Fic: The Shattered One (10/?)
See the masterpost for disclaimer, summary, and previous parts.
Rufus’s cabin wasn’t much to look at, inside or out. Sam went ahead of them, opening the front door to a single room with a dingy old mattress against one wall, a fold-up cot against another, a rickety wood table, a folding chair, and a dresser with two drawers missing and an old TV on top. They could see a sorry excuse for a kitchen area (and likely a bathroom off of that) from the front door, and a back door next to a college-dorm-style refrigerator. It certainly wasn’t high living.
It was also too small for anyone to hide.
“Rufus?!” Sam called as he walked inside. Dean followed, supporting Castiel with one of the angel’s arms slung over his shoulders and his arm hooked around the angel’s waist. The heat coming off of Castiel was unreal, like the guy was part star.
“Check the back,” Dean grunted, “I’ll stay with Cas.”
Sam nodded and headed toward the back of the cabin.
“Let’s get you on the bed,” Dean said.
Castiel nodded weakly, but before they could take another step, Castiel went rigid and his knees buckled. Dean was suddenly all that was holding Castiel up, and he staggered trying to bear the weight. Castiel pitched into him, pressed to his chest, and his hand shot out and found the first thing he could to grip onto. Which happened to be Dean’s arm. Vice-like didn’t even begin to describe it. “Hey! Easy! Try not to break anything,” Dean groused. Castiel didn’t answer, locked shaking and sweaty against Dean’s chest, gasping hard into his shirt as he rode out the pain, but the death grip on Dean’s arm loosened.
When the ‘contraction’ passed, Castiel regained his footing and pushed back feebly from Dean. He looked unsteady, eyes bright with fever and pain.
“Okay, that’s it… bed, now,” Dean hauled Castiel over to the bed before another contraction could happen. He didn’t know if ‘contraction’ was really accurate, but they were coming closer and closer together like that’s what they were.
When Castiel was seated precariously on the edge of the bed, Dean glowered down at him. His hair was plastered to him with sweat, and his clothes were wet in rings around his neck. He had to be sweltering in two jackets and a button-down. “Hell with that,” Dean mumbled, and he proceeded to strip Castiel out of his trench coat, jacket, and shirt. Castiel sat numbly and let Dean do it, dazed and shaking. Since he hadn’t protested that, Dean knelt and untied his shoes, shucked them, then tossed his socks to the side. He stopped in mid-action reaching for Castiel’s belt. “Uh… does all this need to come off?”
Castiel blinked at him. “Why?”
“Well, I don’t… I mean, does it have to come out…” Dean gestured abstractly at Castiel below the waist, “… there?”
Castiel narrowed his eyes, probably trying to look haughty but too wiped to pull it off. “It doesn’t work that way.”
As if Dean fucking knew. “Right.” Dean wanted to ask ‘then how does it work?’, but: 1) he didn’t want to know, and 2) he figured he’d find out soon enough anyway.
With a strangled cry, Castiel crumpled, almost toppling into Dean. Dean caught him and pushed him back on to the bed. “Okay, take it easy. Breathe or something.”
Castiel was shitty at following directions. Instead of breathing he just writhed for a while, then it passed and he lay still, panting.
Sam came back into the room and paused briefly when he saw Castiel half-stripped on the bed.
“Find Rufus?” Dean asked.
“Uh… yeah. But uh, the demons found him first.”
“Shit… damn, Bobby’s going to be pissed.”
Sam swallowed thickly and moved toward the bed. He looked down miserably at Castiel. “Is there anything we can do?”
Castiel closed his eyes. “No.”
“Did you see any washcloths in the kitchen?” Dean asked his brother.
“Yeah… be right back.”
Castiel curled up on his side facing Dean, fidgeting and grimacing as he tried to find a comfortable position. Dean watched him with a frown. He hated seeing Castiel in pain and knowing there was nothing he could do to help.
When Castiel’s body locked up and his eyes slammed shut, Dean reached out on reflex. He rested his hand on the side of Castiel’s neck, shocked by the heat he was met with. A fever that high on a human would set off seizures and dance the line of severe brain damage.
“Just get through it, Cas,” Dean mumbled. “It’s almost over.”
God, he hoped all of it was almost over.
When it passed, Castiel heaved out a breath and twisted on the bed. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to crawl out of his own skin to escape the pain. John Winchester had looked like that once, knocked on his ass with a kidney stone when Dean was fourteen. It was the worst Dean had ever seen his dad look in his entire life, like it was the worst pain he’d ever been in all his life, and given their lives, that was saying something.
