Chapter Text
The room was silent, until someone let out a blood-curdling scream. It was Ruby, staring at the space where the portal had been, where Meg and Jo had just fallen through. The summoning had been destroyed for good.
“Lucifer!” she cried, clutching at the ground, as if words alone were enough to bring him back. “No!”
After a moment, she looked up at Dean. Her black eyes raged into him, promising to tear his soul apart.
“You RUINED it!” she said, standing unsteadily. “I’LL KILL YOU!”
Despite the gash in the side of his throat, and the two long cuts marked into the middle of each hand, Dean felt focused. Ready. He unsheathed his sword, and impaled it, straight through the centre of Ruby’s neck. She gasped, gurgled—the black in her eyes becoming unfocused and far away. She was dead before he could even pull the sword back out of her.
Once her body had crumpled to the ground, the remnants of the castle’s guards sprung into action—but they were no match for him. The sword belonged in the prince’s hand, now. Despite how weak he should have felt, he moved with the weapon, like a dancer knows the steps. He killed each and every one in a fluid motion, decorating Castiel’s throne room in the demons’ blood-soaked armour, their weapons as clean as the day they were forged.
Crowley had watched this unfold in sickening fascination. Once the last body fell, Dean turned his gaze to him, the sword held long and bloody in front of him.
Crowley’s legs collapsed from under him. He bowed at the feet of the prince, his pride long diminished. Dean walked over to him, and placed the blade at his throat.
“You wouldn’t kill a man on his knees, would you?” Crowley tried, his eyes to the floor.
Dean only pressed the blade in further.
“You told Meg,” he began slowly, “that Castiel was in the room of stairs.”
“That’s right,” nodded Crowley fervently. If he could prove himself useful, the good prince may just spare his life. He pointed behind him, to a door in the far right corner.
“Go that way, and down the hall. It’s the last door on the left.”
He closed his eyes, praying for a miracle. Dean kept the sword on him for several moments.
Eventually, his grip loosened, and he brought the weapon back through its holster. A breath Crowley did not know he was holding, escaped out of his mouth, like a man just saved from drowning.
“Get out of my sight,” Dean ordered sullenly. “If you’re lucky, you might get out of the city alive.”
Crowley smiled.
“You are a most gracious prince,” he thanked, forcing himself back on to his feet. “You have my gratitude.”
“Just go.”
Dean waited for Crowley to close the door behind him before he allowed himself to mourn.
Bobby took him into his arms, patiently waiting for him to finish.
Dean pulled away at last, breathed out slowly in a sigh. He could not stop staring at the ground beside them. It was as if nothing had happened. It was smooth, undisturbed, but Dean knew what lay underneath, what would remain there forever.
As if reading his thoughts, Bobby squeezed his arm.
‘It wasn’t your fault, Dean,” he said kindly.
Dean refused to accept it.
“If I had just been quick enough, then maybe—”
“I said,” Bobby repeated firmly, his grip tightening, “it wasn’t your fault, son.”
He looked down at the ground again. He could scarcely imagine the fate of those that were trapped beneath it.
“What will happen to them down there?” he asked desperately. “Jo, she tried to save me…”
“And she did,” affirmed Bobby. “That girl…” he said, shaking his head in disbelief, unashamed of the emotion coming out as a crack in his voice. “I think that girl is the bravest person I ever met in my life. And the most loyal, too.”
Loyal.
Meg had been loyal. Only to Lucifer, of course, but she had saved his life just as many times as Jo had, perhaps even more. He wouldn’t forget that. He knew he should hate her for what she did, but she had made a promise, and she had kept it, even after so long.
He had to respect that, even in a macabre sort of way.
“Yeah,” he agreed distractedly. “Loyal.”
“Now, wipe your tears, boy,” said Bobby, pulling him from his trance. “This is where it ends. Get out your vial. Soak the end of the blade with it, and then you march through those goddamn doors and you get your brother back.”
Dean grinned despite himself, but did as was ordered. He emptied his bag, took out the vial, and poured it over the tip of his weapon.
“Thank you, Bobby,” he said. He handed him the bag. He would not need anything else where he was going.
“You know,” mumbled Bobby, a little awkwardly. “Karen and I never had children, but, if we did, I would have liked us a son. A boy like you.”
“Bobby…”
“You’ve… you’ve made me proud, Dean,” the man said, blinking back tears. “You woke up something in me I thought was lost forever. I want to live. I want to go home.”
