I'm bad at actually posting fic when I say I will, aren't I? I didn't think I would get in tonight, but what can I say? I had a nice day in the sunshine and got a little bit of work done on the sequel to this one so it's all good.
I'm beaten down again, I belong to them
Beaten down again, I've failed you
I'm weaker now my friend, I belong to them
Beaten down again, I've failed you
Castiel's days are becoming a blur of pain, fear, frustration and constant whispers on the edge of his mind, whispered threats and furtive calls, friends, allies, enemies and he cannot trust any of them, cannot contact them or communicate in any way because the only person that he really trusts, is in a position to trust, is Dean. He is not even certain that he could contact his brethren anyway even were it safe to, because his grace, though still a part of him, is shattered within him. It is not working properly, slipping from his grasp each time he tries to use it and this terrifies him. Alone in this body without Jimmy's soul and memories to give him a tiny amount of guidance, he is lost, weak, and he does not like the sensation, does not like the emotion that the torture seems to have unlocked. Emotions were once a temptation, something on the fringes of his awareness that he longed for, that he had indulged in only a couple of times in his existence and maybe this is his punishment. Not the torture or the betrayal, the threats or denial, just the emotions, perhaps these are the real punishment because in all the time he has been experiencing them he has never once felt something good, never once felt something nice, only fear, only pain, loneliness and abandonment, sorrow and despair.
He does not know how the humans do it, does not understand how they live their lives filled with such things. Does not understand why Dean is so desperate to save this world as he knows it with all the terrible sensations that he experiences, has experienced and that still await him, are waiting for Castiel now too and it is becoming harder and harder to hide these foreign feelings, to understand the source of them, of the shame. All because he cannot fix himself, cannot fix the body and cannot bare to let Dean touch him, to let him see just how broken he really is, how much everything hurts and it is not just the physical wounds that Dean can see, Castiel is injured in other ways too, even if the human cannot see them each time he argues the angel into submission. Which he always manages to do, one way or another, always gets his way and tends to the wounds he can see and asks without words about the ones that he cannot, he always gets his way, if not a completely truthful answer, and Castiel knows that it is because he is afraid, afraid that if he fights too hard or denies too much, Dean will leave him by the side of the road to fend for himself and that fear shames him too, he knows Dean is a better man than that, better than the both of them have really credited and better by far than the angel could ever hope to be.
Dean is better purely and simply because he has not failed his father, has not failed his destiny. No matter how hard he has been fighting against it, he now seems to have accepted it and acknowledged it and Castiel admires that. Admires the fact that Dean does not let his memories, dreams, nightmares take over his life and destroy him. Even though he does not sleep at night, Castiel knows that his memories are close to doing just that, because though he does not need to sleep, at night, when his charges are lost in their own nightmares and dreams there is little for him to do other than dwell on events that have taken place. Events that flash before him and he cannot simply open his eyes and banish them to the deep, endless, recesses of his memory. In those dead hours, silent apart from the occasional whimper from his charges, keepers, guardians, sounds that both men will deny making when they wake, all he can do is remember. He reads, tries to read, but finds that his concentration lapses, every little noise has him startling, his pilfered heart racing as the body reacts to the unfathomable emotions, each moment of fear bringing another memory with it, another flash of a blade, the crack of bones or the sizzle of burnt flesh and it takes all of his will for him to remain in the room with the Winchesters, where he knows he is safe, all of his will not to run into the night. He knows, he knows, that he is not coping with all of this, is not capable of handling it all alone but is afraid, so afraid, that if he speaks of it, expresses his failure, he will not be able to stop. Will not stop feeling, will not stop hurting, will not be able to heal regardless of speech, thought or aid. So he remains silent, fights the memories in a way that he has seen Dean do, with a stoic mask and bold faced lies. He knows it cannot continue forever.
It cannot continue because these emotions that he shows, that he feels when he should not, are beginning to break down all his walls, to break through his limited, pathetic defences, because he has never had to deal with something like this before and it is overwhelming him. He cannot stand to be touched, because each time calloused fingers brush against him whilst gently checking on still healing wounds, it reminds him of failure, reminds him of touches that had started out soft, soothing, and quickly turned into agony. Soft touches that remind him of just how broken, how trapped he is and it is that trapped feeling that has him gradually snapping and by the time Dean finds a place for them to hide, Castiel will be almost happy to not have to get back into the car again, will be almost happy to have a house to roam through at night rather than sit in an almost dark room alone but for the slumbering forms of the Winchesters. He cannot say that he will definitely be happy, because he does not truly know what happiness feels like. All he does know is that he is tired of being watched, tired of being touched like he will fall apart at any second and he does not want to have to be handling all that he is, does not want to do it alone, does not want to do it at all, so he runs, just grabs the coat that Dean has given him and walks out of the kitchen, hears Dean's raised objections, Sam's concerned words and ignores them. He needs to think, needs to be away, so he walks.
The deception you show is your own parasite
Just a word of advice you can heed if you like
And now I'm convinced on the inside that something's wrong with me
Convinced on the inside you're so much more than me
Reviews are little Castiels that fly above our heads and mini Deans under the bed. A small Sam in hand and a tiny John by the chair, a review that can show how much you care.
Artemis