Comma Suetra

Dean didn’t say goodbye.

No, that’s not accurate. He may have done. It’s difficult to tell, with Lucifer in his mind, controlling what he sees and how he perceives the world. The Archangel’s power had filled every inch of the room in a manner horribly, viscerally reminiscent to the first time Castiel had faced one of his older brothers, all the more menacing because there would be no quick death here, no respite or divine deliverance from this threat inside Castiel himself. Sudden, overwhelming terror had blinded his senses as effectively as the hallucinations, send him stumbling backwards in panic. No, Dean may have said any number of things without Castiel’s knowledge. Dean may have been the true form of any number of gestures made vicious by Lucifer’s guise. In truth, the only thing that Castiel regretted was that he had not had a chance to say goodbye himself. Dean had always said that Cas was terrible at doing that.

Oh, little brother. You choose your friends so badly. He couldn’t wait to get out of here once you’d made your big sacrifice and invited me in, could he? 

It wasn’t true. Castiel tries to believe that. Tries to hold on to the look on Dean’s face as he’d pulled the trenchcoat around Castiel’s shoulders, the fact that he’d kept it all this time. It is difficult, when so much of him feels that he hadn’t deserved even that much, but even then, Dean of all people had been the one to defend his indefensible actions. In many ways, Castiel had once believed he knew Dean Winchester better than anyone else, and he could read the words that Dean never said aloud in the actions he had taken. Lucifer was wrong. Against all odds, Dean still cared. Castiel holds tight to his faith in that like a drowning man to a lifeline.

His faith never seems to matter to Lucifer. Of course it doesn’t. The hallucination of his brother is inside Castiel’s own mind, drawing everything - even its personality - from his own memories and fears; he would know his weaknesses better than Castiel himself does. Dean is central in his taunts, becomes a favourite body to wear in Castiel’s vision as he does so, and Castiel cannot stop it from hurting.

Lucifer spends his time rifling through Castiel’s memories for barbs to throw. Giving him graphic detail of the torture he put Sam through in the months since Castiel broke his wall and ruined his mind. Reminding him of Dean’s call for his death, his refusal to accept Castiel’s apology while he lay in pain on the laboratory floor. Conjuring the corpses of all the people, all the angels Castiel killed in his stint playing Daddy in his Old Testament temper and letting him feel suffocated under their crushing weight. The surprisingly effective Daphne was a pretty thing, though. Maybe your taste isn’t so hopeless after all. D’you think they’ll tell her what happened to her husband, or will the demons kill her for information about where you are first? For the one who loved humans so much, Castiel, you sure didn’t care about her when you remembered what you are, did you? Daphne had been nothing more than a dear friend, married for legal, religious, and advertisement reasons, but she had shown him more genuine, unguarded kindness than he had even received from the Winchesters. The thought of repaying her with torment and death made him clench the trenchcoat so hard between his hands that his knuckles turned white. She is an innocent, he thinks. Sam and Dean will protect her. Dean will not allow her to come to harm. He has to believe this.

The worst is when Lucifer finds the memories of when Castiel underwent Heaven’s re-education. The pain, the suffering, the judgement of his brothers, and finally his breaking and betrayal of Dean - the first time you betrayed him, Lucifer helpfully reminds him, as Castiel relieves each endless, awful moment.

Castiel’s only comfort, as Lucifer gets creative just as Castiel remembers him from when that creativity was on Heaven’s side, is the filthy coat Dean carried for so long. They allowed him to keep the few personal items he had come in with. He was diagnosed with chronic schizophrenia, after all, not suicidal impulses. Do you even remember how to draw your blade, after all that time playing human? Shortly after he was left alone, feeling the drugs swirling uselessly through his system, Castiel pulls the trenchcoat from the drawer where they had gingerly placed it. Bloody and stained it may be, but Castiel clings to it like a shield. It is hope against Lucifer, and the eternity he has to spend with him. Dean cares. Dean forgave him, or would have done. He did this for Dean, to protect Sam, and the fierce rightness he feels about that is a burning flame in his chest that Lucifer’s ice cannot extinguish.

He holds it close to his chest as he fakes sleep for the orderlies, breathing in the smell of car trunks, gun oil, and leather that overlays the musty lake-smell and lingering scent of Jimmy Novak’s vessel. Dean held this, kept this, hoped and believed in him all this time. Dean cares. 

He hears Dean praying, quietly, at night, and although he can never be sure if it is reality he believes it. The words are too supportive for Lucifer’s tricks. ‘I’m sorry, Cas. If you can hear me, thank you. You…you did real good. When we’ve killed the Leviathans, we’ll come back and fix you somehow, I promise. We’re not just gonna leave you there. I’m not. I promise.’ 

It feels like a barrier that Lucifer can never break, a part of Castiel that will always be protected. His heart, Meredith says, when she comes to find Sam to tell him that she is being discharged with a full recovery soon and coaxes Castiel’s story from him instead. Dean is in his heart, and Lucifer can’t take that from him. He doesn’t know if he deserves this, still, this hope or respite among the torment, but he drinks it in. Dean cares. They may not have shared a goodbye together, but Sam is healthy and happy again, and Dean cares. 

He holds the coat in his lap and smiles. It is weak, small, but real, and even Lucifer cannot wipe it away.

(Source: neraiutsuze)