They hugged a final time. Out of everyone, he thought, he was going to miss Bobby the most.
“You will,” he said, as they pulled apart.
He left Bobby in the throne room, standing there among a dozen slain bodies, and the remnants of a portal that now housed three souls instead of one. He went through the door, and down the hall.
He walked until he had reached it, the last door on the left…
He took a deep breath in, and opened it.
It was precisely how Crowley had described it: a room, with no ceiling or floor that he could determine, simply made up of hundreds of stairways, identical, joining on from one another, each created from golden stone. He would run down a set, and find himself at the top. He jumped, from one set to the other, but in the end, he was always in the same spot as he had started from.
“Sam?” he called, for he could hear him, his brother’s wails coming from somewhere in this endless place. “Sammy? Sammy, where are you?”
He kept running, he kept trying, he kept calling his brother’s name. Was this the end of Castiel’s cruelty? Have his brother be so close, but never near enough to grasp? Would he die here, or worse—live forever, tortured by the sounds of his baby brother’s cries? He would go crazy in here, surely he would. He needed Castiel to show himself. He wanted to wrap his hands around his neck and squeeze the life out of him.
“FACE ME, YOU FUCKING COWARD!” he yelled into the abyss.
Instantly, the stairways disappeared.
He was standing on solid ground, the ceiling made up of the night sky, the stars shining like little jewels. Castiel was standing a few yards ahead, dressed as darkly as the cosmos. Sam sat on the floor beside him, clutching at a little glass ball, a thousand possible futures playing in it at once.
Dean held out his hand.
“Give me the child,” he demanded, his anger having already subsided.
Castiel showed no signs of moving. He stared at Dean intently.
“Dean, please…” he began carefully, a look of fear painted in his diamond eyes.
“I did it,” Dean said, breathless at the sight of him. “I played your game. I fought my way here to the castle. I killed those I had to, and I saved the ones I could. I’m here, because my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom is as great.”
He touched the holster of the dripping sword, preparing to unsheath it and fight for his life.
“You have no power over me.”
Castiel stood there, only nodding.
“You’re right,” he said quietly. “I don’t. Even after everything, you starve and near-exhaust me.” He was staring at Dean so intensely, just the look in his eyes was enough to make him stir. “All of it. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you. I move the stars for no one.”
If it was a lie, it was a lie so exquisite he could drown in it.
“Castiel…”
Despite himself, he was drawn to him, desperate. It took everything in his power to remain where he stood.
“Please,” said Castiel, in a placid sort of whisper. “Dean.”
The way he said his name filled Dean with such a longing, it was easy to forget why he was even there.
“I don’t know how to fight anymore,” Castiel continued. “You have my shield, my armour, my sword—everything that has ever made me a king.”
“Then just give up,” Dean pleaded. “You’ve lost. You have nothing.”
“I have something,” the king said, the hunger returning in his eyes. “I have you.”
Dean had to look away. If he continued to let himself listen to this, he was going to do something he would regret.
Castiel is the enemy. He’ll say whatever he can to make you fail.
“No, you don’t,” Dean forced himself to say, attempting to feel nothing as he stared back into Castiel’s ocean-blue eyes. “You never did. It was a dream. Nothing we ever did was real.”
“But it was real, Dean,” Castiel replied, and suddenly they were no longer apart, but inches away. So close, his voice left heat.
“I still taste you on my tongue,” Castiel purred, “still feel your skin beneath my fingertips.” He touched Dean lightly on his neck, forcing a groan to escape his throat.
“Do you not remember what it was like,” Castiel whispered, his breath tickling Dean’s ear, “how it felt to be together?”
He remembered, but it was even worse now—because Dean couldn’t pretend this was a dream, couldn’t lie to himself that this was just a secret fantasy playing within the confines of his mind. This was real. The king’s touch was real. His heat was real. Everything Dean was feeling, from his thumping heart, to the throbbing beneath his jeans, was happening right at that moment, and it had happened before. He accepted it now, all the ways in which he hated Castiel, and all the ways he wanted him.
From behind them, Sam made an impatient gurgle, forcing Dean back to the matter at hand. He could do it, right now—he had the sword. Castiel was practically offering himself to him on a silver platter. So why couldn’t he do it?
Castiel was kissing his neck, groping his crotch, his own hardness rubbing against Dean.
He struggled through a surrendering sigh. “Don’t do this to me,” Dean begged. “Why can’t you just let this be easy? Fight me. Make me fight for him.”
