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heraldingangel) wrote2019-02-10 10:45 am
heraldingangel) wrote2019-02-10 10:45 amEntry tags:
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deerington
Prayer: Cas can hear prayers from anywhere. Feel free to call on him anytime and he'll show up.
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heraldingangel) wrote2019-02-10 10:45 am
deerington
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Agony crushes the black rebellion, carving into hollow bone, severing the root. His wings convulse caught in the death throes of his grief as the walls cave, burying the tempest with a strangled sob that never makes it past his throat. The anger dies. In the dark. Crushed. Hollow and alone.
What recourse did he have against this? He died the way he lived. Good to the end. And it gave him nothing. Nothing to hunt or kill or lay blame to. No mission to cling to in this hour of need. To keep this ache from swallowing him whole and crushing him between the folds of his vessel making it impossible to breathe or even think.
Was this what he fell for?
The room grows into an eerie silence after the storm. Electric currents settle no longer pressed upon by a divine force. This is why angels weren't supposed to feel. This ache buried in his ribs that he has no idea what to do with. Pulsing inside him like a living grotesque thing, cherished. The last remnants of a life that once touched his own. It's unbearable and he finally gives beneath its weight. The back of his knees hit the end of the bed and he folds, yielding. Wings, spent and aching, spread across the mattress making contact with the only being who knows his pain. Turning, he looks at the mirror and see's the same agony reflected in the same hollow shape.
Misery.
The true depths of his prayer comes to light. Castiel, who died for Dean in his world. Who gave up everything to give him that final shot at saving the world. His grief was nothing compared to him, who was always by his side. Who had lost the only tether left to him when everything else was ripped away. What must he be going through? Sitting here, alone, among the fragments of a life that was no longer here to fill the void of their existence?
Taking a shallow breath, he forges himself into the angel he pleaded. Weak and wrought with fatigue from emotions too strong to bear, he reigns himself in. Filling in the cracks in the marble despite the deep fissures running through to the bone. ]
What will you do?
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[ He thought he'd die, when he found out. Like he'd been falling for so long, he'd forgotten that one day he'd hit the ground and break worse than he'd ever thought possible. He wasn't supposed to outlive Dean, not in his world at least.
Yet here he is, utterly helpless to do anything about it. The beast lies dead where Dean fell, the news has been delivered to everyone Cas can think of who matters to Dean here in this dark, cruel place, and all that is left is uttery agony.
This isn't how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to die and never come back, the last thing he could give up for Dean's cause, and then nothing but darkness after. No peace, perhaps, but no pain either.
And now he's here, hapless and hopeless, and worse for wear than ever. He has nothing he can put up against this plays, and already feels like it's going to hollow him out, carve a space into him that won't stop hurting. ]
I thought I'd beg you to stop it. Just put me under, just for a night.
[ He's not sure he'll last the night, fresh in his grief and in his first tears, fresh in an ache he doesn't know how to handle, no grace to cling to as protection from the turmoil. He's a leaf in the wind, and getting torn to shreds.
If he has to stay awake, alone, with nothing but alcohol and pills and the jagged edges of his own broken body and mind, he's not sure what will happen - just that he might not be there when Dean wakes up. ]
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He's seen enough of his brothers suffer and die. Wings seared into the ground, and he could do nothing for them. Here, at least, he can help. He prayed to him, asked for his help, and having felt a part of his pain, endured it, it gives him something to hold onto. Whatever he's going through, it can't hold a candle to what he must be feeling. He hasn't lost nearly as much and already he's falling apart. Dean may not have left him something to smite, but he was still here. The last remnants of a life he'd barely skimmed the surface of. He needed this too, a reason to endure the days that still lay ahead of them. ]
It doesn't have to be for one night.
[ An offer laid out between them. He knows how long it takes for the dead to come back. The stretch of time between now and then seems almost unbearable to him, and if he feels this way then... he reaches for him, hand outstretched to grant him freedom from his pain. ]
I'll watch over you.
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Cas thinks, briefly, of Skye's tears and the mentions of Eddie.
Thinks, even, of Castiel, and the horrible tremor of his grace in shambles. Cas' existence may have no point, he might be surplus and not needed, but it doesn't mean there's not work to be done. Who else will think to handle their pain in Dean's absence?
No one ever watches over them - over Cas or Castiel. So Cas cannot allow himself to be the subject of Castiel's guard, when Castiel has no one to return the favour. It's not fair - it never was, to either of them.
So he shakes his head minutely, reaches up and wraps his hand around Castiel's wrist. Cas' fingers are cold. They tremble. ]
Just one night. It's enough.
[ His grip flexes, briefly, and then he slides his hand into Castiel's, brings his other up to cup it. Holds Castiel's hand there, tender in his despair. ]
It's enough, I promise.
[ You're enough. You always were, but no one ever told you, and now look at me, please don't look at me. ]
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One night.
[ He promises, noting the temperature difference between them, and the way his fingers tremble against his skin. Was he cold? A question he never gets to ask when Castiel continues, pressing his hand between his. It's odd. Being so close to someone familiar yet so different. He nods at the statement, unsure what else to do. This isn't how angels interact with one another leaving him at a disadvantage. ]
I understand.
[ He doesn't. Not what he truly means. He doesn't hear it. How can he? He's not made of subtleties. Doesn't know how to read between then lines. He's a soldier. When he needs something communicated it's said simply without flourish. It's how he knows the world. ]
Would you like to go to sleep now?
[ He asks this time before proceeding, unsure where they stand. ]
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It feels like a life time ago - a strange sensation to him, eons old and once so vast and incomprehensible, not limited by the laws of nature, time and space.
Cas lets go of Castiel's hand and looks down, tears still swimming in his eyes.
Dean is dead, and Cas feels hollow and broken in his loss. ]
Yeah. Yes. Please.
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Goodnight.
[ He says almost softly, as if afraid to add to his burden. Closing the distance he touches his forehead with two fingers to send him off to another world free of this aching feeling and settles down beside him, watching over him throughout the night, destroying any terrors before they have a chance to take flight.
Quietly, like a marble statue, the angel sits beside his charge, drowning in grief so great, it spills down his cheek in silent mourning. ]