The Seventh Son of a Seventh Son

The world was creaking. Moving. Shutters banged. The light came in speckles and streaks. Dean’s head throbbed. When he opened his eyes, it was to a nightmare.

The first thing he became aware of was the sticky blood that clumped in his hair and the scratchy floorboards that dug splinters into the ridge of his cheek. His face was pressed to the floor, eyes parallel with the pool of his own blood in which he lay. He squinted, every part of his body pulsing in pain. He tried to sit up but his hands were tied at his back.

With a grunt, he rolled from his side and onto his back, looking up at the dusty ceiling above him. With labored breaths, he watches the specks of dust float in the light that slants above him, the world fuzzy.

The grunt he made was a mistake.

‘Good morning, sunshine,’ a voice drawled, nasally and deep.

Dean grit his teeth, turning his head and ignoring the way the world swirled in and out of focus. There, across the room, stood Nicodemus Novak, leaning against a covered grand piano. It had been years since Dean last saw Castiel’s brother in the flesh and he looked different to how Dean remembered. Dean remembered a confident young man, with a snide smile but a full face, a Hogwarts robe filled with badges, and trophies lining his bedroom. He looked, then, like the kind of boy who would take what he wanted from the world, but it was never meant to be as twisted as this. As twisted as he stands before Dean, eyes sunken, face sallow, lips chapped. His sandy hair was stuck up in all the wrong places, his smug, blotchy face thick with a warped arrogance as he looked at Dean, head tilted.

His eyes were the exact replica of Castiel’s and when he tilted his head Dean felt a wave of nausea at the similarities between them. This was Cas’ brother. His brother. If that wasn’t clear before, then it sure as hell was now.

Dean groaned, letting his head fall back into a natural position.

‘God, you gotta be kidding me,’ he muttered, every word catching like rust in the back of his throat.

‘Afraid not.’

Dean heard footsteps. The floor creaked as Nicodemus stepped closer. He pressed his foot onto Dean’s cheek, turning Dean’s face back up to see him. With effort, Dean hid how much the movement hurt, his vision blacking in and out. With all the strength he had in him, Dean collected the bile in his throat and spat straight up at Nicodemus, watching with some satisfaction as the man was forced to wipe his face as Dean’s saliva hit him.

‘My, my. Didn’t your mother ever teach you some manners, Dean?’ Nicodemus said sweetly. ‘Oh. Wait.’ He squat down, holding his wand loosely between two fingers as he smiled at Dean, every expression filtered with cruelty. ‘We killed her, didn’t we? Because she was a blood traitor.’ He walked his fingers across Dean’s chest, toying with him like he was roadkill that deserved to die. ‘Marrying that - useless Muggle. Producing two… halfbreeds… tainting her own bloodline…’

‘You’re-a-sonofabitch,’ Dean forced out. The words heavy.

‘Insulting my mother.’ Nicodemus inspected his nails. ‘You know, that’s Castiel’s mother too. Wouldn’t want to insult the in-laws, would we?’

Dean clenched his jaw. ‘What do you want from me?’ he spat. ‘You want to kill me? Then do it.’ He swallowed. ‘DO IT.’

Nicodemus laughed. It was like chalk on a blackboard. ‘I don’t want anything from you, Dean,’ he said gently. ‘You’re just bait whilst I wait for my brother, dearest, to come collect you. So sit pretty and enjoy the ride.’

With confidence, Nicodemus walked back across the room, taking a seat on the abandoned piano stool. Dean took the opportunity to look around the room then, searching his brain to figure out why it all felt so familiar. The floorboards were old. Unkempt. The walls were peeling. Deep scratches were engraved into their aged wood. Nicodemus followed Dean’s eye line.

‘The Shrieking Shack,’ he answered, even though Dean didn’t ask. ‘A wonderful place to die, don’t you think? No one would ever pay any mind to your screams.’

‘You’re insane,’ Dean coughed, the dust from the room making him nauseous. He rolled onto his side, using his shoulder to push himself upright. He sat there, slumping back against the wall. The world distorted in and out of focus. He blinked, sucking in a haggard breath. God.

‘Castiel won’t come for me,’ he said at last, voice weak. ‘You’re an idiot for thinking that. He’s smart. He’ll know exactly what this is. And besides -’ Dean’s voice caught. ‘Besides. We haven’t been friends for months. Haven’t talked in weeks. This is a fucking fruitless decision of yours.’

Nicodemus didn’t look convinced. He just rolled his eyes, leaning forward where he sat, elbow on knee, chin in hand.

‘Castiel will come for you,’ he told Dean quietly, tone serious now. Menacing. Dean thought back to the reports from the previous December. Of the way, Nicodemus had defiled those Muggles. The way he tore them apart. He swallowed. ‘You will call for him. And he will come.’

Dean shook his head. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I won’t. You’ve picked the wrong guy, buddy. I don’t break easy.’

