Hey look, a fic-like thing.
Just semi-spoilery fic-like thing that is more hope and speculation than anything else. Enjoy.
Raphael looms over Castiel as he pushes himself off the ground with shaky arms. He coughs, sending a spray of blood over the archangel’s shoes. One of his wings lies mangled and dead on the other side of the warehouse, the other is a broken, bloody mess hanging limp from his shoulder blades. Invisible, to human eyes, of course, but still there.
“You should have pledged yourself to me, Castiel,” says Raphael. She grabs a handful of his hair and yanks him the rest of the way up by the short strands. “It didn’t have to come to this.”
There’s one last thing he can do, one last trick he’s been saving in case it came down to this; he and Raphael, one on one. No armies, no Crowley, no souls, just them. It had seemed like a much better play before he lost the wing. It’s dangerous now, possibly deadly if he loses the other. It doesn’t matter- he’s already come to terms with the fact that he probably isn’t going to make it out of this war alive. As long as his friends are safe, and Raphael is gone, that will have to be enough.
So Castiel only laughs at the archangel currently sneering at him. It’s a hollow sound, devoid of any actual humor. He can only imagine what he must look like, laughing while he’s about to be killed, teeth stained red with blood. He remembers parting words thrown over his shoulder in an abandoned house to the very angel in front of him. Today, you’re my little bitch. He doesn’t say it. Even through the cold laughter he’s still coughing, still choking on his own blood.
Raphael actually seems to be confused for a moment, but only a moment. “Do you think someone’s coming to save you, Castiel? There’s no one here. Your humans have abandoned you, your demon has betrayed you, your armies have scattered. You have no one, and no one is going to save you.”
She reaches around and takes Castiel’s remaining wing in hand. Castiel prepares himself for both the pain, and for his one last chance at winning the war. He’s been gaining power from souls for a year, and even taken into his grace, the power is still “nuclear”. More so, even. The sudden intake of all that energy could be enough to destroy Raphael. To burn her out from the inside. But it means Castiel giving up a portion of his grace. Before the loss of the first wing, he would have survived. His power would have been diminished, but he would have recovered. Now with his injuries, he’s already bled out more grace than he had to spare… But if he doesn’t do this, he’s dead anyway, and Raphael will start the apocalypse.
“Goodbye, Castiel.”
Raphael must mistake Castiel grabbing her arm as a gesture of fear, or possibly as a wordless plea for his life for she doesn’t react to it. Her mistake. “Goodbye.”
Raphael snaps the wing, rips the mangled limb from Castiel’s body. Castiel grips Raphael’s arm all the tighter, and through his own screams he hears the high-pitched whine of grace transferring, hears Raphael demand to know what he’s doing before she too is screaming as all that unstable power from the damned souls is poured into her.
White light, brighter than any he’s seen flashes in front of him and then it’s over. Raphael’s empty vessel hits the blood-smeared floor, and Castiel is left standing on trembling legs, covered in red. His legs give out a moment later. He’s dying, he can feel it. The last trickle of grace in him is going out. He knew he was too weak.
Unless…
A door clangs open, but Castiel can’t even lift his head to look. Perhaps it’s one of Raphael’s angels, come to finish him off before he can even begin to think of a way to cheat death. Maybe it’s Crowley, come to gloat that if Castiel had just gone through with their deal, he wouldn’t be in this situation.
“Cas? CAS!”
Or maybe it’s Dean, drawn here by the explosion of grace, drawn away from his ailing brother who Castiel hadn’t been able to fix for him.
His vision is suddenly filled with Dean’s face, worry etched into every line. He’d thought he would never see Dean look at him with anything but contempt and hurt ever again. The hurt had been there when he’d told Castiel they had been family, once, when he pleaded with Castiel to back out of the deal with Crowley. He had, but Dean doesn’t know that. The hurt had been there when he’d made a desperate plea for Castiel to come and replace the crumbling wall in Sam’s mind before it was too late. It had been there when Castiel had regretfully informed him that there was nothing that could save Sam, except for Sam.
But it’s not there now. He’s never liked to make Dean worry, but as far as last expressions to see, he’ll take it over that betrayed look. He doesn’t want to die with the reminder of everything he’d done to hurt Dean.
“Cas, you stupid son of a bitch, what did you do?”
Castiel thinks he might make some sort of questioning groan before he blacks out for a moment.
When he comes to, Dean has lifted him up with one arm and is smacking his cheek with his free hand. “Cas, come on man, stay with me. You gotta stay awake. We can fix this, you’re gonna be okay.”
It sounds like Dean is trying to convince himself. It’s comforting to know that after everything, he still cares. Maybe… Maybe it’s worth a try. It’s a minuscule chance, and it will probably kill him, but he’s about to die anyway. If he can Fall before it’s too late, maybe he and Dean can have a chance to fix everything that’s been broken.
“Dean-” he wants to tell Dean to shut his eyes, because regardless of what happens next, his remaining grace is going to flare.
“I’m here, Cas. Where’s Balthazar, huh? We can call him, he can patch you up…”
“Shut… shut your eyes.”
Dean glares at him; he knows what happens when an angel dies. “Don’t you dare die on me, you bastard. You’ve got a lot of shit to make up for, and you’re not going anywhere until you do, you understand me?”
He can’t explain what he’s doing, he doesn’t have the time or the strength left. He takes in a rattling breath; this is it. A small part of him hopes it doesn’t work. His brief stint as a human two years ago hadn’t been pleasant…
Dean shakes him. “Cas, don’t-” his voice breaks. “Not you too, not after Sam. Cas, please!”
… But all in all, he’d rather live as a human, with Dean, and Sam, than die as an angel and spend an eternity in nothingness.
