#legacyofcain

[ucmoore-art]

Quick sketches (seriously it took me like 15-20 mins. Surprised me too) before I layout the pages for some client work. #progress #ucmooreart #sketching #illustration #comic #legacyofcain #artistsoninstagram https://www.instagram.com/p/Bsr1qYKhrov/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=ea7yp3mqn52f

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"Do it." Black eyes opened and the holy light burned, but Dean withstood it. Had to. These were their last moments. A last stand. Dean knew he wouldn't be able to do it should it be the other way around. But it seemed that fortune smiled on him. Cas didn't believe he was Dean. Thought it was just another Demon mocking him. He could use that to his advantage. "I'm in pain. Please, Cas. I need you. I need you to end this."

Something was crawling up his throat, was filling his chest and making each and every breath an effort. He blinked, struggling to hold to the image of smoke and sin that lay before him. 

Easier this way. 

Better. 

Don't look. 

Can't see. 

He jerked the demon, slamming it into the ground as hard as he dared as a breath burst from his lungs - skirting the ragged edges of a sob. 

"I said enough!" He shouted, loathing the tremor that crept upon the fraying bounds of his voice. 

He clung to his wrath as a child might a blanket, desperate for its warm embrace against a bitter wind that blew beyond. He would not falter, even if his strength failed him. 

One daring hellspawn, blasphemous in every and all regards. Taunting Castiel, playing upon the yawning weakness that is all but common knowledge. 

"He was...He was killed. He's dead. I know it. I know because I cannot feel him anymore." Why he felt it necessary to speak such words, he did not know. 

He simply spoke. 

"   I can't....feel him."

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He crashed into the ground beneath him. The earth shaking with their collision. And all Dean could do was smile. He hadn't wanted this. Hadn't wanted Cas to see him like this. But perhaps it was better this way? Perhaps dying at Castiel's hand was right and just? Maybe then he could be at peace? Dean allowed himself a moment to gaze upon the beauty of the Angel's true form, before closing his eyes and baring his throat. "Hey, Cas."

He wanted to roar. To shout his frustrations across the stars, to shake the very foundations of the earth for the sake of his endless rage. That turbulent uncertainty that had stirred deep within his chest has manifested as explosive rage. 

The barest of opportunities afforded to him, and Castiel was all but burning with the need to kill.

His every muscle was drawn taut with it, his teeth were bared and his eyes alight as he closed his hand about the bared throat of the creature beneath him - squeezing dangerously hard. 

It wasn't struggling. 

It wasn't moving. 

Wasn't snapping and snarling its echoing fury, wasn't attempting to slip beyond his defenses through cunning words and careful promises. 

It wasn't...doing anything. 

Until it was talking. 

In a voice he knew. 

A voice that he had been reaching for. A voice he had committed to the abyss. 

It saw him hesitate, eyes widening in surprise for a fraction of a moment before he bore down once more - trembling with indignation. 

"Don't you dare -" He whispered through clenched teeth. "Don't dare use...I will cast you to my kin if you think to speak like that again." 

He shifted his grip, resting more of his immense weight upon the demon's chest - every intent lying within suffocation at this point. 

"Not him."

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The Demon licked his lips and moved ever closer. His hands rested on the Angel's shoulders, even though it burned him. Dean looked upon Castiel with determination, but also a softness. "Three days." And then he vanished in a roar of Hellfire and smoke.

That Dean drew nearer still in an effort to offer comfort and willful concern garnered a moment's hesitation in his apocalyptic anger, bright eyes all but burning into the smokey facade of the mistakenly damned. 

He wanted to speak - to summon words of confidence and faith, but all that remained in the wake of such revelations was the fire that burned through the trees about him. 

A tightlipped nod is all that Dean was permitted in those scarce few moments before he vanished. To speak was to roar, to roar was to ruin, to ruin was to destroy all that stood before him. 

Demon though he was, Dean was still beneath the protection of Castiel. 

Though, when he vanished - he was permitted to express the depths of his displeasure. 

