Hey guys!
Two things about this story:
1. There is no romance. It's more of a sibling story than anything.
2. When I first started writing this, the first half was completely different. But then my computer crashed and I lost it. So if it doesn't work too well, I'm sorry D: I did my best (well, honestly I borrowed it from a short story of mine, but I thought it would work...XD)
Please enjoy!
-Hana
Whenever you hear that little voice in the back of your head...whenever you hear a whisper to do the right thing...its always her.
It's that feeling in my chest that makes me wonder if I truly believe what I think I do, or if I'm simply running from one extreme to another. Like I'm a sheet of ice cracked and broken into different pieces, and different people see a different part of me. It's not the whole picture. Just floating on dark waters that hide that ugliness that abides in secret depths.
You wake up one morning surrounded by perfectly sculpted lies and beautifully painted smiles and carefully forged "love". Renaissance-like majesty, beauty and perfection and love surrounding you and cradling you in its murderous arms. But it only takes one nick to let the falseness shatter away, only one tap against porcelain love to reveal the disgusting creature that lies hidden away in the darkness. And so you run, run away from the Stepford smiles, away from the loveliness and docility, because you know it's all a lie. It's bait for you to become swallowed in its embrace. 'Don't run too far' the voice says.
They say ignorance is bliss. They're right. It's bliss to be ignorant of the darkness that hides behind the light. It's unbelievably wonderful to believe that there is no wolf under the sheep's clothing. Because once I run, it's all over.
Round and round and round. The gravel under my feet crunches and snaps and crumbles, the road moves quickly to and fro. Yet I do not move. Frozen. The masked faces reaching out for me with their well kept claws and screaming for me with their nightingale songs. I yank away. I tumble. I feel earth swallow me whole.
I fall.
Yet you do not die. You awake in a dimly lighted area, surrounded by ghosts and monsters and witches. They are ugly. They are disgusting. But they do not lie, you conclude. There are no pretty masks hiding their wretched faces. They do not paint over scars, nor do they hide shadows with lamps. They are truth. And so you embrace them, dine with them, drink with them. You make love to them. Because they do not hide. They do not lie.
'Run,' the little voice screams. 'RUN.'
I do not.
But my terror does not pass. I watch them kill innocents, rape lovers, eat each other. And I sink to my knees and watch in horror as they place my meal on the table. They smile so sweetly, as they show me the crumpled, bloody skin on the platter. It takes a few moments for me to recognize myself. My face. I touch my cheek and realize in disgust that they have peeled off everything. I look in the mirror. I see nothing. I feel nothing. Should I scream? Should I eat?
You run once more, into the darkness, unable to see. There are rooms, multiple rooms that lead to nowhere. You stumble and cry and run your hands against glass walls, unable to realize the transparency of your own mind. You vile creature. You demon among angels. You disgust me. You sickly, horrid child. You keep chasing yourself in black light, trying to escape the impending darkness that longs to taste your heart. Wicked laughs before you, lovely songs behind you. No escape. None at all. They will rip your soul apart and you will die.
And as I struggle to hide away from the beastly demons and run away from the painted angels, I no longer notice the lovely, smiling mask that now adorns my disfigured face.
He turns to you, in all of his beauty, dressed in white. God's perfect handiwork. His deteriorating vessel is gone; instead, he reveals to you the sheer power and loveliness that shines through his grace. He touches your cheek, caressing it with sickeningly gentle hands. "Hello, little brother," he says with a serene smile. There is a violent calm that washes over you, and the terror seeps into your skin. The grip on your face tightens, strangling away all wisps of air and breath. The coolness in his eyes...Sam's eyes...turns into a rage that sends all creatures onto their knees. "How does it feel," he snarls, violently thrusting you upon the ground, "To fall lower than Satan himself?"
I close my eyes and await the torment that I have undoubtedly earned...
"Castiel."
His eyes shot open, scanning quickly across the room, his heart pounding against his chest wildly. Every lick of cool he had left had long disappeared. The feeling of utter helplessness refused to fully satiate upon himself. Weary, torn, and tired, he limply leaned against the headboard of the bed. His eyes were drooping with drowsiness. He felt so weak. So empty.
"Castiel."
He lifted his eyes tiredly, only for them to snap wide awake. A splash of coldness washed against his insides; the quivering of bones rattles inside his flesh, taking away the very ability to breathe, to think. There is only terror. Fear. Shock. He stiffens his posture and forces himself to look away.
"Cas, look at me."
There is nothing he can do but meet her gaze. She hasn't changed, not much. She still has that fiery red hair, the fierce look of authority in her dark eyes. Confident. Knowing. She is perched on the edge of the bed, posture straight and full of intent. Yet, she looks much like she was when she was mortal; she is dressed in the hospital scrubs that Sam and Dean found her in. Though the angelic look of detachment is evident in her countenance, Castiel can detect telltale signs of humanity that lines the fabric of her being.
"A-Anna?" he chokes, looking at her wildly.
A kind, sincere smile stretches her lips. "Hello, Cas." She scoots a bit closer to the male angel, visibly ignoring the flinches he makes at her movement. "I wish I could say that you look well, but..." She pauses, making a point of drinking in the sight of Cas' vulnerability. "I'm pretty sure you're not."
He looks away, a new rush of shame swimming through his veins. Anna, his superior, his leader...his friend. He had betrayed her in ways that he couldn't bear to understand, indirectly aiding in the torture and warping of her mind and person. She had been the one person who actually understood the importance of making the right choice, the only person who had the audacity to force him to face the truth. To make his own choices. To master his will. And he had taken that right, that choice, away from her.
The self-loathing chained itself tightly in his chest.
