Named {PART FOURTEEN}

[mclachland]

When he comes to, Dean's slumped over in the most uncomfortable chair he's ever sat in. He winces and shifts, eyes opening. Everything's so bright, jumpy, like television snow, but it all melts and settles as he adjusts. He feels no pain. He reaches up and brushes his fingers over his cheek, feels the perfect swell of it, the bone whole beneath his touch. His arm is working again, his breathing easy as pie.

He looks around.

The first thing he sees is Castiel, crumpled in a heap at his feet, the fabric of the trench coat stained red, spilling over onto the marble and staining it. His eyes are closed. He's not moving. The gaping holes in his throat and chest made sure of that.

Numb, he drags his gaze away from Castiel to where the Metatron stands, eyes wide, like he can't believe that Dean still managed to make it into the hot seat.

Chilled, shivering, he points at the Metatron. "Don't move."

At his words, the Metatron slams prostrate into the marble floor, and Dean stands, picking up the stained blade on his way. He has to step over Castiel, a move that makes him nauseous, but it brings him to the stairs, and to the Metatron.

"Go ahead," the Metatron spits, writhing against invisible bonds. "Prove just what you are. Show everyone what a beast you are."

Dean looks at the blade, at the dark red spatters, at the sharp point, and thoughtfully turns it in his hand to he's study the pommel. It's nice, heavy. Good solid weight.

"The only beast I see here," he says softly, "is you."

He brings down the pommel hard. It splits the vessel's head like a watermelon, sinking through brain matter and tissue, sinew sliding against the metal and becoming tangled. He withdraws it and brings it down again, watching as the brain tears at the core and breaks into pieces, raw cauliflower beneath the unforgiving gavel in his hand. It cracks against the wall of the skull, fracturing bone and forcing it out through the face.

He brings it down again.

Again. And again. Until there's nothing left of the head, until he's covered in ichor and brain matter, bits of bone and tissue, until the sweater vest isn't yellow anymore, but red. There's enough of a neck to impale, though. And he does. Again. And again.

He has no need for a Voice of God.

God's speaking for Himself, now.

Panting, he wipes the blood from his face, smearing it, and drops the blade to the floor. He's too everywhere, too scattered, head dropping back and breathing for a minute. It's done. It's finished.

He never met Jesus, but Dean would bet that Jesus wouldn't have approved of any of this, justice be damned. Whatever. There you go, Jesus. A little gift from your pal, Dean.

"dea...n…"

"Cas!" He gets his second wind, scrambling to his feet and rushing for the platform, taking the stairs two at a time and dropping to his knees hard, hefting Castiel up so that he's lying half against Dean's chest and mostly against Dean's legs. "Fuck, Cas, hang on. Don't move your hand, just tell me what to do. How do I fix it?"

"did… w..in…?" The light in Castiel's eyes and mouth is growing brighter and brighter, and Dean slaps a hand over Castiel's mouth, using his other to cover his throat. "di…d…"

"Cas, shut the fuck up, we won. You need to tell me how to fix this. I'm God! I can fix this now! You just have to tell me how!" When he gets no answer, he smacks Castiel across the face. "Cas! That's an order! You love those, remember? I order you to tell me how to fix this! You did this once for me and I'm gonna return the favor. Come on, Cas, throw me a bone here."

Nothing.

No.

No, he won't accept this.

"Cas!" He shouts, voice cracking, and he buries his face in hair that smells of mountain air and blood. "You gotta wake up, Cas. I need you to wake up. We're going to fucking Hawaii, remember? Those hermit crabs aren't gonna free themselves, man, so wake up!"

But Castiel doesn't wake up. Castiel's not going to wake up.

How.

How can he have all this power and not be able to bring one person back to life?

How could they have won, and still lose?

Dean would pray to God, except God's a fake.

