good.
Warnings: Death!fic, but it's canon for the episode, so no real surprises there.
Word Count: 6670
Summary:  It was inevitable, really. Everyone died. It was a part of life, even for angels gone mortal and put through hell on earth.
A/N: This is my first contribution to Supernatural fanfiction, so I hope you all like it. To read on Tumblr: Here


The fire burned incandescent to his right, and though it made beads of sweat build up along his brow, he still shook with tremors as he lay sprawled on the hard floor. His breathing was ragged, his lungs feeling tight as he watched the smoke swirl against the ceiling and fill the room with noxious gas. His vision had blurred and he couldn’t tell if it the room that was swimming or if it was just him.

Castiel felt numbingly cold. Too cold to think or breathe or live. His eyes felt wet beneath their lids, tears building up in a reaction to the pain radiating throughout his body. This body that he was offered all those years ago. This body that had been shot, stabbed, thrown, burned, disintegrated, and put back together again each time, good as new. This body that he had stolen.

This wasn't his body, it never had been, and he knew it never truly would be. He had stolen it. This body still belonged to Jimmy Novak, in some fucked up way. But Jimmy Novak hadn't possessed a consciousness for a hell of a long time. Cas wasn't even sure if Jimmy could still be considered alive. If he could, well, that would make one of them.

Because Castiel was dying.

He knew that it was inevitable. He could accept that. Accepting that came just as easily as he could feel the fire raging next to him, creeping up the wall as the smoke rose above it, staining the once white ceiling with ash and smog. He accepted it as effortlessly as he could feel the blood seeping from his back and soaking into his worn out army jacket.

He had known that he would die one day from the moment he had become human at the start of this hell on earth. It was just a part of life. Though for Castiel, until he met the Winchesters, he never thought it would be a part of his life. At least, not now. Someday, maybe. But not now.

Of course, this wasn't the first time he had died. This would be his fifth time, at least. But this time, he knew it would be permanent. There was no angel-mojo left in him to heal his wounds. There were no more doctors or hospitals or any sort of medical attention. There was no God. In fact, Cas hadn't believed in God in a long time. Not the Christian God, at least. There were other gods; plenty of them he had met in his lifetime. But none of them cared. They sat back and watched as the world burned away, devouring itself from the inside out as the Croats took over as the main population, their numbers doubling and tripling each day as more survivors fell.

And suddenly, in almost a blink of an eye, there were no more survivors. Just people. People attempting to live out the rest of their lives somewhat peacefully in the time they had left. No one had babies anymore. No one got married. No one truly lived. They were all just hollow shells of what they used to be; memories were the only mementos they had left of their once simple lives. You can’t be a survivor if you can’t truly survive.

So, Cas knew he was going to die. And he had known from the start that it would be for Dean. He would have died for Dean a thousand times, if he could. He would have taken his place in Heaven or Hell, blissful or tortured, a million times over. It was just the way it was meant to be. Castiel once told him that he would always be there when he called. He told him that his problems always came first, and he wanted to make sure that promise held true.

Dean Winchester would always come first.

Castiel let his head fall to the side, watching the fire spread around the room lazily. It crackled and roared, drowned out only by the rushing of pounding blood in his ears. His heart beat hard against his ribcage, only succeeding in pushing copious amounts of blood from his wounds. His gun was twenty feet away at least, near the other corner of the room, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The Croats were dead. He was close to sharing their fate. It was time to go.

He slid his elbows under his back, grunting in pain before he managed to lever himself to his side and roll over onto his stomach, distancing himself from the fire climbing the walls. He let out a harsh cough, both from the smoke above him and the wounds in his back, spitting blood out onto the floorboards with a grimace.

Sparing a look back at his legs, he knew he'd never be able to walk again, one of his legs nearly slashed to ribbons, courtesy of a particularly determined Croat he had taken down. The blood that had pooled underneath his back had made a lake of crimson and he could feel the loss when he looked towards the door, his head swimming from the mixture of pain and significant lack of blood.

He folded his arms underneath his chest, crawling away from the fire and pool of blood in an army crawl, his good leg doing most of the work. He could barely see the door as a result of a mixture between smoke and blurred-to-hell vision. He clambered away from the fire, hoping that it was at least somewhat in the right direction.

