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heraldingangel) wrote2019-02-10 10:45 am
heraldingangel) wrote2019-02-10 10:45 am
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deerington
Prayer: Cas can hear prayers from anywhere. Feel free to call on him anytime and he'll show up.
cw: substance abuse
That's not...
That's not how that's supposed to go. Past!Dean was supposed to fuck off back home and make sure they didn't break the way they did for Cas and Dean in their own little post-apocalyptic mess of a universe.
Are they just doomed to be festering disappointments to one Dean Winchester?
Fuck, he's not sober enough for this. Cas reaches for the bottle of pills, shakes two into his palm. They go down dry. ]
Why?
[ The simplest, and most difficult question. Why do they break, no matter which path they choose? ]
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Denial.
Behind him, large and black wings twitch involuntarily without his notice. ]
I thought I was doing the right thing.
I know now that it was pride that led me to that end.
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And here Cas thought that'd be the first thing he'd lose in any version of the world.
Sounds like no matter how you twist circumstances, he still ends up breaking everything - himself, their profound bond...
Shit.
His fingers twitch. Move from the Fluid to the frayed edges of a hole in his jeans. He picks at the hole for a moment, just focused on the way the fabric feels against his finger tips. ]
We both know it's not as easy as that when it comes to you and Dean.
[ 'You', this time. Not 'us' or 'me'. ]
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There's a tightness in his chest heavy and oppressive. Which one? The one who saw him as an agent of Heaven there to keep him in line? Who didn't trust him from the start? Or the one who saw someone else when he looked at him? Who ran through so many iterations of him they couldn't see him standing in front of them? Or the one who didn't speak to him for half a year? He learned to do without him. To find his own way.
Things between them were never simple, but after a year and a half on his own, he finally understood. Something was wrong with him. He was broken. A piece, chipped and frayed, that no longer fit. Oh, he could play the part but he no longer felt the same pull he once did. Whatever thread connected them had wound around him like a noose choking the life out of him.
When it came to him and Dean the answer was simple. ]
There is no me and Dean.
I watch over him. Nothing more. Unless you mean the one from my world. I've already destroyed that too.
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There is no me and Dean.
And all Cas can think is... Yeah... same.
For a moment he sits there, in Dean's house, and stares into the dark of it, eveloped in incense and a sadness so bone deep it's festered into bitterness long ago. Two of the very few human emotions he's learned to identify and name, lost in a swirl of so many more that overwhelm him whenever he doesn't numb himself to them.
They were never made for this, for any of this. ]
But it's Dean.
[ Dean who can hardly look at Cas, and when he does it's with anger.
Dean who patched him up and couldn't hold back tears because he'd sent Cas to his death, and Cas had gone to do as requested. ]
He matters to us.
[ Doesn't he? Besides... ]
I don't understand. I'm the hapless and hopeless one - not you.
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You misunderstand. He's not the one that's unworthy.
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It's better than feeling this much and being unable to do anything about it. It burns inside his skin, like the weight of dead and broken wings, and a vast being folded into a body supposed to be too small yet now too cavernous and empty, filling up with so much feeling that all Cas can do is sink and drown and choke and scream where no one can hear it.
his fingers shake when he types the response, and badly. it takes a while. the smooth surface of the fluid isn't enough sensation for his brain to tether itself to, still lost in a too turbulent sea. ]
but i broke. and you're everything i've lost.
[ And if Castiel is unworthy, then what what worth did Cas ever have to begin with? ]
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He's no one's everything.
Their piece of the world... What a lovely fantasy they spun for each other. This version of him still believed in it, but he woke up from the dream a long time ago. He crawled out of the cave to view the world as it stood and found himself grieving for the shadows on the walls.
His hands go limp and his head dips down. Around him, his wings tremble unable to follow the broken melody, and for a long while he does nothing but sit amid his thoughts until his grace repairs the crack searing through him. Once he's stitched back together and his melody finds its tune, he turns back to the message still unanswered and does his best not to break another part of him. ]
I'm not what you left behind. And you're not a broken version of myself.
We are two roads that diverged a long time ago.
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Cas sneers into the darkness, takes momentary delight in pulling his muscles into the expression. Easy for Castiel to say, perhaps - Cas knows what he is, and it's nothing but the shadow he once cast on a dirt road.
Castiel is right in one regard, though - he's not what Cas left behind. He's better.
He has to be better, because when Cas died at Dean's behest, he could go into that painful dark with a smile knowing Dean would take his shot - he didn't - and that past Dean would have to do better - he did.
And he himself? Well... inconsequential, really, yet apparently he lives. ]
so i'm the dead end obviously
[ He laughs, there in the dark house, mind sluggish with painkillers that can't quite numb him down enough to not feel the pain and horror of his own existence. ]
where's your road going?
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Leaning on his Father's creations for peace, Castiel pulls up from the tailspin of his thoughts. Inside him, his grace settles and the pool of dark feathers follow after. They can't fill the void inside him no matter how tightly he wraps himself in them. Letting go, the angel tucks his wings behind him accepting his faults.
A broken puzzle piece with the edges frayed. Not quite slotting into place as intended. Is that what happened to his other self? ]
You're not dead here.
[ They still existed, and Castiel came to realize he preferred to live in contentment than guilt. A road he still struggles to find his footing on when he so recently stepped onto its path. ]
I don't know. I think that's the point.
But, I know where I want to go and that makes all the difference.
cw: suicidal ideation
and where would that be?
[ What does he want, this version of himself that didn't break, didn't debase himself, didn't become something Dean could barely stand to look at anymore?
Something is coiled tight in Cas' chest, thrumming. He can't quite name it, the sensation, and digs his fingers into the frayed edges of his jeans instead to rear his mind to things it can parse better than the feelings that threaten to drown him in blackened sludge.
If he leaves the statement of his lack of death untouched, well, that is entirely on purpose. He does think, though, in the depth of his mind and the corners of his empty smile: And isn't that just such a shame. ]
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loafty goal
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'Shoot for the moon', I believe the saying goes.
[ Even if he missed, he'd be among the stars. ]
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bullets don't go that far
[ He knows exactly what Castiel means, but... well. ]
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They do if they have enough energetic material strapped to the back to escape earth's gravity. Crude, but effective.
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i'll make that my new line when asking people for sex
crude but effective
1/?
2/?
3/?
4/?
5/5
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sure
figured i'd bang a few gongs before the lights go out
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