Fic: With Me
Title: With Me
Author: yellow_pomelo
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Characters: Dean, Castiel
Spoilers: Up to and including 5x01
Warnings: (I don't really want to tell you. It'll ruin everything.)
Word Count: ~1,000
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of it's characters. There's some lines in this fic that are slightly altered lines from 4x22. It should be obvious which are those lines.
Summary: AU S4/S5; Angels do not regret.
Notes: Part of The Snuff Table for the prompt 'Never.'
It's night and the moon is neither new nor full.
It’s one of those transitory phases and it hardly provides enough light to silver the leaves or guide his steps.
But moonlight isn't what Castiel needs.
"Where are we going?" Dean asks.
Castiel doesn't answer him, so Dean keeps talking, "Are you playing hooky? You sly bastard, Cas!"
Dean laughs, treading soundlessly through the forest beside Castiel.
"I didn't know you had the balls, man. But y'know, you might not have 'em much longer if Michael finds out you're slacking," Dean grins, teeth flashing.
Castiel pushes his way through the thick brush - the human way - with a broken machete. The blade of the tool has snapped in half and it would be infinitely faster if he flew, but it would also be easier to track - paradoxical since he's leaving a path of splintered saplings in his wake, but true nonetheless.
"Cas, seriously, where are we going?" Dean pouts, trailing after Castiel.
He doesn't say, only marches tirelessly forwards until he breaks through the edge of the forest and reveals the shadow of a temple ruin. Bricked from massive sandstone blocks, it's a crumpled pyramid spearing the crescent of the moon.
"Cas..." Dean's voice is timid now, "Cas, what are you doing?"
Castiel doesn't stop, feet carrying him through the clearing across barren earth and towards the sunken steps leading up. They're steep and uneven, weeds pushing up from every crack and threatening to tangle his feet, but he takes them two by two. There's no time to waste, he could be discovered at any moment.
Dean runs alongside him, matching him step for step, "Cas," Dean whispers, voice in his ear, "Cas, don't."
But Dean can't stop him. Not when Dean’s skin is the pale wash of silver; when Castiel wields a machete like a man and is driven by the determination of the damned.
He reaches the top of the pyramid; sweeps through the entranceway and down a narrow passage. His footsteps echo through the dark and Castiel is stripped of his vision, but the path is straight and the hem of his coat brushes against the walls as the fabric billows in the wind of his haste.
"If they catch you..." Dean's voice is strained, but Castiel knows he doesn't really care.
The passageway finally ends; leads into a round chamber with a circular opening in the ceiling that lets in a wan dusting of light.
The room is void of any furniture or hangings. There are no murals or inscriptions; not a single hieroglyph to mark the purpose of the temple because there is no need.
If one has made it this far, then they must already know what lies within.
“What are you doing, Cas?” Dean asks again, a shadow at Castiel’s elbow.
Castiel ignores him, instead approaching the lip of the well at the center of the room.
It is little more than a hole in the floor, without even a wall to ring its edge and he peers down into it; notes how despite being positioned directly under the skylight, the darkness is impenetrable.
Castiel kicks a small pebble over the lip and listens for the bottom.
He hears nothing.
Satisfied that he has come to the right place, Castiel prepares himself-
“Cas.”
He turns to find Dean standing at the doorway behind him, blank face a mirror to his own, “Wasn’t this what you wanted?”
Castiel knows he shouldn’t let himself be distracted, but Dean’s shape is soft in the dim light, his voice even more so.
“No more pain. No more guilt or confusion,” Dean steps closer, feather-light over worn stone.
“In Paradise, all can be forgiven.”
Dean’s eyes are wide and unblinking, the green of his promise; the black of his words.
“Even you.”
There’s the shifting of something in his vessel’s chest; glass improperly removed from a wound. Castiel’s breath comes in short gasps, the air too thin at such high altitudes. His fingers twitch minutely, a response to the chill night.
“Isn’t that what you want?” pleading; accusing, “Isn’t that what you told me?”
Castiel shakes his head mutely, steps back until the heel of his shoe scrapes at the edge of the hole behind him. He wants to turn away so he doesn’t have to see; wants to cover his vessel’s ears so he doesn’t have to hear.
But neither would help, and isn’t it because he’d been blind and deaf that he’s here now?
Dean’s barely a hand’s breadth away and Castiel can hear the sound of wing beats amongst the clouds, but Castiel remains still, held captive by the other’s sharp smile.
“Do you really think you can change anything?” Dean lifts a brow, “That some wishing well will make everything better?”
Castiel wants to tell him that it will. It can change everything.
But not enough.
“I swore myself to you,” Dean says wryly, “What good’s my word if you can’t keep yours?”
His laugh rings hollow through the empty room, “But we’re both full of bullshit, aren’t we?”
There’s the sound of footsteps approaching, long strides mechanical in their steady beat.
Dean’s eyes glint, jagged as the machete Castiel holds, a bitter edge in his voice, “Guess the only truth was that you were sorry for the way it ended, huh.”
There’s a dark figure in the doorway now and Castiel’s spent too long standing idle.
“Castiel,” Michael calls, the low curl of his voice is cold and wrong to Castiel’s ears. His brother’s presence fills the room, foreign and too large for his vessel, misaligned with Castiel’s memories.
But Castiel won’t be stopped this time, not by his brothers; not by himself. So he doesn’t wait for Michael to make his move and he doesn't wait to see Michael’s moon-bleached shape.
Castiel only looks to his side and sees Dean.
Sees the green that was and would never be again.
