“Since I had to bury him …” Dean alone.
Dean alone had to be the one to bury Cas in the Malak box. You would think—like the last time Cas went insane, that Dean and Sam would be working together to wrangle him in; but that doesn’t seem to be the case in the future that Chuck is showing us. In fact, the entire time Dean is speaking—there is a divide, an obvious separation between what is Sam’s and what is Dean’s. Sam’s intentions versus Dean’s. Sam’s motivations versus Dean’s … and Sam’s heartbreak versus Dean’s. And Sam’s heartbreak has left him chasing a certain death, whereas Dean’s has left him hopeless. It has left him defeated, and it has left him alone. Alone to be the reasonable brother, and he’s emphasizing that with comparisons.
Where Sam is fighting because he lost Eileen—Dean isn’t fighting with him in order to make him see that these battles won’t bring her back. Just like they won’t bring Cas back.If they could, then all the fighting that he did for Castiel would have been worth it. All the hurt, all the spells and trials and prayers and wishes would have saved Dean’s best friend, his reason for going on, his profound bond. Dean would have fought to the ends of the earth; but at some point, he knew—he had to accept that this was it.
And I feel that Castiel had to have accepted it too.He had to be the one to show Dean. He had to be the one to tell Dean to stop.
As an angel, the mark would have affected him differently. He has no soul to twist, so the only thing it could affect is his heart; but—just like when Dean was being overtaken by the mark, the memories, the shadows of his past, what he used to feel and care for were all still there in the back of Cas’s mind, just tapping on his walls, reminding him that whatever this is—isn’t him, just as Dean was probably reminding him with every breath he breathed.
“Cas—this isn’t you! You wouldn’t do this! You need to fight it! Please! Please fight it, Cas!”
And he would be screaming the words so loud and so often, that eventually, one of those walls in Cas’s mind—one of those thick, black walls that the mark had scaffolded inside him, up from his grace, around his heart, all the way along his spine to block out the light in his eyes … one of those walls would crack, just a little, just enough, the slightest shift for Dean’s words to get through. And in that brief, fleeting moment of murky clarity, Castiel—angel of the Lord and best friend of man—one man, would reach out to Dean and convince him that this is as far as they could go.
“Dean—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I have failed you again.”
And with tears in his eyes—brought about by the pure relief of hearing his friend’s voice again, Dean would shake his head as he pulled Cas close. “No, Cas. You were saving us. You saved all of us, just like you always do. You saved me, just like you always do.”
The angel would close his eyes as he embraced his charge one last time, but he would not say aloud that it was their last, because that would be his biggest failure of all. “Dean, you know what has to be done” he said with tears in his own eyes now, because Dean Winchester could always bring them out of him. He could always bring Castiel’s heart to the surface.
“No, Cas. We’ll find a way—we always find a way” but for the first time in his entire life, Dean didn’t actually believe those words.
“Dean … please. I can’t hold the mark back much longer” and as he finally pulled away, feeling that curse yanking on his consciousness like hook and rod, Castiel pleads with the man one last time, looking him the eyes—one last time. Seeing the moment, and hating the moment that Dean realizes this truly is their one last time.
The Malek box was dragged to the garage and loaded into Castiel’s truck; and the entire drive to the coast was silent. No music. No jokes to make light of what this was. No talk of Sam, and how they left him back at the bunker because Dean couldn’t—he just couldn’t take the way his brother was looking at him. How Sam would look at Cas—look down at the cuffs they had put Cas in. Look at the warding they had scrawled across the angel’s trench coat … the angel’s idea, and a good one, but the graffiti was like a thousand stains on a pure white sheet. It was dirty and wrong, and that read loud and clear in Sam’s eyes, and Dean couldn’t take it. “Goodbye, Cas” his little brother said, just before awkwardly hugging the angel, still obviously cautious since the last time they stood so close. That encounter left Sam with a broken nose and three cracked ribs; and it left Dean with PTSD, because only moments later, as his brother laid unconscious on the floor, the darkened angel turned to him and began cutting himself. Dean had to watch in horror as Castiel sliced up and down his own body with his blade—screaming and laughing maniacally, knowing that his own pain would hurt Dean more than anything.
