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Dean panted slightly from running. A bead of sweat trickled over a cut on his cheek and it stung. His ears were tuned for moments like this. Waiting for the slightest crunch or creak in the silence to give away the location of the enemy. The moment of waiting silence almost felt like home. Like he was where he was supposed to be.
Except this time, he heard nothing.
His ears picked up no crunch or creak before his shoulder was slashed, by what he wasn’t sure, but searing pain jolted through to his entire body. He swung his arm backwards quickly and the blade of his knife reached the creature’s stomach. He pulled the knife back out before he collapsed to the ground. He used the last bit of his energy to sit up against the wall so he could see his baby brother.
Sam was across the room, laying on the floor unconscious. His lip was split and his right eye puffy, but he looked peaceful nonetheless. His hair was pushed back away from his face and he looked younger. It was interesting how sleep did that to a person, made them look so untouched, so serene. Dean was reminded of a time when they were little and he watched Sam sleeping soundly in the Impala, innocent from all the things that had already piled weight upon Dean’s shoulder.
He was snapped back to the present when he saw Cas run in. Dean could barely see, his vision blurring, and he knew it was almost over. No more saving people, no more hunting things. He’d spent his life dedicated to doing just that, just trying to help people out.
But still he worried that he’d hurt more than he’d saved.
"Cas," Dean wheezed and coughed violently into his palm. When he pulled away his hand there was blood in it.
"Dean," Cas said, almost a whisper, and kneeled down to him. He then saw the blood that oozed from the slash in Dean’s shirt, and panic bubbled in his throat. He was still confused by emotion, still unsure of what some feelings meant, but this one was a feeling he knew well. It was the feeling he had whenever he knew things were over, when he knew it was ending.
It was the feeling he had when he had realized all the damage he’d done to the world, to heaven. It was the feeling he had when the angels had fallen and he knew it was his fault. It was the feeling he had when Metatron told him he’d killed Dean. Though he didn’t know the emotion’s name, or if it had one, he assumed it was a mixture of emotions. A mixture of love and fear and guilt, and it quickly overcame him and left a cold weight in his stomach. Behind him the creature was waking up. He stood up and thrust the Angel’s blade upwards through it’s neck. His face twitched as he watched the life crackle out of it’s eyes. He pulled the blade back out, wiped it on his pants, and kneeled beside Dean again.
"No, no, no, no," Cas whispered as Dean’s eyes drifted closed. He whipped his trench off and pressed it against the wound. Dean groaned quietly at the pressure, but he was almost unconscious now. Cas continued pressing his coat against Dean, and he could feel the blood already starting to soak through, and he knew it was no good. Dean breathed in deeply one last time, and let it back out. He was gone.
"Please," Cas pleaded quietly, his voice shaky and rough. His hands fell from the coat and went to Dean’s collar. He shook Dean’s body angrily, as if he could jar his heart enough to restart it.
"Dean!" he shouted through tears, but Dean couldn’t hear him. Cas searched Dean’s face for any slight movement, his eyes fluttering under their lids, his tongue flicking over his lips. He waited for a grin, or an innuendo to fall out of the silence and Dean be okay, but nothing.
All the time Cas had known Dean, all the things he’d done for him, he’d always felt like he’d let him down. He’d always felt like he wasn’t good enough. He couldn’t save humanity, he couldn’t save Dean.
He let go of Dean’s coat collar and grabbed his face. He gently brushed a finger across Dean’s cheek, to brush away dirt, but also to trace the freckles he’d always loved. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Dean’s. He didn’t know if it would work, but he still had a tiny bit of the stolen grace left. He knew his grace was dwindling, so if he used it on Dean, he would die.
But Dean would live. He would’ve done something right.
He pressed his lips even harder on Dean’s lifeless mouth. As the stolen grace receded and his strength depleted, the last thing he felt was Dean’s breath on his lips and him kissing back.
He collapsed onto the floor beside Dean, and he thought he heard Dean whisper, “I love you,” but it could’ve been his imagination. Dean’s face was now tear streaked, and panicked, but he sat there in silence. He knew there was nothing left he could do, and that Cas was gone. He had a finger twirled in a lock of Cas’ hair. Dean stared at Cas’ face and was not calmed by the peace and innocence it showed. He knew Cas wouldn’t just be sleeping and that he wouldn’t awake if Dean called his name.
Across the room Sam jolted awake with a grunt and his head shot in Dean’s direction. He ran his hands through his hair, over his face, and he stared at Cas’ lifeless body on the floor. He got up and stumbled over to Dean’s side.
"Dean! Are you okay what happ-"
"He’s gone." Dean said, his demeanor taking on it’s usual emotionless stance, despite the fact his face was still wet with tears.
"He saved me but he’s..gone."