please don't be one of them
5:03
featuring
angst i guess - cas' hell - dean ofc
- sad shit
Dean thinks it's his fault, Castiel couldn't disagree more.
But at first Dean would blame the angels, he'd slaughter any whom dare cross his path. He would watch the lights quite literally leave their souls with his dull, dead eyes.
Then he would blame the cross road demon who refused to take his soul. It didn't matter how many months Dean offered off his contract, the demon just didn't give.
Then he would blame Sam, who'll forget to buy more him more beer. He'd spit curses he didn't care for with whiskey leaving his breath, his brother just
just taking it in. And in the end, it would mean nothing. As Dean would do what Dean does best. Blame himself, hate himself. Scream at himself, how everything would be different if he had just walked Castiel out. Maybe give him some money, showed him to a motel. If he had said something, anything, other than the last words he would place to Castiel.
"You can't stay."
Castiel, on the other hand was calm and collected when I saw him. He even smiled. Bloody finger tips wiping at his tears. I didn't want to tell him, not yet. I couldn't break it to him that he wouldn't be seeing his family. He wouldn't be going to a paradise joined with his soul mate in fifty or sixty years time. For even I couldn't change the utter realism of involvement with the Winchesters, Dean in particular. I see him more than i'd care to admit, to either collect him or his family, friends. Dean just lost so much, all the time you see. The first time I saw him, he was carrying his brother, running from me. Begging me not to take his mother, however he would come to the conclusion that she was gone. He had a large gash on his jaw, it would heal without him in the next years.
I knew when I saw him.
That I would be seeing him to take his friends, his partners, his parents. Not only his real ones but Bobby, Ellen he'll even see Jody die. And then I knew that he would see Castiel die as well. However he didn't see it happen, it hurt him just the same. More even. And when I finally collected Castiel, we went to the park to watch the birds for a while. I could see it in his cloudy eyes that he had figured it out. He was going to hell and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.
When we arrived I stopped, thought for a moment. Ironic, isn't it? Death isn't good at goodbyes. He was waiting for me.
"See you, Castiel."
He smiled, genuinely.
"I fear that could be a while away."
"All in good time, my old friend."
I knew what his hell was. I knew what everyone's hell was. His wasn't the angels or Lucifer or being abandoned by his father. It was Dean.
I've never encountered anyone who had the same heaven as hell, Castiel has always been peculiar.
His hell was that Dean was coming to rescue him, that they were to live long lives together. That Dean would bring him close and Castiel could take in his scent and breathe for a moment. Dean's shirt would smell of motor oil when Castiel buried his face in it for the first time. The second time was harder. He questioned his steps as he walked towards the man whom he'd thought saved him yesterday. The next day Dean would show again like he did everyday; a motor oil stained shirt and a bead of sweat on his right temple. What made it his hell is the fact that he knew it wasn't real. He knew it was all not real. How else do you make an eternal tragedy to someone who knows it's fake? Give them their greatest desires.
It had been a century. A mere 10 months for Dean. But Castiel had woken up everyday to a motor-oil stained shirt and a bead of sweat two inches from his right eye and a swallow of relief everyday for a century. He'd stop screeching what energy he had left at the Dean-Imposters after the first 20 years. Then he would sit how he is now. Hugging his thin arms around his stomach, voice broken and shaking as he saw Dean once again. He couldn't bare the sight of him. Castiel just sat, body shaking with sobs,
"YOU'RE NOT HIM YOU'RE NOT REAL!"
"Cas, buddy. I'm here for you."
This Dean did as the others, sat down next to him and held him close. Castiel stopped crying and looked up at the man. The man that was wearing the leather jacket, the one Castiel hadn't seen in a century and the one who smelt like smoke and the one who wasn't sweating at all.
"Please. Please don't be one of them."
He was.