“This what you’re looking for, Cas?” He could hear Dean’s voice, gruff and worn and familiar and so uniquely Dean, as he leaned against the doorjamb. He held an orange bottle of pills tight in his fist, his eyes glued to the tiny pills inside, glaring at them as if they were the source of all of his problems.

The image of Dean was so vivid in his mind that he almost allowed himself to stop in his crawl for the door that Dean leaned against. But he remembered this moment from his past. This was a memory, somehow stirred up to the forefront of his mind as he crawled at an excruciating pace over to his only escape route.

“Yeah, that’s it. Thanks, Dean.” His hand held out expectantly to receive the bottle but Dean didn’t stir, his glare still fixed on the medication within the bottle he held captive. A tense silence settled heavily over them when Cas let his hand drop, realizing that Dean wasn’t going to give it back to him any time soon.

“How long?” Dean’s voice was as tight as his fist, the tension between them ringing throughout the room as Cas sat up a bit straighter on his bed, looking Dean from head to toe. He could read him like an expert by this point. He knew when Dean was angry at him, and this time he was furious.

“Awhile now, if you must know. Pretty soon after I first started losing my grace.” He answered honestly. There was no point in lying. Everyone else in the camp had known for months about Cas’ vices. Everyone except Dean, who had been too busy with survival to focus on anything else. Especially Cas. Because Cas wasn’t something he could use anymore. He couldn’t rely on him. Cas wasn’t Cas.

“I started with alcohol and gradually moved to more potent substances.” He paused, considering whether or not he should continue. But he found no reason why he shouldn’t tell him. “You can only handle so much time being sober when you’re an angel who lost his grace unwillingly, Dean.” Cas shrugged as he leaned over and started rummaging through the drawer next to his bed, trying to find his extra stash.

There was a crash, the bottle of pills broken open and the little blue dots scattered on the floor around Dean’s feet. He raised his steel-toed boot, bringing his heel down on a pile of drugs, smashing them to dust in anger. Cas’ jaw clenched, the gravity of the situation hitting him like a sack of bricks.

There was a crash, a window in the room he had just evacuated blowing out from the massive heat that forced a change in temperature in the glass, and it couldn’t handle it any longer. He looked back to see smoke rushing out of the broken window, heavily reminding him of how a demon would try to escape it’s host.

A trail of blood was the only evidence he left behind that he had ever been there, letting that lake of himself be consumed by the gluttonous flames. He squinted to peer through the dark, trying to find the stairs as fast as he could, the fire spreading behind him.

“I can’t believe you’d do this, Cas.” Dean shook his head, his fists tight against his sides, his shoulders tense, back facing Castiel. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me.” He couldn’t look at him. Not like this; strung out, withdrawal threatening to break him at any moment because what Dean had just smashed had been the last bottle of pills he had found in Cas’ stash. He had gotten rid of everything as soon as he found it all.

Cas wanted to protest. He wanted to scream at Dean that he hadn’t done anything to him. Dean had nothing to do with it. But he couldn’t bring himself to utter a word. Because, although what Dean said wasn’t necessarily true, Cas knew that nothing he could possibly say could change Dean’s mind about it. In his mind, Cas hadn’t done this to help himself, but instead to spite Dean and to finally tear himself down from the unreasonable pedestal Dean had placed him on all those years ago.

This was an act of defiance. The straw that would break the camel’s back. His angel was a junkie. And Dean’s life had finally finished crumbling around him. His brother was the Devil himself. His angel was a pitiful, strung out, useless waste of space that could barely even take care of himself, let alone anyone else.

“I’m disappointed in you, Cas.” Dean threw over his shoulder, storming out of the cabin before he could chance looking back at him. He couldn’t look at him, and Cas couldn’t blame him. But he wouldn’t allow himself to feel guilty about what he had become. It had nothing to do with Dean. It was never about Dean anymore.

As soon as Dean was out of sight, Castiel dropped to his knees, crawling on the floor to scrape up the crushed bits of pills that Dean had left, attempting to scrounge up what he could. This was all he had left. It was his final attempt to escape the everyday pains that came with being a human. His grace had been taken from him and all he had been left with was a body he had no right owning and a laundry list of regrets that seemed to grow after each day.

