Work Text:
Castiel’s trench coat, the icon Dean had used to find his angel for so long, was stained red with the angel’s blood. Castiel was fading, the angel blade in his chest draining his life (grace?) away. The gates of hell were closed, they had won, but Dean felt like he was losing everything. He had lost Castiel too many times already, but this time was different. Dean could tell; Castiel wouldn’t be coming back this time, he was really dying. He was dying and he wasn’t going to be back. Ever.
Dean knelt in front of Castiel, gripping the angel by the lapels of his trench coat. “Cas, don’t you die, not now, not here.”
“Dean…” Castiel croaks out. He’s not fighting death, he’s just taking it. And that pisses Dean off because he’s been trying to save Cas for too long for the angel to just give up.
“Cas, you son of a bitch, you are not dying.” Dean growls. He has to save Castiel; he can’t lose him, not again.
Cas’s hand finds Dean’s face. It’s sticky with the angel’s blood. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Cas, it’s okay. Don’t die.” Dean never cries until he’s alone. He never cries until after the death. And he’s not crying, but his throat is twisted and his eyes sting. But he’s not crying. Castiel pulls Dean down, pressing their lips together for the first (and the last, but Dean won’t let himself think about that now) time and Dean kisses back because this is his angel, and he really should have done this sooner.
Cas fades back, blue eyes struggling to stay open. “I’m…”
“I love you.” Dean blurts out, and he doesn’t care what anyone says, because Castiel is dying and Dean isn’t letting him go without telling him this.
Castiel nods. “I love you too. Goodbye, Dean.”
Then blue eyes close, and black wings are etched into the ground around Castiel and his hunter. He’s dead.
Castiel is dead.