Supernatural and its associated characters belong to Eric Kripke (lucky duck!)
Author's Note: It's the third chapter! Holy crap, where did this thing come from? Only a few moments behind the posting of Chapter 2!! It came from my notebook...and it's the last chapter I have really thoroughly sketched out. So enjoy this deluge of writing, because it'll take a bit longer from now on.
Castiel is dreamwalking, passing through shimmering bedrooms and faceless lovers and quiet blue waters lined in fresh spring grass without purpose. He feels better here, in these silent, better worlds, without Joanna's questions and Sam's kindness and Bobby's silence pressing awkwardly into the bruised place in his chest. The hollowness in his belly, the thickness and bitterness of the inside of his mouth, the weakness in the arms and legs...they're nonexistent here, in this place where he is pure thought and essence freed (at last) from mortal trappings. He's not hoping to find Dean. Honestly.
The Angel takes a step out of a dream painted in butterfly wings and onto the smooth marble sand of a beach, with a warm green expanse of ocean stretched out to the edges of the soul and the only sign of a human presence is a candy colored umbrella. He can barely see the profile of the man tucked beneath it and he knows it's Dean, and he sprawls in the sand and sighs because he's found him. The earth is warm and the sky is bright and Castiel doesn't realize he's been spotted until a shadow cuts across the sand and Dean hauls him to his feet, clapping him on the back and chest with childlike enthusiasm.
"What are you doing here? Holy shit man, I thought you were dead!"
"Dean," he chokes around the gap in his heart and the fist in his throat, and the laughter slides off the eldest Winchester's face. His expression becomes quieter, calculating; he's trying to see how much Castiel knows, what he's already guessed. A second sun burns hot in the sky up above.
"I had to do it, Cas." His eyes are sad, out of place in the sun and sand. "Zach woulda killed Sammy if I hadn't."
And though it's not his place to judge Dean Winchester or his actions, Castiel closes his fingers and strikes him on the cheek because how could he believe that Sam would have chosen this for him? That he wouldn't have died so that Dean could keep his body, keep running from the asteroid with its iron shackles and burning voice? Dean falls silently onto the sand and Castiel follows, gripping handfuls of his shirt and shaking him vigorously because it's not fair, and he feels wetness on his human face.
"You think too little of yourself!" Frost creeps over the sand, and all the light has been pulled into the second sun which is burning fierce and hot through the sapphire sky.
"I'm helping," Dean gasps, and his face is bruised and his eyelashes damp and the lie rattles in his chest. "Please, Cas..."
And the Angel realizes he's not begging for mercy but for understanding; the lie is all that stands between him and the horrible reality of an eternity spent chained to an archangel, and it's better if Dean thinks that Michael will use him properly. He falls back, sits and watches Dean roll and pant into the earth, eyes the same color as the endless ocean darken with shame and misery. Then Castiel's heart burns in his human chest, angry and crimson against pale tissue and cloth, because this is Dean giving up. This is surrender.
"Get out, Dean Winchester," and his true voice pierces Jimmy's vocal cords and his throat tastes like blood. "Fight back!"
"I can't," Dean whispers. "Cas, he's too big. I don't...I can't make myself fit."
"Then make him leave."
And something hardens in the line of Dean's jaw and his ocean-eyes are bright like an angel's and Castiel thinks he can almost see the shadowy print of wings on the sand. But it's not Michael; it's Dean, Dean in the eyes of frightened children, lost souls, Lucifer's angels. The sight, pure and unrestrained by flesh and bone and reality, is almost too brilliant and beautiful to stand, and Castiel's grace swells with pride.
"Don't stop looking," the eldest Winchester says firmly, and Castiel can barely manage a nod before the edges of reality come streaking to the point between the heavens and the sea, the core of the second sun, and Castiel is ripped out of a mind with no room left for him.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Ellen shivers when the Angel wakes up, because damn there's just something ancient in his eyes, something that can see straight through the fabric of her soul, and it speaks and moves and breathes like a man and it scares the hell out of her. The heat of uncurled wrath and battlefield mercy rolls off his body, slender and small and damp with unhealthy sweat and sour saliva, and she's surprised to hear his human voice when he speaks.
"Where is Sam?" He sits up, a line appearing between his eyebrows as his throat works and burns against the sickness. The mother in her is already in motion, pushing him down.
"He was headin' for bed, asked me to check--"
"We don't have time for sleep," he says, a note of desperation in his voice as he strains against her foolish hands, pressed with maternal surety against his narrow shoulders. Maybe if he weren't sick he could have managed to get away (and snapped her arms off in the process); weakened, his childish struggles bring the faintest of smiles to her lips as she almost forgets that this body is the vessel of an angel. Almost.
Then he looks straight at her, through her, inside her, eternal loveliness shifting behind its human mask, defying its slight frame and thin, appealing face, and Ellen's silly hands let him up at last. The palms are red, tender as a sunburn, and maybe that's what she has because the faintest wisp of smoke curls off the very tips of Castiel's hair and the cuff of his dress shirt.
"Ellen," the Angel says. "Tell Sam I've gone to look for Dean."
A pause, and Ellen can feel gratitude and relief in it; hers, because if anyone can find Dean, it's going to be an Angel of the Lord.
"Do you know where to start?" she asks.
He frowns and shakes his head, like he hasn't thought of a start, just a continuous flow and an end when he finds Dean.
"No. But I promised him I'd look." His voice is firm, stout, and Ellen begins to see why Dean liked this angel. "Tell Sam."
And he is gone, and when Ellen closes her eyes she can still see the outline of his wings, and she whispers a silent thank you to the being that first created them.
Farewell, Chapter Three...
Te gusta? No te gusta? Review please!