Creative Writing: A Narrative Fiction

"No," Dean spits again. Unconsciously he grips his right forearm, scraping his thumbnail over the flesh. "Fuck, no. We been over this, Cas. Gonna find another way." "You told me to do whatever it took," Cas reminds him gently, and he nearly screams. They're sitting on the hood of the Impala, ignoring the warm Kansas drizzle soaking into their clothes. Not quite ignoring the drops of water sliding down jawlines, underneath collars. "Whatever it took to take me out," Dean snarls. "Dunno if you still got smitin' power left in you but you still got that knife. Not gonna let you die for me again." "That sacrifice does not belong only to you," Cas says softly. "And my blade, I fear, would not kill you, only turn you into what you were before. …show more content…

My grace is fading faster by the day. I don't know how much longer I have to help you. I don't know how much longer I have at all." He stands up, holds out his hand. Dean takes it numbly, then wraps his arms around Cas' neck. "I can't do it, Cas," he whispers. "Benny, man, I thought that was the worst thing imaginable. Not you. Not you too." Cas squeezes him once, hard, then steps back. He runs the pad of his thumb over Dean's lips, and Dean closes his eyes. He plucks the First Blade from Dean's belt, then pulls his right hand up, closes Dean's fingers around the handle, then wraps his own hands over Dean's, watching the fire snake through the Mark. He takes a deep breath, locks his eyes with bloodshot green, and stabs the blade into his own chest. Cas' eyes go wide and his mouth falls open in a silent oh; he falls back against the bumper. Electric blue light begins leaking out along the handle, over their joined hands, a few droplets at a time and then a steady stream. As soon as the light reaches the edge of the Mark a hissing sound fills the air, and the smell of burning flesh. Dean instinctively tries to jerk away with a yell, but Cas grips him tight with the last of his strength. "Don't… let… go," he croaks, still staring into Dean's eyes. "I won't," Dean promises. "I won't let …show more content…

He stumbles back, vision blurring with the pain, and falls to his knees, left hand wrapped around the Mark and right hand clutching his bicep. It's pain like he hasn't felt since the Pit, like hot pokers searing into his skin, and he screams endlessly at the empty sky. Eventually, after what could have been minutes or hours or another forty years, the pain begins to subside, and he collapses to the wet earth, too numbed by exhaustion to think or feel. Something stirs above him, and his consciousness crawls slowly back to him, like a dog. The smell of soil and rain fills his nostrils, still tinged by the scent of charred flesh. He sits up slowly, not opening his eyes until he hears the sound of a wet thump, and sees Cas' body fall to the ground. His ears ring and his vision goes staticky, and he's almost sunk back into blessed unconsciousness when he hears a small groan nearby, then a rattling cough. Immediately he's on his feet, clutching the trunk of the Impala for support against the