This came to me when I realised you never really see much on the experiences of angels newly inhabiting their vessels- from a 'multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent' to a barely evolved monkey must be pretty weird, so here's my version of Castiels experiences-set after he is first summoned by Dean, but I'm not exactly sure when, probably around the time of 'The Great Pumpkin' when he becomes a bit more human. Started out as a drabble, but I got carried away...
From inside Jimmy Novak's head, everything was different. An angel, even those of the lowest rank, has many hundreds of what humans would call senses, to better observe and understand every facet of the Father's creation. They make it easier to guide, to nurture and in some cases, destroy.
Humans, even as the Father's chosen, had to live with only five senses, and he cringed internally as he remembered how he had sometimes pitied them, in the brief moments he had allowed himself the indulgence of emotion. He had thought, believed in his foolishness they were missing out somehow, that without all the extras they were blind and deaf and nearly dumb. But the five he had, just signals from flesh and sinew with electricity in between, were so vivid- a thousand times richer, more powerful. In his arrogance he had thought, in some small way, that angels were better than mankind, and now he blushed at his presumption.
Had he ever really seen before, tasted before, touched? Now he understood how humans could create such art, the symphonies and obelisks and stanzas that so enraptured the Host. How could he even begin to describe the passion of purple? Or the blueness of blue, the fiery blaze of orange and the soft, gentle green that was only to be found in the eyes of a certain Winchester? The soft curves of a hill in the distance, jutting up to cut through the clouds themselves, trying in vain to reach the Heavens.
He wondered how humans ever got anything done, how they managed to not stop every few moments and stare at the wonder of creation.
Hearing had been another surprise. After the choirs of heaven, and the beauty and colour the angels poured into every song, nothing human should have compared. But here they surprised him again. The rushing of water along a drain gurgled of rivers it remembered, as pigeons flew with a great rushing of wings, thinking themselves eagles. Buses roared like lions, and the clink of change in a pocket brought with it the clash of steel on steel, in the practice grounds of heaven. The range of human voices- the soft, high trills of a girl as she chased a balloon, the warm low tones of a woman to her husband as they danced unashamed on the street. Dean's deep, rich laughter and the soft rasp of his voice.
Stop.
Move on, to something else.
Taste still dazzled him. He'd tried a potato chip that morning- against orders, his conscience said smugly- and he tried not to let that worry him. He did not need sustenance, any more than he needed to sleep, but he'd been unable to resist.
He had, in a way, tasted them before in Jimmy's memories, and the man had such a passion for them. Sitting on a worn couch with a packet of salted, fried potatoes with his arms round his wife had been some of his happiest memories. So he'd been unable to resist stopping at a... convenience store to try some, temptation be damned. After materialising some money in the till, he'd pulled out the largest and studied it for a full minute, following the whorls of oil spatter and fat, tracing each minute detail to store for later. He'd relished, and surprised himself by relishing; the soft crustiness of the salt as it sat in the ridges of his fingerprints, and had to restrain himself from laughing aloud at the pleasure of it. He was already receiving stares.
Then he shut his eyes, and placed it in his mouth
It had been, simultaneously, the best and worst experience of his life. It had certainly been the most intense experience of his life, like taking the whole of Heaven and hitting someone in the face with it. It had taken all his will to prevent his vessel from collapsing as pleasure uncurled in his gut, the pure, unadulterated rush of sensation swamping everything aside.
Oh, my God. He finally understood that phrase.
And in that understanding, he wondered about another taste. One he would love to try.
Review/comment? How can I improve?