Karma Killer

Gen. PG. ~300 words. Spoilers for 4.01.
On Dean’s marred shoulder, Sam’s grip tightens.

“I told you,” Dean says, words crawling muck-thick from his throat, “you saved the wrong guy.”

Castiel is bleeding. From his eyes, his nose, ears and mouth, pink-tinged fluid that isn’t human. The host he wears is long since dead, a knife to the heart Dean’s thanks to a saviour he didn’t ask for.

Maybe the guy is one of the lucky ones, perched somewhere on a fluffy white cloud oblivious to the fact that his side fucked up. Fucked up good.

Dean kinda hopes so.

“Dean,” Castiel gurgles, his up-tilted face wide open, somehow childlike and ageless at the same time in his incomprehension.

“Shut up,” Dean snaps. He doesn’t want to hear it. Doesn’t need to. He has Sam at his side again, steady and solid. His own blood, his own soul, bought and paid for. He’s not losing it now.

“This is not-” Castiel’s face twists, a fresh rush of not-blood pouring from his mouth to mangle his words. It hurts to watch an angel try and try and fail.

On Dean’s marred shoulder, Sam’s grip tightens.

Slowly, Dean sinks down to meet Castiel’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” he says, because he is, he truly is, but none of this is his fault. He’s done with taking the blame for the things others do. Castiel deserves to know, will never understand but has to be told; dying in vain is such a mortal thing to do.

“None of this would’ve happened.”

Castiel’s mouth moves but he has no voice left.

Shaking his head, Dean says, “No. You should’ve saved him. You should’ve saved Sam.”

The last of the angel’s light fades as Sam’s fist closes tight.


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