For Dean - A beating

[godless_son]

It had taken a little convincing.

Granted, the spot is still a little worse for the wear. The scorch marks have grown over patchy and sparse and there are still trees half felled, missing branches and some altogether missing. It was very nearly the end of them and he understands Dean's reticence, but he has loved this place since his arrival in Darrow. The loves the seclusion and the quiet and the birds. He loves that Annie can run off her leash. It is a truly glorious spring afternoon and he sprawls out, taking more than his fair share of the blanket as he rests his head on Dean's chest, listening to the rhythmic sound of his heart. It is warm enough to resume stealing Dean's old t-shirts and he closes his eyes at the feel of the sun on his arms. It is not as warm as it once was, but even through the veil of his grace, he finds it comforting. They have not had many peaceful moments in the past months, and he intends to enjoy this as long as it lasts.

He blinks up at the bright sun, squinting a little as it causes an ache behind his eyes. It is really very, very bright.

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[always_enduphere]

Stretched out beneath Castiel, Dean hasn't opened his eyes for the better part of an hour, content to let the sun deepen his freckles they way it always does come springtime, the warmth of it as welcome as the weight of Cas against his chest.

He feels Castiel stirring, but only lifts a hand to stifle a yawn. "We got another half hour yet," he murmurs. "Annie's walk was extra long."

[godless_son]

"Yes, she seemed quite content," he murmurs, pushing himself up with a groan. "I need to 'stretch my legs' I think."

He stretches his arms over his head, blinking out at the water as he tries to decide what he feels. The sun feels exceptionally bright.

"Dean," he says uncertainly.

[always_enduphere]

"Yeah?" asks Dean, throwing an arm over his eyes, but something in Castiel's tone pricks at him, and he levers himself up. "What's wrong?" he asks, trepidation creeping around the concern in his expression. Castiel is only sitting on the blanket across from him, but already Dean's muscles are bunching, to run, to fight, to subdue, and he swallows. Maybe it's nothing. It's been nothing for weeks now.

"Cas?"

[godless_son]

He stumbles forward, gracelessly getting onto his feet as his head starts to ache. He knows this, now.

The river solidifies before him, blue turning to dull grey, bodies strewn across it. Dean's body.

"No," he whispers aloud.

Kill him, Castiel.

He has a mission to complete. One more time, just once more and perhaps they will let me rest.

[always_enduphere]

There's no point in running, not with Castiel's eyes already gone in a rush of blue, so Dean holds his ground, on his feet and body tensed to dodge and spring as necessary.

There's a roiling in his gut, a fear he's learned to manage over the years carefully channeled into his adrenals, pumping a will to get them both through this alive into Dean's veins. He waits for the panic, but it doesn't come, and when Dean catches a glimmer from the corner of his eye, he knows why.

The sword is already in his hand, sheathed, but ready should he choose to wield it.

"Cas," he tries one more time. "Are you with me?"

[godless_son]

He fights, he tries so hard to fight her, gasping as he turns to yet another target, blood streaming down his face.

"You're not real," he whispers, blade sliding into his hand. "This will be over soon."

[always_enduphere]

"Dammit," Dean swears with feeling, and holds the sheathed sword between them with both hands. He'll block Castiel if he can, and worry about what to do if he can't when that happens. So far, the sword is largely untested in true battle, but it seems those days are done, and Dean braces himself for impact.

[godless_son]

Castiel steels himself, face smoothing over as he focuses. It can be over in one blow, then she will let him stop. It will be enough.

He spins the blade, resettling it in his palm before striking out, aiming for Dean's heart.

[always_enduphere]

Dean sweeps upward, his sword more staff than blade as it deflects the angelic weapon, and in the short space of time that follows, Dean shuffles back, all the air caught in his chest.

He blocked it. An angelic blade hefted with angelic strength, and both he and his sword are still in one piece. There's no time for elation, but something loosens in Dean's chest.

"Cas!" he barks. "Goddammit, snap out of it!"

