Content Warning: This is a heavy one - description of a severe panic attack, suicidal ideation through intrusive thoughts. I've added an end note to debrief from the heavy content. EDIT: I reuploaded this with less ambiguity, in case you read the original version. I felt quite uncomfortable with how far I pushed Uriel's character and have amended it so it makes more sense and is less confronting. I hope this is more acceptable.
A/N: Thank you for your patience with my haphazard updates. I've just gone through and edited up until this point to clear up inconsistencies and have incorporated the chapter title songs into the beginning of chapters to make their link clearer.
Don't forget to let me know your thoughts! It's been lovely reading your comments.
"
Like a heartbeat, drives you mad
In the stillness of remembering what you had
And what you lost
And what you had
And what you lost
"
An awareness of shuffling drags Dawn's mind from a deep sleep, consciousness fizzling behind heavy eyelids. They lift slow, morning light filtering through her eyelash mirage.
Her head is heavy, a lead ball balanced on a stiff timber slab, and she is cold. She is vaguely aware of something missing where her arms are laying, her fatigue preventing her from caring to investigate.
She tries to close her eyes again, but the shuffling is persistent, and eventually it turns into a nudge on her back.
She rolls her lead head towards it and forces her eyes to focus.
Dean stands over her offering a bundle of clothes. He is wearing nothing but a pair of grey boxer briefs, and his face is strained in urgency.
Dawn grunts her annoyance at his intrusion, the sort of sound that utilises only the nose and mouth in the interest of energy conservation.
He is persistent, forcing the bundle onto her. "Dawn, come on, you've gotta get up."
She paws at the fabric, slowly propping herself up onto her elbow and rubbing her eye. "Mmm… What's the time...?"
The heaviness weighs her jaw, the forming of words a chore.
"A few minutes after eight o'clock." Not Dean's voice – deep and stern.
"…Castiel?" She mutters, turning and squinting in the direction of the words.
A vague, shimmering outline of something pale is standing an indiscernible distance away from the bed.
As her question starts to work through the faculties of her mind, she realises several things at once.
She has fallen asleep by accident. She is naked. There are no sheets on the bed. She is supposed to be ready to leave.
Dean is barely dressed himself, rushing around the room retracing the events of the night before and gathering his things.
Her eyes widen, and she thinks that she should be embarrassed, but she is too tired for such an exhausting emotion. She lazily pulls on her underwear.
Castiel stands in the kitchenette, staring out the window with a fierce resolve. His usual tense expression betrays a livid undertone. He raises his hand and flexes his fingers slightly, the window closing by itself in front of him.
Dean, sufficiently clothed, hesitates at the door. He looks over to Dawn and waves hastily. "Maybe I'll see you again. If not… It's been fun, Red."
She smiles sincerely, ignoring a painful throb in her chest. "Take care of yourself, and good luck."
"Good luck yourself," he flashes a grin.
He opens the door. He leaves.
She remembers the pit from the night before as it begins to creep up from her stomach.
She pulls on the rest of her clothes and slides off the bed, gathering sparse belongings from around the room.
Castiel turns his attention away from the window and watches her. She avoids his eye.
As she shoulders her bags, he advances towards her.
She is a little afraid as he raises his hand to teleport them but does not let it show.
Their arrival in the all-too-familiar kitchen of her Scandinavian cabin makes Dawn sick. She is frozen with dread, the weight of her luggage doing little to motivate her to move or think.
Panic starts to swirl, quickening her heart rate and clenching her jaw. She closes her eyes tight, and takes a long, deep breath. It is shaky, but it does the trick.
She marches towards her room, throwing her things on the floor. The blinds are drawn, the darkness within swallows up anything a metre in front of her.
She steps back, putting her hand on the doorway and leaning on it to steady herself.
She turns to look at Castiel, finally acknowledging his presence. His own focus is elsewhere, at a window with its view covered. She is surprised he is still there.
"You're awfully quiet this morning." The sound of her voice after their silence is jarring.
