"The very touch of you corrupts."

oXoXoXo

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Something in the back of Castiel’s mind knew it. He knew it the moment his first battle with Dean ended. When their seventh battle ended. Their thirty-fourth. Every time he came face-to-face with this cocky, smooth talking, pain in the ass angel, Castiel knew that it wouldn’t be the last time he would see him.

So to see Dean on his knees, bloodied and on the brink of death caused Castiel’s chest to ache in despair and his stomach to twist in discomfort. Because this wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like this. Knowing this, he knew he had to save his… this angel…

He had to… and yet…

“You don’t mind, right Castiel?” Metatron interrupts his thoughts. Castiel tears his eyes away from the bloodied angel and looks at the prince of Hell standing above Dean. He has a smile on his face, pleasant and a bit smug from knowing something. “After all, he’s just an angel who’s been itching to kill off our best knight of Hell. Just consider me the exterminator getting rid of that one pesky mosquito buzzing in your ear. Once he’s gone, you won’t have any problem in fulfilling Hell’s missions.” The smile soon shifts into a challenging one. “Unless… the rumors are true and you’ve been persuaded to neglect your duties for this angel?”

Dean lets out a small wheeze as he tries to stand, lifting his angel blade ready to fight once again. Metatron kicks him fully on the chest and sends Dean colliding against the cement wall. Castiel takes a small step forward but immediately stops himself from running over to protect Dean. His heart pounds and a foolish part of him desperately hopes that Metatron did not see his small action. 

It did not go unnoticed.

“That’s what I thought,” the prince of Hell growls. Castiel’s body freezes up and a scream of protest is lost in his throat as Metatron thrusts the angel blade deep into Dean’s chest.

Dean chokes out a gasp when the blade slides out of his body. His eyes begin to glow an iridescent blue and slowly they turn to Castiel.

Castiel had killed angels before. He knew how quickly their light burns out as soon as an angel blade pierces their flesh. Dean didn’t burn out so quickly however. Dean was holding on. Holding on to look at Castiel one last time.

He holds on, until he can’t any longer. His eyes begin to glow brighter and brighter until Castiel has no choice but to drop his gaze to the floor. 

He doesn’t look when he hears a body slump against the wall. Nor when Metatron growls at him to “do his job” before disappearing into the night. He doesn’t look because if he doesn’t see it… then maybe it didn’t really happen.

It did happen though. The smell of blood filling his nostrils told him so. The streak of black from his peripherals wouldn’t allow Castiel to fool himself. His eyes, stinging from tears he refused to shed, finally glide over to charred wings imprinted on the wall. As Castiel stares at the body of his dead angel, his mind only whispers one thing: