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It’s night when they close the gates to Hell. Sam has completed all of the trials and Dean has done the best he could to help him. Castiel is nowhere to be seen, after having disappeared mysteriously when they found the Angel tablet. It hurts Dean that Castiel left him again, that Castiel lied to him again, but he can’t think of that now. He has to focus on the ritual. Before heading off to the designated spot where the ritual would take place, Kevin had asked if he had to come. Dean told him to get away, as far as he could, ’cause the kid has been through enough and done enough. More than enough.
The ritual starts off smoothly—Sam reads the Enochian words perfectly from memory and Dean is so damn proud of him—but as always, something goes wrong. Just as Sam reads the final words and cuts into his palm with the ritual knife, the ground begins to shake. Glowing cracks appear in the earth and Dean screams for Sam to get the hell away from where he’s standing. But of course, Sam doesn’t move. The stupid sonofabitch decides to finish the ritual. When Sam slams his cut palm into the ground, where they’d drawn the special sigil before, the entire place lights up and the ground shakes again. Dean covers his eyes, falling to the ground, and screams for Sam because goddammit, he’s in the middle of the blast.
When Dean opens his eyes, it’s like nothing even happened there. There are no cracks in the ground and no trace of the blast of light. There is no trace of Sam. Dean runs over to where his little brother had been just a few seconds ago and his fingers dig into the earth where he had stood. Dean doesn’t know the point of digging into the ground with his broken fingernails, he knows that he won’t find Sam, but he keeps on digging because there’s nothing else he can do.
Dig.
His fingernails are all broken now.
Dig.
His hands are bleeding.
Dig.
His soul is bleeding without Sam.
Without Sam.
Without Cas.
Without Bobby.
Without John.
Without Mary.
Dean is all alone.
Dean is useless without his family. Everybody leaves him, but he can’t blame them. Dean was never worth it. He should have died long ago so that those he loves would have lived. But now, they are gone and Dean isn’t. Dean lingers on like a plague, destroying everything he touches. The very touch of you corrupts. The angel hadn’t been wrong about that.
Time passes. Dean sits on the ground, staring at the torn earth in front of him, staring at his useless hands. There is no point to it all now, if there had ever been one. Dean’s world has been shattered, but the world spins on and time passes. Not that he’s surprised, because why would the world care about him?
He doesn’t know how long it’s been when he feels a hand on his shoulder. This is a touch that he knows so well, but he knows that he must be imagining it. He must be imagining the heat of a hand that had never belonged to the creature who wielded it, but whom it fit nevertheless. He must be imagining the way that the hand lightly squeezes his shoulder as a voice whispers that it’s okay. How can he say that to him? How dare he say that everything is okay? Dean stands up, his legs stiff, and looks into the blue eyes of the man he loves and loathes and longs for. Sam’s gone, Dean says after a while, still looking into those blue eyes that sees into his very soul. I know, Cas responds, he is trapped behind the gates. I’m sorry, Cas adds and then Dean is crying, for the first time since he dug into the earth. He’s crying for his lost brother, his lost family and his fallen friend. Don’t be sorry, Cas, Dean tells the blue eyes he hasn’t looked away from, you have nothing to be sorry for. Then Cas smiles a sad smile that doesn’t fit his face, I have everything to be sorry for and I have everything that I’m going to be sorry for. The words don’t make any sense to Dean. Maybe because Dean is broken and doesn’t want to feel or understand anything but his own pain. Maybe because he doesn’t want to realize what is going to happen and what Cas is trying to tell him.
Maybe that’s why it isn’t a surprise when Cas’s blade slides out from his sleeve. I’m so sorry, he says and his eyes are tearing up. Dean knows all at once that this isn’t his Cas. He doesn’t care, because he always knew that it was too good to be true. It’s okay, Cas, Dean says, repeating the phrase that he has used so much, every since he was a child. It’s okay, Sammy. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Cas’s hands are shaking now, the tip of the silver blade touching Dean’s chest. This is it. Dean is finally going to be free, a plague eradicated from the world. You’ve always known, haven’t you, Cas? Dean whispers, because there is no way that he is dying without Cas knowing. But Cas has to know already. Surely he must know what Dean feels, the emotions stirring in his gut and soul that he hadn’t dared identify for a long time. Dean is always too late, it seems. I have known from the first time I laid eyes upon you, Cas says and the blade pushes in a bit deeper, only now drawing blood. Soon, it will all be over. Dammit Cas, Dean smiles, because he’s nice enough to give Cas a good last memory of him. Then it stops.
If Dean expected darkness or fire, then that is not what he gets. He doesn’t get anything. All he gets is Cas, hands shaking, turning the blade around and plunging it into his own flesh. All he gets is Cas slumping to the ground after smiling at Dean, that little smile that Dean always liked. Dean is more alone than ever. His knees give out and he falls down next to Cas. You’re gonna be okay, Dean whispers as he wipes stray hairs from Cas’s forehead. They were making me hurt you, but I refused, Cas doesn’t seem to be hearing him, but it’s okay. Cas shouldn’t hear Dean desperately wishing and begging for him to live. Cas shouldn’t hear Dean say all the things he has been too afraid to say before. I’ll miss you, Cas rasps out, those three words ringing louder than Dean’s desperate pleas. As Cas closes his eyes, the words Dean were planning on saying remain unspoken. I’ll miss you too. He doesn’t need to say them. They both know. Even as Dean tries to grab onto whatever it is keeping Cas alive and make sure it doesn’t go away, he knows that this is the end for Cas. Then everything goes dark.
Wake up, Dean.
Dean is awake, isn’t he?
Wake up, Dean.
Maybe he’s not awake.
Wake up, Dean.
The dark is going away.
Wake up, Dean.
Dean is awake.
As Dean’s eyes flutter open, he sees a bland sky partially covered by tree tops. He knows where he is. He knows the ground that is digging into his back, just as he dug into the earth for his lost family. He knows the voice that coaxed him into consciousness, that awoke him from the nightmare that was too vivid and too real. Dean knows that he’s back, if that’s the right word. Dean knows that he is still where he should have remained. He is in Purgatory. I thought you would never wake up, a voice says. When Dean turns around, he has to stop himself from walking over there to punch Cas in the face before taking him into his arms and never letting go. And Dean knows right then and there that he will never let Cas go again. He will never let Cas let go. His resolve crumbles. He walks over there.
When Dean wraps his arms around Cas, clutching at the tattered trenchcoat, he can feel Cas stiffen. What are you doing? Are you okay? Cas whispers, his hands carefully touching Dean’s back, like he’s afraid that Dean’s gonna break under his touch. But it’s not Cas’s touch that destroys. It’s Dean’s. Don’t you dare let go, you stupid sonofabitch, Dean hisses and holds onto Cas. Cas doesn’t let go.