Post by Cassiel on Feb 21, 2016 10:16:55 GMT -8
Castiel crouched with his back next to an overturned wreck of a car they were using as cover outside the old, dilapidated Jackson County Sanitarium. Checking his weapon, he tried not to think too much about what was about to happen. But not even the diminished remains of the chemicals still swimming through his blood could make him completely oblivious to Dean, to what Dean was doing, to every minute expression that flickered over the man's face and in his hardened eyes. He knew what Dean was planning. He knew, and not even when Risa spoke her own doubts aloud did he put voice to what he knew was coming. Even now, he would follow Dean Winchester. And why the hell not? He'd already died for him once, after all.
And that was it, wasn't it? Dean Winchester, the man who had never been able to make the big sacrifice when Heaven demanded it of him, or when life demanded it... That Dean was long gone. Cas suspected that man had died the day he got the news that Lucifer had taken his true vessel; the day that Dean learned his baby brother was well and truly gone, beyond his reach forever. The Dean of today, the man looking over the small band he lead and commanded with ruthless efficiency, well... This Dean wouldn't hesitate to make a sacrifice if he felt it offered him the slightest edge against Lucifer. And, Castiel knew, that was exactly what he was planning to do. Risa, Cas himself, the rest of the group – they were nothing but bait to draw off the demons so Dean could go kill the Devil, though Castiel was the only one who was truly aware of this fact.
The weapons check complete, he let himself focus on Dean. And Dean met his gaze steadily, no trace of hesitation in those hard green eyes as they stared back at Castiel. The former angel acknowledged the man he fell from Heaven for with a slight tip of his chin, letting that old, familiar, silent communication be his only farewell, and his offer of forgiveness for what was about to happen, all at once. He found his eyes widening when it was Dean who looked away first, though the hunter turned leader smoothly covered the brief lapse by turning his hard gaze on each and every person in the gathered band, each in turn.
Castiel studied Dean a moment longer, then let his attention drift away, deciding it was better to think of the Dean who was in his last hour on Earth rather than the empty, hard, driven man he was now. Instead, he focused on repacking gear that had been pulled out to be checked over, gear that the former angel didn't expect to ever actually be used. No, he felt it was a near certainty that none of them were getting out of this alive – one way or another.
A single, silent gesture from their leader, and the band rose almost as one, prepared to make the rush right in through the front of the former sanitarium. Refusing now to even look at Dean, Cas let his eyes meet with Risa's briefly. They nodded to each other, and then she took point and the rest of the group followed after her, weapons at the ready. Cas brought up the rear, reprising his role of guardian one last time before the end.
The silence got on his nerves very quickly. The stillness, the utter lack of Croats got on his nerves even more than the silence did. The little band made it across the partially overgrown lawn and to the front doors of the building without incident. That made Cas more nervous than the silence and the lack of Croats combined. Lucifer was here somewhere; Castiel had just enough angel left in him to be able to feel the fallen angel, the last of his kind aside from Cas himself to walk the Earth. And where Lucifer was, there were always demons hovering around seeking his favor like the sycophants they were. Warily, he readjusted the grip he had on his pistol, eyes still faintly bleary from drugs darting around as he sought any sign of, well, anything at all.
Single file, the little group entered the building through the front door that had swung slightly in the faint breeze. Aside from their own movements, it was the only signs of motion within the entire area. When Cas came to the door, he hesitated, letting himself look back to where Dean had been. He was already gone, and the former angel was unsure if the lead weight it seemed he had in the pit of his stomach was fear or regret. He turned and slipped quietly into the building, joining the rest of the group just around the corner where they'd stopped to wait on him. Risa eyed him as he came up to them, and he only offered a shrug in response. The time for words, any words, was past now. The only thing left to do was to try to stay alive just long enough to give Dean the time he needed.
He tipped his chin, indicating silently to the waiting group that they should proceed down the hall. And, without a word, the well-trained group did exactly that, with no questions and no arguments and no hesitation. Just for a moment, he could almost let himself believe he was still an angel, still in command of the now long gone garrison, back in the time before he'd laid his hand on a tormented, broken soul and raised that soul from Hell. Back before he learned what it was to feel, and to care, and...to hurt. Shaking his head at his own folly, he moved on silent feet down the hallway after the ragtag band, hesitating only to peek into each open doorway before passing on to the next.