An inferno would sweep through the national park, consuming six acres of elm trees - not a life was lost in its combat, but the ruination of life smoldered for days after being extinguished. 

There would be reports of earthquakes upon remote, uninhabited islands. 

It was as though the Earth itself was in uproar.

The inexplicable events continued on for three days, much to the bemusement of the greatest experts. 

And for said three days - Castiel was curiously absent from all Heavenly engagements. 

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"He was there when I woke... To collect me." He flinched as Castiel's rage destroyed the trees around them. Dean raised his hands and carefully approached the enraged Angel. "He knew, ok? He knew all along. He tricked us, Cas. But you gotta calm down, ok? Nothing we can do if you fly off the handle." When Castiel told him to meet here, he nodded. "Three days. I should be able to wriggle away from him in three days. Don't do anything stupid, Cas."

He wanted to tear the world down for the injustices done to Dean Winchester. He wanted to wring Crowley's neck, to rip him limb from limb, to hear his last wheezing gasp whilst he watched the remnants of his existence purged from this plane by holy fire. 

He wanted vengeance for Dean. 

The ancient trunk of an elm - having stood for centuries is split in two with an almighty crack; punctuating Dean's plea for him to settle. Blazing eyes tick to the once Righteous Man, now the Wrongful Martyr - seething with a fury that was all but    

                                           unholy. 

"   I will kill him for this." He whispered with absolute certainty. "I will...I will burn him from the inside out."

The creaking groan of tormented life subsides, but the electricity that Castiel has imbued the air with did not dissipate. He was angry and would remain angry until he was able to sink his hands into Crowley's viscera and feel naught but scalding ash. 

"Three days." 

He did not swear oaths nor offer guarantees to Dean that he would refrain from stupidity. 

For the moment the demon vanished, he would lay waste to this place. 

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"Shhhh. It's ok, Cas. It's ok." It wasn't ok. It was far from ok. And it was horribly unfair that he would die twice held in the arms of a loved one. But if he were to die again, this was the way he'd want it. To be able to look at his best friend. To be able to actually say goodbye. "You and Sam, you're going to be just fine. And you... Been hearing some good things about you, man. Getting Heaven all fixed and stuff again. Me..." He shrugged. "I'm already dead. Gonna get worse. End it."

"   No..." 

It was a plea. Eyes wide and round, bereft of what fire had carried him here. Knelt upon the chest of the wrongfully condemned, a hand about his throat whilst the other settled upon his shoulder for the sake of a memory - the righteous light within his eyes was fading. 

It flowed freely through his veins, a primal response to the sin and vice that coursed through the creature beneath him - taut as a bow string, arrow nocked and set to fly, Castiel could no more relax now than he could will away this terrible knowledge. 

He wanted to kill, yet more over was burdened by the knowledge that he could not. 

Not Dean. 

Never Dean. 

With all the world at stake, victory offered upon a silver platter should he just end the life of Dean Winchester - Castiel would and had still refused.

"No." He repeated, still bearing the haunted tones of the horrified. "No. I...I don't...you shouldn't be like this. This...you shouldn't - you aren't cursed, Dean."

He swallowed down his personal sentiments as best he could. His revulsion, his panic, his pain. Such were luxuries he could ill afford in the moment. Tears would be shed for this transgression, just as sure as there would be blood spilled - but Castiel refused to release the pent up energy within. 

"Who did this to you?"

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A grief that had before been unknown to him settled about his being as Castiel released him and moved away. Grief because he needed that contact. An grief as he noted he was still alive. And would remain that way. After a moment he nodded and stood. "I have to... Return... To..." He swallowed hard. "My King." Bile rose in the back of his throat and he looked away. "Where can I find you again?" A pause. "Please... Don't tell Sam."

The word struck hard as it struck deep, seeing the angel stiffen once more - a mask of terse unease falling across his features. King? 

There was only one self proclaimed King that Castiel knew of. Only one fool that was ignorant enough to attempt to claim the Righteous Man as his own. 