Of course, Castiel could ditch out of his skin if he wanted to… not that it would do any good. But just in case Cas did out of flight instinct, Dean cautioned, “Hey… tell us if you’re about to nuke out of there, okay?” Because having their eyes burned out of their skulls would really just cap off this evening.
“Dean…” the angel keened miserably, his body curling and uncurling restlessly.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
Dean frowned. “For this? Don’t be.”
“There wasn’t enough time… I wanted to kill Lucifer first.”
“Then we’ll do it after. Don’t worry about that right now.”
Castiel’s back arched off the bed, his head thrown back. He was clearly trying not to, but he couldn’t help a mangled cry escaping his throat. Dean flinched away from the sound and the glass of the TV on the dresser cracked.
“Sorry… I’m sorry…” Castiel groaned, balling up on himself with his back to Dean.
“Not like Rufus is going to care,” Dean quipped morosely.
Sam came back with handfuls of wet towels. “The water wouldn’t get very cold, but…” he passed one to Dean.
“Better than nothing… come here, Cas,” Dean reached over to roll the angel onto his back. His hand came to rest on Castiel’s chest, and Dean yanked his hand away when it felt like touching a hot stove. “Fuck!” Dean grabbed the angel by the shoulder and turned him on his back. His body was soaked in sweat, his cheeks flushed with fever, but that was nothing like the red patch growing in the center of his chest. It looked like a killer sunburn… and it definitely hadn’t been there a minute ago.
“Is this bad?” Dean asked as he placed the cool towel over the irritated section of skin. Castiel hissed. Dean could swear he saw tiny tendrils of steam curling up from where cold water met Castiel’s scorching flesh. “Cas… talk to me… is this supposed to happen?”
Castiel’s only answer was a full body jerk and a strained scream. Dean felt his eardrums throb in a ‘we’re about to hurt like a bitch’ warning. He clapped his hands over them until Castiel’s body went slack again.
Sam was a pacing figure in Dean’s peripheral vision, a fretful distraction Dean really wished would sit down already. Maybe he’d snapped that aloud, because Sam dropped into the folding chair like he’d been hamstringed, hands fisted between his knees while he leaned forward and watched everything with huge, worried eyes.
Dean reached out and ran his fingers through Castiel’s sopping wet hair. “Is it supposed to take this long?” Castiel trembled violently under his hands, actually making the bed shake with him. Dean glowered at no one (but damn did he wish there was someone he could bully to make this stop). “Come on, Cas,” he growled, “just spit that thing out already.” He didn’t know how much more of this Castiel could take… or how much more Dean could stand to watch.
“You do look like hell, Castiel.”
Dean and Sam both bolted to their feet and spun to face the open front door. Dean’s stomach bottomed out at what he saw. Lucifer himself, smarmy bastard, king of Hell, was standing nonchalantly in the doorway. He had his thumbs hooked into his jeans pockets, elbows bent at an easy angle… he played cool and calm so well, but a fucking cloud of lead-like weight came into the room with him, turning the air itself into quicksand.
Lucifer’s eyes left Castiel writhing on the bed and flitted to Sam. His lips twitched in a covetous smile. “Hello, Sam.”
“Stay the fuck away from him,” Dean snarled. “Don’t even talk to him, you son of a bitch.”
“Now, now… there’s no reason things have to get ugly. I’m not here to take Sam. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”
“What…” Sam’s voice cracked, “what does that mean?”
Lucifer nodded absently toward the bed and its angel in agony. “Castiel’s zoning off a good ten mile radius around this place.” Lucifer looked directly at Castiel to address him. “I’m a little annoyed that you’ve closed off my Hellmouth with your separation clearance, but that’s all right… I can always open another one.”
“You mean Cas is putting out a dampening field?” Dean said.
“And who says you can’t learn anything from Star Trek?” Lucifer replied with a smirk. “But yes, that’s as close as your puny human brains are going to come to understanding what’s really going on. Until this is over, I can’t do much more than fly while I’m near him. And my subjects can’t even come this close, so let’s all relax and act civilized, shall we?”
Dean had a nasty retort on the tip of his tongue, as much to heckle Lucifer as to drown out the hammering of his heart, but Castiel spoke first. “Lucifer… why are you here?”
Lucifer strolled into the room like he fucking owned it. He moved toward Castiel.
Dean didn’t think, he just moved. He put himself between the two angels, because fuck if Lucifer was laying a hand on Castiel when he was so vulnerable.
But Lucifer pushed him away easily, sending Dean crashing into the wall with hardly a flick of his wrist.
“Stop,” Castiel commanded.
Lucifer, surprisingly, did. “All right… I have my qualms with Dean Winchester, but I can put them aside for now.” Lucifer knelt next to the bed. “Are you ready to accept my offer?”