The stairs were hard and unforgiving as he maneuvered his way down, his torn leg not making anything easier. He managed to make it a quarter of the way down before his chest was heaving from the physical labor of getting down the stairs with his amount of injuries and degree of smoke inhalation. He waited a moment to catch his breath, knowing from the start how hopeless all of this was.

If he made it down the stairs before he suffocated, it’d be a miracle. Hell, if he could last another ten minutes without bleeding out it’d practically be thaumaturgy.

And really, if he allowed himself to sit and think about it for a moment longer, he’d realize - as any self-preserving human would - that it was all a lost cause. Even if he did make it down the stairs before he passed out, how would he manage to get to Dean before he ran out of time? And what was the point of it all? They were both goners. If Dean wasn’t already facing Lucifer, he would be soon. The chances of the Colt actually killing him were slim to none.

And if on the off chance the Colt did work and Dean managed to kill Lucifer, Dean would already be gone. He’d be on his way back to camp. He wouldn’t risk coming back for them. Cas had known it was a suicide mission from the start. He was fairly certain that all of them had known.

But Cas didn’t allow himself to sit and think any longer. He wedged his hand underneath his dead leg, shifting it down to the next step, blood staining the wood a deeper brown as it fell freely from his wounds and dripped from his coated fingertips.

It didn’t matter if they were all damned to hell from the moment they stepped foot on this path of destruction. They were in it for the long haul and Cas was pretty damn sure that he would be the last one left to make sure they made it through to the end together.

He managed to get down three more grueling steps before he felt the wood creak under his weight. He froze at the sound, fear paralyzing his already numb limbs, his heart still hammering against his chest as he chanced a look down to the stair he rested on. The building itself was already old, but the fire had weakened the entire structure greatly. He hadn’t given it any thought before then, but it was entirely plausible that this whole building would soon come down on top of him.

He shifted his weight, gauging the strength of the next step before he pulled his dead leg up again, placing it carefully on the next lower step. He released a shaky breath as he used what was left of his upper body strength to raise himself and lower his body to the next lowest step.

The wood creaked dangerously beneath him but didn’t shift or crack, allowing Castiel to breathe a sigh of relief. It would have been just his luck if the stairs managed to break underneath him. He moved his bad leg down to the next step, not as worried as he was a moment ago about the stairs breaking, but as he raised himself up to slide down to the next step, his uninjured foot slipped and got caught in the railing of the stairs.

He tried to pull his foot free, but in doing so, his arms gave out on him and he suddenly found himself crashing through the splintered stairs, the wood having broken underneath the force of his weight falling against them.

He let out a wet cough, his lungs straining to work through the smoke and dust that choked him, pieces of broken wood stabbing into his skin on all sides. He groaned, feeling the broken bones in his leg and chest as he shifted, his eyes squeezing shut tight from the immense pain.

“Cas? Cas, what-?” Dean brushed aside the new bead curtain that had replaced his front door to his cabin, peering inside to see his friend lying in the middle of his floor, empty bottles and pills scattered around him. “CAS!?”

Dean was at his side not a moment later, his strong hands gripping his shoulders tight as he turned him over, trying to be as gentle as he possibly could. He wasn’t sure what kind of state Cas was in, or what someone should do in this position. He’d never had to deal with someone overdosing before.

He checked first to see if Cas was even still breathing, his fingers automatically hovering over Cas’ lips, breathing a small sigh of relief when he felt the soft tickle of hot breath against his hand. He checked his pulse next, finding only a soft flutter against his fingertips. He knew from experience that it should be a lot faster than it was but he wasn’t sure how to fix it.

Castiel could feel his heart racing in his chest, still only succeeding in forcing more blood out of his wounds. He coughed and rolled to his side, groaning and holding onto his stomach as he fell away from the bulk of broken wood. The dust hung in the air, mixing in with the smoke that now completely filled the second floor of the building and had traveled down with him, making it almost impossible to see anything.

“Cas, c’mon, man. You gotta stay awake, okay? Cas?” Dean shook him lightly, trying to rouse him. “Can you hear me?” Castiel stayed mostly limp in Dean’s grasp, but Dean saw him wince slightly when he shook him a bit harder.