He steps back and lets himself fall.
Author: yellow_pomelo
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Characters: Dean, Castiel
Spoilers: Up to and including 5x01
Warnings: (I don't really want to tell you. It'll ruin everything.)
Word Count: ~1,000
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of it's characters. There's some lines in this fic that are slightly altered lines from 4x22. It should be obvious which are those lines.
Summary: AU S4/S5; Angels do not regret.
Notes: Part of The Snuff Table for the prompt 'Never.'
It's night and the moon is neither new nor full.
It’s one of those transitory phases and it hardly provides enough light to silver the leaves or guide his steps.
But moonlight isn't what Castiel needs.
"Where are we going?" Dean asks.
Castiel doesn't answer him, so Dean keeps talking, "Are you playing hooky? You sly bastard, Cas!"
Dean laughs, treading soundlessly through the forest beside Castiel.
"I didn't know you had the balls, man. But y'know, you might not have 'em much longer if Michael finds out you're slacking," Dean grins, teeth flashing.
Castiel pushes his way through the thick brush - the human way - with a broken machete. The blade of the tool has snapped in half and it would be infinitely faster if he flew, but it would also be easier to track - paradoxical since he's leaving a path of splintered saplings in his wake, but true nonetheless.
"Cas, seriously, where are we going?" Dean pouts, trailing after Castiel.
He doesn't say, only marches tirelessly forwards until he breaks through the edge of the forest and reveals the shadow of a temple ruin. Bricked from massive sandstone blocks, it's a crumpled pyramid spearing the crescent of the moon.
"Cas..." Dean's voice is timid now, "Cas, what are you doing?"
Castiel doesn't stop, feet carrying him through the clearing across barren earth and towards the sunken steps leading up. They're steep and uneven, weeds pushing up from every crack and threatening to tangle his feet, but he takes them two by two. There's no time to waste, he could be discovered at any moment.
Dean runs alongside him, matching him step for step, "Cas," Dean whispers, voice in his ear, "Cas, don't."
But Dean can't stop him. Not when Dean’s skin is the pale wash of silver; when Castiel wields a machete like a man and is driven by the determination of the damned.
He reaches the top of the pyramid; sweeps through the entranceway and down a narrow passage. His footsteps echo through the dark and Castiel is stripped of his vision, but the path is straight and the hem of his coat brushes against the walls as the fabric billows in the wind of his haste.
"If they catch you..." Dean's voice is strained, but Castiel knows he doesn't really care.
The passageway finally ends; leads into a round chamber with a circular opening in the ceiling that lets in a wan dusting of light.
The room is void of any furniture or hangings. There are no murals or inscriptions; not a single hieroglyph to mark the purpose of the temple because there is no need.
If one has made it this far, then they must already know what lies within.
“What are you doing, Cas?” Dean asks again, a shadow at Castiel’s elbow.
Castiel ignores him, instead approaching the lip of the well at the center of the room.
It is little more than a hole in the floor, without even a wall to ring its edge and he peers down into it; notes how despite being positioned directly under the skylight, the darkness is impenetrable.
Castiel kicks a small pebble over the lip and listens for the bottom.
He hears nothing.
Satisfied that he has come to the right place, Castiel prepares himself-
“Cas.”
He turns to find Dean standing at the doorway behind him, blank face a mirror to his own, “Wasn’t this what you wanted?”
Castiel knows he shouldn’t let himself be distracted, but Dean’s shape is soft in the dim light, his voice even more so.
“No more pain. No more guilt or confusion,” Dean steps closer, feather-light over worn stone.
“In Paradise, all can be forgiven.”
Dean’s eyes are wide and unblinking, the green of his promise; the black of his words.
“Even you.”
There’s the shifting of something in his vessel’s chest; glass improperly removed from a wound. Castiel’s breath comes in short gasps, the air too thin at such high altitudes. His fingers twitch minutely, a response to the chill night.
“Isn’t that what you want?” pleading; accusing, “Isn’t that what you told me?”
Castiel shakes his head mutely, steps back until the heel of his shoe scrapes at the edge of the hole behind him. He wants to turn away so he doesn’t have to see; wants to cover his vessel’s ears so he doesn’t have to hear.
But neither would help, and isn’t it because he’d been blind and deaf that he’s here now?
Dean’s barely a hand’s breadth away and Castiel can hear the sound of wing beats amongst the clouds, but Castiel remains still, held captive by the other’s sharp smile.
“Do you really think you can change anything?” Dean lifts a brow, “That some wishing well will make everything better?”
Castiel wants to tell him that it will. It can change everything.
But not enough.
“I swore myself to you,” Dean says wryly, “What good’s my word if you can’t keep yours?”
His laugh rings hollow through the empty room, “But we’re both full of bullshit, aren’t we?”
There’s the sound of footsteps approaching, long strides mechanical in their steady beat.
Dean’s eyes glint, jagged as the machete Castiel holds, a bitter edge in his voice, “Guess the only truth was that you were sorry for the way it ended, huh.”
There’s a dark figure in the doorway now and Castiel’s spent too long standing idle.
“Castiel,” Michael calls, the low curl of his voice is cold and wrong to Castiel’s ears. His brother’s presence fills the room, foreign and too large for his vessel, misaligned with Castiel’s memories.
But Castiel won’t be stopped this time, not by his brothers; not by himself. So he doesn’t wait for Michael to make his move and he doesn't wait to see Michael’s moon-bleached shape.
Castiel only looks to his side and sees Dean.
Sees the green that was and would never be again.
He steps back and lets himself fall.