He drifts in and out, lying there with Castiel's body, a body that belonged to Castiel alone in the end, beautiful and somehow completely different from Jimmy Novak. It fits so well in his arms, so comfortably against him, and he pictures how they were going to lie like this in a hammock, between two palm trees overlooking the Pacific. Or warm on a beach, flinging sea shells the color of Castiel's skin at each other, laughing about the previous night's arrest and how many more shops they would have to hit before Castiel was nicknamed 'The Crab Bandit' by the news media.

"Dean!"

He clutches Castiel a little tighter. "Not now, Sammy."

The footsteps echo somehow, the sound hanging in the air like a dead thing. The temple is a funeral parlor now, dead bodies everywhere.

"Oh, Dean," Sam whispers from somewhere above him. Dean can feel the heat from his legs as Sam sits down next to him, placing a gentle hand on Dean's arm. Comforting. Solace. "We were fighting for… forever. They just kept coming. We lost so many, Dean. The garrison. Rose. Gabriel. Mora. Bobby's barely hanging on. Then… it just stopped. They all stopped. It was like someone hit a switch. I can't -- Dean… Dean, god, look at me, please?"

Dean didn't think he had any more tears to cry. He'd been wrong, as per usual.

"Sam." He rolls a little so he can look up at Sam, drawn by the endless parade of tears down Sam's face. "Cas… Cas --"

"He kept me safe." The words are barely audible, but Dean feels them with the accuracy of a bullet. "He kept me safe the whole time."

Dean's going to drown. "I'm God, Sammy. Why can't I fix this? Why don't I know how?"

"Because you were supposed to be taught."

Sam turns at the newest addition to the conversation, but Dean rolls back and buries his face into Castiel's hair. The blood is drying, goopy and caked and rubbing the skin of his cheek rough. He can't look. He can't look or else he just might destroy everything.

"Oh, Castiel," Raguel murmurs, taking the spot next to Castiel. Dean glances up and nearly starts sobbing at the look of sheer loss on Raguel's face. "The Son of God, dead for love of Humanity. That is what your books say. For love. Always to die for love."

"Did he… How big was the blast?" Sam inquires inanely, and Dean stares at him in horror.

"Jesus Christ, Sam!" What the fuck kind of question is th --










Wait.

Dean glances down at Castiel's body.

There'd been no blast. None that he knows of.

"Look, a body can be brought back easily, or another can be remade, or someone else's body can be used. Hell, provided it happened recently enough, their body could be used again. A soul, however, is what really matters. A soul still has a chance of living."

Fuck, he's a dumbass.

He pulls himself up and pushes Sam back, kneeling beside Castiel's prone form, Castiel's hand still clapped over his throat, holding his grace and soul in. Even in death, he's smarter than Dean would ever be in life.

"Okay," he murmurs to himself, rubbing his hands together. "Okay. Shit."

Healing Castiel's body doesn't seem like it'll work; the Grace is already half-way gone. No, he needs to forge something new. Sea shells from Hawaii sound about right. And maybe something from the star rivers above Bobby's front porch. Or a stone from a distant planet.

He uses all of them, filling up the emptiness and buoying everything that's still in there, throwing in a little of the Winchester magic and sheer dumb luck for good measure. If he had duct tape lying around, he'd use that too. Can't be too careful.

And he waits.

And waits.

And --

He's already crying like a little girl with a skinned knee by the time Castiel's fingers twitch, but he still manages to say through his sobs, "Rejoice, favored one, and do not fear, for your prayers are heard, and I have finally found you."

Eyes still closed, Castiel smiles. "Dean, shut up."

Next

Comments

[888mph.livejournal.com]

"Oh, Castiel," Raguel murmurs, taking the spot next to Castiel. Dean glances up and nearly starts sobbing at the look of sheer loss on Raguel's face. "The Son of God, dead for love of Humanity. That is what your books say. For love. Always to die for love."

I had to come back and comment on this. When I was first reading this fic, I stopped here and had to reread it several times, trying to figure out if I was understanding it right. And that's when my heart broke.

My 2nd time reading this scene and I'm sobbing like a baby. My chest hurts.