“Cas? C’mon, Cas, you bastard. Wake up! You are not allowed to die on me from a fuckin’ overdose, you got that?” Dean shouted at him, shaking him even harder than he had before, doing everything he could to keep him awake. “Castiel! Wake up, you dick!”

“Nngh, Dhnn?” Castiel’s eyelids fluttered a bit, squeezing shut when the light blinded him, his movements slowed and senses dulled as he tried to shift in Dean’s tight grip, succeeding in doing no more than a slight wriggle.

“You are such a bastard, you know that? You can’t just fucking do that, Cas!” Dean shouted at him, making Castiel reel back from the volume of his voice, but Dean didn’t let go. “You can’t just...make me worry like that. You got that, Cas? Don’t you ever fucking do this again.”

“Dean, wha-?”

“Just..Just say you won’t do it again, Cas.”

Castiel was beginning to regain some of his basic motor skills and he blinked again, squinting up to look at Dean hovering above him. He felt something wet on his cheek, wondering where it had come from for a moment before he heard Dean speak again.

“Please, Cas? Promise me?” He could practically hear the tears choking Dean’s throat, making his voice quiver, as if he was holding back.

“Yeah, Dean. I promise.” It was silly, really. Cas hadn’t even taken that many pills. In reality, he had barely taken any, only having mixed up a sleeping pill with his usual dosage when he first woke up, making him fall asleep while cleaning up earlier. But Dean didn’t know that. And really, Dean didn’t need to know that. This had allowed Castiel a moment to look into Dean’s heart again, much like he used to. He could see how much he still mattered to him, even after everything.

To Dean, he wasn’t useless. Dean was only trying to protect him from the dangers that were out there; the dangers that Dean faced every day of his life. The dangers that Castiel used to face as well. But now he was human. He was weak. He had broken his foot awhile ago and he had been out of commission for two months. Dean was only trying to keep him safe because he couldn’t bare worrying about him any more than he already did on a daily basis.

Castiel peered through the dust and smoke that hung heavily in the air, making out the vague shape of a door across the room. He rolled himself onto his stomach again, wincing when he felt the splintered wood stab into his already battered flesh. He pulled himself along in an army crawl again, distancing himself from the rubble.

His wounds bled profusely, staining the floor with a trail of red as he pulled himself into the next room over, the linoleum peeling from age and soaking in his blood like a sponge. He felt exhaustion gnawing at his consciousness, trying to persuade him to lie down and rest for five minutes. But he knew that if he stopped moving now, he might never move again.

So he persisted, fighting off the exhaustion as best as he could as he crawled towards the door. Over the sound of his own grunting and groaning in pain, he could hear the building shifting and cracking, threatening to collapse at any moment, the fire finally wearing away at the supports of the old building.

It was an arduous trek, but he eventually reached the door, pulling himself up to reach the handle, shoving the door open quickly. He pulled himself out, resting a moment when he cleared the door, watching as the smoke rushed out, the fire spreading behind it like the wild beast it was.

But he wasn’t done. Dean. He still needed to find Dean. Because he needed him. More than anything.

“Dean, I’ve been trying to reach you for the past hour, where are you?” Castiel growled into the walkie-talkie, only receiving static in reply. Wherever Dean was, he wasn’t in range and he most definitely wasn’t in good company. Cas just hoped he was still alive.

No matter where he was at this point, Castiel knew Dean was most likely either in or around a hot zone. He had gone off on a supply run more than five hours ago without having checked in, and that usually meant that the runner was done for. The others back at camp had given up hope after four hours, a group of them already trying to decide who the new leader would be. Dean would be hard to replace, but it definitely wasn't impossible.

But Cas would never even consider giving up on Dean. He was their leader and he always would be.

So, Cas loaded up his jeep and drove out of camp in the dark, knowing that if he ever found Dean, he'd be thoroughly chewed out for even thinking of leaving camp after dark, alone, and just to go find him when he should have just pronounced him dead and been done with it. But Castiel didn't care about Dean yelling at him when he found him; he cared about finding him in the first place.

Dean may not have been the best leader at times, and he may have changed drastically over the years due to apocalypse wearing him down, but deep down, he was still Dean. The Dean he had always known and loved was in there somewhere, and Cas couldn't risk losing that. Not when those old memories they shared were all they had left of the old days. The better days.