“I release him,” came Castiel’s reply.
He pulled away, no longer trying to seduce. He looked at Dean, serious and true. He no longer wore a mask. He no longer wore a crown. Now, he was just a man.
“I release you both. Dean. Stay with me. Your brother will grow into a man, and you and I will be together. Fuck the labyrinth. Fuck the crown. I’ll forsake it all for you. Just fear me, love me, do as I say, and I will be your slave.”
Dean almost went to kiss him. Would it be so wrong for them to run away? They would not be in his debt. They would be free, free to live a life together.
“We can’t stay here,” deliberated Dean. “You know that. You could come with us.”
“No,” Castiel said, shaking his head. “I cannot live in the mortal world, not as I am now."
Dean wanted to scream. No matter what choice he made, it would always end in blood. Whether it was Castiel’s, his brother’s, his people, or his own. Someone had to suffer for this to end.
“Fuck. Dean,” came Castiel’s desperate voice, his hands on him again. “I am begging you.”
Dean shook his head, pulling himself away.
“If I stay,” he said, “then the promise I made to those people will have been for nothing. I can’t do that to them.”
Castiel was silent for a moment. He bowed his head, closed his eyes, but when he looked up at Dean again, he was smiling. It was a smile Dean had never seen before. It was kind. It was real. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
“You’re a good man, Dean,” Castiel said, and Dean knew he meant it. “I have watched you since you were a child. I always knew that you would come here one day, but I’d only allow it on my terms. I was going to destroy you—make you love me as I made Michael. And after you’d given away your soul, I would bind it to me, to this labyrinth, and then no one would ever threaten my rule again. But the Prophet, Chuck, he told me it would be my downfall. If I tried to use you, you would destroy me. I didn’t know what he meant, then. He had no idea what I was capable of! I had already seduced the First Brother; he had forsaken his love for Lucifer because I told him to. I took this land for myself because I am a pillager, a ravager, a victor. I take and take until there is nothing left. You were going to be my victim, a victim amidst so many others. It’s the only way I know. I threw my sister away; let her rot in that tower forever, even though she had never done anything but love me. I didn’t have to do that. I was already king. But she was mine, and her fate meant nothing. That’s what you were, Dean. Nothing. Nothing but a means to an end. But the minute I saw you, standing there, in your little brother’s nursery, I knew I was doomed.”
“Why?” Dean forced himself to ask.
“Because I already knew I loved you.”
Dean felt his heart breaking. He took Castiel in his arms, and whispered into his mouth.
“Damn you, Cas,” he said, and then he succumbed.
They kissed deeply, desperately, in a way only two people who loved each other could. They couldn’t keep their hands still; they clung to each other like anchors to the bottom of the sea.
Perhaps forever would have been enough time to satisfy Dean’s hunger, his desperate, unabashed longing. He needed to say it. He needed to speak the words out loud, because Castiel deserved to know.
“I think,” he whispered softly, as the kiss slowly ended, “I was going to love you back no matter what.”
He could feel Castiel’s smile even with his eyes closed. The king opened his mouth to tell him one thing, but Dean would never know what it was, because he had unsheathed his blade and stabbed the King of Demons in the heart.
“Dean…”
Castiel fell to the ground, one hand clutching at the tear in his chest, the other holding Dean’s hand. He wouldn’t let go of him, even while dying.
“I’m sorry,” Dean cried, sinking to his knees. “I’m so sorry…”
He held Castiel in his arms, could feel the man’s breath eventually slowing to silence. The king struggled. He beckoned Dean towards him, and placed his mouth to the boy’s ear.
“He would have… killed you…” he whispered shakily, barely loud enough to understand.
Dean looked him in his eyes, the blue in them draining to a murky grey.
“What?” he demanded, holding him closer.
“I see… a darkness in him, Dean…” Castiel forced himself to utter, his eyes closing for a final time. “Just wait. You’ll see it, too…”
He let out his final breath, and died in Dean Winchester’s arms.
He wanted to scream, stay there and weep forever—but Dean’s brother was calling to him, wailing from his spot on the cold hard floor.
“Sammy!” Dean called, forcing himself to abandon the man he loved, the man he had just killed, to take his crying brother into his arms.
“I’m here, Sammy,” he sobbed into the baby’s chest. “I’ve got you.”
Sam’s crying grew faint, as something else filled the room. It was a chiming, a chiming of a clock. He heard it ring thirteen times until his eyes went black and everything in the room disappeared.