Anger
The impala is cold and empty.
At the bottom of a hill it sits, garish against the soft trees in the background. It's still and silent, and nothing but metal and fabric and gears and pistons. For the first time in a long time it's lifeless, and Castiel is lifeless inside.
The faint lights from the city far away shine weakly through the darkness, bouncing feebly off the black paintwork, and picking out faintly the dim space inside. With deadened eyes its all that Castiel can make out, the rest of the world being swallowed by the night, but then he isn't really looking anyway.
If he tried harder, he would be able to discern the echoes; Wait here. A door slamming shut. A far to heavy clunk of a lock. We're just gunna leave him? Fading footsteps. What else are we supposed to do? Voices eaten away by the wind.
But Castiel remains, too lost in himself to even register the nearby presence of corrupted smoke. Until somewhere far above him, quiet and unassuming, a star begins to fall. The night sky alights, trees and ground silhouetted in bright whiteness, the smell of ozone lingers, and everything shifts into strange distant free fall.
For the first time since he hit the ground, Castiel finally looks up.
And from nothing flares everything.
The star falls and Castiel watches its trail, the light of its fire now shining in his eyes. And it sort of makes sense in a distant way; emotions would just be the last thing to come properly back to him. After all, they were the first to be taken. He had snatches before, fast and fleeting in an endless struggle, but this has been growing since he awoke, a twisting sickness in his stomach that has nothing to do with the physical. And god, he's angry. So fucking angry.
No, no, no, you can't think these things.
Deep inside his mind electric ticks. A clash between two forces. One screams obedience and drills pain when he falters, the other flares free will; faint mutilated light still slowly churning. They crash against each other, fierce lightning shattering and spiking. Pressure builds, painful, uncontainable.
A swallowed groan escapes him. His head pulses as he pushes outwards, desperate to have it gone. Lights stutter. The heavy lock of the car snaps open with a clunk. A creaking door is flung wide.
He shouldn't feel these things, they're wrong, you don't feel, not supposed to, and this will only lead to… to… Castiel screws his eyes shut. Stop. Anger and rage and hurt and despair, these do not belong to him. Wait, are these even his words? Is it even his own voice in his head anymore?
As though guided by unknown forces, he pulls himself unsteadily out of the car. Still unsteady, still weak, he silences the little voice before it can complete its taunt, but he knows what it was going to say. Still useless. And it burns right the way through him.
Under the trail of the star he begins to walk. The star...
... The church looms in the darkness.
In his mind he screams: don't feel, though he thinks they're forced thoughts, don't fight, they will come again and split molten fire through you. It will HURT. But its there and its burning and he's so angry, why should this be wrong? Because he's not angry at himself, or at others, or at the world. He's angry for them. For this heartbreak they live in, for the wrongdoings and the suffering. For humanity and the angels and all the things in-between. And maybe, somewhere small and lost and where he wont ever admit, he is furious for himself. Because he deserves it all, yes, but not against his will.
The church door appears before him, thick and large; aged wood stained with time and the press of a thousand hopeful hands. It used to be sanctity, now it reeks of sulphur. Now is reeks of defilement and the anger inside him screams.
Castiel explodes through, the wrath of ages thundering behind him -
One heartbeat to take it all in; four bodies on the floor, four demons in the pews, Dean and Sam pinned on the wall.
- and then he ignites.
The air is filled with screams. Calls of his own name and curses of spite. Almost immediately two demons spring towards him. One flings a heavy fits that snaps through the air, Castiel spins, the strike misses, he feels its passage glancing gently near his face. His own fist lashes out. Once. Twice. The demon hits the floor like an avalanche.
One heartbeat to feel the pain; little sharp waves from the split flesh of his hands.
The second demon hisses, advances, and Castiel feels a whine of white hotness building in retaliation. Its stolen body takes two deliberate steps, weighted, muscles taught. Without even a blink Castiel pushes out with everything he has, his legs bunch, his body springs forward. There is no elegance to his moves, he is desperation and failing strength. The whine is building. His shoulder slams into the demons legs and they both go over, cracking fiercely onto the floor. The demon screams. Castiel slams his hand onto its head.