Castiel stared wild-eyed at Lucifer. He arched off the bed, limbs shaking and broken, rasping breaths pulling out of his throat. Lucifer sat there and watched, unmoved.
“Get the fuck away from him,” Dean barked, stepping forward to drag the asshole out by his heels if he had to. As if being tossed was just a fluke and Dean really could best the Devil this time.
“Dean… don’t,” Castiel whispered.
Dean froze.
“Yes, Dean… don’t make me hurt you. That would really upset Castiel.” Lucifer leaned in closer. “Had enough yet? I know you can feel it, your grace ripping in two. I can make that stop.”
“No.”
“So stubborn, brother,” Lucifer sighed. “You’ve let these humans taint you.” He studied Castiel somberly. “It didn’t have to end this way, you know. But if you would rather die than accept my help, I won’t stand in your way. Guess it’ll be the ultimate act of free will, won’t it?” With that, Lucifer rose gracefully to his feet. He looked down at Castiel on the bed for a long, drawn-out moment, then Lucifer turned toward the door.
‘Go,’ Dean thought. ‘Get the fuck out of here right the fuck now.’
“Wait,” Sam called out.
Lucifer stopped and lifted an eyebrow at him. “Yes, Sammy?”
Sam tensed at the name before asking, “What… what do you mean about Cas dying?”
“You mean he didn’t tell you?” Lucifer’s eyes went to Castiel on the bed. Castiel looked away, shaking and breaking. “Interesting. Baby brother’s been keeping secrets from you two.”
“Lucifer, don’t,” Castiel cried.
A twisted glee of ‘now I have to’ crept into Lucifer’s face. “To complete the separation, Castiel needs a chunk of another angel’s grace. Without it, that little one inside him will try to take everything it needs from Castiel’s grace… and neither one of them can survive that.”
Dean’s eyes flew over to Castiel.
Sam openly gaped. “You’re lying.”
“I don’t lie,” Lucifer countered. He shrugged. “But don’t take my word for it, take Castiel’s.” Lucifer settled an almost remorseful look on the bedridden angel. “Goodbye, Castiel… I wish I could say there was at least some honor in your death, but there isn’t. It’s pointless. And that’s really the saddest thing about all of this.
“And I’ll be seeing you soon, Sam.” With a wink, Lucifer strolled out the door as casually as he’d come in.
Dean was at Castiel’s side in a second. “Cas? Is he telling the truth? Is this going to kill you?”
Castiel couldn’t look Dean in the eye.
That told Dean all he needed to know.
“Fuck.” Dean stood up. “Fuck! Why didn’t you say something??”
“Because there was nothing you could have done,” Castiel replied brokenly. “I’m a fallen angel, an outcast… none of my brothers or sisters would help me. This was always a death sentence. I’ve accepted that.”
“Well, we haven’t! There must be something we can do to save you.”
Castiel convulsed on the bed, making a sound Dean had never heard in his life and hoped to never hear again. Like a dying animal flailing in a trap.
“Isn’t there any angel who would help you?” Sam pressed.
“Only Lucifer.”
Much as Dean would rather French kiss a hellhound, if it was that or let Cas die… “Then…” Dean began haltingly.
“No, Dean. The angel that would be born of that monster would be an heir to his throne. Better this… at least this way, Lucifer will not have an angel under his wing.”
Everyone could agree that Satan 2.0 was something that definitely should not happen. But that also whittled their options down to zero.
Dean stared down at Castiel in horror, unable to believe that he was literally watching Castiel die. This couldn’t be happening, but one look at Castiel, wrecked and shattered on the bed, and Dean knew that it was. He was losing his best friend, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.
“Grace is basically like a soul, isn’t it?” Sam chimed in from a pace away.
Castiel dragged his eyes over to Sam, frowning.
“I mean, the amount’s different, but content-wise… they’re pretty much the same, right?”
Castiel grimaced. “Yes… I suppose.”
“What are you getting at, Sam?” Dean ground out. Castiel was on his death bed… this was no time for his brother to satisfy his nerdy curiosity about angels.
Sam stepped forward. “So if you can’t finish this with an angel’s grace, do it with a human soul.”
Dean’s eyes widened and he looked down at Castiel. “Can you even do that?”
Castiel curled on his side, clutching his chest in agony. After the pain passed, he whispered, “I… it’s never been tried before.”
“Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t work,” Sam said.
Castiel’s face screwed in a combination of pain and deep thought. “Maybe…”
“Take a piece of mine,” Sam offered without hesitation.
Dean opened his mouth to speak.
Castiel beat him to it. “I can’t… yours is… I know you are a good person, Sam, but your soul is marked. His. I can’t use your soul for the same reason I dare not accept Lucifer’s grace.”