"I could say the same about you." He responds, not turning.
"I was expecting you to chastise me about letting Dean in last night."
"What would be the point?" He says it more as a statement, empty and drained.
"Well, you seem angry," she takes care not to sound sympathetic. "Might do you some good to let it out."
"No, I don't believe it would do me any good." He locks eyes with her, the cold edge to his tone reflected in their icy blue. "You humans are all so defiant – nothing we do or say seems to change that."
"So, it's 'we' now?"
"What do you mean by that?" The emptiness of his voice is becoming harsher.
She guffaws at him. "Are you serious?"
"Deadly." He sounds it.
"The other night, after you healed me, you told me you had doubts."
"If you're suggesting-" He stops himself, his whole body tense. He visibly swallows the aggressive tone of his voice, calming himself before continuing with quiet ferocity. "If you're suggesting that I consider myself separated from The Plan, from my brethren, because of my own reservations, you are sorely mistaken. I continue to serve Heaven, not you and not Dean."
He looks away from her, shaking his head, disappointed. In himself or her, Dawn cannot tell.
"Your behaviour last night," he continues. "Your blatant disobedience of security concerns, put you in danger, and Dean as well. Not only that, you've ridiculed the trust I placed in you. I gave you too much freedom. My position as your guardian is being questioned as a result."
His chin wobbles with the effort of controlling his anger.
She frowns. "How's that?"
"You don't understand," he stares at the wall resolutely. "When Heaven has made its mind up, it is very difficult to change it. Or reason with it."
"Castiel-"
"They suspect I encouraged you in some way." He walks to the window and flicks his hand. The blind raises itself, blue morning light illuminating his furrowed brow.
Guilt mixes with the panic in Dawn's stomach. "I don't get it – it's not like this is the first time my security has been threatened, whether through my choice or Heaven's. Or by accident." She clarifies as he shoots her a look of warning. "I think there's something bigger going on here. Ask yourself why it is that I'm being kept like this. It's certainly not for my benefit."
He holds her eye but does not speak.
"Costello mentioned that I was susceptible to evil because of this." She turns her wrist, the scar of III shining in the light. "I think that the angels are afraid of what I might do because they don't actually know what's next."
"It is foolish to anticipate the will of Heaven." His voice is not as confident as his words.
"Don't be naïve, Castiel."
He drops his eye. "It is not my place to wonder. Nor is it yours."
"I didn't sleep with Dean to defy you, I did it because I wanted to," she says, resentfully. "I proved I could circumvent the dodgy security around my room, and that was kinda fun, but that wasn't why I did it. I didn't mean to be found out, or to embarrass you. It just happened that way."
He turns to look out the window again, his eyes searching for something in the mountains.
"You don't regret your decision." He speaks after a moment.
"No."
"You are sure of your decision."
"What do you mean?" She straightens off the doorway.
"When you made your choice, you could see the option to go against what you were told, and you could see where it might lead – the consequences of your actions. And you took it anyway because, as you say, you 'wanted' to." His voice is distant, as if he is thinking about something else. He frowns. "That is what it means to be human."
She smirks at the dramatic statement. "It's what it means to have free will."
"I rest my case."
His words strike her as ominous. She senses a great weight hanging above him, and she feels another twinge of guilt that her actions may have contributed to it.
"What's the big deal if the Winchesters work out where I live anyway?" She presses, stepping forward. "Really – what is the big issue here?"
Castiel goes to speak but swallows the words. He stares at the birch tree outside. "I stand by the reasoning that it is for your protection. If one party is aware of your whereabouts, the information is more likely to spread."
"I know you 'stand by that'. I'm just not sure the population of Heaven knowing my whereabouts is much safer, considering someone or thing tried to have me assassinated."
"It certainly calls it into question…" He looks physically pained processing the information.
She pities him, struggling over his conundrum, but she finds she does not have the strength to suppress the distrust that suffocates it as Costello's words turn over in her mind.
