FIC: A Collection of Atoms (Supernatural)
This takes place during 5x18 “Point of No Return.”
Castiel stared at the bloody mass in front of him.
The man was hardly recognizable beneath the cuts and contusions, trails of red streaming from the corner of his mouth. He was buckled over, supported only by the weight of one knee, his right hand clutching his gut. He looked up at Cas, his cheek swelling, his lips open and gasping.
For the first time since Castiel had met him, Dean Winchester looked truly defeated.
Michael’s vessel leaned against a chain link fence in the alleyway of a cinema. His hands were pressed against the asphalt, his green jacket spattered with blood. He was broken, beaten by Castiel’s own hands.
He looked up at Cas and groaned, “Do it.”
The angel knew what he meant. Dean was asking for death. He was asking for final peace from a seemingly endless war.
Dean was giving up again.
Castiel had felt anger before. Anger was not an unfamiliar emotion for angels. Anger was the prerequisite for wrath, for action, and therefore anger was necessary. It made sense. Even in his emotionally-stunted brain, anger made sense to Cas.
But this - this was something new. This feeling inside him, it was desperation. This was frenzied rage. This was betrayal at his finest, cutting deep into the heart and the soul and ripping apart any grace Cas had left.
This was pure disappointment.
Dean Winchester had let him down.
The angel stood with his fists clenched, the rain soaking into his trench coat, making the blood on his knuckles trickle in runny streams. He glared at Dean, the man he’d saved, the man he’d marked with his own hand. He knew if he lifted Dean’s shirt the scar would still be there - the hand of an angel, seared into his skin.
“Just do it!” Dean yelled. He spat blood onto the concrete, his shoulders quivering as he tried to stay upright.
It would have been easy for Cas to rip the breath from Dean’s body. Hell, it would have even been justice. It would be righteous. Dean Winchester had failed to follow through on his side of the bargain. He’d “chickened out.” Michael’s vessel had sat on the sidelines while Cas rebelled, while Cas took the fall, while Cas lost everything.
He could feel his chest shaking. His lips twitched, though he struggled to keep the emotion out of his face. He didn’t know what was happening to his body - this was new, this was human. Being on Earth had changed him.
He looked down at Dean, breathing slowly, wondering if the so-called Chosen One had any idea what kind of torture Cas had been through. It was one thing for an angel to travel to Hell and rescue a man, drag him from the pit inch by inch, moaning with the strain of it. That was the easy part.
It was another thing entirely to carve a knife into the stomach of a loved one, of a brother or sister, and watch the white lights flash in their eyes. It was one thing to rebel, but it was another to disobey your family, to cast them away, to forget everything they ever taught you.
It was one thing to try and save the human race. It was another thing entirely to forget your Father in the process.
Dean coughed, his face monstrous as blood caked his lips and stained his teeth. He looked like one of the creatures he hunted, drinking filth and eating filth until the world became a corpse.
Cas could end him right now. Maybe Zachariah and the other angels would resurrect the body, bring Dean back once more to the battlefield. But Cas would be done with it. Cas could move on.
It was true, Dean was just a human. A collection of atoms in the great spinning ball that was Earth, and just a speck in the face of eternity.
Castiel gazed upon this human, this boy named Dean, and unclenched his fists.
He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t.
Dean was just a human, but damn it, he was important. He wasn’t just the Earth’s saving grace, their last weapon in the Apocalypse. There was more to it than that.
Dean was important to Cas. He was Cas’ first real friend. He was Cas’ only friend, when the angels sent him away and his family turned their backs. He was the only one who stayed, who convinced Cas that there was something worth fighting for.
Dean was the reason Cas had sacrificed everything.
He couldn’t give up on him now.
Castiel reached forward, placing his fingertips upon Dean’s shoulder. The young man’s body instantly slumped, dropping to the asphalt, unconscious. He wouldn’t wake for a while now - not until his ribs were healed and the cuts were scabbed over and clean.
The angel stepped back, gazing upon this one human, who a few months ago would have meant nothing to Cas.
Somehow, Dean had changed everything.
Castiel stared at the bloody mass in front of him.
The man was hardly recognizable beneath the cuts and contusions, trails of red streaming from the corner of his mouth. He was buckled over, supported only by the weight of one knee, his right hand clutching his gut. He looked up at Cas, his cheek swelling, his lips open and gasping.
For the first time since Castiel had met him, Dean Winchester looked truly defeated.
Michael’s vessel leaned against a chain link fence in the alleyway of a cinema. His hands were pressed against the asphalt, his green jacket spattered with blood. He was broken, beaten by Castiel’s own hands.
He looked up at Cas and groaned, “Do it.”
The angel knew what he meant. Dean was asking for death. He was asking for final peace from a seemingly endless war.
Dean was giving up again.
Castiel had felt anger before. Anger was not an unfamiliar emotion for angels. Anger was the prerequisite for wrath, for action, and therefore anger was necessary. It made sense. Even in his emotionally-stunted brain, anger made sense to Cas.
But this - this was something new. This feeling inside him, it was desperation. This was frenzied rage. This was betrayal at his finest, cutting deep into the heart and the soul and ripping apart any grace Cas had left.
This was pure disappointment.
Dean Winchester had let him down.
The angel stood with his fists clenched, the rain soaking into his trench coat, making the blood on his knuckles trickle in runny streams. He glared at Dean, the man he’d saved, the man he’d marked with his own hand. He knew if he lifted Dean’s shirt the scar would still be there - the hand of an angel, seared into his skin.
“Just do it!” Dean yelled. He spat blood onto the concrete, his shoulders quivering as he tried to stay upright.
It would have been easy for Cas to rip the breath from Dean’s body. Hell, it would have even been justice. It would be righteous. Dean Winchester had failed to follow through on his side of the bargain. He’d “chickened out.” Michael’s vessel had sat on the sidelines while Cas rebelled, while Cas took the fall, while Cas lost everything.
He could feel his chest shaking. His lips twitched, though he struggled to keep the emotion out of his face. He didn’t know what was happening to his body - this was new, this was human. Being on Earth had changed him.
He looked down at Dean, breathing slowly, wondering if the so-called Chosen One had any idea what kind of torture Cas had been through. It was one thing for an angel to travel to Hell and rescue a man, drag him from the pit inch by inch, moaning with the strain of it. That was the easy part.
It was another thing entirely to carve a knife into the stomach of a loved one, of a brother or sister, and watch the white lights flash in their eyes. It was one thing to rebel, but it was another to disobey your family, to cast them away, to forget everything they ever taught you.
It was one thing to try and save the human race. It was another thing entirely to forget your Father in the process.
Dean coughed, his face monstrous as blood caked his lips and stained his teeth. He looked like one of the creatures he hunted, drinking filth and eating filth until the world became a corpse.
Cas could end him right now. Maybe Zachariah and the other angels would resurrect the body, bring Dean back once more to the battlefield. But Cas would be done with it. Cas could move on.
It was true, Dean was just a human. A collection of atoms in the great spinning ball that was Earth, and just a speck in the face of eternity.
Castiel gazed upon this human, this boy named Dean, and unclenched his fists.
He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t.
Dean was just a human, but damn it, he was important. He wasn’t just the Earth’s saving grace, their last weapon in the Apocalypse. There was more to it than that.
Dean was important to Cas. He was Cas’ first real friend. He was Cas’ only friend, when the angels sent him away and his family turned their backs. He was the only one who stayed, who convinced Cas that there was something worth fighting for.
Dean was the reason Cas had sacrificed everything.
He couldn’t give up on him now.
Castiel reached forward, placing his fingertips upon Dean’s shoulder. The young man’s body instantly slumped, dropping to the asphalt, unconscious. He wouldn’t wake for a while now - not until his ribs were healed and the cuts were scabbed over and clean.
The angel stepped back, gazing upon this one human, who a few months ago would have meant nothing to Cas.
Somehow, Dean had changed everything.