Look At You

"Dean." Castiel breathed and the word was like music to the hunter's ears. He turned, forcing himself to look at the glowing blue eyes in amazement. It had been almost three days, or what Dean thought were three days, since the broken angel had last spoke. His voice was rough, deeper and more of a growl than Dean was used to, but there was a second voice in it, a high-pitched song that echoed and weaved around the first.
Dean hadn't wanted to even look at the angel since they'd stopped talking, always making some mental excuse to keep his gaze away from that of his friend. He'd look for the monsters of purgatory, to the strange lights in the sky that almost acted like stars, anything other than at the angel.
Castiel had warned Dean of what happened in Purgatory, that every soul there was a monster. And it was true. What Dean hadn't expected was that he'd meant that living souls were monsters as well.
In this dark and strange place, attributes were changed, tuned. You're soul was on your sleeve and any part of your personality was personified. Dean was glad that there had been no mirrors in Purgatory; he didn't want to know what he was becoming.
Castiel reached for him, his elongated fingers clutching Dean's arm. They were bloodstained and the nails were black from caked dirt, but they were still mostly Castiel's hands. There were burns on them though and the skin was stretched tight to make room for an extra set of knuckles growing in them.
Dean peeled them off of his arm, intertwining his own fingers with the angels. It felt strange, but the angel needed it, needed to know that Dean was still there for him, even with his new appearance.
The burns were all over Castiel's body, a few of them on his face, circling his eyes. They were scabby and hollow, just like Lucifer's had been when he started to burn through his vessel. His eyes were oversized, the lids retracted so that they were just glowing blue orbs with the skin cracking around them like porcelain. It was hard to even look at him this way. He was a hideous, grotesque thing.
"Dean." He repeated and the hunter closed his eyes, feeling those fingers clutch at his so hard that he was afraid that the taut skin would rip off. "Why are you still here?"
Dean laughed, trying to shake the sobs from his throat. This thing before him, it was hardly Castiel any more, not in body and hardly in mind. Dean stroked a boney and strange leg through the tattered and bloody white pants, just over the spot where Dean had stabbed him. "I had to look out for you." Dean's voice rasped, "I couldn't have left you like this."
"I deserve to be left, Dean." and he could hear the sobs in Castiel's throat, this angel who was just learning how to feel emotions, "I attacked you. I was supposed to be protecting you."
The hunter smiled sadly and ran his hand through the angel's black hair, most of what he touched coming out with his hand. He tried to hide his disgust in it, "You're minds not right, Cas. Its okay, I know it will be. We'll get you there."
Castiel couldn't keep it in anymore. He was a mess of blood and pain and insanity and the tears started to fall from those strange eyes, getting trapped in the cracks surrounding them.
Dean's ears pricked up as howls sprang forth in the distance. They had been attacked a few times since Dean had stabbed his friend, but they couldn't move to a safer spot. Dean couldn't move Castiel until his leg was healed a bit better and even though things like that seemed expedited in purgatory, the angel was still too hurt to move.
Then the fingers tightened even further and Dean turned back to his friend, he was seizing uncontrollable. Dean hadn't seen Castiel do anything like this before, not since he was possessed by the Leviathans, and he reached forward, releasing the hand and holding onto his shoulders instead, pinning him to the dry and black earth.
After a few moments of this the angel's back arched and he let out a terrifying scream of agony and prowess. Dean tried to cover his mouth his one of his hands, to silence him through the pain, but he couldn't. The mouth was open far too wide to even be considered human. So instead, Dean clasped his ears, feeling the blood drip from them as capillaries were ruptured. Almost on instinct he clenched his eyes closed as well.
When the angel finally collapsed, sweat on his brow and panting through semi-consciousness, Dean could hear that the howling was even louder now, the creatures drawn by the sound of agony. Dean's pistol had run out of bullets long ago, so he drew his knife, hoping it would be enough. He'd fought creatures off before while Castiel had been silently healing and evolving, but it sounded like there were more of the creatures coming than usual.
He took a glance down, trying to see what had happened to cause the angel such pain. Castiel was twitching in a pool of his blood, which had turned into black leviathan goop at some point. Even though he was lying on his back, Dean knew that it was shredded. Two pairs of large wings had ripped out from his shoulder blades, if you could even call them wings. They were mutilated and twisted, more bone and sinew than anything else. Fleetingly, Dean wondered if the wings would have looked like something actually angelic if it weren't for him. Because of Dean, this angel had been dragged through the mud of sin and had come out a twisted, mutated thing, just like the things coming from his back.
Hesitantly, he reached down, running his fingers through the baby feathers that were starting to grow. They were just under feathers, and they'd soon be covered by the real feathers, but these would be the softest. They were jet black though, not white like an angels wings should be, and as he touched them they stuck to his fingers like tar. They were not what they should have been.
He threw his attention off of the trembling creature, the howling having stopped. They were there.
You could have called them wolves if you really wanted to, but that would have been a large stretch. They were black and shadowy and as human as they could have been while still looking like canines. Their blackness dripped to the ground like a disease. Skin Walkers.
There were eight of them, a much larger pack than Dean was used to and they surrounded the two hungrily, their golden eyes glowing and their breaths fog in the warm air. Dean wasn't sure if he could fight them all off, not this time.