"That's great – so while you're stuck in this middle ground, one foot on my side of the fence and the other in Heaven's," she drums her fingers on the doorway, her tone sardonic. "I'm stuck here, wasting away, waiting for… God knows what. Some angels to make their minds up."
"There are hard times ahead. Do not worry about Heaven's plan for you." There is a stony decisiveness to his tone.
She rolls her eyes. "That's so-"
Castiel disappears in a flap of wings.
"…Comforting."
Dawn paces around her house aimlessly, before turning her attention to unpacking her small number of items. She takes her time laying her clothes out before hanging them or bundling them together to wash. She carries her weaponry to the training shelter, the sun glinting off the metal.
It is a clear day, and she takes no notice.
She showers without feeling the warm water on her skin. She folds her bags away automatically. She stares out of her windows without taking in the scenery.
Time passes around her and through her. She does not register the hands of the clock as they move. Her mind is empty, she cannot grasp at a single thought.
When there is nothing left to do, she sits on her couch and stares at herself reflected in the television screen.
Her eyes are heavy. She lies down.
The cool leather sinks under her, creaking against her ear.
Better here than in an empty bed.
Before she can acknowledge a stab of anguish at this thought, she ebbs into the cloudiness fogging her mind, unconsciousness smothering her.
Dreaming – half waking every ten minutes or so to the squeak of leather as Dawn rolls over or fidgets. Snatches of distorted memory; Costello leering down at her with the obsidian blade, crimson edged hallucinations by a bloodied river, a goofy smile from Dean, the young intruder sweating with fear in a pool of his friend's blood, a walk by the lake outside her door.
Reality and sleep bleed into each other, eyes sore and leaden when they stutter open, only to close again.
When Dawn finally emerges from her extended nap, it is dim. Evening is inching into night through her window.
She can smell a puddle of drool trailing from her open mouth, grunting, and peeling her face off the couch. A lead ball balanced on a stiff, timber slab.
She wipes the spit off her face, tracing a crease line along her cheek.
She forces herself to stand, stumbling toward the window. The sky is turning dark purple lit with splashes of vermillion, a bank of white-orange sinking into the horizon.
Movement in the corner of her eye – one of the angel guards disappearing.
Without thinking much of it, Dawn stomps to the fridge as her stomach grumbles, flicking her eye to the clock. It is just after three in the afternoon, the Arctic's adjusted daylight hours momentarily giving her whiplash. Her head is foggy enough from sleep deprivation that she can ignore the disassociation easily, reaching for a tub of yoghurt in front of her.
As she throws the fridge door shut, she yelps with surprise, dropping the container.
Its contents spill onto the shined leather shoe of Uriel, standing directly behind where the door had been. Dawn, bleary eyed, steps back from the uncomfortable closeness.
He stares at her, stone faced. He waves his hand, making the yoghurt disappear.
She swallows, tired mind speeding up, trying to think of something appropriate to say. Her mouth and mind are paralysed with fear.
He just stares, his expression unreadable – although, she is sure he is enjoying her confusion.
She grounds her shaky legs and takes a deep breath.
"If you knocked, accidents like that wouldn't happen." Her voice wobbles.
He smiles – cold and malevolent. "You humans with your courtesies. So trivial."
She gulps.
"If only you afforded the same respect for structure to our requests," he continues. "Then, maybe, we would respect your sentimental customs."
"If this is about-" She starts.
"Did you really think you could get away with defying orders without due punishment?" The smile hardens to a flat line. He tilts his head, but not in the curious way that is Castiel's habit. It is a challenge, it is intimidation – a reminder that Uriel is big, and Dawn is small.
"Castiel has already-" The start of a tiny, shaking defence.
"No, he has not." He straightens his neck. "If he had, you would be kneeling before me."
She balls her hands into fists by her side, trying to believe in a strength to suffocate her paralysis. Any fatigue has been knocked out of her bloodstream as her heart thumps against her chest, as her breathing quickens.
The fact is that Dawn is alone in this cabin with Uriel, with an angel, and she is very far away from appropriate defence.