[godless_son]

He steps back, reassessing his strategy as he eyes the target and its blade. This has never happened, before. He's never been met with such resistance, the swiftness of the kill being the only bearable part. He frowns at the name, the liberties the angels are taking with this target. He hates it when they speak to him, it makes everything so much worse.

This time he strikes downwards, hoping to render the target unbalanced as he attempts to hook his legs with his own. If he can get him down, it will end quickly. It always does, once Dean is prone, once the target is prone.

[always_enduphere]

Dean blocks again, sweeping up this time to force Castiel back and away from his feet. He has no idea what the angels did to him, but Cas isn't the only one born and raised to be a fighter, and if Dean's a match now, he's not going down easy.

His fingers itch to draw the blade from its sheath, but Dean doesn't dare. If it can block, it can certainly cut, and he's not taking any pieces of Castiel he doesn't have to. "Cas," he tries again, and refuses to dwell on the knowledge that the last time Castiel stopped, it's because he was squeezing the life from Dean beneath him. "Listen to me and fight this."

[godless_son]

"Stop talking," he demands, eyes darting around as he waits for them to intercede, to put him down themselves. He is not to talk to the targets, not to engage other than to slit their throats, break their necks or gut them and when he breaks the rules it always get worse.

"You're not real, let this be over. I need this to be over, now."

He lets grace bleed through his free hand, ready to end this fight. They will punish him for it, their preference being the blade, but he hates it when they speak to him.

[always_enduphere]

Dean doesn't have to look down to see the danger - the glow is bright enough that it reflects off Castiel's skin, blazes his eyes, and Dean growls low in his throat, frustrated and angry.

Somehow in his hands the sword feels warmer, almost vibrating, but maybe that's the adrenaline coursing through him. "It's over when you stop," he replies, lifting the sword this time like the weapon it is, however sheathed. "I am real, Cas, nothing else you're feeling is."

[godless_son]

"You are the four hundred seventy first Dean that they have made me kill and every one who was able to draw breath enough to beg said the same thing," he snarls, mask dropping long enough to allow desperation to bleed through. "Just stop, please," he whispers, as if that will keep them from hearing. "They won't let me stop until I do this correctly."

He blinks, the lights hanging overhead brightening for a moment, hotter than they should be. The concrete walls seems to slide out of place before snapping back.

[always_enduphere]

Something cracks in Castiel's expression, and maybe later there will be time to hate himself for it - four hundred and seventy times - but now Dean presses his advantage.

"Then you tell them to go fuck themselves," he says, keeping the sword up. "You decide when you stop. You're not their monkey anymore, and you don't want to hurt me. Cas."

Dean looks him dead in the eye. "Please don't hurt me."

[godless_son]

That does it. That gets his attention. That simple plea loosens his fingers, blade falling to the floor, no, the ground.

"Dean," he croaks out, hand flying to his mouth as his stomach rolls. If it weren't for that sword, that sword he'd been so angry over, Dean would be dead. He would be far beyond Castiel's reach and all because of what he is.

He takes a few steps back, breathing hard through his nose as he tries not to be sick.

[always_enduphere]

The change is immediate, but Dean waits before crowding into the now safe space in front of Castiel. He slings his sword onto his back and bends for the waterbottle they've been splitting all afternoon, coming forward slowly to offer it up.

"Here," he says. "Drink something, okay?"

[godless_son]

He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before speaking. "Are you hurt?" he manages, cowering back even as he scans Dean's face. "Its all...it's confusing, did I hurt you? What did I do to you..."

He trails off, remembering with perfect clarity the four hundred seventy he'd already slaughtered.

[always_enduphere]

"You tried to stab me in the heart," says Dean, letting Castiel look at him. He's as whole as he'd been ten minutes ago, however much heartache passed inbetween, that much is plain.

"You said they wouldn't let you stop until you killed me, but we stopped you." Dean touches the hilt of the sword hovering near his shoulder. "The sword took the hits, Cas, not me."

[godless_son]

"They're going to make me kill you," he murmurs, feeling slow and stupid and somehow still panicked. He is in shock, he thinks as he presses a hand to his own chest. "This grace is diseased. I should tear it out while I still have time but we...I promised you. Do you still feel the same?"