He watched Risa ahead turn suddenly, and disappear through a doorway. The rest of the group followed, and when he came to the doorway himself, he saw that it was a stairway leading upward, rise already on the landing midway up with the group following obediently behind her. He had to stifle a giggle at the sudden run of lyrics through his mind from one of Dean's old tapes, from a time back when such things confused him and things were so much simpler. '...and she's buying a stairway to heaven...' Except, of course, they were far more likely to find Hell at the top of those looming stairs than they were to find Heaven. Heaven was gone, closed for business, all hints of it lost when the angels up and vanished.
Castiel huffed a sigh and started to climb. Despite the band's practiced efforts to remain silent, small sounds – the clink of a bit of metal on someone's jacket against the metal of the railing, the ever-so-faint squeak of a shoe on the linoleum of the landing, the sound of someone rechecking the safety on their pistol, the soft sounds of breathing and life itself – echoed in the darkened stairwell. He looked up as he climbed, only to meet Risa's gaze once more, looking down at him from above. He could see frustration clearly written on her face, but he could see the fear and suspicion that lurked just underneath that public mask. He wondered, briefly, if she could read his resignation of his fate as clearly he could read her fear, and what she might think of it if she could.
Castiel lowered his head and trudged up the stairs, refusing to look up as the rest of the little band shifted aside to make room for him, and even as he came to a stop before the closed fire door. He took a deep breath, glancing up at Risa, only to see her watching him. He knew in that instant that she had figured out what he'd been hiding, and what Dean planned for them. Despite that sure knowledge, however, she gave no signs of anything except readiness and acceptance. Her steady gaze said more clearly than any words that she would follow him and trust that he was doing the right thing. It was trust and loyalty he knew he didn't deserve. But, for Dean's sake, he nodded his own acceptance back to her.
He took a moment to check the shotgun braced against his side on a strap over his shoulder, then readied his pistol. Hr gripped the doorknob and threw open the door, some feeling deep in his gut making him sure that the demon's they'd been waiting to run across lurked just beyond. And it turned out that feeling was right. Demons swarmed toward them almost before he was able to get the door flung open. He stepped out into the waiting hallway, meeting the demons with a twisted grin. He fired off the rounds in his pistol, each of them marked with a devil's trap to slow as many demons as he could as quickly as possible. His accuracy and precision were on point, despite the haze of drugs clouding his thoughts, and demons fell – immobilized – almost as fast as they came.
The rest of the band moved out of the doorway behind him, fanning out with an ease born of experience and repetition. The sounds of gunfire rang around him, drowning out the screams of the demons still coming at them in what seemed like an unending wave, drowning our the sick sound that was somewhere between laughter and a howl of defiance and grief being torn from his own throat as well. When the magazine in his pistol was used up, Castiel tossed the gun aside carelessly.
He pulled the shotgun around from where it rested against his side, letting the strap slip down his arm so it didn't hamper him. He started pumping round after round of the special mix of rock salt soaked in holy water into the demons as they continued to swarm. In his focus, he never noticed the bodies falling around him – demon and human alike – right up until Risa staggered in front of him, distracting him from the mindless killing he'd let himself submerge into. She collapsed at his feet, sightless eyes staring up at him.
Unaware of it, a growl fell from his lips and he pumped the last three rounds from the shotgun into the demons before him before they closed in on him. They dragged him down, a writhing, crushing mass of bodies. Cas struggled with all his might – thrashing and fighting, biting and kicking, screaming defiance. Anything to buy Dean just a few more moments, to buy as much time as he could with his life.
And then, it seemed to him as though the world just stopped. A frozen moment in time and a feeling of something breaking deep inside, it told him he'd not failed Dean after all. He felt the moment when Lucifer died, the moment the last angel on Earth died, the moment the last of his grace faded away into nothingness.
The world snapped back into a blur of motion and pain when he felt a blade sinking deep into his left side, sliding easily into the space between his ribs. He felt the blade jerked out, the feeling of something within him ripping. He could feel the sticky, warm wetness of blood pouring from the wound. He could feel the press of demons lessen, and finally vanish altogether as they, too, must have felt their Master, their Father, die. But it no longer mattered. None of it mattered anymore. Lucifer was dead, and he hadn't failed Dean, and nothing else mattered.