She swallows back dizziness. "I don't understand."
"What do you not understand?" His tone builds in intensity, louder and aggressive.
"What the deal is?" Her fist clenches on its own accord.
"The 'deal' is that you were given a strict order," he steps forward. "And you disobeyed."
She steps back. "I broke the rule because it was a stupid rule."
"It does not matter what you think about the order. It does not matter what you think, period." A bit of spittle flies from his booming voice. "When will you understand that you must do as you are told."
He wallks towards Dawn. She rushes backwards, smacking into the kitchen bench behind her.
Uriel stops inches from her face, leering at her.
"I wouldn't have a problem following the order if the order made sense." She is surprised by the assertiveness of her words, though overshadowed by her timid delivery.
"To protect your friends and yourself does not make sense to you?" He lowers his voice, back to the frighteningly calm tone.
"Protect us from what?"
Uriel stares but does not answer, so she continues. "What does hiding me away from the world do, exactly? And how long are you going to use all this manpower, or angel-power, to 'protect' me?"
"An excellent question. Why do we continue wasting our time and energy on you?"
He appraises her with his eye, making her stomach churn. He grabs her wrist before she can pull away, his grip strong, studying the roman numeral scars.
"Why do we waste time on an abomination?" He turns to look at her, dropping her wrist. "One so weak willed, and pathetic. No wonder you were able to secure the company you keep."
Dawn is gripping the kitchen bench so hard her hands are cramping. Her palm sweat threatens to detach her hold, pins and needles infiltrating her feet.
"It makes sense to me that you and Dean would get together – two peas in a pod. Defiant. Foolhardy. Self-hating. Lonely. What disgusted me was that you were even allowed near each other in the first place."
He snaps his hand forward, balling her shirt taut into his fist.
She feels her limbs tense and shake, helpless to defend herself.
"And yet, you still lost a seal. Both of you. I am so tired of following the orders of glorified monkeys. All this time spent supervising you only for you to defy us in so many ways."
He lifts her off the counter as if she weighs nothing and drags her away. Her clenched teeth rattle in her ears as he slams her onto the wall by the fridge.
"I do not believe Castiel truly knows how to handle you. He is far too lenient. I believe in the adage, 'an eye for an eye'."
Uriel flicks out his free hand, revealing a blade from the sleeve of his blazer. It is solid silver, from the handle to the tip of the blade. He taps it on the side of her face, dragging it softly along her jawline without cutting it. It is like he is testing its sharpness, taking advantage of the senses of another.
A guttural disagreement gurgles from her as it stops at her chin.
"Your humiliation for our humiliation." He smiles wide – psychopathic.
She feels like she cannot breathe, lightheaded from hyperventilating. Her shaking legs drum softly on the wall, hovering above the floor.
She has not registered feelings or thoughts outside of fight-or-flight, but the gravity and desperation of the situation starts to edge into her mind.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
It gets louder and more demanding as he takes the blade off her chin, squinting at her face as if imagining how he should sculpt it.
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
His dark brown eyes are void of good feeling, insidious pits, impaling her stomach with dread.
He angles the tip to her cheekbone, applying the smallest amount of pressure. She sees a bead of blood balloon in her blurred vision.
"Uriel – put her down. What are you doing here, and where did the guards go?" The low, booming voice of Castiel from where he has materialised unseen. "I have already passed discipline."
Uriel's smile falters, and he replaces the blade back into his sleeve, keeping her pinned to the wall. "Not nearly enough-"
"Do you question my judgement?"
Dawn, underneath the terror seizing within her, almost killing her, thinks that she understands why the demons might be afraid of angels, of Castiel in particular. The anger in his voice, absolute, reverberates in her skull.
"No – I merely-" The assuredness in Uriel's tone earlier has given way to petulance.
"Then put her down, brother."
She cannot see Castiel, her periphery tunnelled away to focus on the threat directly in front of her, loosening his grip on her.
