PROMPT: Cas pov. When Castiel first saw Dean (in hell)
WARNINGS: Gore, disturbing imagery
RATING: T
It had been years.
Years fighting through darkness , clawing past the filth, choking on black smoke.
His wings were stained, black as pitch, his grace slowly chipping away under the ceaseless onslaught of monsters. Demon after demon burst out of the cracks, out of the pit, to bite down on him and tear at his flesh. Mangled souls cried out and grappled onto him, sinners stripped to the bone and begging for salvation. Their touch burned and their words stabbed; but he could not save them. It was torture- it was unclean- it was hell.
But it had to be fought through.
He was on a mission, a quest.
A rescue.
Castiel had never met Dean Winchester before, none of the angels had, not in person. In his brief, Dean, as he was before his fall into hell, had been described to the angel; he was young and resolute. He would have eyes of green framed by thick lashes. He would have callused, tanned skin sprinkled with golden freckles. He would have artfully shaped lips set in a pout and a firm jaw. His body would be beautifully sculpted, smooth and muscled like the statues of ancient Greece, yet its perfection would be marred bythe scars of a life of hardships. He would be a fine example of man.
He would be the man to bring salvation to his world.
But Castiel had to bring him to salvation first.
And he had to do it quickly.
It had taken him thirty years to get as deep as he was, drowning in a fiery pit he was never made to breach. Time passed like molasses, slowly edging past, never really seeming to pass at all. Sometimes he felt like he wasn't even an angel any more, sometimes he forgot he had wings sprouting from his back, eyes that glowed like a supernova and skin that burned with a coursing energy. He felt lost.
But then he remembered his brief. He remembered the human he was setting free, the man he was to free; and he'd force himself forwards. He had to see this man, the thought of saving him kept him pushing. If anyone was worth fighting for, Dean Winchester would be.
So he scratched though the scum and the mud, beating his wings to a laboured rhythm and slashing through the necks of the unholy, watching as their black blood ebbed and flowed like the lapping waters of the ocean
Ten more years of tooth and claw. Of fire against feather, of grace against grit.
The others flew right past him.
They fought on, they didn't see him at the rack.
Flesh torn, hanging in shreds from tensed muscles.
Tendons stiff and pulsing as he pulled the rusted blade back and forth; sawing through the flesh of the teenage boy strapped down in front of him.
His mouth twisted in a sick grin, flesh peeled back at the corners, flashing the white of his teeth and the red of his gums in a terrifying smile.
His eyes were tinted, veins of black ticking under a dying green, slowly oozing over the paling colour. The lashes Castiel had been told about were all but gone and the freckles were invisible under the thick, dirty blood caked over his skin.
He was twisted and malformed, limbs bent in ways they shouldn't be, organs trailing from gashes that lengthened as he slashed through his victim. A coarse, chilling laugh jarred in the air, finding its way to Castiel's ears and grating through his skin.
Paralysed, Castiel watched as the broken, twisted man before him tore and carved at the soul screaming on the rack. A sick joy radiated from his skin and black smoke leaked from the countless wounds on his skin and into the air. Castiel's stomach squirmed and a sharp bile rose in his throat, his eyes burned. But in the righteous man's crazed euphoria, another feeling lay hidden.
His hand faltered as he raised the blade and rested it under the boy's eye; something human flashed through the deadness in his eyes. A tiny tear rolled down his cheek as he dug the rusted metal into the boy's ebony flesh, hooking it under the sphere of the eyeball and levering it out.
Castiel shrank back at the hoarse scream and Dean flinched, a laugh catching in the air and turning to a sob, a wail.
He was too late.
The seal was broken.
Dean Winchester had fallen.
But not completely.
Castiel surged forwards, eyes blazing and veins searing with energy. He fanned his wings out behind him and beat them down, reaching ahead and grabbing the man's shoulder.
With the touch he could feel it. He could see it.
Under the tattered skin, the dead eyes, the deformed body.
Someone that smiled once, someone that laughed, someone that gave it all to save the only family he had.
He pulled and rose himself up, Winchester in hand. Chains around the man's ankles and wrists shattered and a pure light shot out of Castiel's skin and splashed over Dean.
The sound of screaming and snarling that filled the air sank back into a muffled thrum, with Dean in his arms Castiel flew. He broke through the barricades of hell like they were nothing, he closed his eyes as the darkness of the pit lightened and smoke of the damned thinned.
He pictured Dean as he had been described and rebuilt his body from the scraps he was clinging to. As he tore through the gates of hell and rose to the light, he took the love he felt deep under the twisted shell and reshaped them into fresh blood and glowing skin.
He laid the Winchester down where his brother had laid him to rest and took his hand from his shoulder. Castiel slipped his eyelids open and drained the inky black from their corners, bringing a vibrancy, a life to the speckled spheres. He wiped the grime from his cheeks and coloured in the clammy, dead skin.
He sprinkled golden freckles over his cheeks, he attached the split jaw and layered on the skin hell had torn open. He traced his fingers over every blistered patch and made it new, springy and warm under his touch. He weaved muscle and threaded hair, he sewed eyelashes back onto the lids with seamless intricacy, rubbed the bruises and burns away under a gentle thumb. He nurtured every detail, every tiny quirk and mark, he grafted the beauty right back on. Castiel could not help but look on him with awe.
He waved a hand over him to clothe him, slightly remorseful that his beautiful handicraft would go mainly unseen. He wanted to stay there with him, help him out of his lonely resting place; but Castiel was needed back in heaven. He had other missions to attend to, other orders to follow.
A light, sinking feeling welling in his throat, Castiel rested his hand on the resting man's shoulder. He felt a lifetime of hell surge under the skin, the memories seared; but the terrors fell under the man's loyalty and… that quality that was so human… that's devotion, that unquestioning faith…
He breathed over the hunter and he breathed in, heart pumping suddenly and blood gushing through his newly sculpted veins.
And with a flutter of his wings and a final goodbye, Castiel was gone, and his words, clear as a bell, rang through the ears of every angel in heaven.
"Dean Winchester is saved"
A/N: sorry for all the typos that I'm sure its ridden with and i know the wording's a bit repetitive at times; but hey, i wrote this in like an hour: Oh, and I might be updating "Little Bird" soon; but I'm a bit stuck at the moment- these ficlets should get me back into the swing of writing ^^
Reviews are love, so feel free to leave 'em- and more prompts would be great! I want to practice writing fluff and romance; maybe a bit of angst and hurt/comfort too- I'll write anything ^^