Nicodemus pulled out his wand. He twirled it lazily, with all the effort of a man pouring a cup of tea.

‘Crucio!’ he whispered, loud amidst the silence of the room.

Heat sprung from every fiber of Dean’s being. His back arched, his hands twisting where they tied, his neck curled in on itself as his mouth opened in a silent scream. Burning. Burning. In the distance, Dean could swear he heard screams - not his own. There was so much heat. Smoke.

Take your brother outside as fast as you can.

Nicodemus stopped, but only for a moment. The respite was crueler than the curse itself because when he started again it felt ten times worse than before. The heat hitting Dean with the force of a ton of bricks. The screaming again. The needles twisting into every crevice of Dean’s body, every atom of his being turning against himself.

Now, Dean. GO!

‘Ah-h,’ Dean hissed, his body contorting with the pain. He yelled. It kept going. The burning didn’t stop. It was like knives across his body.

‘Call for him,’ Nicodemus said breezily, still sat on his piano stall, ‘or I’ll do more than just curse you.’

The curse relaxed. Dean lay back, panting. There was sweat on his face, pouring down his cheeks and neck. Most of it was sweat, some of it tears. He could barely see. Again, with all the energy he could muster, Dean spat at Nicodemus’ feet.

‘Bite… me,’ he managed through grit teeth.

Nicodemus’ mouth twisted. He flicked his wand and Dean screamed, an invisible knife slicing through him like fresh met. His shirt darkened in an instant, skin splintering open, blood botting his shirt like spilled ink on fresh parchment. The crimson spread across Dean’s abdomen, pooling in the fabric of his clothes. He was shaking his head. No, he thought. No.

‘Call for him.’

Dean slumped forward on his side, curling in on himself like a child in fetal position. There was a metallic taste in his mouth. He realized, idly, that he’d bitten his own tongue. Blood and saliva hung from his mouth, dripping slowly. He just shook his head.

‘No,’ he croaked out. He looked up. ‘You’ll have to kill me.’

Nicodemus stood up. He strolled forwards, hands behind his back.

‘How noble,’ he murmured.

He grabbed Dean roughly by the shoulders, setting him back so he was kneeling in front of him. With a calloused finger and thumb he held Dean’s chin, tilting his head up as his thumb smoothed over Dean’s cheek. It sent shivers down Dean’s spine. Where Castiel smelled of old pines, Nicodemus smelled of ash and death.

‘I don’t see what my brother finds so appealing about you,’ he admitted quietly. ‘Then again, he always had a taste for the simpler things in life.’

And then, his fist collided with Dean’s jaw and Dean was sent sprawling, his face hitting the floor for the second time that day as the world fell into darkness once more.

The last thing Dean thought, desperately, and despite all that he fought it, was Cas.

*********

When Dean woke next, the world outside the Shrieking Shack was dark. His mouth was dry. The blood in his hair had dried and felt crispy and sharp. His face was stiff as he blinked, every expression causing pain through his body.

Nicodemus was still sat there, twirling his wand idly on the piano. In the time that Dean had been out, not much had changed. He must’ve lost enough blood to warrant some severe intervention right about now, but Dean didn’t have a huge amount of optimism that Nicodemus would take him to St Mungo’s any time soon. It would be dinner at Hogwarts, he thought instead. Surely Charlie and Benny would have noticed he’s missing? That he hadn’t come back to The Three Broomsticks earlier that day?

‘Oh, Dean-o,’ Nicodemus sighed, pausing his twirling. ‘Your thoughts are so loud. Even me, a barely trained Occlumens, can hear you a mile away.’ He looked Dean, the same way one might look at a pathetic street dog with a limp. He tilted his head, so like Cas again, but so far from him, and smiled sadly. ‘Your friends aren’t coming for you. Not after that stunt you pulled a few weeks ago - you know, when you disappeared for three whole days?’ Nicodemus raised his brows and Dean’s heart stopped. ‘Oh yes,’ Nicodemus confirmed, ‘I’ve been keeping tabs on you for a long while. You’ve never been alone this year, Dean. Not really. I’ve been with you, every step of the way.’

Dean swallowed, sucking in a shaky breath. Occlumency, he thought bitterly, would be the death of him one day. If he wanted to succeed as an Auror he had to figure out how to shut these damn bastards out of his mind.

‘I won’t call for Castiel,’ Dean said stubbornly. ‘So you might as well kill me now and be done with it.’

‘Some Auror you’ll be,’ Nicodemus sneered. ‘Always straight for the self-sacrifice. It’s really quite pathetic, you know?’

Just kill me, Dean willed. Just fucking kill me.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, the world fuzzy. He needed water. He needed a healing potion. He needed to not be stuck in the Shrieking Shack with his ex-best friend’s lunatic, serial killer, runaway psychopath of a brother.

