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The gun was empty, and he was the only one of the team left standing. The last ten Croats grinned at him and advanced slowly. Castiel drew his blade, kissed it, and charged. He was already bleeding in five different places, but damned if he was going to kick it without taking a few more of these fuckers with him. Cas was a whirlwind, in his element now. He slashed one's throat open and impaled another in the heart. One hit him with a bat, injuring his left shoulder. He ignored the pain. No time to think about it as he gutted two more Croats and stabbed the bat-wielding one behind him. Five left. They were flanking him, so he backed up quickly, trying to keep all five in his field of vision. No, one was missing. He could sense it, right behind him—there. Without turning, he plunged his blade into the side of the monster behind him. It growled and spat, and he backed up further to stab it in the throat.
The remaining four Croats were more cautious. Dying animals are dangerous enough, but tangling with a dying seraph—even one with severely limited abilities—is asking for death. Still, they forced him into a corner. Cas gripped his blade tightly. Four against one. Could be worse odds. No point waiting. He yelled and threw himself at them. They tore at him, ripping him open even as he dealt mortal wounds to their bodies. Heart. Throat. Spine. The last one stood as he fell gasping and trying not to acknowledge the blood in his mouth. Castiel's sword was covered in infected blood—not that it mattered, as Cas was immune anyway, and the blood pouring from his body wasn't likely to regenerate.
The final Croat, a middle-aged woman, bent over Risa's body. Cas realized she was picking up her gun. With a final burst of energy, he hurled his blade at her. His aim was true, and she only realized she was dying when she looked down and saw the point poking out of her chest. Her mouth dropped open, and she fell forward next to Risa.
Cas panted heavily. It was over. He forced himself to stand and stumbled over to the body, from which he retrieved his sword. The adrenaline still coursed through his veins despite the heavy blood loss. He didn't bother to clean off the blade before he sheathed it. There wasn't time. There wasn't time to think. He was dying, and he had one objective left before his body failed. He staggered out the door. Past the bodies. Down the stairs, clinging to the handrails. It was as he crossed the threshold to the outside world that his legs gave out. Castiel collapsed. He knew he should be dead already, would be if he were human. It was a cruel trick, really, for his body to try so damn hard to heal itself when there was no hope. It was only prolonging the pain. Pain. So much goddamn pain. Fear. Fear because he didn't know what would happen when he died. He'd promised to find Dean, but he wasn't human, couldn't be, and he didn't know if he'd even go to Heaven or if he would just…stop.
Fear.
Nevertheless, he didn't think he could stand it if he somehow survived this, so he pushed himself to keep going. Use more energy, die faster. Go. Some last reserve of grace, perhaps, pointed him in the right direction. He half crawled, half dragged himself along the grass until he looked up and saw the body only twenty yards away. Blood was leaking from at least a dozen places on his own body, and Cas felt terribly faint, but he kept going until finally he was able to collapse on Dean. The dead man was still warm, but barely.
No bullet holes.
Damn it.
His neck was broken. Lucifer had won.
It wasn't fair. Castiel clutched at Dean and sobbed. "Let me die already," he whispered. "Please, Father, let me die." He tried to let the blackness take him as he murmured, "I'll find you, baby." He embraced the dark, but it pulled away from him.
A horribly familiar voice spoke behind him. "This must be painful for you."
Cas didn't turn around. "Go to Hell."
"I understand you're angry, but it's not me you should be angry with."
"You killed him," Cas gritted, glaring at his older sibling. The proximity of another angel was actually making his body better able to heal itself, and he hated it.
"Yes. He was always going to fight me. But brother, you and I have much in common. There's no need for us to fight."
"I am nothing like you."
Lucifer smiled. It was awful to see on Sam's face. "Don't you see? Our family abandoned us for loving too much. Of course, you must be Father's favorite. You don't just love humans, you're in love with one."
"You murdered him."
"You would see it that way."
Cas didn't respond. He turned back around.
Lucifer sighed. "You'll die here. I'm sorry. I don't want it to be this way." He turned.
In one motion, Castiel leaped up and drew his sword, plunging it into Sam's heart as he snarled, "You lying bastard." Clotted wounds reopened and the seraph swayed, dizzy.
Lucifer turned slowly around and pulled the blade from his heart. "Little brother, did you really think—" Suddenly his face turned ugly, and he struck Cas, knocking him back onto Dean's corpse. Cas, satisfied that his injuries were bleeding enough to kill him, faced Dean and put his hands on the cold chest.
Lucifer kicked him hard at the base of his spine. There was a cracking noise, and Cas's legs went numb. "You killed my vessel!" Lucifer shouted angrily. Castiel fell forward, a horrible gurgling laugh issuing from his throat. Yes, they would die together. It was right. He knew before it happened that his constant companion would sit in his heart—in Jimmy's heart—and tear him open. He whispered one final "I love you" in an ear that couldn't hear anymore, and then he waited.
It was three days later that a search party followed to recover bodies and learn the results of the mission. They gave up the idea of taking any corpses back to Camp Chataqua when they saw the mess. Rituals were good for morale, but the danger of infection was too great to risk touching any of the bodies.
"They're all here," Jane said quietly to Chuck, "except Dean and Cas. And…the other Dean?"
"Past Dean is probably safe in '09 by now." He sighed. "We should try to find the others though."
Jane ran a hand through her hair. "Did they know?" she asked. "Did they know it would end…like this?" She scrutinized him. "Did you know?"
"I…my visions are erratic and unreliable, you know that. No, I didn't know. I thought they had a chance."
"I just…Risa. I didn't think…I…." She closed her eyes and collected herself. "We should find—hey. Blood. There's a trail of blood. That way." Jane followed the splashes of blood out of the door and down the stairs. Chuck and Tara trailed after her. The side door hung half off its hinges, and a larger splash of dried blood decorated the concrete stoop outside it.
Tara narrowed her eyes. "How the hell did he get this far losing this much blood?"
"Leftover angel dust?" Chuck ventured. "If it's Cas, I mean. May not have been."
"There's more," Jane called. "Leads this way."
Tara and Chuck rounded a corner to find Jane staring at a strange sight. Castiel, legs askew, lay face down upon Dean, a hand placed over the burn scar Chuck knew was on Dean's shoulder. Dean's head lay at a strange angle; his neck was clearly broken. The familiar silver seraph blade rested in Castiel's heart like some gross caricature of the sword in the stone. The angel's blood was everywhere; both of the dead men's jackets were brown from dried blood. What had captured Jane's attention, however, were the burn marks. Blackened angel wings spread outward from Cas's shoulders, and Tara found it both beautiful and heartbreaking.
"I never really understood," she said quietly. "I mean, I knew, we all knew what he was, but…." Tara trailed off.
Chuck shook his head. "No, you didn't know. I watched him take on an archangel, explode, and come back to life. I didn't think he'd ever die."
Jane asked, "Should we…burn them or something?"
"No," Chuck murmured. "They're gone."
Tara stepped forward and carefully worked the sword out of Castiel's body, placing it beside him. "So that's it, then," she said, swallowing a lump in her throat.
Chuck sank to his knees and put his head in his hands. "Yeah," he answered. "That's it."