And pushes.
Theres no explosion of light, no demonic eyes bursting into beacons of heavens intent. Cas knows he isn't strong enough for that, not nearly an angel enough for that. But the tainted swirling mass inside him still coils and flares, so he forces a shivering spark into the demons flesh like poison. It gasps. It buckles. Castiel reels away, mind screaming.
One heartbeat to feel the ache; another fragment of himself deliriously eaten away.
A third attacks; fire and stone, and Castiel bites back; wind and lightning in a body limp and failing. Behind him he can sense the infected demon curl onto hands and knees; bubbling, retching gasps spew forth from its mouth as waves of black smoke are vomited out.
A man is left shivering and crying in the cold air.
Castiel sets his jaw, snatches a breath. He's not much, but perhaps he's enough. He moves forward again all focus on those inky eyes that shine from bottomless depths. The demon lands a hit, sharp into Castiels temple. The church bursts into sparking colours. His legs give way.
'Don't let him touch you!' the demon snarls. Its foot lashes out, misses, cracks the floor where it lands.
One heartbeat to hear the calls; sounds that are too weighted to comprehend.
Dean and Sam are screaming, pinned mockingly against the cold, stone walls. Screaming with words that mean something. Bodies no more use than a severed limb. They are screaming at Castiel. He tries to ignore them and find the anger once again, its weak and shivering inside him now and its the only fuel he has.
The demon snarls, wraps fingers into his hair and connects it's fist again. Castiel fumbles just as a foot cracks sharply into tender skin and softening ribs. The church echoes with pitiful gasps. Almost blind, Castiel thrashes out again and manages to glance a blow across the demons leg. It stumbles, shrieking manically. Twisting in the air as it falls, it flails at him.
And then Castiel is aware of nothing but steely fingers ripping across his back.
One heartbeat to feel the agony; one heartbeat to be swallowed whole.
Castiel screams soundlessly. The spark disappears. He is empty.
Then sight and sound and logic dissipate, and the world submits itself to maddening chaos. Floors and walls and demons and SamandDean vanish into smoke. The soulless exhaust of a demons true form, thick and greasy, forces its way down his throat; smouldering, clotting, cloying, chocking darkness. It burns where it touches, corrupting and consuming. He is engulfed.
He is lost.
One heartbeat given to nothing.
The spark coughs to life. The spark flares in white hot fury.
One heartbeat gasped again.
And Castiel burns.
Around him, the air rumbles with the explosion of ash. The demon screams, shrieks and squeals; an indignant cretin braying desperately in its last moments. No one way expulsion for it to live again, it is literally ripped outwards back into the air. The black smoke hangs like a cloud and from deep inside thunder builds. The smog shivers and fractures with a spiderweb of brilliant white veins. They crack and split as the screams pitch unbearable.
The demon ruptures apart like a firework.
And Castiel rises through the ashes.
He has stopped breathing now, has stopped thinking, stopped living. The pulse beats unsteady, a trembling flicker that may snap at any second. Muscles are forced to obey him, blood is forced to keep pumping because all Castiel feels is the fury of the unspoken. And its his fury to wield.
He strikes the palm of his hand sharply into another demons throat, she buckles and lets out a chocking squeal. He can sense another one hissing behind. Him and them, they're all thats left. A sound filters through, Dean and Sam still screaming. The demons are half fallen, staggering clumsily to their stolen feet.
Castiel blinks stinging sweat away, and snatches a breath. Oxygen burns through him, makes his whole body tremble. He raises a hand, its heavy as lead and wont stop shaking. His fingers aren't working properly, wont close, feel thick and numb. His hands are covered in blood, freshly seeping through the gauze. Perhaps it belongs there. Hasn't he always carried blood on his hands?
