Back in Black

Humanity

Humanity

Dean’s heart caught in his throat the second Sam and Cas walked through the battered doorway. Missouri had a grave look plastered on her face. The woman could read people like no one he’d ever met before and even she looked scared now. She backed away before leaving entirely. Dean felt like a cornered animal. He stared up at the devil’s trap sprayed on the ceiling. He was stuck. They had to be behind this. They’d known where he was going to be, and they were here to finish him off.

 He waited for the final blow like a little kid on the night before Christmas morning. He didn’t know yet if he could actually die at this point, but he was hoping he could. If Sam and Cas had found a way to swing t, he wasn’t going to argue, he hoped it hurt. If he suffered, he deserved it. Dean knew that. Sam stood back, a look of pure unbridled sadness in his eyes, which were now brimming with tears. Cas walked swiftly and towards Dean, a look of determination set in his narrowed blue eyes.

This is what Castiel had looked like the first time Dean had ever seen him. That day played over in his mind now. He didn’t know why he’d been chosen yet, why he of all people deserved to live. He’d reckoned that  if was a demon deal at the time. Cas had said that Dean didn’t think he deserved to be saved. Cas had been right. Dean hadn’t deserved to be saved. He knew that for sure now. He wasn’t much, just a good man headed down a bad road. There were plenty of guys just like him. Eventually Cas was one of them. He’d seemed so strong in those early days, so unbeatably and incurably sure of it too. He never imagined that an angel like Cas would fall. Here he was though, fallen in every way, all for a man who didn’t want to be saved. He hoped that before the lights went out he’d be able to apologize.

 He reached for the blade stashed in the inner pocket of his leather jacket instinctually, and drew it out. The white bone shaft glowed like it was made of moonlight. It was still flecked with blood. Dean couldn’t remember how it had gotten there. Sam averted his eyes the second it appeared, as if fearing the worst. Castiel’s stride did not falter. He stopped just out of Dean’s reach and opened his mouth to speak.

“Dean.” He said, tilting his head to the side. Cas always did this when faced with things he couldn’t understand. “Why are you doing this,” he asked, “Why are you running from us?”

The question caught Dean off guard. He’d expected for them to be angry. Hell, he’d expected them to be absolutely livid. He hated to admit it, but he’d sort of wanted them to be. It would have been better than this. Instead their eyes were vacant.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” He shouted, “You of all people Cas.” He said, “You can see me,” He motioned to himself “I’m broken, I’m poison.”

Cas raised his voice then to a volume Dean had never heard from the angel before. “You said it yourself Dean, I’d rather have you, cursed or not!” He looked back at Sam, who nodded slightly in response. “You meant it then, and I mean it now.”

He remembered it clearly. They’d been fighting side by side for years now. They were kindred spirits. Both of them had been soldiers to an absent father. Cas hadn’t even met his father. It seemed that God wasn’t much of a family man after all. Dean needed a guy like Cas, and he’d have him no matter how far gone he was.

Sam looked terrible, his face was unshaven and his long hair lay to the side of his head in a lopsided clump. Dean wondered if the first blade was any good for cutting hair. He hadn’t really looked this bad since one year ago, when he was going through the trials.

Cas looked no better. His trench coat was stained and two of the buttons on his shirt had fallen off and rolled away. Cas’ grace was still dimming, faster now than it had been before. There wasn’t much left at all now. He wanted what was coming to him, not this. He didn’t need this guilt hanging over his head.