Dean shook his head and focused on the long stretch of highway that would take them to the ocean, not wanting to think about that horrible memory or his brother’s face before they left with the Malek box in tow. He didn’t want to think about any of it, because the hurt would swallow him whole the moment he let his guard down.
“It’s beautiful’ Castiel whispered, standing at the edge of the cliff, watching the moon shine on the open water, blue and bright, just like how his grace used to shine in his eyes.
Dean would remember that moon until his very last breath.
“I don’t want to do this, Cas.” The words came out crooked, lopsided with tears and pain, and the last bit of hope that the angel would turn around and tell him the mark was gone and everything was going to be okay again.
“You have to” was all his friend said—his back still to him, still focusing on the crashing ocean a thousand feet below.
The box was hauled to the edge. An ugly mass on the perfect landscape. A cancer, seeming to grow before Dean’s eyes, threatening to swallow everything in sight … and the only thing the man could see right now was Cas. Cas and the moonlight, and halo it seemed to make above his head.
The angel was the one who opened the box. Dean couldn’t bring himself to do it.
The angel opened it and then stepped inside. He crouched down and then sat, instantly wheezing as the mark fought against his efforts. “Dean! You need to close it now! You need to lock me in!”
The tears began to stream down his face as Dean forced himself to step closer.
“Dean! Now!” Cas screamed, thrashing himself against the metal inside. The mark on his arm burned red-hot, so bright that Dean could see it glowing through the angel’s marked up sleeve. “Dean!”
The man’s knees gave out as he stumbled forward, grabbing the lid to the box and bringing down, until it was just a third of the way from being closed. His tears fell onto Castiel’s shirt, and the angel’s own tears slid down the sides of his face as he looked up into Dean’s eyes for the very last time.
“You … you were the best part of my life” Cas choked, against the lump in his throat and against the mark.
Dean gasped on his sobs, unable to muscle out any response—hand trembling as it continued to hold up the lid of the box.
“Dean, thank you. Thank you for giving me my freedom.”
Dean broke, throwing the lid back as he threw himself forward, embracing his friend, his angel, once more—once more than the angel ever thought he’d get, so Castiel leaned into him, burying his face in Dean’s neck, fighting back the darkness in his mind with every last bit of free will he had.
The words echoed in the box, barely audible through Dean’s sobs, but Castiel heard them—and Castiel felt them, and with a gentle pull from the man’s arms, Castiel pressed his forehead against Dean’s, and he said them back.
For a moment, they stayed that way—and for that moment, there was peace. Peace in the world, peace in Cas’s mind, peace in their hearts. For that moment, all their moments came together; but that moment was stolen in the place of another. That moment was overtaken by the mark, just as it overtook all things.
“Dean!” Castiel threw his head back, his skull cracking against the metal floor, so hard that is made the side of the box shiver against Dean’s chest. “Shut it now!”
“No!” Dean pleaded, but he knew it was no use.
The angel’s eyes flooded black, and a wicked grin slipped across his face. “Aw, what’s the matter, Dean? Didn’t get your goodbye kiss?”
Dean stumbled backwards, watching as the angel he once knew, his best friend and his whole heart, disappeared once and for all.
“Let me out and I’ll give you all the kisses you want.”
The shell of the angel began to rise, but Dean rose faster and brought down the lid on his head.
“No! No! You son of a bitch! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you like I did your mother! You’ll be dust when I’m done with you!”
The voice—that once so familiar, so welcomed voice, shrieked and screamed from inside the box, and Dean curled to the ground, holding himself against the night and crying into the dirt. “I’m so sorry” he wept. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you!”
He repeated those words like a mantra, even as he used the last of his strength to push the box to the edge of the cliff. His words hung in the air beneath Cas’s screams as Dean pushed the box over and into the ocean. The moon watched as Dean looked down at the waves, his own tears mixing with them as his words fell too, fell into the chaos with Dean’s heart.
Dean considered throwing himself in as well. If not for Sam, he would have.
Dean alone, stood on the edge of the world and gave up hope.
Dean alone, gave up his everything.
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