Work Text:
This was not how it was supposed to go. Was there always a right to come out of the wrong? There wasn’t enough time left in this slowly rotting world to dwell on what could have been different. Who could have been saved. Two broken bodies lay crumpled in the decaying field. A once flowing black dress laid still, pale feminine limbs put to rest. She looked peaceful, dainty even. In her final rest it was difficult to imagine her as a destructor of worlds. Tearing them down again and again like colorful building blocks.
“Dean! Dean, no….” Castiel gripped at lifeless shoulders, before cupping his hand against a blood specked cheek. It was foolish of him really, the growing bloodstain and departing warmth proving the other had truly left this world. A revival should have been easy. A glowing hand placed on a still chest should have been the answer. The reaper who took Dean away must have been determined not to let him come back, or maybe there was a higher being at play. For once in his life, his powers couldn’t grant the breath of life.
Couldn’t bring a Winchester back.
“Please, no.” His fingers ran over the back of the other’s head, digging through his hair with the desperation that this very action could bring him back. The righteous man he pulled from Hell all those years ago, just perished on his watch. His angel blade lay crimson beside him, a glaring reminder of what he did. What he should have had control over. Prevented.
Occupying Castiel’s vessel, Lucifer had brutally murdered Dean. Castiel should have been faster, should have ejected him sooner. He held onto the hope that Lucifer would defeat the Darkness once and for all. What did this blind hope get him? This fruitless, final death. What was he supposed to tell Sam? How could one even begin to explain to someone always so vulnerable why an angel was bringing home his brother’s lifeless corpse? Gentle arms lifted the hollow shell that once contained a soul, the weight nothing more than that of a rag doll to the Seraph. With each heavy footfall that descended the bunker stairs, memories flickered.
He gently laid the body to rest at the bottom, modestly covering the gruesome sight with his tan coat. Only the deceased’s head remained exposed, and the angel pitifully rested his forehead to one that felt so empty. There was an echo of shattered glass, Castiel’s head snapping up to see Sam. A dark liquid spread across the concrete floor, a shard of glass having pierced the soft tissue of the cooling herbal pouch.
“Dean!” The painful shout rang out. It was slow motion, watching Sam race forward for his older brother; rambling his denial. The coat slipped down to reveal the wounds as Sam lifted Dean against his body. He held him much like Castiel had, though there was a level of profound pain that only a human could express. Sam rocked back and forth in childlike sorrow, the continuing refusal like a black poison spilling out from his lips.
“Dean….No! No-no-no-no-no! Please, wake up! DEAN!” Sam gripped at the front of Dean’s soaked shirt, tears pooling on his face like the discarded liquid on the floor.
Castiel stumbled a step back from the scene, staring in a daze at his hands as though they would endlessly drip with blood. For it wasn’t Castiel who had plunged the blade, but it had been these same hands.
“What. Happened.” The pained, rageful demand broke Castiel from his stupor. He glanced forward to meet Sam’s eyes, the loss and betrayal sending daggers into his chest.
“I’m sorry, I tried to stop him.” His tongue felt foreign in his mouth, his tone so dull and unfeeling. He hated the very sound of it. Why couldn’t he convey the brokenness he felt inside?
“Tried to stop…Lucifer.” Sam spoke softly, grasping at the very pieces that made up this tragedy for some sort of understanding.
Castiel could only nod his head, silently wishing he didn’t sound like such a hollow angel. Human emotions had forever baffled him, but the more time he spent with the Winchesters, the more he could feel. Today, however, it wasn’t enough. The tears that streaked the other’s cheeks, he wished he could feel his own. He wanted to collapse and scream at an absent, uncaring Father for allowing such atrocities to surround them.
“I told you to eject him,” Sam began with an eerily calm voice, one that slowly grew into screaming rage, “why didn’t you listen to me!”
Castiel winced, averting his gaze to the floor.
“We had to stop the Darkness.” His tone was nearly as even as ever, and he despised himself for it. Why couldn’t the searing remorse come forth in his words?