It was finally over, after millennia he could finally rest. “Finally,” Castiel said, the word little more than a soft breath as darkness closed in around him.
And that was it, wasn't it? Dean Winchester, the man who had never been able to make the big sacrifice when Heaven demanded it of him, or when life demanded it... That Dean was long gone. Cas suspected that man had died the day he got the news that Lucifer had taken his true vessel; the day that Dean learned his baby brother was well and truly gone, beyond his reach forever. The Dean of today, the man looking over the small band he lead and commanded with ruthless efficiency, well... This Dean wouldn't hesitate to make a sacrifice if he felt it offered him the slightest edge against Lucifer. And, Castiel knew, that was exactly what he was planning to do. Risa, Cas himself, the rest of the group – they were nothing but bait to draw off the demons so Dean could go kill the Devil, though Castiel was the only one who was truly aware of this fact.
The weapons check complete, he let himself focus on Dean. And Dean met his gaze steadily, no trace of hesitation in those hard green eyes as they stared back at Castiel. The former angel acknowledged the man he fell from Heaven for with a slight tip of his chin, letting that old, familiar, silent communication be his only farewell, and his offer of forgiveness for what was about to happen, all at once. He found his eyes widening when it was Dean who looked away first, though the hunter turned leader smoothly covered the brief lapse by turning his hard gaze on each and every person in the gathered band, each in turn.
Castiel studied Dean a moment longer, then let his attention drift away, deciding it was better to think of the Dean who was in his last hour on Earth rather than the empty, hard, driven man he was now. Instead, he focused on repacking gear that had been pulled out to be checked over, gear that the former angel didn't expect to ever actually be used. No, he felt it was a near certainty that none of them were getting out of this alive – one way or another.
A single, silent gesture from their leader, and the band rose almost as one, prepared to make the rush right in through the front of the former sanitarium. Refusing now to even look at Dean, Cas let his eyes meet with Risa's briefly. They nodded to each other, and then she took point and the rest of the group followed after her, weapons at the ready. Cas brought up the rear, reprising his role of guardian one last time before the end.
The silence got on his nerves very quickly. The stillness, the utter lack of Croats got on his nerves even more than the silence did. The little band made it across the partially overgrown lawn and to the front doors of the building without incident. That made Cas more nervous than the silence and the lack of Croats combined. Lucifer was here somewhere; Castiel had just enough angel left in him to be able to feel the fallen angel, the last of his kind aside from Cas himself to walk the Earth. And where Lucifer was, there were always demons hovering around seeking his favor like the sycophants they were. Warily, he readjusted the grip he had on his pistol, eyes still faintly bleary from drugs darting around as he sought any sign of, well, anything at all.
Single file, the little group entered the building through the front door that had swung slightly in the faint breeze. Aside from their own movements, it was the only signs of motion within the entire area. When Cas came to the door, he hesitated, letting himself look back to where Dean had been. He was already gone, and the former angel was unsure if the lead weight it seemed he had in the pit of his stomach was fear or regret. He turned and slipped quietly into the building, joining the rest of the group just around the corner where they'd stopped to wait on him. Risa eyed him as he came up to them, and he only offered a shrug in response. The time for words, any words, was past now. The only thing left to do was to try to stay alive just long enough to give Dean the time he needed.
He tipped his chin, indicating silently to the waiting group that they should proceed down the hall. And, without a word, the well-trained group did exactly that, with no questions and no arguments and no hesitation. Just for a moment, he could almost let himself believe he was still an angel, still in command of the now long gone garrison, back in the time before he'd laid his hand on a tormented, broken soul and raised that soul from Hell. Back before he learned what it was to feel, and to care, and...to hurt. Shaking his head at his own folly, he moved on silent feet down the hallway after the ragtag band, hesitating only to peek into each open doorway before passing on to the next.