Sam and Dean hang before him, eyes thrown wide in the clawing dimness. Lips shape around the syllables of his name, theres dirt on their faces. Castiel weakly pushes out of himself again, sends silent impulses flashing towards them; they race and catch along the invisible threads of the demons power. Castiel can see webs as strong as iron, they lace and cocoon, pinning Sam and Dean captive.
He keeps pushing.
The threads tingle with the surge of his weak grace, it bunches like dewdrops across the invisible meshing. Castiel swallows bile, tries to find his old serenity. He is wind and he is light, he's a knifes edge and he can slice. The connection is weak, the extension is weak, Castiel is so weak, but he forces everything he has into imperfect sharpness.
'Cas!'
A hand like iron clamps around him from behind, rips him backwards and slams him onto the floor. His head cracks sharply, a tilde wave of white needles traverse across his skull. The demon shrieks above him, baring down with seething outrage. But it doesn't matter, its already done, his bloodless fingers have snapped closed and Dean and Sam have been wrenched free.
They drop, feet smacking sharply onto the stone floor. Little shock waves of protesting nerves shoot up Dean's spine, he's gunna feel that one tomorrow. And they will make it to tomorrow. Not even a pause for breath, he shoots out a hand and grips Sam's shoulder, tugging him close for a split second before shoving him towards the advancing demon.
Sam uses the momentum, pulls back a fist and canons it into the demons face. Its almost possible to see the muscles along his arm tense and contract as the punch ricochets. Dean, barely aware of himself, is already running. His whole body becomes an attack, tenses, springs, and slams himself into the demon straddling Cas.
All three are flung sideways and spill over the floor. Deans body is up and striking, coiled fist pounding into stomach and face, but his mind is on Cas, watching with pained heart as he drags himself onto his stomach. There's a shriek and a crackle of embers spurting. Sam's on the floor, wrenching the knife out of the demon. It splutters, spasms, then lies still... now just a woman once more.
Just one left.
It curses and wrenches itself from Deans hold. Its a race as it struggles to its feet, its a stand off as it stares them down. The demon hisses, spares a hateful glance around the desecrated church. Sam is ready, fingers white around the knife. Dean is ready, hands still curled. Cas is on the floor, still struggling to breathe.
With a snap the demon moves, its fist finds Dean, striking hard and fast. His head wrenches backwards and he stumbles just as a second hit lands, coppery blood blossoms over his tongue.
But then the body takes over, a heel of a hand pounds relentless; abdomen, ribs, chest, throat. Dean ducks and hooks an iron arm around the struggling thing, pinning its shoulders, rendering it helpless. And of course Sam is there, barely inches away, chest heaving, eyes engulfing. The knife slides in, nestling between ribs. A hallowed moan rips from the demons throat and it lights up with a scream.
A wet thud as it drops.
And with gentle ease, silence slips back into the church.
A few heartbeats to settle; to give proof that you're alive.
Sam is the first to move, dropping to one knee and grabbing Castiels shoulder. His touch is firm and solid, and Cas struggles to look like it doesn't break him.
'Cas, you good?'
He blinks away blood and sweat, tries to push reassurance into his face. 'Hello, Sam,' he answers purposefully.
Dean just stares.
He realises, belatedly, that its something akin to shock. That, yes, he had been holding on to some faint hope, its not like the demons had wanted to kill them, not till he returns, but he hadn't been expecting… well, Cas. Because not anything he'd seen before; not angels or gods or leviathan, could compare to Castiel burning a demon apart from the inside out.
'Hey,' Sam answers, helping him up. 'Woah, okay? You're just full of surprises.'
Cas staggers hopelessly to his feet, gets lost along the way and somehow buckles before he's even properly righted. Sam nearly goes over with him, but strains backwards with another, 'woah!'. Cas pauses, momentarily collects himself, eyes unfocused and breathing far to laboured.
And Dean just stares.
