The Fall // Destiel

The End

prologue

It's cold and windy, extremely out of character for May. Dean pulls his trusty leather jacket around himself, gritting his teeth against the chill.

No one else is outside, which he's thankful for. He doesn't want anyone to see how he's stumbling slightly, after one too many at the bar.

A low growl rumbles out from the alleyway to his left, freezing him in his spot. He starts to back up, just as a bright white light flashes, followed by a yelp.

Now, he's running.

His feet fly at an alarming pace, skipping over the rough pavement. Everything is silent behind him, but something about it is whispering run.

So he does, until he physically can't anymore. Until he's panting and practically on the ground. It's still quiet, so he leans on the wall of a building, realizing how far away from his motel he really is. A soft rustle reaches his ears, before a hand is covering his mouth.

He makes to yell out, but whoever has him in a choke hold means business, pulling the drunken man to the ground. He grunts and kicks at his opponent, but they harshly laugh and shake him violently until he's silent, dizzy and gaping for any sort noise - anything to call for help.

The most he can do is slur, "Hey man, I only got a fifty - if you want it-"

"I don't want your money." His opponent - male, by the sound of it - growls. "Unfortunately, I need you dead."

Dean barely has time to open his mouth before the man's hand is pressed to his forehead, and a blinding white light forces him to squeeze his eyes shut. If he can pretend nothing's happening he'll magically appear back in his bed, safe and warm. Or maybe someone will rescue him out of this new kind of Hell, like they always seem to.

Before he knows it, he's back on the ground, somehow dropped by whoever was holding him. His head throbs, but he persists in backpedaling away from the scene in front of him, feeling sick once he notices what it is.

"Cas..." he manages, "don't, he's too strong."

The man in the trench coat turns to look at Dean for a moment, sadness in his eyes. His mouth opens, before the other man crashes into his side, sending him straight to the ground. Dean's eyes widen at the sickening sound Cas' skull makes as it slams on the ground, blood spattering forth.

Seconds later, Cas is back on his feet, blood dripping down the back of his neck. Dean gapes as he watches both of them pull out matching blades, almost miniature swords.

"Castiel." The other man growls, "I do not wish to do this."

"Zachariah." Cas' voice is merely a low snarl, his lips pulled back from his teeth. "If you do not want, you do not have to. I have not bothered you or any of the others for decades, why start now?"

"You had no other relations for decades." Zachariah sighs, looking at Dean. "Especially not with a human male."

The street lights above them flash twice, before shattering, sending shards of glass everywhere. Dean covers his head, daring to look up again only when he hears scuffling once more.

He watches the two silhouettes in the dark. Without the gleam of an occasional blade, or sounds of frustration, it could easily enough just be a dance.

"It is a dance." Zachariah laughs, pulling his blade across Cas' arm. Castiel lets out a strangled cry, before dropping to his knees, holding the practically useless appendage to his chest. "And I've always been better at dancing than you."

He draws his blade up, ready to plunge it down, before Dean yells, "Hey! Wait, what's going on?"

They both look at Dean, except it pains him to see Cas' agony-clouded eyes. Zachariah chuckles, "Your guardian angel has to die."

Dean furrows his brows, before noticing Cas' arm, dripping not only blood, but somehow leaking light. Stunning and bright; it stuns Dean into silence, as it seems to melt off his arm to electrify the surrounding air.

Zachariah laughs, meeting Dean's eyes. "Oh, you don't know yet?"

"Know what?"

Before he can answer, Cas is gone from his kneeling position, suddenly appearing beside Dean, holding out his hand.

"Do you trust me?" he hurriedly whispers, waiting for Zachariah to notice he's gone.

"With-" Dean barely has time to get a word out before Zachariah is wheeling around, the blade held at ready. "Yes, of course, Cas. I trust you."

Cas' hand is grabbing Dean's, just as the blade comes down.

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I'm writing this based on The Fall, a destiel trailer, so check that out maybe :)