Endings and Beginnings

[winchester_lost]

It had been completely by accident that he'd found the first note.  He'd been sitting in the Impala with Sam and Bobby, reeling from what had happened.  Cass was a God.  He'd snapped his fingers and Raphy, one of the archangels, had exploded like an over-ripe grapefruit dropped from the top of a ten story building.  He and Sam had been arguing

Comments

[winchester_lost]

He heard it, felt it, as Cass appeared. He felt different. Before he'd felt like Light, like comfort and subtle strength. There was nothing subtle about his power now. It hummed in the air around him, made those blue eyes steely as the self-made God gazed at the man that had come to save him. There was no comfort; he was all pride and self-assurance. Cass had risked everything for them, time and again. Dean thought it was time he did the same. He couldn't live with himself if he didn't try, even if this was likely to end up with him blotted out of existence with a snap of those fingers. He wasn't here to beat him or stop him... he just wanted to help him. He needed to help him, even if Cass didn't want helping. He owed it to who he was, who he'd been, before the power of those souls had blotted out the Cass he'd known.

He'd expected that Cass would know at least some of what they were up to. It was impossible to know when he was around when he could come and go, watch them invisibly without a whisper. Bobby still kept the angel-proofing on the house, though they had no idea if it even worked against Cass. At the very least it prevented him from leaving them with an invisible angelic babysitter. They'd mostly been hoping on the fact that chasing down and smiting the remnants of Raphael's forces would prevent him from keeping too close an eye on them. There was also the fact that with how many demons Dean had had to go through, it hadn't exactly been quiet. He sighed, his shoulders slumping a bit more as he walked closer to Cass. The power almost felt like a vague sort of pressure in the air. He'd known better than to hope that things would be like the last time they were here, sitting on the park benches and talking, watching the children play.

"I'm tired, Cass," Dean said as he stopped, standing before him. It hadn't really been that long, but with the lack of sleep, the strain, the stress, it drained him, felt like years. Dean's eyes were red from exhaustion and alcoholism and he looked like he was barely holding on. He certainly didn't look like a man that had come to try and stop a God. It was that shred of hope that kept him from falling. It was risky, and he knew how damning it would be if he failed -- the responsibility of the choice he'd made weighed on his heavier than anything else. But Dean was never good at making the right choices when it came to the people he cared about. Bobby seemed to be watching him out of the corner of his eye every step of the way, and Dean couldn't really blame him.

"I called you here to swear to you." He said, swallowing as he looked at him. It was true. Dean wasn't good at confessions under the best of circumstances, but he knew he needed to, that he needed to tell him. He needed Cass to know that he meant it.