He exhales and lets go.
The warehouse flares with bright light once again.
Raphael looms over Castiel as he pushes himself off the ground with shaky arms. He coughs, sending a spray of blood over the archangel’s shoes. One of his wings lies mangled and dead on the other side of the warehouse, the other is a broken, bloody mess hanging limp from his shoulder blades. Invisible, to human eyes, of course, but still there.
“You should have pledged yourself to me, Castiel,” says Raphael. She grabs a handful of his hair and yanks him the rest of the way up by the short strands. “It didn’t have to come to this.”
There’s one last thing he can do, one last trick he’s been saving in case it came down to this; he and Raphael, one on one. No armies, no Crowley, no souls, just them. It had seemed like a much better play before he lost the wing. It’s dangerous now, possibly deadly if he loses the other. It doesn’t matter- he’s already come to terms with the fact that he probably isn’t going to make it out of this war alive. As long as his friends are safe, and Raphael is gone, that will have to be enough.
So Castiel only laughs at the archangel currently sneering at him. It’s a hollow sound, devoid of any actual humor. He can only imagine what he must look like, laughing while he’s about to be killed, teeth stained red with blood. He remembers parting words thrown over his shoulder in an abandoned house to the very angel in front of him. Today, you’re my little bitch. He doesn’t say it. Even through the cold laughter he’s still coughing, still choking on his own blood.
Raphael actually seems to be confused for a moment, but only a moment. “Do you think someone’s coming to save you, Castiel? There’s no one here. Your humans have abandoned you, your demon has betrayed you, your armies have scattered. You have no one, and no one is going to save you.”
She reaches around and takes Castiel’s remaining wing in hand. Castiel prepares himself for both the pain, and for his one last chance at winning the war. He’s been gaining power from souls for a year, and even taken into his grace, the power is still “nuclear”. More so, even. The sudden intake of all that energy could be enough to destroy Raphael. To burn her out from the inside. But it means Castiel giving up a portion of his grace. Before the loss of the first wing, he would have survived. His power would have been diminished, but he would have recovered. Now with his injuries, he’s already bled out more grace than he had to spare… But if he doesn’t do this, he’s dead anyway, and Raphael will start the apocalypse.
“Goodbye, Castiel.”
Raphael must mistake Castiel grabbing her arm as a gesture of fear, or possibly as a wordless plea for his life for she doesn’t react to it. Her mistake. “Goodbye.”
Raphael snaps the wing, rips the mangled limb from Castiel’s body. Castiel grips Raphael’s arm all the tighter, and through his own screams he hears the high-pitched whine of grace transferring, hears Raphael demand to know what he’s doing before she too is screaming as all that unstable power from the damned souls is poured into her.
White light, brighter than any he’s seen flashes in front of him and then it’s over. Raphael’s empty vessel hits the blood-smeared floor, and Castiel is left standing on trembling legs, covered in red. His legs give out a moment later. He’s dying, he can feel it. The last trickle of grace in him is going out. He knew he was too weak.
Unless…
A door clangs open, but Castiel can’t even lift his head to look. Perhaps it’s one of Raphael’s angels, come to finish him off before he can even begin to think of a way to cheat death. Maybe it’s Crowley, come to gloat that if Castiel had just gone through with their deal, he wouldn’t be in this situation.
“Cas? CAS!”
Or maybe it’s Dean, drawn here by the explosion of grace, drawn away from his ailing brother who Castiel hadn’t been able to fix for him.
His vision is suddenly filled with Dean’s face, worry etched into every line. He’d thought he would never see Dean look at him with anything but contempt and hurt ever again. The hurt had been there when he’d told Castiel they had been family, once, when he pleaded with Castiel to back out of the deal with Crowley. He had, but Dean doesn’t know that. The hurt had been there when he’d made a desperate plea for Castiel to come and replace the crumbling wall in Sam’s mind before it was too late. It had been there when Castiel had regretfully informed him that there was nothing that could save Sam, except for Sam.
But it’s not there now. He’s never liked to make Dean worry, but as far as last expressions to see, he’ll take it over that betrayed look. He doesn’t want to die with the reminder of everything he’d done to hurt Dean.
“Cas, you stupid son of a bitch, what did you do?”
Castiel thinks he might make some sort of questioning groan before he blacks out for a moment.
When he comes to, Dean has lifted him up with one arm and is smacking his cheek with his free hand. “Cas, come on man, stay with me. You gotta stay awake. We can fix this, you’re gonna be okay.”
It sounds like Dean is trying to convince himself. It’s comforting to know that after everything, he still cares. Maybe… Maybe it’s worth a try. It’s a minuscule chance, and it will probably kill him, but he’s about to die anyway. If he can Fall before it’s too late, maybe he and Dean can have a chance to fix everything that’s been broken.
“Dean-” he wants to tell Dean to shut his eyes, because regardless of what happens next, his remaining grace is going to flare.
“I’m here, Cas. Where’s Balthazar, huh? We can call him, he can patch you up…”
“Shut… shut your eyes.”
Dean glares at him; he knows what happens when an angel dies. “Don’t you dare die on me, you bastard. You’ve got a lot of shit to make up for, and you’re not going anywhere until you do, you understand me?”
He can’t explain what he’s doing, he doesn’t have the time or the strength left. He takes in a rattling breath; this is it. A small part of him hopes it doesn’t work. His brief stint as a human two years ago hadn’t been pleasant…
Dean shakes him. “Cas, don’t-” his voice breaks. “Not you too, not after Sam. Cas, please!”
… But all in all, he’d rather live as a human, with Dean, and Sam, than die as an angel and spend an eternity in nothingness.
He exhales and lets go.
The warehouse flares with bright light once again.