The Lithe Movement
Angels of the Lord move fluidly. As he once put it, they are a "multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent", and as such they move through all the planes of existence graciously and effortlessly, without any conscious decision or thought needed. It is freedom in its purest form, and it took losing the ability to move so comfortably to make Castiel appreciate what he had lost.
The beauty of the lithe movement.
With his dwindling Grace, Castiel can feel the other things dwindling away slowly as he gradually becomes more human, yet none of those things is as important to him in this moment as his ability to move.
Adina's Grace in his body felt foreign and wrong, like a phantom limb that did not quite belong.
(It did not feel right, the reference. He tried a couple of others, but couldn't find the one that fit. It just felt wrong.)
All of it left him with an enormous feeling of unease, but he had no choice.
Dean.
Hannah offered to transport him, but he refused. The risk was too great, and if he did not arrive on time, or if they were discovered and deterred from the bunker with another battle, he may be late. And he would not fail him again. He could not. He refused.
Castiel drove the car, pushing the gas pedal as fast as it would go, willing himself not to notice all the colourful swirls of thoughts and sensations that hit him with a new intensity now that he got the substitute Grace from Crowley. Hannah was clutching the edge of the seat tightly, her wounds healing quickly. Castiel felt a pang of concern for his companion, but his mind quickly reeled him in. He needed to focus his attention to one thing, and one thing only.
He needed to get to Dean.
Castiel dared not think about what would happen if he did not get to the Men of Letters bunker in time. Dean was a demon for a long time now, and with the Mark still on him, Castiel feared that he and Sam may not be able to save Dean in time. His soul, the same soul he pulled from the depths of Hell and rebuilt with his own Grace, the beautiful soul that called to him even amidst that dark place of despair and viciousness; that soul may be gone.
Castiel stepped on the gas harder.
Dean Winchester.
His one and only weakness. The one thing that he refused to give up, the one person he always came back to. The one person he always, always believed in.
What's the matter? You don't think you deserve to be saved.
Castiel knew his hunter. He knew how Dean thought, even though he often did not understand the finer, subtle flicks of emotions nor the complex reasons that brought upon those particular streams of consciousness. The rationalisation behind the guilt and despair that he so often felt in the hunter made his soul ache, yet it remained mysterious most of the time. Dean never believed Castiel when he told him he was worthy. He never believed Sam when he said how much he cared for his brother. He never believed anyone, even when they showed him genuine tenderness. He just laughed, or made a joke, or took another sip of his drink and went on with his life, deeming himself unworthy of affection.
How come he does not see?
The road flew by quickly, trees and distant houses fusing into a chaotic stream of coloured stripes as Castiel gripped the wheel in his hands with inhuman strength. He knew Dean would fight him again like he fought him when the angel dragged him out of hell, tooth and nail and screaming string of blasphemies, because the hunter didn't see. Castiel tried to show him how much Dean meant to him, he tried to make him understand, but the self-loathing was too potent, years and years of repressed feelings bubbling under the surface, scarring the ethereal soul into believing he was worthless.
How come he does not see that he is everything?
"Castiel."
Hannah's soft voice brought him out of the trance. The road curved and then abruptly stopped some five hundred yards from the bunker, causing Castiel to swerve lightly on the road and stop the vehicle somewhat ungracefully to avoid colliding with a roadblock. He jumped out of the car, not bothering to shut off the engine, his sole focus on one thing.
Dean.
He needed to get to his hunter, now. He could feel the demon's presence, his Grace warning him subtly about an imminent threat. Dean was strong for a demon, terrifyingly so, and Castiel knew he would need all his strength to subdue the abomination his friend was rapidly turning into. Transporting himself into the bunker was out of the question, for he was ill-adapted to his substitute Grace.
Dean.
He ran.
The muscles in his legs screamed in protest as he started to move, unfamiliar movement startling his whole body. His lungs started to protest as he ran first couple of dozen yards, and he could feel and hear Hannah behind him rapidly firing off questions, asking for orders. He told her to wait, or maybe he just thought of it, but her voice subsided and the only thing left was the sound of his rapid breathing.
