heraldingangel | Inbox for deerington

[ Everyone wants their own little piece of the world. For him it was Dean. Watching him from a distance. Then closer and closer until his world narrowed down to a single soul. Worth dying for. Turning on his family for. A soul worth the civil war he wrought in Heaven, all to keep him safe, and in the end, none of it mattered. All that he'd done for him was at a distance. The saddest truth of all was - ]

You misunderstand. He's not the one that's unworthy.

Edited 2020-10-17 18:07 (UTC)

[ Cas gets up from the couch, sways on his feet and sits back down, unsure about the sudden, painful surge of feeling in his chest, the way something claws at the expanse of his ribcage and threatens to snap him right in half, fierce and ugly with teeth of righteous fury, and he punches his fist against a wall in a feeble attempt to layer a sensation over the feelings he can't handle, to overwhelm himself until all there's left is synaptic static.

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? ]

[ The utter despair of any version of him finding solace in the broken token he's become solidifies the ache humming in the folds of his grace. It pulses through him and a crack carves itself through every form of him disrupting his song. He shivers and a pool of dark feathers wrap around him in a cold and lonely embrace.

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.

[ Roadkill, more accurately.

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?

[ Sitting in the forest on an altar built on grass and flowers, the angel lets his thoughts sink into his surroundings. He finds solace in the chirping birds and fast-hooved creatures running through its winding woods. Above him, the constant buzzing of yellow insects fills the emptiness until dark thoughts settle like sediment clearing up the haze.

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.

Edited 2020-10-21 03:42 (UTC)

[ Huh. Where he wants to go? Cas is impressed. Didn't think there'd be versions of his own existence where that still mattered. After all... he'd gained his freedom only to voluntarily put on the yoke of Dean's command. And where Dean points, Cas goes. ]

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. ]

Contentment.

[ Cas' quirks an eyebrow. Well, not that he'd have assumed happiness was on the table for any version of him. Still... he has to wonder. How high is that reaching? For him, even that seems far. ]

loafty goal

[ Lofty, yes. Same as throwing out the script to stop the Apocalypse. Once he made up his mind, he devoted himself to it like a soldier at war willing to give up his life, faith, every piece of him to see it through to the end. ]

'Shoot for the moon', I believe the saying goes.

[ Even if he missed, he'd be among the stars. ]

[ That, at least, gets a chuckle, if more one of disbelief. He remembers being overly literal, out of a lack of understanding. These days, he's deliberately obtuse, because he likes to needle at people, get under their skin. Anger and annoyance are much preferrable to indifference, he's found. ]

bullets don't go that far

[ He knows exactly what Castiel means, but... well. ]

They do if they have enough energetic material strapped to the back to escape earth's gravity. Crude, but effective.

touché
i'll make that my new line when asking people for sex
crude but effective

[ Wait a minute... ]

[ Asking for -- ]

[ Oh ]

[ Oh! ]

You have sex?

[ Unaware of the journey Castiel just went on, Cas smirks. Ah. Divergent paths indeed. ]

sure
figured i'd bang a few gongs before the lights go out

I don't understand that reference.

it means i'm fully embracing any avenue of available debauchery

[ A den of iniquity.

It seems he and Dean finally had something in common that didn't revolve around Heaven or Hell, and uniquely human. ]

Any?

Decadence. Indulgences. Those, he can understand, but depravity? Behind him, his wings shift, unsettled at the thought.

[ Cas smirks at the screen. There's no satisfaction in it. ]

afraid you'll have to get more specific
are you asking if imbibe various kinds of alcohol and narcotics? are you asking if I fuck pretty much anyone who'll have me? are you asking if I host orgies that would make even gabriel blush?
the answer's yes either way

[ Illuminating. If a little disturbing how much the list reminded him of Gabriel. He doubted any version of him could ever outdo his brother on that front. But then again, he was very dedicated to his work. Still, it gave him an idea of what exactly happened to the angel on the other side of the line.

No one ever chose to go down the path of debauchery without a trail of broken bones. Only the broken. The destitute. The ones that didn't have anything left. But... he had Dean, didn't he? Dean who tried to blame himself for an end he'd chosen. He has no doubt Castiel knew what awaited him. How could he not? He hadn't served as a long-standing garrison angel, endured millennia of battles, not to see Dean's plan for what it was - He had become expendable. In that last push to reach Lucifer and kill him, Dean had bet it all.

And lost it all. ]

I'm asking if you hurt anyone.

Everything else is inconsequential.

Edited 2020-10-24 02:20 (UTC)

[ It rankles Cas, this question. Hurt anyone?

Other than Dean?

Other than himself? ]

i leave the torture to my fearless leader

[ No, if there's something specific Castiel wants to have confirmed or denied, he'll have to ask it point blank, too. ]

[ ....How far did he fall?

Did he even have faith left? Not in the corrupted Host of Heaven, but in God? Their Father. A question that lingers at the edge of thoughts before another rushes in to take its place before he can lend voice to it. Dean... went back to Alitair's methods?

His facade of neutrality finally breaks and he stands, quick and fast. Black wings spread out behind him, slicing through the air, shaking off the feeling of dread that crawls up his spine. The Dean he knows was nearly destroyed when they forced him to interrogate Alistair. To be cut off at every turn and be forced into that situation again... no wonder he'd been the broken shell of a man he'd once known.

But this wasn't about Dean, it wasn't about him. But the angel that was far too familiar yet so very different. ]

That's not true.

You're torturing yourself.

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perfectantidote - 2020-10-24 03:33 (UTC) - Expand

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heraldingangel - 2020-10-24 03:50 (UTC) - Expand

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