“At what cost?” Sam was standing now, waving his hands wildly for emphasis. “You killed my brother, Cas!”
Silence fell, the last of Sam’s anger ringing in his ears. The corners of his mouth quivered downwards, and he lifted his head to try and show his sorrow.
“I didn't kill him.”
“You might as well have!” Sam shouted, before slowly moving towards the other. “Don’t even start with your pity party, this is your fault. Own up to it!”
“You don’t mean that-” He began softly, tilting his head to read what Sam was going to do. He could sense where this was headed, and he decided to let it happen. Humans and their uncontrollable rage, perhaps it would make Sam feel better.
“Yes, I do!” His eyes spit a tearful fury that sent a shiver down the angel’s spine. Sam finished his advance, his sudden long strides taking him the rest of the way before Castiel could even react. He grabbed at his suit, shoving him back into the wall.
“Bring. Him. Back.” He spoke through gritted teeth, his eyes bloodshot and swollen. The salty stench of the tears and oozing human suffering overwhelmed the angel’s senses.
“I can’t-”
“NOW!”
“Sam, I can’t….” His eyes brimmed at last, heartbroken at the realization that Sam didn’t even think he tried until exhaustion.
Sam’s grip tightened, and Castiel thought for a moment that Sam might try to kill him. Deep down, he knew he deserved it. In fact, the thought was almost welcomed.
There was a pause, Sam appearing to calculate the gravity of their situation. A flash of fear passed over his face like a shadow, a change so swift Castiel would have missed it if the man wasn't inches away. The mere moment of terror seemed to push Sam to his limits. His features began to twist into something more sinister.
“And you call yourself an angel.” He scoffed in his face, sneering. “Get out.” He finished harshly, pushing once more against his chest before releasing his fists.
“What?” Castiel breathed, shocked. Sam wasn’t thinking clearly, he couldn’t be. If he knew Sam, then the man was likely projecting his guilt for not being there. It happened so fast, there was no time to prepare or get him involved. But knowing how Sam must feel didn’t do much to soften the blow. He should have ejected Lucifer, maybe they really did haphazardly rush into this. If they gave it more thought instead of acting on brash impulses, Dean would still be alive.
“You heard me. I said get out.” Sam's back was turned, slow steps carrying him to the corpse. He stopped halfway, a hand pressed to his mouth as he began to silently sob.
Castiel watched Sam weep, taking tentative steps towards him. He placed a hand on his shoulder, wanting to try and make amends. They were family after all, and he wanted nothing more than to grip Sam tight and let him mourn. Instead, the other man jerked his body away.
“Sam, I’m sorry.” He stressed, nothing left to give.
“Sorry doesn’t even begin to cut it, Cas!” Sam exploded, stomping forward for the body. He grabbed the tan coat that offered Dean modesty and wadded it up in his hands. “I said, GET OUT.” He roared, launching the coat at Castiel. He caught it against his chest, only gaping at Sam.
As though Castiel no longer existed, Sam turned his attention back to mourning over his brother. Wordlessly, Castiel began his departure. His ascent echoed out before the only sounds in the room were Sam’s quiet cries. Falling to his knees in the gravel outside, Castiel just wanted to feel the mistake he made. Not just the tightness in his chest and little pangs of sorrow. Not just the stench of pain and loss Sam emitted. He wanted to weep, to truly mourn. But inside the bunker all he could think about was the greater good. The Darkness was gone, saving the world he had grown to love, at the cost of only one good person. Was it worth it? Sam was right, what kind of angel was he if he couldn’t save Dean? That’s all it had ever been about. The battle between his mind and his heart raged, before his heart finally won. The tears began to pour, an exasperated gasp escaping his lungs as his learned emotions escaped free. Ungodly sounds spilled forth, both hands pressed to his mouth to try and slow the escape. There had to be a way to fix things. If Dean taught him anything, it was that there was always a way. You don’t get to give up on family. Blurred vision filled with the bloodstained coat in his hands, and he shakingly slipped it over his shoulders. Nothing killed a Winchester and kept them dead for long.