[ He bears it, even though he shrinks in the face of this onslaught, a trembling, insignificant thing in the face of divine anguish and anger alike.
Cas can feel it in his bones, and for a moment he almost relishes it, the ways in which it makes his trueform corpse crack and hurt and ache, the way his long broken wings bend and creak, limp and unable to shield him. And he thinks, for a moment, that yes... this is better. The pressure in his skull near enough to black out the pain of losing all he'd ever truly, truly held close and dear.
And there is that bitter coil within him, that jagged edge that assumes what Dean wants and needs by his side is Castiel, not Cas, the asset over the festering disappointment. And at the same time, that same edge that would take offense at Dean's behalf if Castiel didn't care for Cas' Dean as if he were any other Dean, would find it unfathomable, that same edge wants to lash out, because what gives Castiel the right to take that anguish and treat it like he has any right to it, when he knows nothing of Cas' losses, when this is Cas' loss, and Cas' cross, and Cas' everything that was just snuffed out and torn away.
But then... what gives Cas the right to call that pain his own, when he is many things, but certainly not Dean's friend. Merely his burden, his problem, his guilt. A festering disappointment, indeed.
He wishes that the maelstrom would snap his neck, and be done with him once for all. Instead all he has is his own solitary confinement within the bones of this vessel, and the knowledge, here in the dark, that Dean is gone, and Castiel is suffering, and Cas already knows he needs to push them towards each other. Because Dean's made progress, here, and Castiel has not fallen nearly as far.
They need each other, Cas thinks.
Another tear. He'd died in bittersweet satisfaction, thinking Dean would live to fight another day. This was never meant to happen. He wasn't built to house this sort of anguish, and he's choking on it. ]
He saved someone else.
[ Because of course he did. There are few people Dean has callously sacrificed, and they haunt him, here. ]
no subject
Cas can feel it in his bones, and for a moment he almost relishes it, the ways in which it makes his trueform corpse crack and hurt and ache, the way his long broken wings bend and creak, limp and unable to shield him. And he thinks, for a moment, that yes... this is better. The pressure in his skull near enough to black out the pain of losing all he'd ever truly, truly held close and dear.
And there is that bitter coil within him, that jagged edge that assumes what Dean wants and needs by his side is Castiel, not Cas, the asset over the festering disappointment. And at the same time, that same edge that would take offense at Dean's behalf if Castiel didn't care for Cas' Dean as if he were any other Dean, would find it unfathomable, that same edge wants to lash out, because what gives Castiel the right to take that anguish and treat it like he has any right to it, when he knows nothing of Cas' losses, when this is Cas' loss, and Cas' cross, and Cas' everything that was just snuffed out and torn away.
But then... what gives Cas the right to call that pain his own, when he is many things, but certainly not Dean's friend. Merely his burden, his problem, his guilt. A festering disappointment, indeed.
He wishes that the maelstrom would snap his neck, and be done with him once for all. Instead all he has is his own solitary confinement within the bones of this vessel, and the knowledge, here in the dark, that Dean is gone, and Castiel is suffering, and Cas already knows he needs to push them towards each other. Because Dean's made progress, here, and Castiel has not fallen nearly as far.
They need each other, Cas thinks.
Another tear. He'd died in bittersweet satisfaction, thinking Dean would live to fight another day. This was never meant to happen. He wasn't built to house this sort of anguish, and he's choking on it. ]
He saved someone else.
[ Because of course he did. There are few people Dean has callously sacrificed, and they haunt him, here. ]