Castiel turned his head to the side, stretching the neck before it had a chance to cramp. It wasn't as if he would feel the pain, but more like Jimmy would thank him. Jimmy was always was sure to thank him, whether it was for kindly avoiding the gas stove when Dean or Sam were preparing food, or simply leaving the window open on a hot day. Castiel had come aware of the tiny, intricate catastrophes that occur daily within sensation alone. And with every small sigh, or occasional sharp wince from his vessel, he had become more considerate, until they grew to resemble a single, conscientious unit. As one.
Thank you. The vessel breathed, and Castiel inclined his head.
"You are welcome, James."
A small chuckle breached the small space within their shared mind, where both of their consciousness met. Behind the wall that contained Jimmy, Castiel imagined him heaving his broken form to lean against it, and now he was laughing weakly.
James is my father. I'm Jimmy.
"Is it a breach of etiquette to call a person their father's name?" Castiel asked, their head cocking to the side.
Where the vessel was, there was a small noise, almost a click. In Castiel's imagination, Jimmy had gritted his teeth.
...not with any father but mine.
Castiel decided to leave this conversation for another day. He stood up, walking over to the small kitchen, where left the remains showing, clear as day, that Dean had been there earlier. Incase the Winchesters sleeping form on the motel bed hadn't been enough proof for him. Empty beer bottles, half-empty bottle of scotch, and a protein shake. Untouched.Sam was out for the night.
The older Winchester was sleeping soundly, just ahead of where Cas had been standing.There was barely any room in the motels they stayed in, always offering an excuse for Cas to stick close to him. Contrary to popular belief, it wasn't because of his affection for the Winchesters, though there was certainly no shortage of this. It was because all humans, every single one, had a colour.
While growing up, Castiel's brothers had informed him it was because of their souls, giving off light and a slight, glowing hue. All of which was individual and unique to each person; although many families shared a specific shade to look out for.
This was how angels found their vessels. When an angel was created, they were taken to an Elder in one of the Seraphim garrisons, and a Seraph assigned a colour. They never ran out of them, for a human's capacity to see different shades of light is limited. An angels, however, is not. There are thousands upon millions of tiny shards in the true colour spectrum, and each one - or most of them - links back to an angel.
The colour would correspond to a human. And this human passed on the colour through their bloodline, sometimes for generations, until finally that angel's specific vessel was born, and could be used. Castiel had waited five centuries for Jimmy, and he'd been fortunate to not wait longer.
The colour would start out muddy, and barely possible to distinguish. Then, as that human bred another human, the colour became more pure, and with every step further and further down the family tree it became cleaner and brighter until it was ready. Before the war in heaven, the day an angel got their vessel was a joyous and happy occasion. There would be celebration within the garrison, it was something of a coming of age festival.
There would be sun and clear skies and rainbows stretching for months after. It was called an angel's Golden Day. The day they could first leave heaven.
Dean's colour was ripe and vibrant, for he was a chosen vessel. It was some variation of shade, the tint the humans called 'red'. Wherever Dean went, his assigned angel was watching, for they were two halves of a whole. Never separate, always a step away from one another.It should have been somewhat comforting, had Dean's angel not been Michael.
Cas sighed, taking a seat again, legs restless and willful to move erratically. He knew for sure Jimmy would not appreciate that.
What's wrong?The vessel coughed out, lifting his bloodied head in the dark.You're troubled.
"I'm troubled?" Castiel echoed, confused. "How?"
I dunno how or why, but your mind's moving a thousand miles a minute. I've learned more about angelic history in the last ten minutes than I ever did in Sunday school.
Another dry chuckle. Jimmy was in a good mood tonight.
Castiel considered the possibility, stretching out their legs.
"I...have had something on my mind, and am attempting to suppress it."
Why are you doing that?
"Because reliving the memory causes an...inexplicable discomfort."
Jimmy's pained head rolled in an understanding nod.You're hurting.