And Cas knew that if he was going to be forced to wake up to this hell-on-earth every day, he'd rather be able to share the long-suffering stares, weary sighs, and nostalgic brushes of fingers on exposed patches of skin with Dean that at least brought him some comfort. If he didn't have that, Cas was pretty damn sure that he would be only a split-second decision away from blowing his own brains out against his cabin’s walls.

He found the hot zone with little difficulty and parked the jeep just outside the gate. He unloaded quickly, bringing only the essentials with him; water, what little packaged food he had, three of his favorite guns, a knife, and extra ammo just to be safe.

He sent a silent prayer to his brothers and sisters that used to look out for him, out of pure habit, hoping upon hope that Dean would be easy enough to find, and for him to still be breathing when he did. Cas of course knew the probability of him finding Dean at all was slim to none, and for him to be breathing was an even slimmer chance. He knew in his heart that if he found Dean at all, he would probably be a Croat and Cas would be expected to kill him on sight.

But he didn't allow himself to think about it for too long. He moved through the decimated remains of the city with as little noise as he could afford to make, carefully peering around corners, his gun readied in his hands as his hazy eyes scanned the area before him. After a little while, he pulled out his walkie-talkie again, finding a safer area to stop in for a moment. He turned down the volume and flicked the switch to turn it on. He held down the button, talking softly at first, not wanting to draw any nearby Croats closer to him.

"Dean? If you're there...if you can hear me at all, just give me a sign." He released the button, greeted by silence on the other line. He tried again, "Dean, please." Again, he was greeted only by silence. He pressed the button once more, but he threw the device to the ground to grab his gun, defensive once more as soon as he heard a scuffle of feet nearby. He was ready to shoot whatever rounded the corner, but nothing revealed itself, even after the minutes started to tick by. He lowered his gun by a fraction and grabbed the walkie-talkie, holding it up to his perpetually chapped lips.

"Dean. You and I both know that I haven't been an angel in a very long time, but...I promised you a long time ago that I would always come when you called me. I told you that your problems came first." He let go for a moment, giving time for the silence to become a reply. "I want to keep that promise until the moment I finally die a mortal death. And I swear, I can practically feel you calling me now, like you used to. When you needed me. When I was useful to you. It's that same feeling. Maybe it's something completely different now... I don't know, but it sure as hell feels the same.”

A Croat screamed nearby, a scuffle between the ranks of the infected breaking out a few blocks down from where Castiel hid. He tried to block them out while he spoke, his eyes squeezing shut as he focused on the words he wanted to get out.

"It was something pulling on my heart, almost like you tied a string around it that's infinitely long. And whenever you needed me to be by your side, you just gave it a little tug. And I always knew where you were, because I could follow that string. But now...It's the same, but I can't find you.” The screams from the Croats were dying down a bit, either moving away from his hiding place, or tearing each other apart so they couldn’t scream any longer.

“The string's all knotted up now and someone's gone and tied other strings to it and I can't find you in all the mess. But I can still feel you there. You're tugging at my heart. Calling me, Dean. I know it. I just can't find you on my own anymore. And because of that..." He let the silence filter in again, just for a moment.

"You've gotta help me, Dean. Help me help you. I might not be as useful as I used to be, but I still want to help you. I still have that string around my heart, connecting me to you." Silence. "Please, Dean." Silence. "Please..."

"Dean?" Castiel looked out into the overgrown garden that was down the path from where he was. The path ran against the side of the building and opened into a once beautiful garden area. Cas could see vines growing up the wall and the edge of a fountain that was bound to have been beautiful once-upon-a-time ago. He craned his neck, catching a small glimpse of what he thought might be Dean. And even though there was a large chance of error in his assumption, he couldn't risk not checking it out.

He pushed himself away from the building, dragging across the leaf-covered path, trailing his blood across the dirt and grime that stuck to his wounds. He knew that if he wasn't about to die anyways, he'd end up getting a terrible infection from all of the exposure to his wounds. Though, even if he thought he might survive this, he knew he wouldn't care about the infection then any more than he did at that moment. Dean was what mattered. Not inflammation of infected wounds, not physical pain that was determined to keep him from moving forward. Dean was what mattered.