"Crowley....knows?" The words were forced from between clenched teeth, his head tilted to the side as his eyes grew unfocused. 

It had been a just rage that had settled within his chest before - when he had thought Dean nothing more than a skulking cretin seeking to sate its need for discord. 

This rage...was quite different. 

It was personal. 

The boughs of the trees that flank them began  creak and groan in the sparse few moments before they were to snap and crack. The natural growth of their long life was taken and twisted beneath the creationary wrath of a Seraph; leeching the life from wood, leaf and shoot as he forced his will upon the world. 

"Crowley..." He shook with hatred, loathing the shape of the name upon his lips. "Cro-σшʟεч...." 

He could scarcely keep himself confined to his vessel, the boughs of the mangled trees catching light; fire springing within the deadened wound to devour all within its path. 

Castiel was not even aware that he was exerting such power, bleeding rage into the earth itself. 

"Here..." He hissed, "Find me...here." 

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Dean nodded. He had assumed something like that would happen. His Soul was... Elsewhere. In a place of smoke and screaming agony and chains. And he was living it. The roar of Hellfire in his ears and the lick of flames across his skin. Finally he moved. Taking the Angel's hand in his and moving it so it was pressed against his shoulder. Pressed against the handprint scar. "End this."

Even when the knowledge came, it was not with a great and sweeping realisation. Since he had first spoken in a tongue beyond the guttural snarls of Hellspeak - Castiel had known. 

He had simply fought - tooth and nail - against knowing. 

Changing reality was hardly an option. 

He simply wished for ignorance. 

Prayed for it. 

Begged. 

But no. 

The moment his fingers curve about the shoulder of the demon, he rested his eyes upon him. 

His sighted the shape of his cheekbones and the swell of his lips. He could see the dusting of freckles across his nose and the elegant lengths of his eyelashes. 

He was beautiful. 

He was always beautiful. 

Even as he was - his eyes as black as Hell - he was beautiful. 

"   Don't." He breathed, shaking his head - a last, desperate bid for his survival. "Please..."

His fingers tighten upon the forgotten mark; a relic to a time long since passed. To a gesture that is defeated by the scene that plays out before him. 

Salvation. 

Damnation. 

He had not saved him. 

He'd only delayed the inevitable. 

"    Dean."

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legacyofcain replied to your post “The Demon licked his lips and moved ever closer. His hands rested on the Angel's shoulders, even though it burned him. Dean looked upon Castiel with determination, but also a softness. "Three days." And then he vanished in a roar of Hellfire and smoke.”

ooc: -curls up and cries-

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"I did this." He blinked and the inky blackness seeped away. Green eyes stared back up at the Angel. "I took up the Mark of Cain and Metatron took my life. Apparently, this was all that was left of me when I died." He swallowed hard and had to force himself not to look away. "You know it's only going to get worse, Cas. You saw how I changed. And now I'm this... It's only a matter of time before I don't even care who you are anymore."

His lips twitched at the mention of the Mark, eyes flickering to where he last saw the brand marring the skin of the Righteous Man. But green eyes shine free from the shadow, and he was helpless but to look upon them. 

At least once more. 

"   I should have taken it from you." He murmured, shaking his head slightly. "Should have asked for you to remove it. I should have...should have noticed that you were not yourself before it went too far." 

He was frustrated, in more than one way. Yet the time for self punishment would come later. There were more pressing issues to attend to right now. 

"No." He edged away, relinquishing his grip upon Dean's throat. "We can save you." 

We being Sam and himself. To cure a demon was a curious business - fraught with all manner of danger and deadly encounter. It was noticable, and a considerable transgression of the balance. 

There was no guarantee that they would not incite the wrath of a newly established Hell in attempting to cure Dean Winchester. 

"Get up." He commanded as he let slip his hand, rising from his position to stand amidst the fading light. 

The last rays of sunlight lay heavy upon the backs of his shoulders as he gathered unto him, his will. 

"We have work to do."