The Last Goodbye

13

Dean felt the angel blade in his fist plunge through the flesh of the reaper April before he fully registered what she had done. Her body fell to his feet, and he turned to face what was left of his best friend. An inferno ignited within Dean at the sight of the lifeless ex-angel tied to the chair. He had just found Cas, he couldn't lose him again... He didn't hear his own voice fervently shouting for his friend. His senses clouded in the moments he watched Sam- and the angel possessing him- hover over Cas to repair his mortal wounds. Ezekiel flickered out and Dean helplessly watched Sam collapse against the wall.

"Dean..."

Every muscle in Dean's body relaxed, and his heart burst with relief when his name left the ex-angel's lips. He spun around and leaned over Cas. Dean unconsciously reached out for him and touched his friend. He laid his palm on Cas' chest, comforted as it rose and fell. He pulled his arms back to his sides and fought the urge to hug the guy. Dean was fucking sick of watching people he loved die. Dean swore to himself he would never have to again. He wouldn't let Cas out of his sight. Castiel is fucking human and needs to be protected. He refused to lose him again...

The unnatural tinge of fluorescent lights seeped through Dean's eye lashes. They fluttered hesitantly open. Before his vision could focus, he was overwhelmed by pounding heat where his head was struck. He quickly registered the zip-ties securing his wrists around a cold metal pipe that extended from floor to ceiling.

"Fucking dick angels..." the bound hunter growled.

He forced his mind to focus beyond his brutal headache. When his sight finally sharpened, he studied his environment. The large, freezing room was eerily sterile. There were no windows, and the ceiling was lined with metal fluorescent lights. The wall across from him was lined with rows and rows of small steel doors; Dean deduced he was in a morgue. On what was obviously the autopsy table in the center of the room, was Elle's sickly thin and unconscious body. He only barely recognized her. Her skin appeared thin and slightly yellowed, and her hair was stringy and much longer than it was a few hours ago. She was hooked up to multiple machines by tubes and wires. The displays flashed and beeped as they performed their function- keeping the comatose woman alive. This body is an empty vessel... Cas had not only chosen a vessel based on her appearance, but one that wouldn't have to sacrifice anything. He didn't take some innocent person's life from them. Finding her must've been damn near impossible. That's why the angel was such an anxious mess... Castiel was not only figuring out the logistics of occupying an empty vessel, but searching for the perfect one.

Dean's imprisonment grated him. He had no tools in his hastily thrown on jeans and shirt. Hell, he wasn't even wearing shoes. He was restrained in a barren cement corner with no means of escape.

He intentionally bit the inside of his cheek to quell the sudden surge of emotion that caught in his throat. He was frustrated and exhausted. Dean couldn't understand why the angels were endlessly determined to annihilate Cas and the Winchesters, whether or not they accidentally triggered an apocalypse. Why are they so fucking determined to kill us?

He couldn't help but call for Cas. Dean shut his eyes and focused every ounce of his energy silently summoning his angel.

"Hello, Dean," she said in a haunting low whisper.

Dean's gaze shot up to the comatose woman's doppelganger. She cautiously leaned down and using the angel blade she was armed with, cut the ties that held Dean. He shook the fragments of plastic from his wrists and stood.

Castiel stepped forward and reached for Dean, "we need to leave here now, Dean."

"Yeah that's great and all, but what about you- her?" Dean gestured to the bed-bound Elle. "How are we supposed to get her out of here alive?"

She cocked her head just slightly, pity for Dean's naïveté poured from her eyes. He was studying the machines that kept the empty human ticking, working out a way to get her and her life-source out with them. His stubbornness (or "optimism" as Dean often corrected) was by far what Castiel loved most about the hunter. The angel reached for Dean, rested a palm on his cheek, and gingerly pulled his gaze to hers.

"Dean..." he shook her head, and Dean plead to her wordlessly as he began to understand the inevitable. Castiel remained composed before Dean, despite the glaring ache triggered by her panicked soulmate's anguish. Just before Dean's appeal could leave his lips, he was startled by the violent shift of his body and the blinding daylight that burst around him.

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