But then with a snap, sharp blue irises fix onto him. And there he is, Castiel laid bare before him, waiting, just waiting. Dean takes a breath, matches the stare, and… and anything hidden within is suddenly buried in an avalanche of anger
'What the hell, Cas?!' he explodes. 'I told you to wait!'
Sam shoots him a look as Castiel untangles himself and shakily finds his feet. 'Yes,' he replies tersely, 'you, of course, were managing fine without me.'
'Thats not the point! Look you're…' he waves his hand and gestures at the angel.
'Broken,' Cas fills in the void. He looks fervently at Dean, eyes flashing something new, but his voice holds no anger amongst its exhaustion. Theres blood matted in his hair.
'I know, Dean,' he says. 'I'm tired and I'm weak, I'm hurting and angry and…' his eyes skitter away but Dean can fill the silence with words aplenty; hopeless, lost, in pain. You're choking; drowning in this strange silent sorrow that I don't know how to fix. Castiel refocuses his gaze, 'you expect me to simply sit on it? The weight of… Sometimes its to much,' he falls silent, defeated by his own inability to explain.
'We never said to sit on it! You deal with it.'
'This is me dealing.'
'Punching some demons and nearly getting yourself killed?!'
A little falter, but to little to be hesitation. 'I'm angry.'
'Fine! Thats fine. But it doesn't mean you go around putting yourself in harms way.'
His face shifts into hopeless confusion. 'Then what would you have me do?!'
'Talk to us!' Dean snaps. He feels Sam by his side, knows hes probably looking gentle pity at Castiel, but all Dean can feel is bewildered frustration. 'Let us help, just talk to us.'
Cas slips his eyes down to the ground. 'I can't.'
'Damn it-' Dean grinds his hand into his forehead because its the same old story. 'Can't or wont, Cas?!'
'Can't!'
Its a finality, echoing fiercely through the church. Dean blinks at him, suddenly turned to stone. Castiel quivers before him, deep bruises still spiralling slowly around flashing eyes. Sam stands wordless, giving nothing and taking nothing, and Dean just... He wants to scream more, wants to lash out, wants to run because Castiel is burning.
And then the impact of the words hit him, an aftershock thick and heavy. can't. Dean thinks of metal spikes, of savage wiring drills puncturing flesh and ripping through. can't. He thinks of heaven and of angels and their ungraspable militancy; what pitiful family values they have to call someone brother and then command them to die. can't. Dean thinks of their perfection, their demand for cold control.
can't.
Because a lobotomy is a human thing for humans to suffer; it alters the mind, reshapes thoughts and feelings. But angels are not a human brain. Angels are grace and light, impulse and eternity and obedience.
And then Dean understands.
And Castiels eyes grow wide in quiet, painful relief. He can't, Deans thoughts scream, he can't talk about it. They forced their way into him, ripped him open and left him exposed. They took everything away, did an unspeakable something, and left him with nothing but a command of silence that he had no choice but to obey.
And then when they were done they turned their heads and threw him away.
And Cas says, 'I'm sorry, Dean.'
And Dean opens his mouth...
And not even words can creak out.
And then the ground rumbles. The air groans. Sam yells with full fury. The quaint and ordinary church floor heaves and retches as the sky outside spirals ashen vortexes. A thousand clamouring voices fill the air, they shudder with their weight and intensity. Somehow Sam's beside him, forcing the knife through his forgotten fingers. Dean moves his hand numbly, grips the handle even though he can't feel. The whole world gurgles and churns, imploding jolts and explosive wrenches, and all they can think of is St Mary's Convent and the day that Lucifer rose.
Cas is such a bamf.
There's significance to the falling star by the way (you can probably guess from the finale (OH MY GOD THE FINALE) but this has been in my head since long before that :P). And for anyone fearful, don't worry, what happened to Cas will eventually be revealed and explained in full (with much painful angst) but for now you're gunna have to be as clueless and lost as Sam and Dean.
Thanks as always guys.