She feels her feet touch the floor. She senses he has stepped back, let go of her. She falls down the wall slowly, gasping for air, spots appearing in her vision.
Their voices, heated, swim in her consciousness.
"She is an abomination, Castiel. She is marked."
"That was not her doing."
"It is not about choice; it is about fate." Uriel's voice grows distant as he addresses Castiel.
"Yes – and she is fulfilling her place."
"What is her place, exactly?"
A pause.
"Are you saying you doubt our prophecy, Uriel?" There is an almost amused cut in Castiel's tone.
"I question her relevance, that is all."
"Regardless, she is to be protected."
"Why? If she is no good to us now, why do we bother with her at all?"
"Brother – watch your tongue. You are talking about our Father's creation."
Uriel merely chuckles mirthlessly in return. "Castiel, if I can be frank."
"Please." No warmth.
"I think you are too attached to these humans."
"We are their guardians."
"We are servants to Heaven first."
No reply. Dawn takes the opportunity to loll her head to the side and tap each of her fingers to her thumbs, her hands losing feeling. Her breathing is beginning to slow but her heart still thumps ruthlessly.
"Even so, this does not excuse your defiance," Castiel's tone has cooled. "There is a strict hierarchy in place to handle these matters for a reason. You know I am to be the sole communicator with Wrath unless otherwise delegated – by me."
Dawn wishes she could see Uriel's face. She winces at the use of 'Wrath' to name her.
"Yes." Uriel admits after a beat.
"We will discuss penalties later, for now…"
She hears the flap of wings, and then the sound of approaching footsteps.
Dawn wakes in pitch blackness. She sits upright, searching through the dark for a discernible shape.
She is fully clothed and lying on something comfortable. She reaches instinctively for the switch to her bedside lamp.
She confirms she is in her room by finding it and clicking it on. She does not remember getting here, presumably Castiel took her. She feels the most awake she has been since she arrived back in the cabin. She wonders how long she has been asleep.
She sits on the edge of her bed. Her alarm clock reads 20:32.
Dawn lets her eyes soften, out of focus. She thinks about what happened before she apparently slipped into unconsciousness again.
I don't remember- Castiel probably shut you off so you wouldn't ask questions. No, I probably passed out. Unlikely. I hadn't eaten, I was sleep deprived, and I was traumatised. So – what's new?
She lays down, pulls the covers over herself, not bothering to turn off the light or take off her shoes.
Why'd he call me Wrath, why didn't he come sooner, what is going on, what was Uriel going to do to my face, what's going to happen now, Dumb bitch would have deserved whatever, who can I trust, what am I – an abomination, you heard it straight from the angel's mouth. Disgusting – you are disgusting. You don't deserve to breathe fresh air – smother yourself under the covers you disgusting waste of space. Will I ever be able to look him in the eye, am I safe here, am I safe at all, nobody cares about you, Castiel doesn't care about you, Dean doesn't care about you, you may as well be burning in Hell. No one would care, no one would come, you are alone. You deserve to be alone. Walk up to the tallest mountain and throw yourself off, you would be doing the world a favour. I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead.
Pathetic.
Weak.
Bitch.
E/N: If you were at all triggered by the content of this chapter, please reach out to someone you trust, or follow these links to resources and services:
Beyond Blue website (Australian)
American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, Suicide Prevention Lifeline (US)
List of international suicide hotlines
[Sorry I can't provide links on ]
My intention with writing this sort of content is to explore and represent the effects of mental illness, particularly on how it can control everyday life, and what it can look like untreated. It is not to trigger or glorify depression, anxiety, disassociation.
If you struggle with any of these illnesses and are yet to reach out or take steps towards recovery, I recommend speaking to either a family member or a friend or someone you trust, and then speaking to a doctor or GP about what you can do to make it more managable.
Please remember that you are not alone. You deserve options that lighten the load you carry day-to-day, and it is not a weakness to ask for help. It shows maturity and resilience.
Lots of love, thank you for reading this far x [Thanks for 1k views :) ]