The Fall // Destiel

xi. The End - or is it the Prologue?

sorry this is pretty much just the prologue, spiffed up a little.

---

He can only watch as Dean storms out of his house, ratty clothes and the pizza forgotten. His mouth hangs open in shock at what he'd just done. Half of him wants to reason that it was the right thing to do, while the other half - specifically the area right around his heart - was pulling him back towards Dean, telling him to blindly run after the man.

Instead, he stays put, surprised to find a single drop of water rolling down his cheek. He gently wipes it away with the pad of his finger, carefully inspecting it. So it happens to be a teardrop. Cas forces a bittersweet smile on his  face - it's the first time he's cried since The Fall.

When the rest of the tears fall, he scrubs them away is distaste.

***

Dean Winchester fumes all the way to his motel, and even when he can't stomp his feet, he floors the gas pedal for the same effect - except, when he opens his eyes he isn't at the motel.

Instead, a dingy bar is in front of him. He doesn't remember driving here, but when in Rome.

The inside of the bar is even worse than the outside, although it's surprisingly empty aside from a few rough looking stragglers. Sighing, Dean drops himself on a bar stool, allowing a relieved sigh when the bartender makes her way over.

"Can I get you anything," a pause, "breakup, I'm assuming?" she asks in a strangely polite English accent. Dean drags his tired eyes up to meet hers, nodding once in confirmation. She's pretty, with a mound of blonde curls piled atop her head, but she's not Cas.

"Not like it's any of my business but how did you know that?" Dean asks, ironically enough considering his breakup wasn't even her business.

She just shakes her head, full lips pulled into a sad smile. "I've been there one too many times. My husband doesn't stay in one place for too long, but the trick is you need to take things in stride - not think about the inevitable future."

Dean nods slowly, huffing a breath. "I'm Dean."

Her lips pull up in a grin. "Melody - now what can I get you?"

"Whatever you can."

***

It's cold and windy, extremely out of character for May, he notices. 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 - he doesn't even know what time it is, but the overbearing feeling of shame weighing him down makes him think he spent a lot longer than he should have at the bar, kissing the bartender in the supply cupboard.

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. Almost immediately after, a stray dog comes scampering out of the alley, tailing a thin stream of smoke behind it from its tail.

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'd like to think 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. Except Cas is gone, Cas Novak, Castiel. Gone.

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, you don't know what you're up against."

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 don't have to. I have not bothered you or any of the others for decades, why start now?"

"You haven't had any 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.

---

I HAVE NO IDEA HOW IM GONNA END THIS, SHIT IVE GOTTEN THIS FAR BUT I HONESTLY HAVE NO PLAN FROM HERE ON OUT SORRY IF ITS SHIT:))