Hey y'all :):):).
This was inspired by the promo for the season finale "Swan Song" in which Dean appears to be very seriously injured on the floor. This is also based on the synopsis that a 'beloved character' will die.
I don't want to say much else because I think it speaks for itself =). Please let me know what you think!!!
Hope you all enjoy! =D
Trading Yesterday - Shattered
He was back in Hell; he just had to be.
Groaning, Dean Winchester struggled, somehow managing to find purchase beneath his broken frame. His body screamed at the abuse, each muscle trembling violently as it neared collapse. Plump lips parted in a gasp of air, blood trickling sneakily from their corners and making a bid for freedom.
A bloodied hand scrabbled, finding purchase on the smooth bonnet of his beloved Impala. She supported him as best as she could and aided him whilst he dragged himself into a sitting position.
The elder Winchester gasped, blinking upwards towards his attacker. One eye was swollen shut, a violent mass on his face. The other stared in distress and betrayal at the looming man: hazel eyes that had once been so compassionate now drowning in cruelty.
The taunting face smirked and he shook his head. With startling agility, he lunged forth, gripping onto the front of Dean's shirt and hauling him bodily from the ground. Dean grunted at the jolt of agony that exploded through his spine, teeth baring in a grimace. Watery blood squeezed between the gaps of his previously pearly teeth, oozing gruesomely forth.
"No, Dean," sneered the creature before him, holding the elder brother in front of him with one hand. A snigger of humourless laughter escaped his lips and he shook Dean once for emphasis, his legs dangling uselessly below him. "You still don't get it, do you?"
Dragging him closer, the Devil wearing Sam's face narrowed sincere eyes. Dean heaved in another painful breath, meeting Lucifer's gaze with his one functioning eye. The emerald orbs sparkled with determination and a glare of malice: he wasn't done just yet.
Huffing indignantly, Sam… no, Lucifer leant closer until their noses were practically touching. Dean held his ground, resisting the urge to look away from the evil expression marring his baby brother's features. "Sammy's mine, Dean."
In an instant, the hunter was flying, thrown carelessly away like a broken toy. He cried out harshly as his body hit the ground, jarring his numerous wounds. Then, rolling over and over, he eventually came to a stop, resting in a dejected heap some feet away. Slumping, eye slithering shut, he realised how much he wanted to give up: to throw in the towel and finally let it all go.
No, he inwardly snarled, eyelid lethargically fluttering open. You don't ever give up. With renewed vigour, Dean forced his hands back beneath his body again, pushing upwards with wavering limbs. He knew that Bobby and Cas weren't giving up, despite the crappy hand that fate had dealt them. Most importantly, he believed with everything he had that Sammy was still in there fighting and Dean would not abandon him now.
With agonising slowness, Dean folded his knees beneath him, feeling his jeans rip and tear across the ground. He breathed heavily, hands resting uselessly on his lap while he bowed his spinning head. Lucifer was watching him; he could feel those malevolent eyes studying him intensely, sending shivers down his spine.
"Help us," Dean whispered weakly, to anybody who was listening. His stooped over body was indeed reminiscent of praying, but he knew that there was no-one there to answer. Yet, the words had escaped his lips without realisation – the smallest fragment of hope from a shattered faith.
"Nobody is listening, Dean." The elder Winchester squeezed his eyes tightly closed, ignoring the burning pain in his left eye. Steadily, he raised his head, managing to send a dark look at the fallen angel stood across from him. Lucifer's expression was almost sympathetic and Dean found himself hating him all the more.
As blood rose in his throat, Dean turned his head to the side and spat the offended mass clear from his mouth. He winced as the bitter tang of iron poisoned his tongue before adopting an air of fury. "You think I don't know that? I'm used to the fact that we're alone in this."
Lucifer merely tilted his head, brown waves sliding with the movement. "But it must hurt, to know that there are others out there," he smiled sadly, "and they just don't care."
"You never believed in angels," continued the Devil, ignorant of Dean's words. "But then suddenly, one appears, rescuing you from the pit. How long did it take you to realise that they were lying to you all along?" Dean glowered, shifting as he attempted to determine a way to clamber to his feet. "They are responsible for what happens from here on out, Dean."
"Yeah?" scoffed the hunter, falling weakly back down onto his knees. "And you're completely innocent in this?"
"No-one is innocent. Not me, not you or Sammy, not even your precious angel. You chose the wrong side," he spoke with authority, taking a step closer to the collapsed Winchester. "See, Michael was right about one thing: there is no such thing as free will."
Saying nothing, green eye flaming with hatred, Dean watched Lucifer straighten with obvious intent. His fists curled by his sides, body tensing in preparation for what he knew was soon to come. It gave him little comfort to realise that he had never succumbed and become Michael's bitch when he was staring at what remained of his little brother.
He felt a tear trickle past his defences and diverted his gaze, not wanting Lucifer to gain any satisfaction at seeing his weakness. All he could do was hope that Sammy would accomplish what he had planned to, but Dean found his optimism fading with each ticking second.
"I truly am sorry Dean," came the sardonic tone, unable to quite pull off true sorrow. "Michael may have a temporary vessel, but without you, the angels have lost. Be comforted that your brother will be cared for."
Form shaking in anticipation and anger, Dean glanced up as Lucifer raised a hand towards him. He felt the air shift around him, static as though fearful while time seemed to slow. Then light, pure and blinding, lunged forth from the Devil's palm, crisscrossing over in horrifically beautiful threads. It cut through the air towards him with unbelievable speed and he found himself transfixed, gaze burning at its intensity. He watched as it merged into one pallid wave, obscuring Lucifer's vessel fully from view.
The end was here.
This is it…
He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut until his fate had finally embraced him. The unnatural heat of the approaching light prickled his skin, hairs standing on end as it neared him with ominous intent. His breaths caught in his chest, heart skipping beats as though it had forgotten its natural rhythm.
Death had come to claim him for the last time.
The sound of fluttering erupted in front of him and he frowned. Before he could act upon his perplexity, a force slammed hard into him, grasping at him with something akin to desperation. He was enveloped, bonds linking around his back and holding him close.
Struggling against his fears, Dean raised his lid, greeted by the sight of a familiar blue tie flapping past his face. His eye widened further and he tilted his head, meeting the resolute face of Castiel. His sapphires glinted harshly with burning sparks, staring ahead as though in concentration. A smile, gentle in its nature, quirked the corner of Dean's mouth. It tugged irritatingly at his injuries, but he paid it little heed. His angel had saved him again.
He broke off as something light stroked his cheek before he caught a glimpse of something silvery flittering away. Lifting his stare, it widened considerably as he was met with the sight of one arched wing, surrounding him within its shimmering embrace. The massive appendage was folded around them, sheltering them from the attack as light careened past them, illuminating the glorious entity.
"Cas, you found your wings," he murmured as though in a stupor. Castiel had been so certain that he had been punished to live life as a human, and yet his wings were still there. The angel was as much a higher being as he had been when Dean first met him, perhaps even more so following his valiant acts. "How did you find me?"
Silence held him a second longer. "I heard your prayer."
For a moment, Dean forgot about the apocalypse, about the Devil riding his little brother, about the weight resting on his shoulders. Instead, as though trapped in an unmoving portrait, he saw everything. Surges of murderous light raced past and blanketed them: an endless ocean trapping them in its midst. It was both a mystifying and terrifying sight.
A spark of heat erupted near his arm and Dean hissed, leaning deeper into Castiel's embrace. The smell of burning suffocated his nostrils and he stared at his arm in shock. There was no burn. Confusion marring his features, Dean felt the chest beneath his ear stutter suddenly and he found his own heart lurching simultaneously in surprise, "Cas?"
Then he saw it and gasped in horror.
The curved wings, so elegant and serene, were burning. Feathers caught alight, shrivelling and peeling away from the delicate structure, stripping it bear. Tears rose at the sight of the destruction when hungry white flames licked at the angelic wings, ripping them steadily apart.
"Cas," he whispered, turning and staring at the pale celestial's face, "Castiel!"
Steadily, as though in pain, Castiel lowered his gaze to the hunter. Dean recoiled at the expression of grief lurking in the angel's eyes and wound his hands into the trench coat, tugging him closer. More feathers quivered around them, twisting and turning in the air like blackened snowflakes.
Fear rising within, Dean gripped him tighter, "Cas, get us the hell out of here!"
Castiel paused and shook his head as though in acceptance. Colour drained from the elder brother's face and he felt his terror ratchet even higher at the angel's words: "I cannot. It is too late, Dean."
But even as he said it, he watched flames begin to creep along Castiel's shoulders and down his back, devouring with rabid hunger. They stretched along to his neck, licking at the exposed skin. Nausea rose in Dean's stomach as he saw the flesh coil up and burn away.
Shaking his head, Dean's fingers curled tighter, even as the fire snapped at them. "No," he repeated, imploring Castiel to deny what was happening, to do something, anything, to stop this. "No, don't you do this!"
