Jimmy Novak was a faithful man.
At one time.
Riding on the tail end of comet tended to burn the beliefs.
God
oh, God, the invisible fucker
who slouched in shadows and smoked the
cheap cigarettes with a
busty
lady gliding around his popping hips.
Jimmy sacrificed himself for
Claire,
the truest angel in his ridiculous life
and even in his
dreams
she smiles
at
him
and lives to be ninety two with children
and all those
grandchildren with one being
his namesake.
But dreams
didn't fall too often,
maybe as much as angels – he feared.
A lifetime, an eternity,
all that eternity
washed over him like a flood
over desert cracked ground.
Swallowed, his
very being
smothered into wings of dirt
and wretched light.
When the archangel flew in, all broken tongues and beautiful
fury
Jimmy Novak smiled.
Castiel did not.
Even as his flesh poured
open in the fight with
chasms of red and hints
of early maple
and hairs split to the cracked
follicles, he
laughed with roots of
teeth unscrewing from
his gums.
The burden
was hard,
intense in his heart
before it exploded open, revealing the
inner chambers and mixing
with his decrepit insides.
Jimmy Novak was killed in action.
And when the spirits picked
up the pieces of
his weary soul,
he melt into their
shoulders
of bliss and grace
and then bit their necks with
the sharp edge of his anger
until he was pulled
back
by a man in white and
understanding slipping from him like love.
He honestly meant
them no harm:
the Winchesters.
But when the Devil said –
You can move me
if you want to –
Jimmy Novak moved.
Castiel
asked once, only once,
when they were
lying side by side
in the smoke of burning world,
and both their hands of ten
digits crawled on the ending of hair and
the beginning of the
gentle swell of skin at the nape of
their necks,
if God existed.
Staring at the reflection
of his former face, Jimmy
Novak
brought his recently acquired lips to
Castiel's forehead,
smelling aging death and desperation,
and lied.
Jimmy Novak was a faithful man.
At one time.
Riding on the tail end of comet tended to burn the beliefs.
God
oh, God, the invisible fucker
who slouched in shadows and smoked the
cheap cigarettes with a
busty
lady gliding around his popping hips.
Jimmy sacrificed himself for
Claire,
the truest angel in his ridiculous life
and even in his
dreams
she smiles
at
him
and lives to be ninety two with children
and all those
grandchildren with one being
his namesake.
But dreams
didn't fall too often,
maybe as much as angels – he feared.
A lifetime, an eternity,
all that eternity
washed over him like a flood
over desert cracked ground.
Swallowed, his
very being
smothered into wings of dirt
and wretched light.
When the archangel flew in, all broken tongues and beautiful
fury
Jimmy Novak smiled.
Castiel did not.
Even as his flesh poured
open in the fight with
chasms of red and hints
of early maple
and hairs split to the cracked
follicles, he
laughed with roots of
teeth unscrewing from
his gums.
The burden
was hard,
intense in his heart
before it exploded open, revealing the
inner chambers and mixing
with his decrepit insides.
Jimmy Novak was killed in action.
And when the spirits picked
up the pieces of
his weary soul,
he melt into their
shoulders
of bliss and grace
and then bit their necks with
the sharp edge of his anger
until he was pulled
back
by a man in white and
understanding slipping from him like love.
He honestly meant
them no harm:
the Winchesters.
But when the Devil said –
You can move me
if you want to –
Jimmy Novak moved.
Castiel
asked once, only once,
when they were
lying side by side
in the smoke of burning world,
and both their hands of ten
digits crawled on the ending of hair and
the beginning of the
gentle swell of skin at the nape of
their necks,
if God existed.
Staring at the reflection
of his former face, Jimmy
Novak
brought his recently acquired lips to
Castiel's forehead,
smelling aging death and desperation,
and lied.