[mclachlan.livejournal.com]

My 2nd time reading this scene and I'm sobbing like a baby. My chest hurts.

Stop reading the scene! Don't cry! ::hands you a box of tissues::

[888mph.livejournal.com]

I can't stop!
*cries*

[laura-trekkie.livejournal.com]

Yay.

That was a distressing time :(. Can't say I'm sad to see the end of the Metatron! Take that Mr Rogers!!!!!

I am glad, immensely glad, that I didn't also see the end of Cas. That's an excellent result, so go Dean \o/.

But it's not all good news, not with that list of casualties Sam brought with him. Can Dean restore them, too?

Laura.

[cotymundi.livejournal.com]

Hmm. Just long enough to really bring my mood down and then, hey presto! Of course Cas would be made from seashells and sand and rocks and stuff; these things all have very slow vibrations and something with a lifespan as long as his would have to be made from fairly timeless materials. Also, good thing he stopped Dean launching into the sixth-form poetry version of stilted angel-speak; doesn't suit him and I was cringeing a bit. I love that Cas is so clever about "how to reduce the permanence of death"; must be the only one who's read the Angel Death Handbook. Reminds me of that film, "The Abyss" where, erm, er, I think she's called Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio or something as outlandish as that, deliberately drowns herself so that her man can use the diving suit and swim them both out of the flooded whatever it was that they were in, and then resuscitate her. I had trouble not slapping them for that as well.

[cotymundi.livejournal.com]

Look, I really feel bad about my spelling of cringeing. It can't be cringing can it? No, hang on, that looks right. Oh, I don't know; trouble is, I've spent so many years dumbing down my spelling and grammar to appease all the people who have been beating me up for the last 30 years that sometimes I slip and can't remember things. And I keep starting sentences with "and". And not using colons and semi-colons when I should, because most people just use commas nowadays. I really need to go to bed.

[cotymundi.livejournal.com]

And resuscitate; is that right? (Note correct use of semi-colon in this one, just to serve penance.) Look, I really need to go to bed.

[quenderra.livejournal.com]

Oh, god! I hardly ever cry, but that last bit - it's brought me to the brink of doing so; my eyes are certainly watering, anyway. It's beautiful. Just beautiful.

[chloelilybet.livejournal.com]

I'm reading this chap and I'm like, okay so cas got stabbed, he's not dead come on Cas can't die and then Deans all sad face Dean Cas is dead and I'm like SHIT CAS IS ACTUALLY DEAD at which point I started freaking out, hello tears, but I continued reading and I'm so glad Dean listens at least most of the time :) He can save all the other angels too now =D

[destielfan06.livejournal.com]

The Feels Are Too Fuckign Strong
I love This So Much<3
Dammit Janet.
Loving this Fic So Much<3
The Ending of this Chapter
"Rejoice, favored one, and do not fear, for your prayers are heard, and I have finally found you."
Ugh!!!!!!!!!!
Me can't Right now.

[kellyanne77.livejournal.com]

He did it! Dean fucking did it!!!

Bringing Cas back I mean.

Ok. I can breathe a sigh of relief again now.

I'm just praying Deam can do it for the rest too.

Although I must admit I always thought Angel blades killed the Angel's soul/grace too, so I'm glad in your world that doesn't seem to be the case.

[rubyrose804.livejournal.com]

I thought you killed Cas and I was going to be so upset. Like I wasn't going to be able to get over it. But Cas is okay and it's okay and they won and Mr. Rogers is dead and Cas is alive and it's okay. Okay.

I'm still concerned though - if Dean's God is he allowed to fuck Cas and cuss and be a dick and, well, be Dean? I just.. Idk, man. Idk.

[pervinca.livejournal.com]

I can't tell if I'm a dumbass and misread or if this is my headcanon now, so: Dean forged Cas' Grace using the stone Paz handed him, right? Because that would be perfect.

(also, this fic is killing me in the best way. Like, I need the film version NOW so I can wallow in the amazing visuals)