"I suppose I am."
Jimmy and Cas sat in silence for a moment. Castiel brooding quietly, and Jimmy tentatively reaching out to prod in their shared memories. The intrusion made the angel hiss.
"What are you doing in there?"
Stretching.Jimmy answered dryly, poking back to look. There is a place in every human's mind where each and every moment of their life is stored in memory, to be looked upon when their bodies die, to determine where they are headed. Gabriel tended to jokingly refer to it as a 'highlight reel'. Castiel had dominated Jimmy's highlight reel somewhat for the last few years. This allowed his vessel to share it with him.
Ah.Jimmy affirmed quietly, when he reached the particular spot of film where the offending culprit sat. That was the memory, the group of a thousand still images to create a picture, a moment. A collection of a billion nanoseconds, all stored in one frame, to be computed through a human's eyes and translated through the brain. The process was nothing if not fascinating, despite this one causing a twist in Cas' heart.
Crowley's blade sliced up, like a butchers meat hook, spearing her on it and causing her neck to snap back, surprised face exposed, eyes soon to become empty. Rosebud mouth falling open in shock, twisting with pain. Crowley dropped her like a discarded item, and she fell lifeless in the dirt.
Castiel stood by the door of the warehouse, unable to move, just after it had occurred...or at least, he told himself that.
Jimmy released a low whistle, retreating from that bad memory, wounded hands up.
You had feelings for her.
"Of course I did."
No, I don't mean feelings that you receive when she was in your presence. Everyone has the ability to make you feel, but she made you feel different.Didn'tshe?
"...Yes."
That's why you're in pain. You miss her feeling, and you need time to heal from that.
Castiel missed her colour, too.
"I only wish I had-"
He shook their head, forcing sleepy legs to stand.
"I want to take a walk." It was hardly necessary he announce every intention, but it was more than that. It was an opportunity for Jimmy to say 'No, I'm tired', or 'No, I don't want to.' It was more like a hidden request for permission.
The poor, wounded vessel man nodded tiredly, slumping down and curling himself into a position that, were he not almost entirely broken, would have been called comfortable. His eyelids fluttered closed, and then his sounds stopped entirely. Jimmy was sleeping, and had handed over the body to Castiel in it's entirety.
Castiel left the room, quietly shutting it behind him and making his way down the stairs to the landing, and then again. He felt a twinge of guilt for Jimmy's muscles, but at the moment he needed to walk. He needed to move, and move until he could no longer do so, perhaps until the physical body which shackled him reached the point of total separation from touch, transcending into a condition where he could keep running until all memory became lost, and he could leave them behind, shedded. Forgotten.
Never forgotten.
He stepped outside into the dark cement, ducking out of the shadows and looking around. It was dusk, and the stores were closing, mothers ushering their children inside. Dean and Sam had checked in the previous day, and Castiel had not stopped to consider the environment before mindlessly following them. The Winchester's personal angel.
Had he done so, he would have realised the city itself was visually pleasing. It almost reminded him of his heaven back home, not visually of course, but in atmosphere. Calm, quiet, almost remote. He began to miss the autistic man and his kite.
He never became aware that he was standing in the centre of a sidewalk, at least until a dark form crashed into him, shrouded in the shadows around it. Castiel frowned, lifting himself up to view the individual. Tall, athletic, dark-skinned and with the symmetrical features and specific body-type that the modern world had chosen to brand as attractive. He stepped back to allow the girl room to move, she seemed to be in need of her breath back.
When he did so, the girl's hands reached out to grab him, holding his wrists in her grip. Castiel flexed - it would be easy to shake her off, but he wanted to first determine that she was a threat before causing her damage.
"Ma'am, what do you want?" He demanded clearly, ready to replace his words with another language in case she did not understand. The girl blinked her big doe-eyes at him once, and then her lips pulled back from perfect teeth to grin.
"Hey there, Clarence. Long time no see."