Sam looked crestfallen. And hell, justly so… that had some seriously scary implications (to agonize about some other time).
“What about mine?” Dean heard himself ask.
Castiel looked up guardedly at him.
“Would mine work?”
Castiel closed his eyes. Shivers racked his body, pulling choked noises from his throat. It had Dean moving toward the bed without thinking. He sat on the edge and reached out to touch Castiel’s shoulder. “Cas… will mine work?”
“It… might.”
A slim chance was better than none at all. It was better than watching Cas die. “Then do it.”
Castiel’s eyes flew open and locked with Dean’s.
Sam was surging forward, on board and eager to help. “What do you need us to do?”
Castiel was still having one of his staring contests with Dean. Dean knew what he was silently asking. “I’m not letting you die, Cas… we’re doing this.” And whatever consequences came with that decision, he’d deal with them later… just so long as Castiel lived.
“What do you need?” Sam repeated.
Castiel’s resolve cracked. He looked up at Sam. “You need to get in the car and drive as far as you can as fast as you can.”
Dean and Sam looked warily at one another.
“There will be a great discharge of power upon separation. I can protect Dean as a participant, but I can’t protect you.”
“Okay, got it…” Sam took the keys from Dean and was running out the door in the next second. They heard the car start up and Sam spin out as he raced down the dirt road.
Dean wished they could have just done it right then. But they had to give Sam a chance to get clear, and that meant Dean sitting alone in the room with Castiel on the ragged edge of coming apart. It meant he had time to think. He hated that.
“You don’t have to do this,” Castiel croaked, like he was still fit enough to read Dean’s mind. Like he would genuinely understand if Dean just let Castiel die rather than sacrifice part of himself to save the angel. He didn’t even sound like he’d be upset about Dean being that much of a selfish prick.
“I’m not letting you die, Cas.” And if Dean was freaking out a little, well… he was only human. But one determined to save his friend.
Any response Castiel had in mind was lost when his body spasmed. He fisted his hands in the covers until his knuckles turned white. Against his best efforts, a scream ripped out of his throat. Dean jerked back and closed his hands over his ears, but not soon enough… he could feel that all-too-familiar wet warmth of blood trickling out of his ears.
Then it was over and Castiel was gulping for air. His chest was a fiery red, so concentrated in places that the skin was taking on an orange hue.
To call it alarming would be a massive understatement.
“Why are you so hot?” Dean asked.
“Grace is hot,” Castiel answered simply, more focused on holding himself together than Dean’s question. “And mine is tearing in half.” Suddenly, Castiel let out a mangled yelp and bucked up off the bed. He struggled to hands and knees, body flexing and clenching like he was heaving after a night of heavy drinking, but the only thing that came out of his mouth were desperate noises.
“Dean… Dean…”
“What, Cas? I’m here, what?”
“I can’t… I can’t hold out anymore.”
Dean’s mouth went dry. “Okay…” Cue panic and racing heart. “Okay, what do you need me to do?”
“Be sure.”
“I am, damnit, now what do I do?!”
Castiel blindly reached out a hand and snagged Dean by the wrist. He pulled. Dean went without a fight, climbing onto the bed and lying awkwardly next to Castiel. Castiel’s teeth were bared in a pained grimace and his chest looked like it was about to combust when he dragged his eyes over to Dean. Sweat dripped off his body, making a damp mess of the covers.
Castiel let go of Dean’s wrist, grabbed the neckline of the hunter’s shirt, and yanked. Dean’s shirt tore away like it was tissue paper, leaving him suddenly very worried about where this was going.
The angel’s hand next came to rest atop Dean’s chest. It just rested there at first. “Stop me now,” Castiel warned brokenly. Dean could feel tremors in the fingers Castiel had laid against Dean’s chest.
“Quit stalling and do it.”
Castiel nodded faintly. “Close your eyes.”
Dean did.
Light flared beyond his eyelids, filling his vision with the blinding red of bright light passing through his lids. He felt it all over him, like he was that dumbshit in that myth who flew too close to the sun and fried. He was ground zero of a nuclear explosion, epicenter of a supernova.
He screamed when it suddenly felt like acid was eating through his chest. He felt it burn through skin, through bone, through everything physical he was and creeping into something more Dean than anything ever was. Who he was came under attack, liquid lightning was clawing into him and pulling him apart.
He could hear wings, loud and close. He knew the sound of their beating. But he also heard a sound like fabric tearing. Like bones snapping. He couldn’t tell his screams from Castiel’s anymore. He didn’t think he could scream - the fire was burning the air in his lungs.