It was in that moment that Dean felt something in the corner of his mind. A warmth. Right at the forefront. Maybe in usual circumstances, he’d have missed it, but with how sore his head was right now, Dean felt particularly sensitive to the intrusion. He swallowed, trying to relax in front of Nicodemus even as his body tensed. There was something rootling around his brain. Nudging the corners of his psyche. Not something. Someone.

Cas?

Hello, Dean. The words were soft. Like honey on warm bread. Dean let out a breath. Castiel sounded calm. Curious, concerned maybe, but calm. Oh boy, was it good to have Castiel poking around his head again - bloody brilliant, in fact, but terrible, too. He wanted to shut Castiel out, stop him from getting involved.

Dean… the words travelled through his body, Castiel’s voice deep and echoing. Dean, you’re not in the Castle…

How did Castiel even know? Had he been keeping tabs on Dean all year like Nicodemus, too?

Tell me where you are.

Dean shook his head. Everything hurt. He didn’t know how to talk to Castiel - how to astral project his thoughts back without being a mental siren to every single witch or wizard that was at all adept at Occlumency. He opted to say nothing. He wouldn’t drag Castiel into this. It was his worse nightmare. Dean refused to bring him into that.

Nicodemus must’ve sensed something, however, for he stood up. His lip curled. Without a word, he twisted his wand and Dean’s insides screamed in pain. He spasmed on the floor, smacking his head into the wall as he let out a shout of agony. Nicodemus’ curse pressed harder into Dean’s body. It pressed and pressed and pressed, suffocating every microfibre of Dean’s being.

‘Stop...’ he panted, between screams. Begging. ‘S-STOP!’ Nicodemus didn’t even falter.

Dean.

Castiel’s voice again. Dean tried to block it out. He didn’t have the strength. His body was on fire and his mind was spiraling. Out of control.

Dean, where are you? The world was fading again. Tell me where you are.

Dean just shook his head. Nicodemus didn’t stop. Thick cuts carved into his skin, deep and raw. It burned. His skin was singed. He smelled of death, and he was still alive - somehow. Because Nicodemus needed him alive. Think like an Auror, Dean, he told himself sternly. What would an Auror do? God, Dean wasn’t an Auror yet. Hadn’t even had a day’s worth of training. An Auror wouldn’t sit here and let himself die. He’d do something about it. Maybe an Auror would call for help - allow backup to come for support, instead of allowing himself to bleed out on the floor of some abandoned building? He thought of Sam. Of Charlie, Benny. Bobby. Jodie. Alex, Claire - McGonagall, even. All the people he would let down right now if he died, if Nicodemus didn’t relent in his torture. The more Nicodemus carved in his skin, the more blood Dean lost, and the less conscious he could feel himself becoming.

And so, with the final scrap of energy he had left, Dean let his body relax. His mind opened. He was screaming, internally and externally.

Shrieking Shack, he repeated, over and over. Like a lighthouse with a beam. Shrieking Shack... Shrieking Shack… Please... Please…

Nicodemus’ spells relented. He moved forward, grabbing Dean by the front and heaving him into an upright position, keeping him from slumping forward.

‘Tell him I’m here,’ Nicodemus insisted. ‘Tell him I’m ready. Waiting.’

Dean shook his head. ‘Go… to hell,’ he forced out through the blood in his mouth. Nicodemus threw him back to the floor.

They sat there in silence. Nicodemus tapped his wand on the piano, pacing. Dean tried to stay awake - to stay alive. It felt like years but also only mere moments before there was a sharp crack! resounding from the hallway. All of Dean's willpower dissolved in an instant.

Not Cas. Please, not Cas. Say he didn’t come alone.

The door pushed open slowly by itself, the hinges creaking, and there stood Castiel, looking ashen but stern. His eyes were focused solely on Nicodemus. He stepped into the room, his hands empty, placating.

‘Nicodemus,’ he greeted quietly, his words barely a breath. ‘It’s been some time.’

Nicodemus smiled. Despite how unnatural it looked it did somehow look like the most genuine of smiles Nicodemus had managed that night.

‘Brother,’ he said softly. He stepped forwards, arms outstretched. He wrapped his hands around Castiel’s shoulders, pulling him into a gracious, sickly sweet hug. Castiel’s arms remained at his side, tensing.

‘It is good to see you, baby brother,’ Nicodemus continued as they pulled apart. His hand rested on Castiel’s cheek. Lovingly. In fact, Dean could even have sworn Nicodemus was getting emotional - teary. ‘I have missed you, so.’

Castiel shook his head, not reacting to the affections. ‘Let him go, Nick,’ he ordered. Voice firm.

Instantly, Nicodemus’ smile disappeared.