A look of concern pursed her lips. "Cas, are you okay?" she asked, looking at his blank gaze in concern. He looked away, scrunching his eyebrows together.
"...You're not real," Castiel stated bluntly. "You're a hallucination."
Anna widened her eyes in surprise before shrugging. "Maybe. Maybe not. I guess I could be one, yeah." She locked eyes with her former companion. "Does that really matter?"
There was silence. Both knew the answer.
A bird chirped merrily outside. Anna gazed outside, a small smile tugging the corners of her lips. "It's a beautiful day," she commented. Her voice had taken a dream-like quality, her eyes glowing with a sort of fascination as she drank in the moment. "Just look at that sky," she murmured. "It's so beautiful." Cas tore his sagging eyes away from the impossible image of Anna and settled them on the scenery outside the window. A part of him truly did not care whether it was an attractive view or not but...another part of him forced his gaze to stay set on the light blue sky, and on the lush green grass, and on the diverse multitude of humans that walked up and down the gravelly sidewalk. All of this, everything, his Father's creations. How dare I believe I could do this... he heard himself think.
"You've changed, Castiel."
The angel looked towards the ginger-haired woman. Her eyes never left the window. He turned back towards the view. "...I know." he muttered. There was a long silence, only punctuated by the happy tweets of the birds fluttering outside. Castiel paused another beat before letting out a small sigh. "I was foolish."
"Damn straight you were."
Castiel flinched at the utter bluntness of Anna's words before letting out a shamed breath and looking away. The guilt continued to pulse through his veins. A gentle hand softly touched his shoulder, and he did all he could not to stiffen. "Look at me, Castiel," Anna said, her voice calm, yet commanding.
He looked.
It suddenly occurred to him that she looked old. Not in the aspect of human deterioration, per say, as her countenance was still very much that of a young woman's. But there was an agelessness that peered through the windows of her soul...as if she had fought countless battles for millenia without stopping. As if she seen things that no one, not even he himself, could even begin to comprehend. But it was this, the ancient gleam in her eyes, the weariness of her spirit, that drew him closer to her. He felt himself relax somewhat.
She sighed, running a hand through her red hair. "I know how you feel," she said simply. Her eyes never left his, steadily observing him. "The power, the choice it can..." she trailed off, looking away in something that Castiel could only describe as frustration. She steadied her breath, and locked her gaze to the scenery in the yard. "It can make you mad."
A surge of pain flashed through his grace. "Anna, I am so sorry," the dark-haired angel said quietly. "What happened to you...what you did...it was all my-"
A thin finger pressed at his lips. He looked up at her quizzically before hesitantly removing her finger. "It was all my fault," he finished. "Everything that has happened...has been my fault."
The emptiness that has continuously been gnawing at his chest seems to quicken its pace, and the darkness that envelops his thoughts grows louder and thicker, and he drowns in the sea of sound and blackness.
A pair of arms scoops him from his mind and Castiel finds himself resting against Anna's chest. All at once he feels like a small child, innocent and naive of the world around him; he does not understand how this can be possible, considering the millenia of years that compose his lifespan. But the feeling is there, and the desperation for comfort makes him unconsciously gather himself deeper into his sister's embrace. He can feel the sharpness of her chin resting on the scalp of his head; he can feel the digits of her hands running up and down his back soothingly as she coos softly. He grips the hem of her white scrubs tightly, and he buries his face into the crook of her neck. An unfamiliar feeling of stinging hot liquid tinges his cheeks. His throat becomes unbearably dry. He lets out a shuddering breath.
"Castiel...you don't see what I see," she murmurs in his hair, smoothing it down gently. Her voice is cracking just slightly, and Castiel can feel wet drops dampening his hair slightly. "You are so very...human." A trembling smile makes its way upon her face. "And that's beautiful. You make choices. You make mistakes. And you learn."
"But my sins are grave," he says hoarsely, squeezing his eyes shut as he fights the vulnerability. "Sister, I murdered, no, massacred, more angels, more people, than you can imagine. I tried to take our Father's place. I deserve to be locked in the Pit."
Her grip tightens around him, and Castiel feels all too small in her arms. There is a silence. Finally, she lifts his face towards hers. He's still wrapped protectively in her arms, and he can see the redness around her eyes, and the tears that streak her face. "That's the best part about human," she whispers, looking at him earnestly. "There are no sins that cannot be forgiven."
She takes his forehead, and kisses it sweetly. Cas falls limp into her arms, overwhelmed by a barrage of emotion that seems so foreign, yet so right. His eyes are watery. "Take those mistakes, and make them right," she whispers. There is a sort of security in her arms, a sense of safety that Castiel needs. The warmth of her chest seems like home. He doesn't want to leave.
"I'm always here," she murmurs softly into his hair. "Always here, Cas."
The firmness of her embrace seems to become unstable, and her voice is becoming hollow. Her image, her face, steadily becomes far more distant than he would like. He reaches for her, for her warmth and comfort, for her love, but it is gone.
He wakes up with a start.
Castiel glances about, taking in the white walls and bright lights. He is alone. The emptiness begins to assume itself once more, tormenting his thoughts and heart. "Why?" he croaks unsteadily, looking around the room, panicked. "Why..." Why did you leave me? The heaviness in his being seems to weigh more than before. He had lost Anael once; losing his sister again felt as if someone had ripped the grace outside of his soul. He couldn't do alone. He couldn't bear to do it alone. Anna was the only one who knew, the only one who truly knew what to do. Remembering that made his soul feel lost and alone.
"I'm always here, Cas. Always here."
It wasn't until later that it occurred to him that the small, still voice that resided in depths of his mind sounded just like her.