The Year of Redemption

Chapter 23: My Immortal

Dean thought his heart had stopped. He had been standing in the bedroom doorway for a full three minutes, motionless, barely breathing. He expected his body to collapse at any moment, but it just stayed upright, straight as a board, smack in the center of the doorway.

Dean couldn't bring himself to enter the room. His eyes were fixed on the body. It lay in a heap on the ground to the side of the door, right where the floor met the wall. A knife was still protruding from its stomach, dried blood on the hilt. Fresh, dark red blood oozed slowly from where the blade had connected with its victim's flesh.

Dean blinked. Cas..., he thought, what the hell have I done? He closed his eyes to stem the flood of tears that he felt building up behind them. Breathing deeply, he willed his legs to move, taking him one step at a time closer to the body. He was now towering above it, feeling dizzy. The room seemed much larger than it should be, and the body looked like it was far away below him.

Dean knelt down slowly in front of Cas. His mind went blank as he concentrated on the knife stuck in Castiel's stomach. He wrapped his hand around the hilt and pulled, yanking it free from the angel's flesh. A surge of blood gushed from the wound and mixed with the puddle of red that was already spread wide across the floor.

Dean reached over and pulled Castiel's limp arm away from his head, uncovering the angel's face. It still wore an expression of intense sorrow, with a hint of surprise and confusion. The last thing Castiel had seen was betrayal, disloyalty. Dean – his friend, his family, someone he trusted, someone he had risked his own life to save not all that long ago – Dean had deceived him. He had taken the angel's life in cold blood – and for what?

Dean shook his head, dispersing the thoughts and regrets that quickly threatened to overtake him. He averted his eyes from Castiel's face and grabbed the angel's folded legs, straightening them so that Cas was lying flat on his back in the pool of his own blood. Dean knelt in front of the angel, his hands upturned on top of his knees.

Dean couldn't bear to look at Castiel's face, so he stared at his chest instead. "Cas..." he choked out, still fighting the tears. "Cas, I'm so sorry." Dean dropped his head, his chin resting on his chest, and closed his eyes. His words were low and strained, as if it took all he had to say them out loud without completely breaking down.

"Cas, what do I do?" Dean asked, sounding defeated and hopeless. "You were one of the last things I had, and now..."  Dean swallowed hard and took an uneven breath. He looked up at the angel, his eyes lighting momentarily on Castiel's face. "Cas, I don't know what to do," he choked out, so quietly it was almost inaudible.

Dean couldn't hold it in any longer. The first tear broke loose from his eyes, and an onslaught of tears followed it down his face. He stared at the angel as they streamed from his eyes, and he thought he would just lie down beside Cas and let the tears drown him.

The knife that Dean had pulled from Castiel's chest lay on the ground beside him. The thought crossed his mind to just thrust it in his own chest and let life carry on its merry way without him. He pictured Hell. If Sammy was going through it, he might as well be there also. He had no idea where Cas would be. He didn't know where angels go when they die. He'd never thought to ask. Maybe they just blink out of existence, he speculated. That would be nice, he thought.

Dean glanced at the knife, but he knew he wasn't strong enough. He couldn't even keep himself sitting upright. He fell forward, his head resting on Castiel's chest. His tears continued to slide down his face, mixing with the angel's blood, and his breath came in deep heaves followed by a succession of short gasps. Maybe I'll just suffocate myself, he thought, unable to control his breathing even after making a concerted effort to do so.

Dean must have fallen asleep like that because he woke up in what he could only assume was a dream. He had been to Heaven and Hell enough times to know that this wasn't any sort of afterlife. So he must be still alive somewhere – a thought that made him distantly disappointed.

Dean was surrounded by a brilliant white light. A tall lady stood directly in front of the source of the light, as if it was encompassing her in some sort of halo. She had short brown wavy hair and dark brown eyes. She wore black jeans and a gray buttoned-up peacoat that extended several inches below her waist.

"Hello, Dean," she spoke, walking away from the light and into his view.

"And you would be...?" Dean replied, having no idea where he was or why this lady was suddenly popping into his dreams. His eyes slowly adjusted to the light so that he could better make her out.

"That's not important," she replied. "I'm here on behalf of Castiel."

"Cas is dead," Dean said, choking a little bit on the last word. The sentence sounded wrong coming out of his mouth. It was a sentence that sounded like he was going to be sick.

"Yes, that is highly unfortunate," she responded without emotion.

"So..." Dean continued, annoyed. "Why are you here again?"

"Castiel was under protection when he died," she stated.

"Protection?" Dean questioned, not sure where this conversation was going. "Whose protection?"

The lady stared at him, completely serious. "Yours," she spoke.

Dean recoiled, narrowing his eyes. "Look, lady, I don't know who you are, but you're not making any sense."

"Dean, you have to trust me." Her eyes were pleading now, finally showing some sort of emotion. "You're the only one who can do it."

"Do what?" Dean asked, still vaguely annoyed. He willed her to just get to the point already.

"Save him," she said simply, then continued quickly, knowing that she now had Dean's full attention. "Castiel can be repaid for his act of redemption. But he can only be repaid by the righteous man whom he redeemed."

Dean was trying to follow her line of reasoning. "Which is... me?" he half-stated, half-asked.

"Precisely," she acknowledged, pleased that he was keeping up. "This man must prove he is worthy and repay the favor, fulfilling his debt to his savior." She paused for Dean to consider her words. "Dean, Castiel saved you. Now, you have been given the chance save Castiel in return."

Dean was skeptical about all of this saving business. It sounded like some sort of ancient myth or prophecy. But then again, his whole life was based on ancient lore and the stuff of legend. He was sure he would believe anything at this point. "Well, where is he then?" Dean asked impatiently. "What do I have to do?"

The lady raised her head and closed her eyes, then spoke as if she was reciting an age-old script, handed down for generations and imprinted into the minds of every set of kin until the day that one of them must relay it.

She spoke as if she was the chosen one to deliver this message. "He must walk through the fires that scorch like Hell, he must collect the pieces and meld them back together. He must persevere through the darkest memories and the weakest moments and still have the courage to forgive. He must experience the suffering and the joy, the pain and the love, the betrayal and the faith, and know that he played a part in them all. He must dip his hand in holy water to put the fire out and seal the pieces back together. He must pray for his savior to be risen, and his mark must forever be etched into his savior's grace. Only then will he know the truth of his savior's existence and understand what it took to give up so much for a mere mortal."

The lady opened her eyes and rested them on Dean once again. Her voice returned to its regular pitch and steady pace. "Dean, you are the righteous man to undertake these tasks. You must vow to carry on in this mission, or else it will be your life that is taken, and Castiel will never be saved."

Dean's eyes were wide. He wasn't sure what to think of this lady's impassioned, cryptic speech. But if there was any way to save Castiel, he would do it. Even if it meant his own life.

The lady seemed to read his mind. She took one last step towards him and held out her hand. Her eyes were warm and empathetic. "Take my hand," she said softly. Dean looked at her once, then placed his hand in hers. Instantly, they vanished.