‘A half blood,’ he murmured. ‘That’s all he is, Castiel - a half-blood. Collateral damage for the Dark Lord.’ He held Castiel’s shoulders tight. ‘Join me, Cas. Join us.’ Castiel was shaking his head, but Nicodemus pressed on. ‘All our lives we’ve had to hide who we are,’ he insisted, ‘everyone who has magic must hide it from Muggles, because they’re talentless - wasters - and we have to hide our brilliance in order to placate them. And you, Cas… Our parents suffocated you. Diminished you. You’re the seventh son of a seventh son. I know what you can do. I know how powerful you are. And yet, what did Dad make you do? He made you squash it - hide it - be ashamed… he made you wear that stupid hat all your childhood, and he told you it was wrong to be as strong as you are. That to have your powers is ,em>dangerous - freakish, even to Wizardkind…’

Castiel’s face remained neutral. Dean couldn’t figure out what was happening. He felt so barely present, on the edge of consciousness. Nicodemus’ voice was too quiet, like paper, smooth and fragile, but rough all at once.

‘Under the Dark Lord, you can attain your full power,’ Nicodemus continued. ‘You will not have to live with fear or guilt. And you will be - everything to him. And he will reward you so beautifully, Castiel.’ He touched Castiel’s cheek again. Dean wanted to gag at the scene. ‘Think about it. The freedom. You wouldn’t have to hide anymore.’ His mouth fell at the corners, and he really was crying. Dean couldn’t believe he was watching a Death Eater cry. ‘Cas... I’m all alone out here. I’ve lost everything for this cause. But you’re my brother, and I love you - and I need you to do this with me. I know you’re stronger than the rest of our family. I know you are.’

‘No.’

Castiel’s voice rang clear. Nicodemus looked taken aback. The tears stopped rolling down his cheeks, freezing up.

‘No?’ Nicodemus repeated, his blue eyes looking like they were losing all hope. ‘What do you mean no? You wouldn’t want the glory - the power… the freedom? The Dark Lord wants you, you have all the power in the world to be up there with him. And you don’t want that?’

‘That is your dream, Nicodemus. Not mine.’ Castiel pushed his brother’s hands off his shoulders, swatting them away from his face. ‘I will not go with you. I will never go with you.’

Nicodemus stepped back. He shook his head, forlorn. ‘Brother,’ he breathed. ‘I promised the Dark Lord, that if I could not recruit you - then I would have to do what it takes to convince you. Or kill you. You’re too powerful to not be on our side. He'll kill me if I don't succeed.’ Even Nicodemus looked hesitant at that thought. ‘You are my youngest brother. I love you. Don’t make me do this.’

Castiel clenched his jaw. Steeled. ‘No one makes us do anything.’

Nicodemus tilted his head. Pitifully. ‘I wish that were true,’ he said softly. With an aching regret that Dean didn't believe.

And then, with a snap of hot air, Nicodemus was at Dean’s side. He picked Dean up by the throat, as though he weighed nothing and Dean grunted in surprise. The tip of Nicodemus' wand pressed a mark into Dean’s neck, the tingles of magic curling into Dean’s veins where the wand touched his skin.

‘I will kill him,’ Nicodemus said, voice wretched. ‘Join me, or the Mudblood dies.’

Castiel doesn’t react. He stands still, his hands clenched at his side and his jaw tense, but his eyes don’t leave Nicodemus’, even as Dean claws at Nicodemus’ arm around his neck. Please, he begs Castiel silently, just let him kill me. It’s okay. It’s okay. Let him kill me.

‘Let him go,’ Castiel said calmly.

Nicodemus just shakes his head, desperate now. The tip of his wand scorches Dean’s skin as Nicodemus’ anger burns through the thin wood.

‘I know how you care about him,’ Nicodemus spat.

‘Then you’d know that killing him will not make me join you,’ Castiel reasoned, his voice deep with a tinge of anger now. ‘If you hurt him, I’ll kill you.’

‘That’s what I wanna hear,’ Nicodemus laughed, a raw scratch against Dean’s ear. ‘I know you have it in you, Cassie. That hatred. That power. You could blow up half the world in Dean Winchester’s name - I’ll find a way to make it happen.’

‘I don’t want to kill you, Nick. I want to help you - I want... I want my brother back.’

Castiel looked hurt, but he didn’t look afraid - he looked in control, despite not even having a wand in hand. There was an air of nonchalance to his movements that was strange to watch - as though he knew exactly how to handle life-and-death-situations. With ease. Power resonated from his very being.

The wand dug into Dean’s throat again, harder now. He screwed his eyes shut. What would an Auror do?

Well, an Auror certainly wouldn’t hang off the arm of a Death Eater and hope to be saved. Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Now, Dean. Go.

Dean kept his movements as quick as possible. Rule Number One for holding anyone hostage: don’t press your wand directly to their skin. In one swift motion, Dean ducked his head forward and jerked his elbow back into Nicodemus’ crotch. The attack came so suddenly that Nicodemus was thrown off. He grunted in pain as Dean slammed his foot down on Nicodemus’ and wrangled himself free. He pushed Nicodemus off him, but the success didn’t last.

