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It's sheer luck Cas survived the charge into the building, but he's not sure it's good luck. It was a suicide run, and he knew it. He was okay with that.
What he was not okay with was the moment when something broke, somewhere in the world, and in that instant he knew he'd outlived Dean.
By the time he staggered out of the building, miraculously intact despite his injuries, past-Dean was vanishing with a distant flutter that sounded of Zachariah and Dean- his Dean, was lying broken and dead on the ground. Completely numb, Cas followed his own feet over to the lifeless body, and stood gazing emptily down at him.
That was when Lucifer returned.
The Morningstar circled them both, the dead man, and the fallen shell of his baby brother, and he began to talk. Cas barely registered the words, barely registered his own thoughts, all he could think of was that Dean had sacrificed himself to kill Lucifer. Dean hadn't been able to finish the job, so it was left to him. Even in the prime of his power, Cas would never have been a match for Lucifer, but he had to try, but when he reached for his blade he couldn't even pull it free. His Grace was rusty and shrunken, and the weapon wouldn't come to hand, but Cas had never given up his Grace and it was still there somewhere inside. He couldn't pull out the angel blade, but he could move it, just a little, somewhere in the depths of his being. If Lucifer wondered at the hollow, unblinking gaze of those blue eyes, he didn't show it, too busy talking. While the words tumbled over him, Cas moved the blade inside himself, an inch at a time, carving. The banishing sigil didn't technically occupy real space as a mortal would have known it, but it was enough, carved somewhere inside Cas' own being, and when it was done he made a sudden lunge for the being in the white suit, wearing Sam's face.
Of course Cas expected to be blown into atoms, and as long as it hurt Lucifer badly that was fine, but what he didn't expect was to wake up intact and alive somewhere perfectly mundane.
What he was not okay with was the moment when something broke, somewhere in the world, and in that instant he knew he'd outlived Dean.
By the time he staggered out of the building, miraculously intact despite his injuries, past-Dean was vanishing with a distant flutter that sounded of Zachariah and Dean- his Dean, was lying broken and dead on the ground. Completely numb, Cas followed his own feet over to the lifeless body, and stood gazing emptily down at him.
That was when Lucifer returned.
The Morningstar circled them both, the dead man, and the fallen shell of his baby brother, and he began to talk. Cas barely registered the words, barely registered his own thoughts, all he could think of was that Dean had sacrificed himself to kill Lucifer. Dean hadn't been able to finish the job, so it was left to him. Even in the prime of his power, Cas would never have been a match for Lucifer, but he had to try, but when he reached for his blade he couldn't even pull it free. His Grace was rusty and shrunken, and the weapon wouldn't come to hand, but Cas had never given up his Grace and it was still there somewhere inside. He couldn't pull out the angel blade, but he could move it, just a little, somewhere in the depths of his being. If Lucifer wondered at the hollow, unblinking gaze of those blue eyes, he didn't show it, too busy talking. While the words tumbled over him, Cas moved the blade inside himself, an inch at a time, carving. The banishing sigil didn't technically occupy real space as a mortal would have known it, but it was enough, carved somewhere inside Cas' own being, and when it was done he made a sudden lunge for the being in the white suit, wearing Sam's face.
Of course Cas expected to be blown into atoms, and as long as it hurt Lucifer badly that was fine, but what he didn't expect was to wake up intact and alive somewhere perfectly mundane.
sob wow i hope this is okay, rusty voice is rusty
Date: 2013-01-20 01:49 pm (UTC)From:Dean's out, doing God knows what. Drinking probably, flirting definitely, and Sam doesn't expect him home tonight. He can't do the same though, he's plagued with doubts and can't switch his mind off long enough to focus on anything, let alone actually conversing with normal human beings. Hell, he can't even finish reading the page of this book. This is the third time his eyes have scanned from top to bottom already, and he still doesn't know a single thing that's been said.
The book gets tossed unceremoniously off to the side, and Sam flops back onto the bed. It's another dingy motel, and as he stares up at the ceiling and eyes the damp spots with vague interest, he can feel his eyes start to droop. Maybe there's a chance he'll sleep tonight, really sleep without having a night filled with dark, disturbing images that he can't get rid of any more. There's too much, Jess, Dean being dragged to Hell, Mom and Dad, they're all still there, filed away for the moments his eyes slip shut.
Just this once though, maybe he'll get a break. Maybe he'll make it through the night without jerking awake. Maybe...
He's just on the verge of dozing off when someone appears, and the disturbance makes him sit bolt upright quickly as he reaches for his gun. He points it, blinking hard, but after a moment frowns as he slowly lets it drop. The face is familiar, but the clothes, the beard, that's all new. "...Cas?"
Still feel newish at Cas so that evens out.
Date: 2013-01-21 02:20 am (UTC)From:The figure lying on the floor could be Cas, or it could be Jimmy, and in either case he's dirty and it grubby, threadbare clothes. There's what looks like blood on his jacket, although after a lifetime as a hunter Sam will probably recognize from the pattern of it that it's somebody else's. He looks ill, and just a little too thin. He also definitely needs a bath and a shave, and maybe a haircut too.
"...Am I dead, or what?" The low, gravelly voice is the same, but a little slurred. Mostly that's from the hard landing. He doesn't even try to get up, just blinks at the ceiling.
"If you're here, it must be 'or what'."