Shuddering with agony, Castiel drew in an aching breath. His eyes slid closed for a moment before he forced them open again, endless pools of blue connecting powerfully with the green of his charge. "I made… my choice a long time ago."
Withholding a cry of frustration and grief, Dean shook his head again. He felt the flames latch onto his own skin, burning and scarring, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Castiel, the renegade, the comic, the soldier, the other Winchester, their angel, was dying…
"I do not regret…" he broke off, head jerking to the side as another beam of light struck him hard across his head. Blood, exploding outwards in a fountain, rained down on Dean and he flinched away. The arms around his back slackened considerably and Dean found himself compensating by dragging the angel closer. Castiel's head thumped down onto his shoulder, his back still arched as his ruined wings strained against the merciless attack.
"Castiel, you stay with me," Dean ordered using the celestial's full name. He hated the waver in his voice as resilience gave way to anguish. He knew there was nothing he could do, but he couldn't let the angel go, not after all he had sacrificed. "You do not get to leave me now!"
A ragged inhale by his ear cut through him and the elder Winchester whispered softly, wishing words could truly heal. Castiel twisted, his lips directly next to Dean's bloodied ear: "You can finish this, Dean. You have another chance… to finish it."
Eyes swimming, red tears even managed to squeeze past his swollen eye. "What if I can't?"
For a second, the arms returned their previous grip around his back. "I believe in you, Dean," he breathed, voice tearing as flames enveloped around his throat and began to entwine into his hair, "Not God… not my b-brothers… you."
"Cas," Dean's voice cracked with dispirited defeat, "don't go."
Castiel didn't reply, his vessel's frame twitching grotesquely as fire continued to consume it. Dean tightened his jaw, lowering his brow to Castiel's shoulder, ignoring the flames as they reached out towards his face. He felt his wounds singe as the running blood ignited momentarily, but he vacantly ignored it all. He couldn't lose another loved one, especially not like this.
How many more people that he cared for would have to be devoured by fire?
A whip of light cut through the pair, slicing through Castiel's ribs before glancing off of Dean's. The elder Winchester screamed at the unexpected strike and straightened as fiery agony reverberated through his side. His eyes glinted ahead, lids peeled back by unbelievable light as it submerged the two completely. A smouldering sensation began to throb at the back of his eyes, but he found himself unable to look away. His thoughts instantly flashed to Pamela and the realisation that her fate was soon to become his cut him deeply.
A hand racked with tremors grasped the back of Dean's head, forcing his brow down and into a scorched collarbone. He heard the creaking of bones as the two skeletal wings rose up, battling against the endless power and protecting their charge. The angel was practically convulsing now and Dean clutched him tightly, trying to force him to stay.
His name sounded strained through cracked and burnt lips and Dean answered him immediately, pulling back to stare at him. Before he could stop himself, a whimper fell past the normally strong hunter's lips. The skin along one of Castiel's cheekbones was cracking, opening the way to a crevice of rising blood. His eyes were blood-shot, red contrasting sharply with soulful blue, and the shadows that lingered beneath were now swollen and sore. The previously dark hair had darkened further, waning into soot and ashes before his eyes.
"The sigil," spoke the hoarse voice, viscous blood being expelled down the celestial's chin. "M-My chest…"
Numbly, Dean peeled his fingers away from the singed trench coat, his skin coming away with the action. The fire along Castiel's clothes posed no threat to him as he tore the shirt apart, the remains of the blue tie falling away into light. Dean inwardly winced at the scar of the carved sigil into Castiel's chest, wondering if it was one that the angel would never fully heal from.
He'll never have the chance to.
The traitorous thought was submerged instantly and Dean found his mind beginning to come to terms with what Castiel was asking of him. "No," he said softly, giving the angel the most sincere look he had ever given before. "I can't, Cas."
Sympathy crossed Castiel's face, or what was left of it. The entire left side of the angel's face was burnt, radiant flames now lingering under the skin and sinking into bone. And as much as Dean knew that Castiel was past the point of no return now, he couldn't bring himself to extinguish that remaining morsel of grace residing within the abused vessel.
Lip trembling, Dean gripped the angel's biceps tightly, his own body beginning to shake from the force of Castiel's convulsions. A slash of wayward light struck him across his cheek, but he barely even flinched. He was emotionally stunned, broken down to his core.
He knew what he had to do.
With blue orbs upon green, a combined ocean soon to part, Dean nodded his understanding. His already bloody and torn hand rose up to the angel's chest, part of his mind wondering how this could work. Surely a sigil that had not been freshly drawn would have no effect?