The Grace in his body eased the pain in his muscles, but Castiel made himself numb the sensations. He needed the strength, because understood that what he may find in the bunker was not completely human anymore.
(In a moment of utter desperation, he called upon his Father with a prayer. Then he remembered. Father was gone.)
His step faltered, a crack in the pavement on which his foot wobbled appearing out of nowhere and taking him by surprise, and he lost footing for a second. He felt himself stumble, but his muscles must have remembered some odd manoeuvre because he was back on his feet and running once again, pressure in his lungs almost unbearable as he continued down the dirty road that led to the bunker.
He wanted to pray. He wanted to scream. He wanted to not have to kill his hunter.
Castiel ran.
Pressure built up in his head, adding to the unpleasant sensations that were overwhelming him with each passing second. It was becoming too much, but he still ran, because now he had a goal, a purpose, and he needed to get to the bunker, he needed to help Sam, he needed to save Dean.
Dean.
With every step he made the name in his head echoed and his heart ached and his lungs felt like they would burst and he couldn't breathe, but he had to keep going, to keep running, moving, and to be fast, because so much was at stake.
Dean.
His name was like a prayer on Castiel's lips, the only grounding quality in his life of uncertainty.
deandeandean
And if he couldn't save Dean, if Dean was lost... then Castiel would surely perish too. So he ran, for the first time in his existence he ran for his purpose for his life, because hordes of demons attacking he could handle, fighting in the battlefield in Father's name he could endure, but destruction and distortion of Dean's soul into a Knight of Hell...
I'd rather have you.
He could see it clearly now, the door hidden behind the curtain of ivy.
(A little more. Just a little more.)
He crashed into the door, putting his hand on the handle and uttering the incantation under his breath, trying to breathe and speak at the same time. Not a second more should be wasted, for he was so close, so close.
The door handle twisted and opened, and Castiel used his new-found strength to send the door back into its hinges with a wave of hand and kept moving, because if he stopped moving...
He felt them clearly now. Sam's heart was pounding too hard and too fast and his thoughts were a jumbled mess of prayers and heartbreak. Alongside him, Castiel felt a dark, wicked mass of despair and atrociousness that was –
deandeandean
He paused for just a flicker of a second and he almost laughed in joy and then he ran through the labyrinth of hallways, following his hunter's soul, because he needed to save him and he could, Castiel could, because amidst all that blackness, there was still a beacon of purity and selflessness and Dean!
"... do it. It's all you."
He rounded the corner as Dean spoke his words, Sam holding Ruby's knife tightly to his throat. For a moment, the angel thought that the younger Winchester would do it, that he would kill his own brother.
(For a moment, Sam would have done it, and Sam knew, and Cas knew, and Dean knew, but the fact that he didn't spoke more then everything, because he finally, finally chose Dean.)
Then, Sam lowered his knife and raised his eyes, and Cas moved and Dean charged for Sam and Sam stayed still and Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean and he was finally home.
The demon roared on the outside, but on the inside, Castiel pushed his Grace to his hunter and their souls connected and Dean fought him again, just like in Hell, screaming hoarse words into his brain, clawing and gnawing with his essence just like Castiel predicted, but he was relentless. He fought for the only thing that matters, the only one that matters.
"It's over."
The angel held onto the demon, unyielding in his righteousness, and he pushed and prodded with his Grace until Dean could fight no more and was almost limp in his arms, restraining him enough for Sam to bring the handcuffs with the Devil's Trap on them and haul Dean off to the dungeon.
As Castiel pulled his Grace slowly away from Dean's soul, his knees gave away and he crumbled to the floor, all of his movement stopping and leaving a volatile stillness in its wake. His muscles started to scream, as did his lungs, his Grace still too weak to heal him. His Grace curled and crawled slowly back into him, damaged and still wrong, but it was reverberating in one word, one word that made the angel put his face in his hands and let go of the tears he did not know he was holding back, one word that jump-started his heart again, one word that he almost forgot in his rush, one word that must have originated from Dean somewhere amidst the shrieks and curses.
Cas.
AN: I have no idea what's happened. I hope you guys like this. It just came out, it's 4am now and I am confused with my life. Reviews make me really happy.