When blackness rushed to swallow him, Dean let it. Gladly.
Next
Rufus’s cabin wasn’t much to look at, inside or out. Sam went ahead of them, opening the front door to a single room with a dingy old mattress against one wall, a fold-up cot against another, a rickety wood table, a folding chair, and a dresser with two drawers missing and an old TV on top. They could see a sorry excuse for a kitchen area (and likely a bathroom off of that) from the front door, and a back door next to a college-dorm-style refrigerator. It certainly wasn’t high living.
It was also too small for anyone to hide.
“Rufus?!” Sam called as he walked inside. Dean followed, supporting Castiel with one of the angel’s arms slung over his shoulders and his arm hooked around the angel’s waist. The heat coming off of Castiel was unreal, like the guy was part star.
“Check the back,” Dean grunted, “I’ll stay with Cas.”
Sam nodded and headed toward the back of the cabin.
“Let’s get you on the bed,” Dean said.
Castiel nodded weakly, but before they could take another step, Castiel went rigid and his knees buckled. Dean was suddenly all that was holding Castiel up, and he staggered trying to bear the weight. Castiel pitched into him, pressed to his chest, and his hand shot out and found the first thing he could to grip onto. Which happened to be Dean’s arm. Vice-like didn’t even begin to describe it. “Hey! Easy! Try not to break anything,” Dean groused. Castiel didn’t answer, locked shaking and sweaty against Dean’s chest, gasping hard into his shirt as he rode out the pain, but the death grip on Dean’s arm loosened.
When the ‘contraction’ passed, Castiel regained his footing and pushed back feebly from Dean. He looked unsteady, eyes bright with fever and pain.
“Okay, that’s it… bed, now,” Dean hauled Castiel over to the bed before another contraction could happen. He didn’t know if ‘contraction’ was really accurate, but they were coming closer and closer together like that’s what they were.
When Castiel was seated precariously on the edge of the bed, Dean glowered down at him. His hair was plastered to him with sweat, and his clothes were wet in rings around his neck. He had to be sweltering in two jackets and a button-down. “Hell with that,” Dean mumbled, and he proceeded to strip Castiel out of his trench coat, jacket, and shirt. Castiel sat numbly and let Dean do it, dazed and shaking. Since he hadn’t protested that, Dean knelt and untied his shoes, shucked them, then tossed his socks to the side. He stopped in mid-action reaching for Castiel’s belt. “Uh… does all this need to come off?”
Castiel blinked at him. “Why?”
“Well, I don’t… I mean, does it have to come out…” Dean gestured abstractly at Castiel below the waist, “… there?”
Castiel narrowed his eyes, probably trying to look haughty but too wiped to pull it off. “It doesn’t work that way.”
As if Dean fucking knew. “Right.” Dean wanted to ask ‘then how does it work?’, but: 1) he didn’t want to know, and 2) he figured he’d find out soon enough anyway.
With a strangled cry, Castiel crumpled, almost toppling into Dean. Dean caught him and pushed him back on to the bed. “Okay, take it easy. Breathe or something.”
Castiel was shitty at following directions. Instead of breathing he just writhed for a while, then it passed and he lay still, panting.
Sam came back into the room and paused briefly when he saw Castiel half-stripped on the bed.
“Find Rufus?” Dean asked.
“Uh… yeah. But uh, the demons found him first.”
“Shit… damn, Bobby’s going to be pissed.”
Sam swallowed thickly and moved toward the bed. He looked down miserably at Castiel. “Is there anything we can do?”
Castiel closed his eyes. “No.”
“Did you see any washcloths in the kitchen?” Dean asked his brother.
“Yeah… be right back.”
Castiel curled up on his side facing Dean, fidgeting and grimacing as he tried to find a comfortable position. Dean watched him with a frown. He hated seeing Castiel in pain and knowing there was nothing he could do to help.
When Castiel’s body locked up and his eyes slammed shut, Dean reached out on reflex. He rested his hand on the side of Castiel’s neck, shocked by the heat he was met with. A fever that high on a human would set off seizures and dance the line of severe brain damage.
“Just get through it, Cas,” Dean mumbled. “It’s almost over.”
God, he hoped all of it was almost over.
When it passed, Castiel heaved out a breath and twisted on the bed. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to crawl out of his own skin to escape the pain. John Winchester had looked like that once, knocked on his ass with a kidney stone when Dean was fourteen. It was the worst Dean had ever seen his dad look in his entire life, like it was the worst pain he’d ever been in all his life, and given their lives, that was saying something.
Of course, Castiel could ditch out of his skin if he wanted to… not that it would do any good. But just in case Cas did out of flight instinct, Dean cautioned, “Hey… tell us if you’re about to nuke out of there, okay?” Because having their eyes burned out of their skulls would really just cap off this evening.