Realising that he was soon to find out, Dean closed his eyes, hand hovering above the angry looking chest. Moisture dripped from his eyes and carved paths down his battered face. A coarse touch covered the back of his hand and, with Castiel's help, the hunter pressed his palm hard against the sigil.
A split second ticked by and nothing happened, vision restored as uncertainty gripped him. Then brutally Castiel's frame jerked and a scream erupted from his throat. The edges of the sigil ignited around Dean's hand, pure light exploding outwards to collide with that of Lucifer's attack.
Dean crushed his lids together as Castiel's back arched, a high pitched screech of angel voice overlapping with the cry of his vessel. His arm hooked around the dying celestial's back, gripping tightly onto the axis where one of Castiel's wings attached to the shoulder blade. The other hand remained firmly positioned in place, draining the life from his friend.
Underneath his fingertips, he felt the structure of Castiel's wing crumble away, reduced to cinders as his grace withered. Dean clutched at the dust as it fell away, trying in a futile way to hold the angel together. He felt the waves of the sigil pass over him; a tempest of unimaginable proportions.
Then it was over. The haunting scream faded as the wind ebbed into nothingness. The silence of the sound, one of utter finality, would live on in his memory forever.
Hesitantly, Dean's eyelid lifted. He noticed immediately the absence of blinding white light. He glanced up at Castiel's kneeling form, still posed in a protective stance over him. The angel's eyes were open, gazing at the sky with a content expression. The sunlight cast its glow over him and Dean found himself in awe as the rays embraced them both, casting a fantastical halo over Castiel's head.
The angel's charred eyelids fluttered, sliding closed as a crackling sigh met Dean's ears. And then he was keeling over backward, tugging Dean down with him as they fell into his sunlight.
Dean braced them as he fell, hissing as pain erupted in his spine at the movement. Steadily, he lowered Castiel to the ground, muttering his name in despair. The dark head of hair, singed and burned to a grotesque level, thumped against the floor. The elder Winchester brother, wearied and wounded, hovered over his angel.
"Castiel?" he tried, watching the seared face for any reaction. But he knew there would not be one. He had felt the angel go, felt his grace glide past him during Castiel's final act to save him.
He knew that Castiel had died…
"No," came the shuddering moan, Dean's face contorted in grief. "Cas, no…"
His breath hitched as he took in Castiel's dejected frame. His limbs were skewed haphazardly around him, as though death was uncertain of how they should be placed. Flesh, scarred and bloody, glared like a beacon out at the elder Winchester and he found himself swallowing back bile.
"What if I can't stop this, Cas?" he finally asked, a breeze softly whistling past him, trying to relieve his aching heart. His lower lip shook violently, tears obscuring what little vision he had. "What if he wins?"
The angel stayed silent, head titled to one side. Where did Castiel go now? Did angels simply end when they died since Heaven would no longer be able to house them? Was he gone completely?
Dean sat back, as the sunlight vanished behind a passing cloud. He raised his gaze to the sky and found himself wondering what solace Castiel had managed to find in it before. He had often wondered why Castiel had felt no bitterness to be confined to the land when the sky was so vast and liberating.
"I believe in you, Dean."
Why did you? Dean wondered, loyally returned his stare to the angel. The angel who had sacrificed so much for them, who had stood in front of Lucifer's attack and defended him until his death. It was then that Dean understood – Castiel did not find solace in the sky, but in humanity.
As though hearing a silent voice, Dean nodded to himself, forcing a teary smile. "I'll try, Cas. I won't let Sammy go without a fight, I promise." He raised a hand, resting it softly upon the sigil-engraved chest. "I'll try."
The breeze shifted again and the ashes of Castiel's wings stirred around them. As Dean bowed his head in grief, his hand the only lasting link to his faithful friend, the blackened residue spread outwards beside the angel's body.
The cloud shifted and the sun released its full ethereal glow upon the pair. Unbeknownst to the eldest Winchester, blackened wings stretched outwards from Castiel's form; a sketched masterpiece on a torn canvas. They curved inwards slightly at the ends, still determined to protect the kind charge who had been bestowed upon them.
The wind weaved forth, lifting the ashes into the air and setting them free into the sky. The shattered remnants of a devoted warrior were taken away to salvation, to a place where they belonged. All that remained of the angel of Thursday was a memory and his unconditional love for the Winchesters.
And with it, Dean Winchester would conquer.
Good? Bad? Please review and let me know if you liked it! =P.
It's just my take on a possible event taking place in the finale (a tragic one since I adore Castiel!) so I hoped you all enjoyed it!!!
Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)