‘You, little-’ Nicodemus snarled. With a snap of his wrist, Dean was thrown across the room, his back slamming into the wall furthest from Castiel and Nicodemus.

Everything happened in a blur then. One moment Dean’s head was colliding with the fractured wall of the Shrieking Shack, and the next Nicodemus was shooting another spell his direction, the flame of it curling through the air. But Castiel intercepted it, he lunged between Nicodemus and Dean and caught the spell -,em>caught it- in the palm of his hand. Threw it to the side. Like it was trash.

Dean had never seen magic like it.

Nicodemus let out a low whistle. ‘You’ve been practicing,’ he praised. ‘What else can you do?’

He didn’t wait for an answer. He threw another spell at Dean and watched, impressed, as Castiel batted it away with his bare hands, the magic pooling like electricity in the room as it bounced from floor to wall, ricocheting until it fizzled.

Castiel tipped his head forward silently, his eyes glowing with such brightness that Dean couldn’t bear to look at him, and Nicodemus flew backward a foot. When he regained his balance, he looked impressed but pissed.

Nicodemus raised his wand arm, red flames spiraling towards Castiel, and Castiel blocked them without even lifting his hand now. It was as though an invisible forcefield had arisen around him. Every spell bounced off him seamlessly, without effort. Dean lay there, breath coming in slow gasps, and just watched as they dueled. Well, it was more like, Nicodemus threw spells and Castiel rendered them utterly useless.

He’d never seen Castiel fight before. In Defence Against the Dark Arts, growing up, Castiel had always refused to practice in front of the class - and now Dean understood why. It was scary, what he could do without effort. The magic around him was electric. His eyes were glowing a pale light. His hands became balls of energy, which he threw at Nicodemus, the energy in the room building and building with power, to the point where the hairs on Dean’s head stood with the static of it all. Dean didn’t know where he’d learned to duel like that - if he’d ever learned at all. It looked as easy as breathing to Castiel.

The fighting continued. Nicodemus was struggling. His spells were rougher, becoming less accurate, and his movements became labored.

‘CRUCIO!’ he screamed, but Castiel grabbed the spell in his hand, twisted it, and tossed it to the side. Dean had never seen magic be touched like that - like it was something solid, to be manipulated.

Desperate now, Nicodemus moved onto worse things.

‘AVADA KEDAVRA!’ he yelled, the green light tearing across the room at break-neck speed.

Dean’s stomach swirled. For a moment, he really thought it might hit Castiel, and the idea of Cas falling mid-duel caught in his chest. He got to his knees, the world falling in and out of focus. Castiel missed the spell, narrowly. And when Nicodemus craned his arm back a second time, Dean didn’t think twice. He leaped.

Dean, no.

His body collided with Nicodemus’, throwing them both to the floor. Nicodemus’ wand clattered across the room. Without their wands, magic was on the back burner. Dean struggled against Nicodemus, straddling the man. He yanked his hands with strength he didn’t realize he had, the ropes around his wrists cutting into his skin before breaking loose.

Nicodemus was yelling, calling Dean a half breed, a half blood - filthy, the reason for his brother’s downfall. Dean ignored him. He punched Nicodemus in the jaw. And then again. And again, and again, until hands grabbed at his chest, dragging him away.

‘Stay out of this,’ Castiel ordered harshly.

‘He’s gonna kill you,’ Dean snarled, pushing against Castiel, his mouth filled with blood and hate. He knew he must look a sight, covered in his own blood and a dozen cuts and bruises. He knew he was weak - that his punches had probably barely landed. He didn’t even know which way was up right now. But that man wanted to kill Castiel, so Dean wanted him dead. ‘Cas, look at what he’s done to us. Look at what he’s done. He won't stop until one of us is dead.’

‘Dean.’ Castiel held Dean back, pushing him against the wall. His eyes were still glowing, his skin electric as he held Dean at arm’s length, shielded from Nicodemus. It was the first time they’d looked at each other eye-to-eye in weeks. Dean never thought it would be like this.

‘I’ll handle it.’

He was about to say something else, but the moment of distraction that Dean provided was enough for Nicodemus to gain the upper hand, his wand reunited with his hand. With a snap, Nicodemus threw Castiel across the room. Castiel slammed into a chest of drawers, the wooden structure crumbling around him.

Nicodemus stood up and wiped his jaw, flicking the blood from his fingertips. A bust lip. That’s all Dean had given him.

‘My, my,’ he panted. ‘You are bold for a Mudblood.’

Nicodemus moved towards Dean. He craned his arm back, wand in hand, and with a crack Dean felt both his knees snap. He let out a scream of agony, the pain blinding as he fell to the floor. Dean’s scream was matched with Castiel’s roar of anguish across the room, the windows shattering with the force of Castiel’s rage.

Nicodemus ignored Castiel’s anger. He lifted his arm again, aiming straight for Dean’s heart. ‘AVADA-’

The words caught, dying on Nicodemus’ lips. He grunted, eyes widening. His body went stiff, wand falling from limp hands and he looked down, noticing, dumbly, the dark color spreading across his chest.