“Dean…” the angel keened miserably, his body curling and uncurling restlessly.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
Dean frowned. “For this? Don’t be.”
“There wasn’t enough time… I wanted to kill Lucifer first.”
“Then we’ll do it after. Don’t worry about that right now.”
Castiel’s back arched off the bed, his head thrown back. He was clearly trying not to, but he couldn’t help a mangled cry escaping his throat. Dean flinched away from the sound and the glass of the TV on the dresser cracked.
“Sorry… I’m sorry…” Castiel groaned, balling up on himself with his back to Dean.
“Not like Rufus is going to care,” Dean quipped morosely.
Sam came back with handfuls of wet towels. “The water wouldn’t get very cold, but…” he passed one to Dean.
“Better than nothing… come here, Cas,” Dean reached over to roll the angel onto his back. His hand came to rest on Castiel’s chest, and Dean yanked his hand away when it felt like touching a hot stove. “Fuck!” Dean grabbed the angel by the shoulder and turned him on his back. His body was soaked in sweat, his cheeks flushed with fever, but that was nothing like the red patch growing in the center of his chest. It looked like a killer sunburn… and it definitely hadn’t been there a minute ago.
“Is this bad?” Dean asked as he placed the cool towel over the irritated section of skin. Castiel hissed. Dean could swear he saw tiny tendrils of steam curling up from where cold water met Castiel’s scorching flesh. “Cas… talk to me… is this supposed to happen?”
Castiel’s only answer was a full body jerk and a strained scream. Dean felt his eardrums throb in a ‘we’re about to hurt like a bitch’ warning. He clapped his hands over them until Castiel’s body went slack again.
Sam was a pacing figure in Dean’s peripheral vision, a fretful distraction Dean really wished would sit down already. Maybe he’d snapped that aloud, because Sam dropped into the folding chair like he’d been hamstringed, hands fisted between his knees while he leaned forward and watched everything with huge, worried eyes.
Dean reached out and ran his fingers through Castiel’s sopping wet hair. “Is it supposed to take this long?” Castiel trembled violently under his hands, actually making the bed shake with him. Dean glowered at no one (but damn did he wish there was someone he could bully to make this stop). “Come on, Cas,” he growled, “just spit that thing out already.” He didn’t know how much more of this Castiel could take… or how much more Dean could stand to watch.
“You do look like hell, Castiel.”
Dean and Sam both bolted to their feet and spun to face the open front door. Dean’s stomach bottomed out at what he saw. Lucifer himself, smarmy bastard, king of Hell, was standing nonchalantly in the doorway. He had his thumbs hooked into his jeans pockets, elbows bent at an easy angle… he played cool and calm so well, but a fucking cloud of lead-like weight came into the room with him, turning the air itself into quicksand.
Lucifer’s eyes left Castiel writhing on the bed and flitted to Sam. His lips twitched in a covetous smile. “Hello, Sam.”
“Stay the fuck away from him,” Dean snarled. “Don’t even talk to him, you son of a bitch.”
“Now, now… there’s no reason things have to get ugly. I’m not here to take Sam. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”
“What…” Sam’s voice cracked, “what does that mean?”
Lucifer nodded absently toward the bed and its angel in agony. “Castiel’s zoning off a good ten mile radius around this place.” Lucifer looked directly at Castiel to address him. “I’m a little annoyed that you’ve closed off my Hellmouth with your separation clearance, but that’s all right… I can always open another one.”
“You mean Cas is putting out a dampening field?” Dean said.
“And who says you can’t learn anything from Star Trek?” Lucifer replied with a smirk. “But yes, that’s as close as your puny human brains are going to come to understanding what’s really going on. Until this is over, I can’t do much more than fly while I’m near him. And my subjects can’t even come this close, so let’s all relax and act civilized, shall we?”
Dean had a nasty retort on the tip of his tongue, as much to heckle Lucifer as to drown out the hammering of his heart, but Castiel spoke first. “Lucifer… why are you here?”
Lucifer strolled into the room like he fucking owned it. He moved toward Castiel.
Dean didn’t think, he just moved. He put himself between the two angels, because fuck if Lucifer was laying a hand on Castiel when he was so vulnerable.
But Lucifer pushed him away easily, sending Dean crashing into the wall with hardly a flick of his wrist.
“Stop,” Castiel commanded.
Lucifer, surprisingly, did. “All right… I have my qualms with Dean Winchester, but I can put them aside for now.” Lucifer knelt next to the bed. “Are you ready to accept my offer?”