"Cas?" The silence broke and Castiel felt himself involuntarily jump at the sudden reply from the other side of the walkie.

"Dean? Dean, are you okay? Where the fuck are you?"

"In a - fuck that hurts - I'm in an abandoned hotel room. I blocked it off from the Croats down in the lobby, but I think there might be a - hold on lemme check." The line went dead for a moment and Castiel could feel his lungs tighten as he held his breath, waiting for Dean to come back. "Yeah, okay, there's a fire escape that leads right to my window."

"Alright, great. You come to me or me come to you? What's the better situation?"

"You know, you shouldn't even be here. What the fuck are you doing here, anyways? You know the rules, Cas. Someone doesn't come back, they're dead. That includes me. You shouldn't-"

"Shut up, Dean. I'm here to get you. That's what fucking matters. Now, am I coming to you, or are you coming to me?"

Dean was silent for a moment. Castiel wasn't sure if it was from him thinking or if he was in shock from what he had said. It didn't matter either way. He just needed to hurry up and decide how they were going to do this.

"Well, no point in you getting stuck up here too. I guess I'll meet you down there. If you can get to the front entrance, I can meet you there and we can make a run for it back to the gate. Is it just you, or is there a team here?"

"I'm all you've got."

Another moment of silence.

"Well, that's better than I hoped for. Alright. I'll meet you in the street in front of the hotel. You'll know it when you see it."

Castiel took off running down the street, gun in hand and ready to shoot anything in sight. He was only focused on finding the hotel, not worried about his own safety in the least. Because Dean needed him, and that was all that mattered.

Castiel made it to the clearing, broken statues of Greek gods and goddesses surrounding the area as if they would bless this decrepit place. Roses grew and wilted on their stems, their faded crimson only contributing to the dreary atmosphere.

It was the perfect place to die, and in the middle of it all lay Dean, unmoving and pale. His body wasn't stained with blood, his face wasn't contorted in pain. He looked peaceful.

Cas didn't allow himself to stop and stare, only moving forward. He didn't stop to think about what he was doing. He didn't wonder what he was going to do now that Dean was gone. His body moved on its own. He needed Dean, dead or alive, by his side. Because he would always be there for him.

Through all the shit they had to wade through to get to this point. Through all the highs and all the lows, Castiel was there for him. And this was their lowest point yet, and Castiel would be damned if he wasn't there for this moment as well.

He pulled himself up to Dean's side, allowing himself to finally pause for a moment, hovering over him and staring down at him with unmarred sorrow in his eyes. His Righteous Man had truly fallen, unable to rise from his ashes this time around.

Dean, the kind and loving man, caring and protective brother, most courageous and brave soul Castiel had ever known in all his years in Heaven and on Earth. He was unlike anyone else. Now, he was dead, just like everyone else.

Castiel laid himself next to his fallen man, his own fallen angel, letting the silence between them settle and bring comfort to Cas’ fast-beating heart. They laid shoulder to shoulder, Castiel's fingers wrapping around Dean's cold and stiff ones, but he didn't mind in the slightest. He could feel his skin beneath his, no matter how different it was now, it was still Dean's and it always would be.

Castiel let his head fall to the side, staring at Dean's eyelashes, his nose, his freckles, his lips, his cheekbones. He studied every aspect of his face as if he hadn't had a million chances to do it in the past.

He admired Dean’s beauty. Even in death, he was the most stunning man Castiel had ever laid eyes on. No David or Adonis could compare to Dean Winchester. He was a masterpiece work of art, doomed to forever be gazed upon by unworthy eyes.

In these last moments, Castiel knew why some people were compelled to resort to necromancy. He wished he could see Dean smile one more time; smile like he used to. Like when Sam was still himself, and Castiel was their new companion that they were teaching the ways of life.

Back when he didn't feel the need to lose himself in drugs or alcohol or the women of their camp. Back when he didn't know the difference between physical and emotional pain. Back when all he needed to be happy were two brothers with a car and an overflowing bucket full of problems.

But their lives hadn’t been that simple in years.

Castiel missed it. He admitted that every day for the past five years. Dean hadn’t ever admitted to missing it, but Castiel could tell that he did. He could tell from the sad stares that they shared in the camp meetings when someone would bring up a shortage in supplies. He could tell when Dean came to his cabin and he scowled at the women that would randomly come to visit Castiel. He could tell when Dean wouldn’t tell him how much he loved him anymore.