He watched Risa ahead turn suddenly, and disappear through a doorway. The rest of the group followed, and when he came to the doorway himself, he saw that it was a stairway leading upward, rise already on the landing midway up with the group following obediently behind her. He had to stifle a giggle at the sudden run of lyrics through his mind from one of Dean's old tapes, from a time back when such things confused him and things were so much simpler. '...and she's buying a stairway to heaven...' Except, of course, they were far more likely to find Hell at the top of those looming stairs than they were to find Heaven. Heaven was gone, closed for business, all hints of it lost when the angels up and vanished.
Castiel huffed a sigh and started to climb. Despite the band's practiced efforts to remain silent, small sounds – the clink of a bit of metal on someone's jacket against the metal of the railing, the ever-so-faint squeak of a shoe on the linoleum of the landing, the sound of someone rechecking the safety on their pistol, the soft sounds of breathing and life itself – echoed in the darkened stairwell. He looked up as he climbed, only to meet Risa's gaze once more, looking down at him from above. He could see frustration clearly written on her face, but he could see the fear and suspicion that lurked just underneath that public mask. He wondered, briefly, if she could read his resignation of his fate as clearly he could read her fear, and what she might think of it if she could.
Castiel lowered his head and trudged up the stairs, refusing to look up as the rest of the little band shifted aside to make room for him, and even as he came to a stop before the closed fire door. He took a deep breath, glancing up at Risa, only to see her watching him. He knew in that instant that she had figured out what he'd been hiding, and what Dean planned for them. Despite that sure knowledge, however, she gave no signs of anything except readiness and acceptance. Her steady gaze said more clearly than any words that she would follow him and trust that he was doing the right thing. It was trust and loyalty he knew he didn't deserve. But, for Dean's sake, he nodded his own acceptance back to her.
He took a moment to check the shotgun braced against his side on a strap over his shoulder, then readied his pistol. Hr gripped the doorknob and threw open the door, some feeling deep in his gut making him sure that the demon's they'd been waiting to run across lurked just beyond. And it turned out that feeling was right. Demons swarmed toward them almost before he was able to get the door flung open. He stepped out into the waiting hallway, meeting the demons with a twisted grin. He fired off the rounds in his pistol, each of them marked with a devil's trap to slow as many demons as he could as quickly as possible. His accuracy and precision were on point, despite the haze of drugs clouding his thoughts, and demons fell – immobilized – almost as fast as they came.
The rest of the band moved out of the doorway behind him, fanning out with an ease born of experience and repetition. The sounds of gunfire rang around him, drowning out the screams of the demons still coming at them in what seemed like an unending wave, drowning our the sick sound that was somewhere between laughter and a howl of defiance and grief being torn from his own throat as well. When the magazine in his pistol was used up, Castiel tossed the gun aside carelessly.
He pulled the shotgun around from where it rested against his side, letting the strap slip down his arm so it didn't hamper him. He started pumping round after round of the special mix of rock salt soaked in holy water into the demons as they continued to swarm. In his focus, he never noticed the bodies falling around him – demon and human alike – right up until Risa staggered in front of him, distracting him from the mindless killing he'd let himself submerge into. She collapsed at his feet, sightless eyes staring up at him.
Unaware of it, a growl fell from his lips and he pumped the last three rounds from the shotgun into the demons before him before they closed in on him. They dragged him down, a writhing, crushing mass of bodies. Cas struggled with all his might – thrashing and fighting, biting and kicking, screaming defiance. Anything to buy Dean just a few more moments, to buy as much time as he could with his life.
And then, it seemed to him as though the world just stopped. A frozen moment in time and a feeling of something breaking deep inside, it told him he'd not failed Dean after all. He felt the moment when Lucifer died, the moment the last angel on Earth died, the moment the last of his grace faded away into nothingness.
The world snapped back into a blur of motion and pain when he felt a blade sinking deep into his left side, sliding easily into the space between his ribs. He felt the blade jerked out, the feeling of something within him ripping. He could feel the sticky, warm wetness of blood pouring from the wound. He could feel the press of demons lessen, and finally vanish altogether as they, too, must have felt their Master, their Father, die. But it no longer mattered. None of it mattered anymore. Lucifer was dead, and he hadn't failed Dean, and nothing else mattered.
It was finally over, after millennia he could finally rest. “Finally,” Castiel said, the word little more than a soft breath as darkness closed in around him.