Castiel stared wild-eyed at Lucifer. He arched off the bed, limbs shaking and broken, rasping breaths pulling out of his throat. Lucifer sat there and watched, unmoved.
“Get the fuck away from him,” Dean barked, stepping forward to drag the asshole out by his heels if he had to. As if being tossed was just a fluke and Dean really could best the Devil this time.
“Dean… don’t,” Castiel whispered.
Dean froze.
“Yes, Dean… don’t make me hurt you. That would really upset Castiel.” Lucifer leaned in closer. “Had enough yet? I know you can feel it, your grace ripping in two. I can make that stop.”
“No.”
“So stubborn, brother,” Lucifer sighed. “You’ve let these humans taint you.” He studied Castiel somberly. “It didn’t have to end this way, you know. But if you would rather die than accept my help, I won’t stand in your way. Guess it’ll be the ultimate act of free will, won’t it?” With that, Lucifer rose gracefully to his feet. He looked down at Castiel on the bed for a long, drawn-out moment, then Lucifer turned toward the door.
‘Go,’ Dean thought. ‘Get the fuck out of here right the fuck now.’
“Wait,” Sam called out.
Lucifer stopped and lifted an eyebrow at him. “Yes, Sammy?”
Sam tensed at the name before asking, “What… what do you mean about Cas dying?”
“You mean he didn’t tell you?” Lucifer’s eyes went to Castiel on the bed. Castiel looked away, shaking and breaking. “Interesting. Baby brother’s been keeping secrets from you two.”
“Lucifer, don’t,” Castiel cried.
A twisted glee of ‘now I have to’ crept into Lucifer’s face. “To complete the separation, Castiel needs a chunk of another angel’s grace. Without it, that little one inside him will try to take everything it needs from Castiel’s grace… and neither one of them can survive that.”
Dean’s eyes flew over to Castiel.
Sam openly gaped. “You’re lying.”
“I don’t lie,” Lucifer countered. He shrugged. “But don’t take my word for it, take Castiel’s.” Lucifer settled an almost remorseful look on the bedridden angel. “Goodbye, Castiel… I wish I could say there was at least some honor in your death, but there isn’t. It’s pointless. And that’s really the saddest thing about all of this.
“And I’ll be seeing you soon, Sam.” With a wink, Lucifer strolled out the door as casually as he’d come in.
Dean was at Castiel’s side in a second. “Cas? Is he telling the truth? Is this going to kill you?”
Castiel couldn’t look Dean in the eye.
That told Dean all he needed to know.
“Fuck.” Dean stood up. “Fuck! Why didn’t you say something??”
“Because there was nothing you could have done,” Castiel replied brokenly. “I’m a fallen angel, an outcast… none of my brothers or sisters would help me. This was always a death sentence. I’ve accepted that.”
“Well, we haven’t! There must be something we can do to save you.”
Castiel convulsed on the bed, making a sound Dean had never heard in his life and hoped to never hear again. Like a dying animal flailing in a trap.
“Isn’t there any angel who would help you?” Sam pressed.
“Only Lucifer.”
Much as Dean would rather French kiss a hellhound, if it was that or let Cas die… “Then…” Dean began haltingly.
“No, Dean. The angel that would be born of that monster would be an heir to his throne. Better this… at least this way, Lucifer will not have an angel under his wing.”
Everyone could agree that Satan 2.0 was something that definitely should not happen. But that also whittled their options down to zero.
Dean stared down at Castiel in horror, unable to believe that he was literally watching Castiel die. This couldn’t be happening, but one look at Castiel, wrecked and shattered on the bed, and Dean knew that it was. He was losing his best friend, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.
“Grace is basically like a soul, isn’t it?” Sam chimed in from a pace away.
Castiel dragged his eyes over to Sam, frowning.
“I mean, the amount’s different, but content-wise… they’re pretty much the same, right?”
Castiel grimaced. “Yes… I suppose.”
“What are you getting at, Sam?” Dean ground out. Castiel was on his death bed… this was no time for his brother to satisfy his nerdy curiosity about angels.
Sam stepped forward. “So if you can’t finish this with an angel’s grace, do it with a human soul.”
Dean’s eyes widened and he looked down at Castiel. “Can you even do that?”
Castiel curled on his side, clutching his chest in agony. After the pain passed, he whispered, “I… it’s never been tried before.”
“Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t work,” Sam said.
Castiel’s face screwed in a combination of pain and deep thought. “Maybe…”
“Take a piece of mine,” Sam offered without hesitation.
Dean opened his mouth to speak.
Castiel beat him to it. “I can’t… yours is… I know you are a good person, Sam, but your soul is marked. His. I can’t use your soul for the same reason I dare not accept Lucifer’s grace.”