‘Ungh…’ he moaned, pathetic.

The air in the room became still at first and then it picked up, the drapes furling with a sudden gust of wind. Piano sheet music swirled through the air like a tornado, the walls creaked, and the whole shack wavered as Castiel stood in the center of it all, the magnet of all the power in the room. His anguish was so loud, so painful, and his anger caused the entire room to shake. His eyes were a blinding light and his feet weren’t on the ground, he was hovering, just slightly. Balls of light in his palms. Light in his eyes. His mouth. His ears. He looked horrifying. He looked like the origin and center of magic itself, and the magic that spilled from him felt like the ancient kind. The kind that dust was built from, and soil originated. The kind the Pagans used to fear. The Norse used to worship. The Greeks used to try to understand.

Nicodemus was trapped, statuesqye, and the blood on his shirt spread until he fell to his knees, caught in the whirlwind that Castiel had created with magic Dean didn’t understand. Light split through Nicodemus’ chest, searing through him like lasers, tearing him open at the seams. Nicodemus screamed and the room tore itself apart as Nicodemus was torn, limb by limb, from magic that was everywhere and nowhere at all. Beams of light cut through every corner of Nicodemus’ body, mingling with blood and yells. It was too much for Dean to witness. Too much to bear.

You won’t hurt Dean. The words were silent but everywhere. You will not hurt Dean.

‘Brother,’ Nicodemus whispered, on his knees. How easily he’d fallen in the end. ‘Brother… p-please.’

At Nicodemus’ plea, the light faded in Castiel’s eyes. It faltered. He crumpled onto the floor as the power ebbed and Nicodemus fell forward, on his hands and knees. He spat blood, his sandy hair flopping into his face, his face skeletal and weak. Without his wand, he was useless, and his wand had been taken in the storm of Castiel’s power.

Castiel’s hair was white as he stumbled forward, into Nicodemus’ space. He collapsed down onto his knees. Nicodemus twitched. The blood kept spreading from his body, and he stiffened where he knelt, crouching their like a wounded animal. Castiel’s hands came to the man’s shoulders, propping him up. He looked close to tears. They both did.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Castiel said quietly, distraught, holding his face in his palms. Desperate. His eyes had cleared now, the brightness falling away. ‘Nick, I am so sorry. What have I done?’

Nicodemus shook his head. He slumped into Castiel’s arms, his chin resting on Castiel’s shoulder. He was losing consciousness.

‘Don’t… don’t let me die, Cas,’ he begged. Pathetic. ‘D-Don’t you dare let me die...’

Castiel looked like he’d lost all of his strength already. As though, even if he could heal Nicodemus, he wouldn’t have the power to.

‘And let you live, so that you can kill more innocent people?’ Castiel twisted his face. He was crying truly now, silver streams that ran train tracks down his face, and Dean wanted to comfort him, but he could barely see straight. Could hardly move. ‘So that you can hurt the people I care about? So that- so that you can use your own powers for evil?’

Nicodemus collapsed forward into his chest, fingers gripping weakly at Castiel’s robes. Castiel wrapped his arms around him, supporting him, his hands slick with Nicodemus’ blood as he held him close, and Nicodemus’ breaths came in stuttered gasps.

‘You were my brother,’ Castiel whispered.

Dean can hear it, and he wishes he couldn’t. He wishes more than anything that he wasn’t lying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, bleeding out himself, his knees blinding him with so much pain that he thinks he might pass out, watching helplessly as Castiel’s brother died in his arms. A witness, that’s all he was. A witness.

Castiel’s hand moved through Nicodemus’ blood, finding purchase there as his palms glowed, as though in a last ditch attempt to heal him, or at least ease his pain. The light started and sputtered out. The hope in that moment died with Nicodemus as his body shuddered and spasmed for a final time. Whatever Castiel had done to him, when the light had seared through his body and torn him apart - there was no coming back from it. His robes has scorched holes into the fabric, Nicodemus' body destroyed like it had been nothing more than a vessel for his evil.

Castiel let his hand fall to the floor and he held onto Nicodemus tighter, muffling a sob into Nicodemus’ collar. He rocked his frame back and forth as his brother fell limp. All sign of life drained from him as his eyes glassed over in Castiel’s arms.

He was dead.

A heavy weight sank into the room as Castiel knelt over Nicodemus, cradling him. He wept silently, and Dean watched, his own eyes burning with tears - because he himself was in pain, but mostly because it hurt to watch Castiel in a worse kind of pain entirely. Dean had no idea what he would do if roles were reversed; if it was Sam who wanted to destroy the world. He’d let the world burn. He knows that for certain. He’d never be strong enough to lose his brother.