One of them, a bit larger and bulkier than the others, lounged first. It ignored Dean and went immediately to the downed angel. Dean gritted his teeth but bounded forward, one foot stepping onto a ruined wing. He slashed with his blade and it was quickly buried into the monsters side. It whined with pain as he twisted the blade, the silver burning the interior flesh. It fell to its side as he wrenched it back out of the monster.
Keeping his eyes on the others he bent forward, shaking Castiel to wake him, muttering that they had to go, they had to run, and, for God's sake, they had to do it now, but the angel didn't stir.
Two more of the monsters ran forward, this time heading for Dean, he swiped as one jumped at his face, slicing its lower jaw off, but the other one grabbed a hold of his leg. It was strong, stronger than a man and an animal combined and Dean screamed as the hot needles of teeth dub into his calf. It shook him, like a shark or a pit-bull and Dean was on the ground.
In moments Dean was covered, claws and fangs digging into him. He was swallowed up by the shadows of their bodies, their black muck dripping into open wounds and orifices. He couldn't keep from screaming, the pain like rusty syringes ripping through his sensitive flesh.
Through the darkness he saw a light, a blinding light. Through the snarls and ripping flesh, he heard the sound of wings fluttering.
The light intensified and suddenly the black creatures were no longer snarling, they weren't even howling, they were screaming. Static and electricity in their throats as they ripped apart like popped balloons burning away into nothingness. With them gone, the light was blinding and Dean covered his eyes as best he could with one bleeding arm.
The light was warmth though and it felt as if it were building soft and comforting hands, which reached out and ran sensitive fingers over Dean's wounds. He felt as if he were being lulled to sleep, the warmth seeping into him, the wounds closing up as if they had never been there.
Then the light faded and Dean was sitting on the black ground, looking up at Castiel. The wings were now covered in feathers, looking almost like a hawks, with white undersides, speckled with black and tipped in silver. They seemed to have gotten too close to the sun at some point, as all of the feathers had a plastic, melted look to them.
The grace gone, the angel fell forward, onto his knees and would have landed on his face if Dean had raced forward, wrapping his arms around Castiel's once beautiful form and catching him. His clothing was ripped to pieces, hanging off of him in pieces and Dean could see even more silver tipped feathers poking out from his skin. It must have been painful to grow them and Dean understood why the angel had screamed in such pain.
"Not alone." The two voices stuttered weakly. Castiel had used all of himself in that attack and it would be a long while for him to absorb a new supply of grace from the dark world around them. Dean was surprised he'd been able to use grace at all since he hadn't been able to before they fell into Purgatory.
"No." Dean answered; tightening his grip on Castiel's torn back, "You're here with me, I know."
"No." Castiel breathed, "Dogs."
Dean swallowed hard, but he could feel the electric darkness behind it, hear it snapping at its surroundings. The Skin Walkers had led something to them, although Castiel's scream and light display hadn't helped.
He hadn't even fully turned around when the creature spoke.
"Hello Dean." came a strong female voice.
She floated mere inches from the ground, her black skin glowing as green veins flashed through it. Her hair wriggled around her head, thick barbs coming from the tips. Her legs never seemed to end, a lightning bolt crack rifting through her torso. But there was something in her cold, black eyes that Dean recognized, so he focused on them instead of on the red blood dripping from her arms.
"Ruby?"
"Hm, good job, Dean." She mocked, coming even closer.
Dean glanced at the angel on his shoulder, hoping there was some measly scrap of Grace left and Castiel would be able to whisk them away, but the pale angel was breathing hard, his ruined and hideous face buried in Dean's neck as he fought for consciousness.
"Where's Sam?" Ruby asked as Dean wriggled out from under Castiel, laying him gently onto the ground.
"He's not here." Dean replied, "He's safe."
Dean pulled out his knife once more as he stood up, trying not to reward Ruby by looking her in the face. It wasn't a demon blade, it couldn't kill her. It wouldn't have been able to anyway. Nothing can die in purgatory for long, other than the living.
"Oh." She crooned, stepping towards Dean with a shake of the shoulders, trying to entice him. Dean was safe though, he couldn't understand how anyone could be seduced by what the demon had become. "That's a shame. I was going to have so much fun with him for what he did to me."
"Is that so?" Dean asked, finally turning towards her. He was sure that she hadn't seen the bladed or, if she had, she didn't care about it.
"He killed me!" she sounded hurt, "After everything I did for him, he used what I taught him to kill me! Who does a thing like that?"
She was almost close enough for a kiss now and Dean could smell the rot and blood on her breath. Just a little bit closer…
"Maybe you thought you two had something you didn't." he offered, smirking, "I know my brother. He's not turned on by breath like that."
Her black eyes sparked with anger and she raised a bloody arm, ready to strike him down. Good. She was close enough now.
Dean stepped forward, bringing his small blade up, up into her ribcage. She sputtered for a moment, her mouth open in shock but he pulled the blade back out. Before she could do anything, strike or flee, he brought the blade up again, this time at an angle, slicing her throat.
She fell to the ground, toxic green blood spewing from her body and she reached for the wounds, trying to close them up with her hands.
Dean couldn't wait for her to heal up and attack them. He grabbed Castiel by what was left of his overcoat and pulled him to his feet, wrapping an arm around the abhorrent angel's waist.
"C'mon." Dean muttered, "Let's get you someplace safe."
He dragged the angel out of the clearing, looking for some form of shelter as the always twilight sky bruised with the first signs of rain.