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spn_springflingTitle: On the Eighth Day
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG
Any warnings: Spoilers for 6.22
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thinlizzy2 for ienablu!
There is a part of him that remembers.
An hour, a day, a century, a million years ago, when he was an angel called Castiel - the angel of Thursday, such an odd thing for him to have been - this Heaven had brought him a gentle peace. He had spent countless units of time in this sweet and endless summer day, watching a kite looping eternally against a brilliantly bright blue sky. Despite not needing to breathe, he would inhale the rich scents of freshly cut grass, fragrant wild flowers, the burnt sugar coming from a cotton candy stand unseen but ever-present somewhere upwind. He hadn't known it then, but the feeling that had swelled in the very depth of his grace had been called contentment.
He misses it horribly now.
The warmth of the sun calls to mind another perfect summer day and he allows the world around him to shift and change in accordance with his fractured memories.
Dean Winchester had taken him by the hand and led him through the corpses of various cars that made up Bobby's salvage yard. He recalls every loop and whorl of Dean's fingerprints, the sweaty slickness of the hand that held his so willingly captive. Dean hadn't been drunk, not really, but he'd been softened and blurred at the edges by the three beers in his belly, the break in the turmoil that comprised his life, the presence of the entity he called his friend Cas. They had barely gotten out of sight of the house before Dean had pressed him up against an old blue pick-up truck, hot metal against his back and hot flesh at the front of him. Want to do something stupid? Dean had whispered in the instant before his mouth came crashing down, and Castiel completed that foolish act before he even registered the touch.
He had fallen in love.
The part of him that is still Castiel knows this was so and clings to it, even as the legions within him howl out their derision. Demons and monsters - the abominations whom he once wouldn't have allowed to look upon him and which now live within him - may refuse to accept it, but he does know it to be true. He had been content and then he had been happy and both those sensations had been precious.
Which is why he can never be allowed to experience them again.
With a thought, he returns to his favorite Heaven one last time In the next moment he obliterates the lovely Tuesday afternoon in which he once sought comfort. He sets the rage of his captured souls against the soaring kite and the gentle wind from the south. The chirping birds are silenced instantly; they stand no chance against them. The only scent that remains is a faint whiff of burnt ozone. It all disappears in a blink of time too short to be measured by men and angels alike. The terrified confusion of the soul who generated them feeds the myriad hungry creatures that now call his grace their home. He can hear them baying like hellhounds with the scent of fear in their nostrils as yet another swells their ranks.
He has killed peace.
Perhaps he should feel bereft at that. Perhaps some part of him even does.
Then again, perhaps not. There's no way to be sure.
The being that was once Castiel and is now so much more and so much less turns his attention towards the earth. The time has come to kill love.
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG
Any warnings: Spoilers for 6.22
Written by
thinlizzy2 for ienablu!There is a part of him that remembers.
An hour, a day, a century, a million years ago, when he was an angel called Castiel - the angel of Thursday, such an odd thing for him to have been - this Heaven had brought him a gentle peace. He had spent countless units of time in this sweet and endless summer day, watching a kite looping eternally against a brilliantly bright blue sky. Despite not needing to breathe, he would inhale the rich scents of freshly cut grass, fragrant wild flowers, the burnt sugar coming from a cotton candy stand unseen but ever-present somewhere upwind. He hadn't known it then, but the feeling that had swelled in the very depth of his grace had been called contentment.
He misses it horribly now.
The warmth of the sun calls to mind another perfect summer day and he allows the world around him to shift and change in accordance with his fractured memories.
Dean Winchester had taken him by the hand and led him through the corpses of various cars that made up Bobby's salvage yard. He recalls every loop and whorl of Dean's fingerprints, the sweaty slickness of the hand that held his so willingly captive. Dean hadn't been drunk, not really, but he'd been softened and blurred at the edges by the three beers in his belly, the break in the turmoil that comprised his life, the presence of the entity he called his friend Cas. They had barely gotten out of sight of the house before Dean had pressed him up against an old blue pick-up truck, hot metal against his back and hot flesh at the front of him. Want to do something stupid? Dean had whispered in the instant before his mouth came crashing down, and Castiel completed that foolish act before he even registered the touch.
He had fallen in love.
The part of him that is still Castiel knows this was so and clings to it, even as the legions within him howl out their derision. Demons and monsters - the abominations whom he once wouldn't have allowed to look upon him and which now live within him - may refuse to accept it, but he does know it to be true. He had been content and then he had been happy and both those sensations had been precious.
Which is why he can never be allowed to experience them again.
With a thought, he returns to his favorite Heaven one last time In the next moment he obliterates the lovely Tuesday afternoon in which he once sought comfort. He sets the rage of his captured souls against the soaring kite and the gentle wind from the south. The chirping birds are silenced instantly; they stand no chance against them. The only scent that remains is a faint whiff of burnt ozone. It all disappears in a blink of time too short to be measured by men and angels alike. The terrified confusion of the soul who generated them feeds the myriad hungry creatures that now call his grace their home. He can hear them baying like hellhounds with the scent of fear in their nostrils as yet another swells their ranks.
He has killed peace.
Perhaps he should feel bereft at that. Perhaps some part of him even does.
Then again, perhaps not. There's no way to be sure.
The being that was once Castiel and is now so much more and so much less turns his attention towards the earth. The time has come to kill love.
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no subject
Date: 2011-06-06 07:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-07 08:35 pm (UTC)Even though this is a spring fling, I was really in the mood for something a bit more summery, and you delivered that in spades. Between the Heaven and Bobby's junk yard, you really captured that warm summer atmosphere I wanted.
Also, the imagery in this is so rich and lush, and it is fantastic, doubly so at the end when it's used to describe Castiel obliterating his favorite heaven.
And I cringed (in the best way possible) at Dean's Want do do something stupid? Oh, Dean. Oh, Cas. Oh, show.
Thank you so much for this.
no subject
Date: 2011-06-12 01:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-13 01:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-14 07:32 pm (UTC)