After what felt like an eternity, Dean crawls across the floor, dragging himself over the splintered wood with his bleeding hand, his aching bones, and his broken knees. The world fades in and out and he needs an anchor. He needs…

‘Cas,’ he chokes out.

Now that the imminent threat was gone, the walls of pain begin to crumble. Dean knows he’s crying, too, but it’s mostly because if he doesn’t cry then he thinks he might die from the raw pain in his bones. Every particle in his body feels torn out, reassembled, and stuffed back in.

‘Cas.’

The adrenaline eases off. Castiel looks up, laying Nicodemus’ body down gently, the glaze in his eyes clearing when he realizes how badly Dean is hurt.

He came to Dean’s side in an instant, his hands on Dean’s shoulders, helping him roll over on the floor. Dean grabbed Castiel’s shoulder, pulling himself up with a grunt of pain. He should be passed out by now, he thinks, and now that Nicodemus is dead, there’s no fear to cling onto. He should let go. He should pass out. But still, he clings onto Castiel’s shoulder.

‘Dean,’ Castiel breathes, the panic in the edge of his voice taking over. His hands are steadying as they hold Dean’s body. ‘Shit, Dean. I’ve got you.’

Dean smiled, despite everything. He winced as wrapping an arm around Castiel’s shoulders.

‘You came,’ he whispered. His voice was wrecked. Everything felt distant.

Castiel blinked. He looked surprised at the statement, surprised and then hurt.

‘Of course I came.’

Dean shook his head. Delirious. He holds back another grunt of pain, hearing the way his breathing stutters, catching in his nose, on the edges of his mouth. He grips Castiel’s shoulder tightly.

‘You shouldn’t have - why’d you… why’d you do that? You knew it was - was a trap.’

‘I wasn’t going to let you die, Dean,’ he said weakly, hands touching Dean’s face, smoothing his hair back, his expression serious.

His fingertips were warm, healing, a glow spreading as he eased the pain across Dean’s face, the lighter cuts sealing themselves. Castiel’s palms stuttered with light, his power flickering, waning. On and off. He’d used up his resources, that much was obvious.

‘I’m sorry,’ Castiel said, voice thick with guilt. He looked down at his hands, wrecked. The pain in Dean’s knees ebbs away only slightly when Castiel hovers his hands over his kneecaps, nothing like his usual healing powers. His hair turns a bleak gray. He’s used up. Exhausted.

‘Don’t be,’ Dean mumbled. His breath stutters again. One hand gripped Castiel’s shoulder tightly, the other fell to Castiel’s elbow, holding onto it with the only strength Dean had left. ‘You came.’ Castiel has to know. ‘I didn’t think you’d come.’

When Castiel looks at him, then, it’s with universe of pain in his eyes. His eyes are bright, shining. Guilt, fear, regret. Fondness. Everything.

‘I’ll always come when you call,’ Castiel whispered. ‘I felt your pain and I wasn’t going to leave you here. I’m sorry I ever gave you reason to doubt that.’ He took Dean’s hand, moving it from his elbow so he could hold it tight. Imploring.

‘You’re my best friend.’ It was simple. It was quiet. It was honest. It was everything Dean had longed to hear for so long. ‘And I’d die for you.’

Dean slumped back, his breath coming in sharp gasps as Castiel’s spare hand moved across his chest, healing the cuts that resided there.

‘Say that again,’ he mumbled.

Castiel paused. ‘I’m sorry I-’

‘-Not that bit. After.’

Castiel sat back on his heels. ‘You’re my best friend.’

Dean’s next breath came easy. He smiled. ‘Yeah,’ he mumbled. ‘Good. I know.’

‘You know.’

‘Yeah, I know.’

‘We need to go,’ Castiel said then, expression severe. He shook his head. ‘But you’re too wounded to move. And I don’t know if I… if I have the strength…’

‘Nuh-uh. We can do it,’ Dean insisted, gripping Castiel’s hand tighter than before. ‘Get us outta here, man. Just… get us somewhere safe… And fast…’

‘Somewhere safe,’ Castiel repeated. They can’t apparate into Hogwarts. Where else was safe?

Dean’s vision started to blur. He let out a grunt as the pain in his abdomen became too hard to ignore - Castiel’s attempts at healing weren’t working. The slices across Dean’s chest and stomach were too deep. Impenetrable. He felt nauseous.

‘Hold onto me,’ Castiel whispered, as though Dean could think to do anything else.

Castiel shoots one final look across the room at Nicodemus’ body, a crumpled, unbelievably small form in the twisted walls of the Shrieking Shack. Dean can see that Castiel is torn. Leave him, Dean wanted to say. It’s okay. You can take him with us, it’s okay, he thinks he should say instead. But Castiel never gave him the chance to say either.

