A/N: Alright, I wasn't going to publish this, but… there was much insistence. The inspiration for this was Angel with a Shotgun, and Twist and Shout… Now do you understand my hesitance? Anyways, I am not responsible for any tears shed whilst reading, in fact I cried while writing this. Sorry loves, but I do have a reputation to keep up. OH! Aside from the depressing story, this year marks eight years of writing. EIGHT YEARS. I'm rather happy. Of course, I've only been writing on this account for 4 years, and my other one was one of those, and it was trash… but still. I'm rather happy to see my improvement. For this very reason, I've decided to publish/finish some old drafts. After this, the promised sequels will be put into production. By the end of these few months, I promise to have at least 4 more stories up. Anyways, here's the beginning of Darkened Skies and Clipped Wings.
All he knew was weightlessness. He reached for an anchor, but found none to be provided.
Pain. It coursed through his veins, and made his grace burn under his vessel's skin.
Clouds. They passed him slowly at first, but were now blurring together in his vision.
Fire crackled from his wings, and scorched the air around him. The angel went to take a breath, and felt the ashes coat his throat. His eyes watered and pressure built up in his ears. The air around him seemed to be suffocating his vessel, and it pressed against every fiber of the fragile human form.
The scenery below looked as if an irresponsible child or fledgling had left their toys scattered around the room. However, the more he fell, the closer the weird assortment became. The details were more vibrant, but it did little to distract from the rapidly increasing searing sensation on his back. The burns blistered and feathers fell off rapidly.
Cars littered the roads, and some stopped to watch the falling angels. He choked out a bitter laugh. Now they care. No, not when he openly risked his life many times over, but when's he's given up on them. It figures that his efforts to help these pathetic creatures would be in vain. Michael was right; humanity isn't worth the effort. It isn't worth the time. Hell, it isn't worth the pain. Humanity didn't revel in love; they didn't take a few precious moments to remind those they cared for that they still, indeed, did care. Affection is folly, the angel grimly concluded. His naïve nature was long dead. Humanity could claim that much.
Feelings pervaded his heart; anger, agony, affection, and even envy. Each was a stab to his heart, as they all reminded him of previous attempts to…to gain the attention of one man. One man that he would die for. One he'd kill for. One that he'd been cast out of heaven for. It was laughable, really, the dogged, blind devotion that he dedicated to this man. This man that regarded the angel as a mere lap dog, or something to that extent. Hell, this man would positively rejoice at the news that he'd fallen from Heaven. That would mean he was finally rid of the angel. The thought struck a chord in him, and the angel coughed at the thickening air, blood splattering his white dress shirt. The wounds from earlier ached, and some deep pockets of blood streamed out as well. This was the end, he decided.
Dean and Sam Winchester scoured the skies, their respective orbs trained desperately on the layers of clouds. Sam remained calm, but his posture gave away the gravity of the situation. Dean was a wreck, growling to himself, and running both hands through his hair.
"I thought I told you to calm down." Sam glared at his brother. "Worrying will only stress you out."
"Shut the fuck up, Sam. I'll worry about all I need to, 'cause he's my angel." Dean snapped, his green eyes hardened with worry and fear.
"Castiel is fine, I'm certain. He always is." Sam didn't receive a response. He waited a moment before trying again. "Have you tried praying?" Dean finally nodded.
"He hasn't answered. I even tried Gabriel. No one's seen him." Sam sucked in a breath. No wonder his brother was so worried. Suddenly, a large crowd of people caught the younger Winchester's eyes.
"Dean." He tapped his brother's shoulder. "What do you suppose that's about?" The crowd was pointing to a falling bundle of flames. The two exchanged a look, their eyes wide, and one word slipped through;
"Cas!"
A/N: Alright, and thus the Supernatural fandom probably wants me dead. I'm so sorry… that and I lied… I didn't cry. At least, not yet. Twist and Shout didn't make me cry either. That's why I've made it my goal to uh… one-up it if you will. I probably won't be able to, but it's worth a shot. Wish me luck. Oh, and I understand if you don't wanna read.
~Phoenix out