The Soul Burns Brighter Than The Sun

Chapter 16: Bud Light

tws: thoughts of death (as per spn), smutttt... like this is mostly smut. there is very little plot

Light streams in through the open window, and Dean's finally able to see his leg wound in all its glory, fully and finally. He peels his pant leg up and peers at it, only to be completely surprised that he's not already dead. His leg is a multitude of colors, from red around the edges, the crimson blood from the Koschei's kick draining down his leg, to the yellow pus and crusty layer around the edges. Dean peels the pant leg back down, and recites Led Zeppelin in his head for several hours.

He sleeps sometimes. Hunger pangs at him like it has been for most of the past few days, and Dean tries to ignore it. Sometimes he prays to Cas, just to have someone to talk to, sometimes he sings.

Could really go for a bacon cheeseburger right now, Cas.

Hours later, Dean's still waiting to die, recounting most of his life. It's weird, wondering if this is gonna be the last time he dies. If he's gonna go to heaven. He hopes Jack would let him in, but Dean's never been the greatest father, he even let Sam kill his daughter, Emma, so maybe he does deserve to rot in hell. Maybe Rowena will let him be her secretary.

I'm sorry, Cas. Dean prays. I don't even know if you can hear me, if– and then a horrible realization occurs to Dean. Cas might not be able to hear him because what if he's dead? What if that's why he hasn't been able to come to Dean's rescue? What if something on this cursed mountain got him? If there's a fuckin' Koschei here, a creature Dean only barely remembers Bobby mentioning in his journal, what else is here? Dean drags in a shaky breath, feeling his eyes burn.

What if Dean just sent Lara and Kristen into the jaws of something more sinister than a Koshei? He shakes his head. No, this Koschei was going to–to–Dean made the right choice, he hopes.

He keeps praying to Cas, the angel can't be dead. He can't be.

Cas, I hope you're not dead. I hope you can hear me. Dean prays. Even if you can't–if you can't help me, I forgive you, Cas, about or fight. Of course I do. I'm so–I'm so fuckin' sorry.

And then Dean tries again, he fuckin' tries. He gathers up his courage, sparkling with delirium, and he thinks about how easy it should be. He's not even having to say it here, he's just supposed to think it, something he already does half the time, and still–

Cas, Dean feels hot tears fall from his eyes. He hadn't known he was crying in the first place, but his throat is closed up and his eyes are burning. Cas I–

The locks on the front door quiver and unlock, and then the front door bangs open against the cabin wall, making the rotting wood tramble, and the Koschei stands in the entryway, fury on his face, but as he steps inside the cabin, Dean sees that he's empty handed. The girls made it out. Relief floods through him for one millisecond, and then it's chased away with terror as the Koschei starts on him.

"You lost me my brides!" The Koschei screams, its voice trembling with age and power. It crosses the cabin in four quick strides and pins Dean to the wall with a hand on his throat, drawing him up from where he sat and forcing him so high that Dean's toes can't reach the ground. "You must die, you are not worthy."

"What," Dean taunts. "Am I not pretty enough for ya? That's homophobic."

The Koschei sneers. "My Russian sons and daughters have forgotten the true tale of Koschei in their blind prejudice. I took both man and woman spouses in my reign, but you will not likely last another day." He squeezes Dean's neck impossibly tighter, the blood from Dean's leg pooling on the floor beneath him. He's lightheaded from his blood loss over the past several days, and he can't get enough air in his lungs.