One Voice
Just to be clear, this takes place after the end of s7, so there are vague spoilers for Castiel's arc. And I wrote in kind of a stream-of-consciousness style (though I really don't know what I'm doing) to get that mental-breakdown sort of feel. I normally don't preface my works at all but I figure I had to explain myself on this one.
There are some nights when he can't handle the closeness of the air that pools out of his lungs, or the heat of the blood in his veins, and compelled by the need to get out of his own body, he has to get out, so Castiel throws off the coverlet and steps on to the bare floor, traipsing out into the hall and down over the threshold of the foyer and out the front door. It's a path he needn't have memorized for he can see it in the dark, and there are some times he can hear it, too, the echo of his own whimpering voice off the walls, deafening, strangling, and the scent and taste of the indifferent outside air, as he enters on to the street.
Castiel recovered from being a "God" with a capital "G", and had since determined, with Dean's help, that the only thing that capitalizes that letter is faith, and because Castiel believed he was unstoppable is the only reason no one could stop him. And the revelation helps sometimes, helps him cope with the dreadful destruction of self he once experienced, but sometimes it doesn't, like tonight, when his ears are ringing with the impending storm and he's ripe with the need to self-destruct.
Castiel pads out into the middle of the empty street, and stands, knowing full well that if a car were to hit him it would be bent into a crumpled wreck, and that isn't right, but as his angel's – is it an angel's? – body stands heaving in the middle of the residential throughway, he can't bring himself to move it.
He knows he shouldn't be standing out here, especially when Dean has urged him to stay in bed, even when he can't sleep, it'll make the attacks easier to handle, you'll feel better, he promised; and Castiel hates to not do what Dean wishes, especially when the man knows how to take care of him. But how can he when he's just a human? How can he possibly comprehend the complexity of the spiritual delusions an infinitely old creature of light faces?
Still, Castiel physically aches to feel the gentle-firm close of Dean's arms around his back, especially when the longing for it is more powerful than the actual sensation, because he hasn't been able to really feel it for years. Not since he regained his powers.
And the voices...they're biting into the edges of his consciousness like ravenous caterpillars, moving towards the center and telling him to become like them, and if he could, he could dissolve into them, cease to be one solid piece and instead be several melted pieces, he could join them, they could touch every part of him again, and he them…
Dean approaches him as his body is heaving and his human(?) hands are shaking through his hair, and the man stands that respectful/comfortable few feet away and looks Castiel up and down curiously.
"What's wrong, Cas?" Dean asks and with that name, reduces him, tries to bring him down but it doesn't work, and Castiel tightens his hands on his skull and writhes in horror. Another voice joins the mix, and it's too much, Castiel feels it bubbling up under his skin and whispering to him and it overpowers Dean's presence, and that is another terrifying layer in itself.
"I was infinite," Castiel begins, voice broken, and it's absurd to try and reconcile what's swimming under his skin with the human standing in his pajama bottoms and half-groggy, eyes lidded in the straining light of the moon, but he tries, because he has to speak, to answer when he can't just listen anymore.
Castiel drops his hands to rake up and down his arms, ""I was infinite. I was able to sense, to see the breaking light across the astral plane, above the stratosphere, I could hear the resonance of a raindrop a thousand miles away, and I could hear them all, and I was unrivalled by all."
"Except God," Dean notes, an easy, comforting smile on his face. And it could've been teasing, mocking, and the voices would have him believe it is, but there is no belittling in Dean's voice, there never is.
"I was endless," Castiel insists, "I was an affront to God, and even He did not strike me down."
Cas' eyes go glossy as he turns fully on Dean, and Castiel should be his better, by all rights, his master, so much bigger and unassailable, but the man does not move by so much as a breadth of a hair on his arms.
"Yeah, but what're you gonna do," Dean replies dismissively, and rubs the heel of his hand into his eye, biting down on a yawn, "you're here now. And you need to go to bed."
Castiel shakes his head and wanders further into the street, unknowingly drawing Dean right into the middle of it as the man follows him, putting out an arm, giving that little responsive jerk like when a parent sees her child about to stumble and fall.
"And you," Castiel suffers out, "what are you compared to me? A human, one, singular existence." His eyes narrow with horror like this man has trapped him, trapped them, and the many heads rear up inside and suddenly the air is so thick he can't breathe it, so he speaks with no air, "why are you so special?"
Dean shrugs, bright eyes now fully open, assured, and Castiel can see his real face, not the wings swimming across his eyes, not the blurring edges of his consciousness, as he says, "because you spared me. I'm special because God loved me."
Castiel's eyes widen and his falling into place in a different way, like losing the fences that compartmentalize his selves, God, vessel, alien, angel, un-human – and he becomes one person, alive and pulsing in the middle of the street, which now only goes two ways, rather than a thousand.
"And I do love you," Castiel breathes helplessly, like it's his first breath, spent on Dean, but there isn't enough sincerity on earth to tell this man how he loves him, and the voices are quieting and Castiel's face slides into an adoring stare.
"I know," Dean smiles, and reaches out an arm to swing around Castiel's shoulders, and pulls him easily from the street, and they walk back to the house, and Castiel can only hear one voice for the rest of the night.