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“Get supplies– get weapons, guns, food, the usual. We don’t know what we’ll be dealing with here. Lucifer ain’t a force we want to be unprepared against.” Dean ordered.
The words echoed in Castiel’s mind as he held the AR-15 tight to his chest, his usual oh-so bright Halo flickering dim above his head. It was a survival technique, so that his Grace wouldn’t be detected by Lucifer. Dean had practically insisted on it considering that–even in this apocalyptic world…–an Angel still retains its Grace even after Heaven does not allow it.
So here they were. In what was left of Detroit, the temperatures chilling. Dean had gone up to the front to scope out and the sudden cry forced Castiel to raise his rifle, standing straight against the wall he was against. Even despite his rather “warm” clothings–warm being objectionable–he was shivering. From fear or from the actual cold he didn’t know at this point. All he could was listen to the sounds of guns being fired on and on until each and every one of them stopped for just a second before continuing. He finally forced himself off of the wall, cautiously peeking around the corner before advancing, aiming his rifle at nothing but having it ready. He couldn’t afford to be caught off guard.
??: “Cas! Hey! Heh,” Fast footfall to the side of him made him whip around.
CA: “Chuck.” Castiel lowered his rifle and took a step forward. “What are you doing? You’re meant to– be with the others!”
CH: “Yeaah… sorry. I couldn’t find you, and–”
CA: “Finding me is not something you should leave the others behind for!” Castiel snapped, poking Chuck in the chest with his rifle tip.
Chuck wanted to protest, honestly, but it would be useless. After all, Castiel was the one that called the shots any time Dean was out of commission. Chuck backed off, raising his hands in a form of acknowledgement and subtle embarrassment, nodding. With a quiet “understood” he began to turn around, presumably to go back to the others, but was stopped still as his arms dropped. His own gun–an AK– clattered to the floor. Castiel tilted his head just slightly but before anything…
…Chuck was ripped apart by some invisible force. Bits of blood splattered onto Castiel’s face, and he stumbled backwards and swung his rifle around to try and find whoever did that. Finding nobody he wiped off the blood and stared down at it.
CA: The realization dawned on him. “Oh– fuck…”
The sudden stillness of the air was not lost on him, though, and despite his widened eyes and rattled demeanor, he knew he had to keep on going. Because that was what Dean would want. And what Dean wanted would maybe get them all killed. It wouldn’t be the first time– far from it honestly. But this was Dean he was looking for. He’d chew Castiel out if he didn’t look.
CA: “Dean?!” He called out, walking quick from Chuck’s body..
Running through and down the halls, he could smell the scent of blood. It got thicker as he passed few rooms across the abandoned place, but he didn’t stop. He needed to find Dean even if it meant leaving behind his comrades– his friends. Up above was the exterior door. Dean was there. Outside. Castiel stopped to catch his breath, taking in Dean’s laying body, before continuing his sprint and slamming his body against the door. Once. Twice. It cracked open and on the third slam Castiel crashed outside, stumbling and nearly dropping his rifle as he fell onto the grass.
He managed to stand, breathing panicked as he saw Dean lying there. Not moving as flashes of their time together ran through Castiel’s mind. Their time spent together– gone within one single plan. Gone all because Dean wanted to ice the Devil wearing his brother as a meatsuit.
CA: “No,” Castiel kneeled before the body, “No, no, no, no. Wake up. Dean, wake up!”
Half desperate, half frantic, he was shoving at Dean’s shoulders trying to stir him. Trying to fight the inevitable truth. Trying to push down the true possibility that the man he loved was dead. The man that he spent his years away from Heaven trying to protect. Castiel didn’t want to believe it. Even though he saw the blood pooling underneath the other's body. He was an Angel. He could heal Dean. He could make Dean survive this. He was an Angel. Angels were meant to protect the weak.
Castiel felt words stick in his throat as he flipped Dean’s body onto his back, not caring about the blood coating his hands as he pawed desperately at his chest, white hot anger filling his mind as he gripped onto the flannel Dean died in. It wasn’t until the soft whoosh of wings that Castiel finally looked up, briefly over his shoulder before back down onto the body.
Lucifer was standing there. Colt in hand, a slight smirk on his face. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened– who got the last shot.
LU: “Brother.” Lucifer finally broke the nature-filled silence.
CA: “Lucifer.” Castiel spat the name out.
Lucifer–using Sam’s body as his true vessel, clad in that stark white suit–fiddled with the trigger of the Colt, almost amused by it. He knew what he was doing.
LU: With a sigh, Lucifer continued, “…Again, he believed the Colt could kill me. Merely it damaged my vessel. Not like he’d care anyway, after all who truly knows what he’s doing.”
CA: “You killed Dean.” Castiel’s voice was quiet– angry yet guilty.
LU: “I put him out of his misery.” Lucifer’s was cold.
Silence fell between the two of them. Castiel didn’t know what to say– what to do. Submit? Let himself get killed? Become second-in-command under Lucifer? Betray everything Heaven has been doing to make sure no Angel would defect to Lucifer? None of those sounded exactly… appealing. Castiel tensed as he felt Lucifer come up behind him, pointing the Colt to the back of his head and pulling back the hammer. Neither would mind if the gun was pulled. It was a nihilistic way to look at the world, especially from how Castiel was now, but neither cared. One wanted world domination. One wanted peace.
CA: “…you can make other universes, like Gabriel could. Right, Lucifer?” Castiel asked finally.
LU: Lucifer’s grip on the gun tightened, “I can.” He confirmed.
CA: “Do it. Shoot me. Send me into one of them,” Castiel continued, “with Dean. And Sam. A normal life. Please.”
Lucifer nearly chuckled, tapping the barrel against the Angel’s head. This would be fun. If Lucifer didn’t immediately shoot Castiel that is. The former’s smile dropped as an Enochian swear–one similar to “son of a bitch” though not exactly–slipped from his lips as he white-knuckled the Colt. The silence seemed almost unbearable but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Castiel’s fingers dug into his jeans as he waited– waited for the pain. Waited for the gunshot. A murder of crows resting nearby, picking at their meals, cawed and flew up away from the sudden noise, followed by the thud of a body. Crows were always skittish and Lucifer kept the smoking Colt pointed as he looked up. Following the birds with his eyes.
He had fulfilled Castiel’s want.
And as Castiel came to in the cold, he was a child again. Young. Maybe eight. Not an Angel anymore. Far from it— more a human. Really only one word came to his mind, that being the name of a little girl he knew but he didn’t know. It was… odd.
“Mischa.”