Avalanche or roadblock, Dean is a snowball in Hell

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean wipes his hands on a pristine white towel, the better to give visual contrast when he places it very directly in his current assignment's field of view. It's a soft start, but sometimes those are the best.

This assignment came down special, so he really wants to take his time and do it up right. Pride's a virtue down here -- within reason.

And Dean has all sorts of reasons.

"Hold your horses there, fella. No sense tryin' to get away now, right? You're just gonna rough up your wrists, ruin all my planning, and then I'll have to go back to the drawing board. You really want me to have to do that? Really?"

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[thursdays_angel]

Castiel had not been sure what he should prepare himself to find. He had imagined worse scenarios, but this is still far from what he wanted to see.

This is the kind of soul that Hell, in all its depravity, can undo.

He is still for a moment; foolish, he knows, given how long it has taken him to reach this point. His mission--Dean Winchester--has his back to him. He seems wholly unaware that Castiel is even present. His attention is focused on the soul upon the rack.

Resolutely, Castiel steps forward.

"Dean Winchester. It is time to go."

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean doesn't startle, just looks back over his shoulder, eyebrows up.

One corner of his mouth curves in a little smirk. A vicious little smirk.

"Whoa there, buddy. You can hold your horses, too. I've got work I need to be gettin' on with, and neither of my bosses said anything about someone else takin' over. So you skedaddle on back to wherever you came from and let me keep on keepin' on, all right?"

[thursdays_angel]

When a Righteous Man sheds blood in Hell.

Castiel wonders if whoever wrote the words had any idea of how chilling the reality would be when it came to pass.

He comes closer. And as tired and battered as he his, he draws himself up straight and square.

"Your work lies elsewhere."

"You are to come with me."

[hopeitsworthit]

"Nope, no can do."

Dean shakes his head, turning back to his work.

"You can go look up Alistair if you want my expertise -- but I hear the waiting list is pretty damn long."

Dean's grin is bright and cheerful.

"Sucks to be you."

[thursdays_angel]

Castiel takes one more step closer, and something in him opens.

His form (the same form he is accustomed to from Milliways, oddly enough) changes little. But the power of Heaven radiates outward, and wings, such as will never be seen on Earth, unfurl.

"It is not I, but God Himself who commands you, Dean Winchester. It is He who calls you forth from Perdition."

"You will obey."

The easy way. Or the hard way.

[hopeitsworthit]

Something in Dean flinches away from that power, but pride won't let him run.

Pride, or maybe something else.

"Yeah, you're gonna be real disappointed about that. I'm not goin' anywhere."

[thursdays_angel]

Castiel tips his head in a way that has become near second nature to him.

"You will. You have no choice."

Even just from watching him in life, Castiel knew that Dean Winchester was not a person who was easy to reason with. Add in his slow evolution toward the demonic, and there is no clear path to take.

And there is not a lot of time to linger. Hell will not be distracted forever. And Castiel cannot return without Dean.

Still, he would like Dean to have a chance to come of his own free will. (And he may have Meg's voice in his head again at this juncture.)

"I am not here to mete forth punishment. You have nothing to fear."

[hopeitsworthit]

"Who said anything about fear, asshole?"

Dean draws himself up, hand slipping out sideways to grab a knife.

Two knives, even.

"I just don't want to get my ass handed to me by the bosslady because you've got a motherfucking bee in your bonnet about being on a mission from God. Which is total bullshit, by the way. So. You know."

He bares his teeth.

"Fuck off."

[thursdays_angel]

Unto everything there is a season. A time for words and a time for action.

Seasons in Hell are short. And the time for talking is drawing quickly to a close.

Castiel eyes Dean. Eyes his weapons. And looks unimpressed.

"No."

He strikes out quickly, catching one of Dean's wrists, and twisting his arm behind his back.

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean slashes out with his knife at about the same time, twisting in Castiel's grip like a snake.

"Get the Hell off me, you bastard."

That's when he tries for the reverse headbutt, too.

And he's not even making a token effort at sparing himself pain.

This is nothing.

Even if Castiel breaks every bone in his goddamn body, it'll still be nothing.

[thursdays_angel]

The knife connects, though Dean's head does not. Little matter, though.

"It will be all right, Dean."

Castiel is not sure why he feels the need to repeat reassurances. By rights he should have simply grabbed Dean and forced him back out through the gates without wasting time with talking.

But somehow that seemed like the wrong thing to do.

Castiel twists the knife out of Dean's grip.

And their surroundings, in a slow (and, to some, sickly) way, begin to recede.

[hopeitsworthit]

"No it won't!"

His struggles get wilder when the knife is gone, wilder and more vicious. He tries going for Castiel's eyes with his free hand, stomping on his feet, nailing him in the nuts with his knee, his heel --

Anything.

"It ain't ever gonna be all right. You let me go. You let me go right now."

He tries throwing himself away from the angel, yanking backward and trying to make himself a dead weight.

"This, right here, is where I belong."

Demons don't sound anguished. Too bad Dean's not a demon yet.

[thursdays_angel]

"It is not."

In a way, the fight that Dean is putting up is reassuring.

The Seal may be broken. But his soul is not. Not beyond saving or repair.

And so Castiel almost gladly accepts the pummeling. His only reaction is to tighten his grip, anchoring himself with one hand around Dean's arm. He keeps him pulled as close as possible -- no sense in allowing a demon a chance to catch hold on their way out.

"It will be over soon," Castiel promises.

Making his way in had taken time. The path back to the border of Hell is considerably clearer.

[hopeitsworthit]

"No. No no no no no!"

It isn't the tightening of Castiel's grip that brings Dean's voice up to a howl. It's the proximity of his Grace. Of Heaven, even via proxy.

All the tortures of Hell have nothing on this.

Not for Dean.

[thursdays_angel]

There is nothing Castiel can do to spare him that. But when all is said and done, it will do no real lasting harm.

He hopes.

Castiel keeps his gaze turned upward as they move through Hell, even though 'up' and 'down' have meager and often contradictory meanings here.

Already, the voices of his brothers and sisters are growing louder.

"Over soon," is all he can say.

[hopeitsworthit]

"Fuck. You," Dean grits out, low and harsh and painful. It's the last thing he says, too, before the pain reaches up and swallows him whole.

The last thought he has is that it would be much better if he didn't wake back up.

But it's not like you can pray to Lilith for that.

And Dean was never really the praying type.

[thursdays_angel]

For all the time it took him to reach his goal, the road out of Hell flashes by at blinding speed. And then he can return Dean Winchester to his place on Earth.

Except...

In the thin, cold borderland between Hell and Earth, as fine as a skim of frost, a door appears in Castiel's path. A door he knows very well -- a threshold he has crossed over dozens of times. On his way to the End of the Universe.

A door that God had ordered him to pass through whenever it appeared to him.

In a fraction of a second, Castiel's mission rewrites itself.

What will become of Dean Winchester if he is returned directly to Earth in his current state?

Why would the door appear here (here) of all places if not to give him another choice?

Why has Castiel been followed by voices from the End of the Universe during his journey through Hell?

It is no real dilemma at all. It takes no time at all to choose.

Castiel sends up a prayer, and hurtles through the door to Milliways.