With a crack! the two of them were hurtling into the ether - Dean didn’t know where they were going, and he tried not to struggle, tried not to pass out, but it felt like all his limbs were being torn apart, stretched, and reassembled in the wrong order. For the hundredth time that day. Castiel pulled one direction, Dean the other, but they held on tight to each other, lost in the tunnel of travel. Until a pain twisted in Dean’s stomach, a pain that should’ve hurt like no other but paled in comparison to the torture Dean’s body had already endured that evening.

When his feet hit the ground a moment later, it was breaking point for Dean's body. His knees, still broken, still ruined, seared with a pain that wasn’t godly.

Everything was out of Dean’s reach.

‘Dean,’ Castiel said, distantly.

A hand on his cheek again. Castiel’s arms wrapped around his back, supporting him as he slumped forwards. His forehead found a shoulder to lean on. There was blood everywhere, and Dean retched from the stench of it, his own burned skin. He slipped down onto his knees which pulsed with the pain and he puked, Castiel holding him by the shoulders.

‘Dean. Dean… It’s okay. I’m here. Stay with me, Dean… Dean, stay with me….’

Everything became small. Distant.

‘S’okay,’ he heard himself say. ‘Where are we?’

‘No… Dean…’ Castiel was scrambling frantically, but everything felt slow to Dean. ‘Dean, please.’ His hands, clammy, held Dean’s face. Dean didn’t know if he was standing or sitting, lying or falling. There was just pain, and blood loss, and bile in the back of his throat. And Castiel’s voice, panicked and far away. ‘I don’t know where are. I’m sorry. I’m sorry - I don’t know. I was thinking of home.’

Dean would laugh if it wasn’t so painful. ‘So was I,’ he admits, angry at his own stupidity. He should’ve kept his mind empty, clear, let Cas lead the way.

‘Oh, god. God. You got splinched. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have… we should’ve… Dean, Jesus…’

Dean just shook his head. ‘Am all good, Cas,’ he mumbled. Far from all good. ‘You’re here. M’good.’

Castiel settled him on the ground. Frantic hands holding onto him tightly.

‘No. No, no. Stay with me, Dean,’ he was saying. Pleading. His hands moved across Dean’s chest, desperately trying to heal him. But the splinch was too much. Everything had been too much. Castiel had wiped out half the Shrieking Shack, killed his own brother, how could he ever have the strength to heal Dean of all his wounds. ‘Dittany,’ he whispered desperately. ‘I need some Dittany.’

‘S’alright… M’alright, Cas.’

‘No, you’re not. You’re bleeding out, Dean.’ He was wrapping cloth around Dean’s abdomen. Dean’s eyes were closing. ‘No, keep them open. Dean please… Please.’ Every word was panicked now. Every inflection. ‘Dean, stay with me.’ Desperate.

Everything was slowing down. Breath was getting harder to catch.

‘M’here,’ he told Cas. His voice was far away. Weak. ‘Right here.’ He coughed, thick blood streaming down his chin. ‘It’s over,’ he grunted, screwing up his nose in pain. He closed his eyes. ‘It’s over. You came. You’re here. And… m’glad. S’all I wanted. All year.’

‘It’s not over,’ Castiel demanded. His hands moved to Dean’s face again. Cool fingers clutching at his cheeks. Dean’s head lolled. ‘It’s not. You can’t leave me, Dean. You can’t. Not after - not after everything we’ve been through.’ Castiel was crying again now, thick tears that refused to slow down. They were warm against Dean’s skin. Dean could hear the shaky breaths, the panic.

‘I love you,’ Castiel said forcefully. His thumb brushed at Dean’s cheeks. ‘You need to know that. I need you to know that. I always have, Dean. For as long as I’ve known you. Longer than that, even. And I'm sorry I didn't say it before, I’m so sorry. Dean, please - please, it’s not over. Don’t close your eyes. Stay with me.’

Dean kept his eyes closed. He had lost his strength.

‘Say it again,’ he managed, between haggard breaths. The pain was immense. So much so that he’d started to numb to it.

Castiel’s hands stilled. Dean opened his eyes with effort, wanting to see Castiel say it. To verify it with his eyes more than just his ears. Castiel smoothed Dean’s hair back. Dean didn’t know where they were, but there were trees, and even in the darkness he could tell that they were beautiful. Beautiful trees. The trees silhouetted Castiel’s face as he came, in and out of focus.

‘I love you,’ Castiel said firmly.

At this, Dean managed a smile. Faint. Pained. ‘Good,’ he said, coughing roughly as the blood pooled in the back of his mouth. ‘I know.’

‘You know.’ Castiel’s voice broke.

Dean nodded. His hand reached up. Palm finding Castiel’s cheek. ‘Cas. I know.’

The space around Castiel went dark. He sucked in a shaky breath. His hand fell. Castiel’s own palms flickered, his power slipping away. Used up. Gone.

‘No, Dean,’ he whimpered. ‘Dean, stay with me. Stay with me, okay? It’s gonna be okay. Dean… Dean. Please. Please…’

Stay with me.

Stay with me.

Stay with me.

And then the world faded away.