A/N: This is vaguely based on 'Only in Dreams' by Weezer, but it's not really a song fic. So yeah, here goes my second shot at Calthazar.
They were so still, they could have been a painting. A stillness that masked them as the painless stroke of a brush, when in reality, they are formed only of agonizing flesh, and the shattering purity of grace. Their dancing never involved movement, only standing as if they had forgotten how to move. In their stationary state, the two angels felt as if they could meld together, and never again be parted as they had already been countless times.
Castiel holds onto his partner in the dance, desperate to feel, to breathe, to him; Balthazar is like oxygen, life itself floating through the air. He is oxygen, although he had not always been that, and he can only hope that he will be forever into the future.
"Please don't leave me. Not again." He begs, still holding on, feeling the arms around his waist as if the other angel is the last thing in the universe. Even as he holds on, he can feel the slick blood seeping from a point on Balthazar's back, though he cannot hope to remember what the wound is from.
"I won't. I'll always be here." Balthazar promises fervently, pressing their foreheads together, and when he finishes his oath, they lurch into movement. Long, swift, circles around the glassy, dreamlike ball room they have occupied. The other people, who wear masks so as not to be seen by the couple, clear the way for them to sweep by. Castiel is crying, he does not know why, but he does, anyway, and the tears dripping from his eyes closely resemble the crystal pieces of the chandeliers that hang from the ceilings. The ceilings which are so high, they blur into nothing.
"Don't cry, darling," Balthazar comforts as he wipes the tears away with the pad of his thumb. "It's only a dream."
And just like that, Castiel is awake. The ball room is gone, and so is his dead partner. He can feel his own tears, tears which had entered the physical world. He can feel the sticky blood crusted under his fingernails. More potently, he can feel the freshly opened scars that Balthazar's wings had burned into him, in the angel's death throes. Feel where his fingers have dug into the blackened flesh, drawing blood across his shoulders and abdomen. He can feel the distinct shape they leave tattooed on him, refusing the healing touch of grace.
He sits up, observing the field he had slept in. The flower petals have morphed into an inky black around his body; marking the place an angel of the lord has had a nightmare. The moon is bright above him, and no animals are around, giving deadened silence to the area.
He lies back down. The itchy grass is held at bay by the trench coat he has worn for so long.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He whispers, and then rolls over and closes his eyes again. Because he knows that even if he doesn't need to sleep physically, he needs it more than anything in his heart. He needs sleep like humans need oxygen, because it is the only way he will ever see his slain lover ever again.
When he is finally pulled back into rest, Balthazar is still waiting for him, as he always is. This time, the people are gone. Instead of dancing, the two stand in the empty room, and Balthazar holds Castiel as he cries, endlessly pressing fingers into the wound that, in this dream world, he can never quite place the origins of.