That was something Castiel wished for the most. He wished that he could go back to the first time Dean had told him he loved him. Back before Sam had said yes. Back before everything had fallen apart so completely, they knew there was no way to fix any of it. Back before Castiel had known he’d never hear it again.

“You’ve gotta eat something, man.” Dean said through a mouthful of fries. The apocalypse had already begun, but they hadn’t felt the full-on blunt force of it yet. So, they took what they could get, taking a lunch break in a well-known diner in the city they were in at the time.

“I don’t see why. I have no need for daily sustenance and it would just be a waste of food.” Castiel sat stiff on the other side of the booth, watching intently as Dean chowed down on his deep-fried meal. Sam sat at the bar, away from them, his earphones in and his back hunched over as he read through their latest case. He would have gone to the motel, but they were avoiding motels at this point, knowing that it would be unwise to stop moving at a time like this.

“Yeah, well, that one time you left your vessel and Jimmy was stuck with us? He said he was like, dying of starvation. You gotta think of your meat-suit, man. I mean, even demons eat, most of the time.” Dean said offhandedly, waving a fry around as he spoke, catching it between his teeth a moment later.

Castiel seemed to consider this for a moment, glancing between the basket of fries in front of Dean and his vessel’s chest, a hand resting on his stomach. He looked back up and hesitantly reached for a fry, unsure how he was supposed to eat it. He had seen Dean usually eating two or three at once, but sometimes he’d eat them one by one. And then there was that red condiment, Ketchup or something.

Dean rolled his eyes at him after a moment, grabbing the fry back from Cas’ fingers and he dipped the end into the Ketchup, leaning over the table and holding the fried food to Castiel’s lips. The angel blinked at it for a moment, opening his mouth and accepting the food from Dean’s fingers, chewing slowly as he tasted the different flavors that the sustenance offered him.

The taste seemed familiar to his vessel, but it was new to Castiel. He relished it, wondering how he had gone so long without at least trying it. His eyes had slipped shut at one point as he chewed, and as he reopened his eyes, he saw Dean smiling softly at him from across the booth.

It was a smile that Castiel had only seen on Dean’s face a few times, but it was his favorite of all of Dean’s expressions. He wasn’t exactly sure what it meant, but he knew he liked it.

“Dean?” Castiel asked quietly after he swallowed, wondering what he had done to deserve such a smile.

“You know what?” Dean asked, Castiel not answering, knowing by now that it was usually a baited question, only leading up to an inevitable answer without prompt. “I love you, man.”

Castiel blinked, taken aback by Dean’s straightforward confession. He wasn’t aware the context, but he knew it could have been a variety of loves Dean was referring to. There was the love of a brother like he knew Dean and Sam shared, there was a friendly love, a familial love, and there was a romantic love.

“Love?”

“Mmhm.”

“I’m sorry, Dean, I’m not sure how to respond to that statement.”

“Just shut up and eat another fry.” Castiel didn’t move. “Here, lemme help you.” Dean picked up another fry and dipped it like he had done before, but this time he stood with it in his fingers and stepped over to the other side of the booth. He sat down next to Castiel and placed the fry against his lips.

Castiel bit into it hesitantly, his eyes widening when Dean bit into the other end, biting along the fried-food until their lips met halfway. Castiel was familiar with this custom, knowing that it was a kiss, and that it was what people who where in romantic love did. So, there was one question answered. He pulled away a moment later, confused still.

“Why, Dean?”

“Because. It’s the end of the fucking world and I’d rather go out of this world with someone I love rather than feeling bad about feeling the way I do and never saying anything about it. So, I love you, Cas.”

Dean kissed him again and Castiel wondered if this was how it felt to truly be alive. Because if it was, he wanted to live this way forever.

But Castiel was dying. And Dean Winchester had beat him to the punch.

Castiel didn't know what waited for him. He had been an angel, yes. And he had done a hell of a lot more good than he ever had done harm, but he still didn't know where he would end up. But he knew that wherever he ended up, as long as Dean was there waiting for him, he would never have to worry about anything else. Because no matter where Dean was, he would follow him into the dark.