Sam looked crestfallen. And hell, justly so… that had some seriously scary implications (to agonize about some other time).
“What about mine?” Dean heard himself ask.
Castiel looked up guardedly at him.
“Would mine work?”
Castiel closed his eyes. Shivers racked his body, pulling choked noises from his throat. It had Dean moving toward the bed without thinking. He sat on the edge and reached out to touch Castiel’s shoulder. “Cas… will mine work?”
“It… might.”
A slim chance was better than none at all. It was better than watching Cas die. “Then do it.”
Castiel’s eyes flew open and locked with Dean’s.
Sam was surging forward, on board and eager to help. “What do you need us to do?”
Castiel was still having one of his staring contests with Dean. Dean knew what he was silently asking. “I’m not letting you die, Cas… we’re doing this.” And whatever consequences came with that decision, he’d deal with them later… just so long as Castiel lived.
“What do you need?” Sam repeated.
Castiel’s resolve cracked. He looked up at Sam. “You need to get in the car and drive as far as you can as fast as you can.”
Dean and Sam looked warily at one another.
“There will be a great discharge of power upon separation. I can protect Dean as a participant, but I can’t protect you.”
“Okay, got it…” Sam took the keys from Dean and was running out the door in the next second. They heard the car start up and Sam spin out as he raced down the dirt road.
Dean wished they could have just done it right then. But they had to give Sam a chance to get clear, and that meant Dean sitting alone in the room with Castiel on the ragged edge of coming apart. It meant he had time to think. He hated that.
“You don’t have to do this,” Castiel croaked, like he was still fit enough to read Dean’s mind. Like he would genuinely understand if Dean just let Castiel die rather than sacrifice part of himself to save the angel. He didn’t even sound like he’d be upset about Dean being that much of a selfish prick.
“I’m not letting you die, Cas.” And if Dean was freaking out a little, well… he was only human. But one determined to save his friend.
Any response Castiel had in mind was lost when his body spasmed. He fisted his hands in the covers until his knuckles turned white. Against his best efforts, a scream ripped out of his throat. Dean jerked back and closed his hands over his ears, but not soon enough… he could feel that all-too-familiar wet warmth of blood trickling out of his ears.
Then it was over and Castiel was gulping for air. His chest was a fiery red, so concentrated in places that the skin was taking on an orange hue.
To call it alarming would be a massive understatement.
“Why are you so hot?” Dean asked.
“Grace is hot,” Castiel answered simply, more focused on holding himself together than Dean’s question. “And mine is tearing in half.” Suddenly, Castiel let out a mangled yelp and bucked up off the bed. He struggled to hands and knees, body flexing and clenching like he was heaving after a night of heavy drinking, but the only thing that came out of his mouth were desperate noises.
“Dean… Dean…”
“What, Cas? I’m here, what?”
“I can’t… I can’t hold out anymore.”
Dean’s mouth went dry. “Okay…” Cue panic and racing heart. “Okay, what do you need me to do?”
“Be sure.”
“I am, damnit, now what do I do?!”
Castiel blindly reached out a hand and snagged Dean by the wrist. He pulled. Dean went without a fight, climbing onto the bed and lying awkwardly next to Castiel. Castiel’s teeth were bared in a pained grimace and his chest looked like it was about to combust when he dragged his eyes over to Dean. Sweat dripped off his body, making a damp mess of the covers.
Castiel let go of Dean’s wrist, grabbed the neckline of the hunter’s shirt, and yanked. Dean’s shirt tore away like it was tissue paper, leaving him suddenly very worried about where this was going.
The angel’s hand next came to rest atop Dean’s chest. It just rested there at first. “Stop me now,” Castiel warned brokenly. Dean could feel tremors in the fingers Castiel had laid against Dean’s chest.
“Quit stalling and do it.”
Castiel nodded faintly. “Close your eyes.”
Dean did.
Light flared beyond his eyelids, filling his vision with the blinding red of bright light passing through his lids. He felt it all over him, like he was that dumbshit in that myth who flew too close to the sun and fried. He was ground zero of a nuclear explosion, epicenter of a supernova.
He screamed when it suddenly felt like acid was eating through his chest. He felt it burn through skin, through bone, through everything physical he was and creeping into something more Dean than anything ever was. Who he was came under attack, liquid lightning was clawing into him and pulling him apart.
He could hear wings, loud and close. He knew the sound of their beating. But he also heard a sound like fabric tearing. Like bones snapping. He couldn’t tell his screams from Castiel’s anymore. He didn’t think he could scream - the fire was burning the air in his lungs.
When blackness rushed to swallow him, Dean let it. Gladly.
Next