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I Don't Write Death Fics

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It was dark when Cass woke. Dark, smoke filled, and with the smell of freshly spilt blood in the air. For a moment or two he stayed where he was, focussing on trying to feel through the drugs in his system in order to work out how bad his injuries were. Bullet wound in the shoulder. Fractured wrist. Concussion. And no feeling at all in his legs. No, that was wrong. There was feeling, it was just... numb.

Slowly, and with some level of regret that he had to do it at all, he opened his eyes.

Well, at least that explained his legs. Lying across them was the most definitely dead body of Risa. Beautiful, firey, Risa, who had given her life in the heat of battle. Risa, who would no more feel that intense passion and lust for life that had burned in her very soul.

Gently, Cass moved his legs, causing her lifeless body to slip onto the floor. He felt regret. He felt sadness. But he also knew he had a more important goal.Clutching his left arm across his chest to try to take the weight off his shoulder, he gradually got to his feet.

The bloodbath around him caused him no great surprise but he was surprised that everyone appeared to be dead apart from him. He didn’t know how, all he really remembered with any clarity was an intense gun battle – he had no idea why he wasn’t a corpse like everyone else. Stumbling a little, he made his way out of the building, pausing for breath on each concrete step that led him down to the garden. There was only one thing left that was worth living for.

And then he found him.

It had been a beautiful garden once. There were roses, red roses, their perfume still permeating the air despite the devastation. And lying in the garden, like he was just taking a nap in the sunshine, was Dean.

Cass fell to his knees by Dean’s side. He held out his one good hand, trembling, to touch Dean’s face, his hair. Searching for a pulse that he already knew was non-existent. And then the tears started to fall, hot and uncontrolled. For so long now, drugs had helped Cass through the bad times, helped him to hide behind a fog of cotton wool. But now, now the feelings all came rushing in like a tidal wave. They had all failed. Failed each other, and failed the world.

This Dean wasn’t going to stop the apocalypse. This Dean had gone. And so, this Cass must go with him. Because without Dean, there simply was no Cass.

As Cass raised the Colt to his mouth, tasting the dirt and tang of the metal on his tongue, he hoped that his 2009 self would do the right thing by his Righteous Man. That they would have another chance. A chance at life together. A chance to save the world.

Because this was The End.



The voice was a command and Cass, as stoned as he was, was still a soldier. He waited, his finger on the trigger, and slid his eyes sideways to see who was commanding him.

There was Dean, 2009 Dean, standing with his Castiel beside him. This Castiel had his hand on Dean’s shoulder. This Castiel looked determined, strong.

Cass took the gun away from his mouth.

Castiel removed his hand from Dean’s shoulder with a look that showed he did so with huge reluctance, as if the moment he did it something terrible would happen. Then he crouched down to Cass.

Wordlessly, he placed his fingers on Cass’ forehead and a surge of grace flooded through him, healing his wounds immediately. Castiel then turned towards the stricken leader and repeated the action, waiting just long enough for life to start to throb through the damaged body once again.

Then he stood, reclaimed his place next to his Dean and, with a flurry of wings, they were gone.

Still sobbing, Cass watched as Dean woke up, eyes flickering and struggling to focus. When realisation hit the green eyes Cass could hold back no longer, he reached down to pull the friend he thought he had lost into an embrace that not even the devil himself could separate.

They were together again, they could rebuild what they had lost. And face the future together.