"And So It Goes"

By Chocolate Moosey

In every heart

There is a room

A sanctuary safe and strong

To heal the wounds

From lovers past

Until a new one comes along

I spoke to you

In cautious tones

You answered me with no pretense

And still I feel

I said too much

My silence is my self defense

And every time

I held a rose

It seems I only felt the thorns

And so it goes

And so it goes

And so will you soon I suppose

Of course it came to this.

It always comes to this.

Dean holds the blade in his hand, quivering in the amber firelight. It glints gold off of the shaft, where it had once been an unmarred silver. Yet so much color reflects back in that blade. Dean's own mossy green eyes narrowed in hurt. The tan of Castiel's trench coat warped and wrapped around the weapon. The worn wooden walls of Bobby's house.

It seems like a very unceremonious place to—Dean had always assumed that angels—in a very beautiful way when it truly was their time. Like a star flickering out of existence beyond a pane of stained glass. Not in a warehouse somewhere in California as nameless casualties. Not in a hotel in the middle of fucking nowhere with golden eyes pointed at the ceiling and Sam's subtle shiver of loss. Not in Bobby Singer's grungy living room with the spot on the couch where Dean had thrown up when he had the stomach flu when he was six and the empty bottles and so much, so much broken.

And more about to be shattered right on the carpet in the golden ring of holy fire.

Dean's eyes narrow, heart pinching as he bits his lip so hard that he wouldn't be surprised if he drew blood. Finally, he looks up.

Castiel stares back evenly with stunning blue, the line his lips are usually in is twitching so slightly. And this is Cas. This. Castiel, who raised him from hell. Castiel, who looked like he was about to sob at the sight of a prostitute. Castiel who didn't understand. Castiel who's Dean's—

No.

Castiel who killed thousands if not more, who manipulated for his own selfish means. And Dean's teeth grit in his mouth, his hand steadying around the blade because this isn't the angel who he—

This is a monster.

His eyes are shining flashing amber at Dean as the hunter steps through the ring of fire and presses the blade to his throat.

Castiel finally speaks.

"Dean." He says, his voice is as the same as ever: completely emotionless. But his eyes betray something to Dean—at first the hunter would believe it was hurt, but he finds himself laughing weakly, albeit bitterly at that assertion. How could he have ever thought Cas could feel?

Dean doesn't know the emotion flashing back at him through Castiel's eyes.

"You don't understand." Castiel says, voice growing ever lower. "Don't do this Dean."

So I will choose

To be with you

As if the choice were mine to make

'Cause you can make

Decisions, too

And you can have this heart to break

"I think I understand perfectly, Castiel." Dean growls—almost spits— that bitterness still offensively apparent in his voice. He wills his hand to be still as he meets those eyes unwaveringly. He can't bring himself to look away now that he's made that contact. "I trusted you." His voice is wavering, if not his eyes. "I trusted you."

And Dean's hand slides down, down, down.

Slowly, it feels like it's slow but it's not. Not really.

And Sam and Bobby and the house and all the history in it and the fire and everything is gone and there's only Castiel and Dean and the blade between them at the place where Castiel's heart would be.

There's nothing left there.

Just hurt.

Just all the words that Dean would never say.

And, without thinking, he thrusts Castiel's blade forward into the angel's chest.

It is then that something strange happens.

"Dean." Castiel's voice is now a whisper and although it has only ever been them and although Dean has only ever seen Castiel, he sees Cas.

Beautiful black feathers splaying in his last moments, the golden light catching the pigment and betraying their secrets: the presence of all color.

"I did it for you."

Dean's eyes flicker back to Castiel and the angel is smiling. Not his drunken half-smirk or a wry little grin, but a true honest-to-God smile. His blue eyes are wrinkling sadly at the corners and something in Dean's chest just—

Oh.

Dean's eyes widened.

Those beautiful blue eyes so wide and innocent, as if Cas were seeing the world for as it was the first time—and he really was, wasn't he?

That powerful stance as the shadowed wings stretched towards the ceiling, straining to their full size.

Every quirk of his head as if he did not understand, the pinch of his eyes as he studied and scrutinized the human world—something he had seemed worthy of saving. Something he had deemed worthy of rebelling for.

Someone he had deemed worth risking everything for.

A flash of a tan trenchcoat. The flutter of wings. Those blue eyes so worn, so tired.

Dean choked. It was—he had—his hands were shaking around the hilt of the sword as a bright, soaring feeling lanced throughout him, followed rapidly by the dark, inky realization pooling in his chest.

"Cas…" He whispered. Because it was too late, too late, too fucking late because the sword was in him and his eyes were glowing gently and Castiel's fingers tightened over the mark upon Dean's arm. The mark Dean didn't even know Castiel was gripping as Dean killed him. Killed him.

Killed the only person he had ever truly loved.

And there's no turning back from this. No matter how much Dean wants or begs or screams until he can't hear his voice anymore. This is the end. This is forever. No more.

But then Castiel's fingers loosened around the mark, searing bright once more into Dean's skin for a final moment before it began to fade. Castiel is falling backwards, glowing eyes closing and fluttering back open and mouth falling open in a startled part, light spilling through it. Dean's fingers close through thin air as he leans forward to grip Castiel tight because it's not too late its never too late and—

Black.

Blank.

And so it goes

"Good things do happen, Dean."

And so it goes

The second Castiel hits the ground, there is the noise that sounds like a gun firing as his grace erupts from his body in a silver ring, the feathers fall from his wings as it does, searing their imprint to the wood-paneled floor.

Dean stands stock-still, hands still extended and trembling as Castiel's eyes—Castiel's eyes—not Jimmy's not anyone else's but Castiel's… as those blue eyes stare unseeing at the ceiling.

And you're the only one who knows

And it's over.


Author's Note: Based on an idea I had after seeing tonight's episode of Supernatural and the promo pictures from 6x20. I legitimately almost started crying while I wrote this. Destiel is one of my all-time favorite pairings from any fandom ever and to see the moral dilemma Castiel is going through... I could rant for a month about it. But knowing what that'll mean to Dean... I just had to write this. The lyrics used throughout are from the song "And So It Goes" by Billy Joel.