Fic: The Stillness (4/?) Dean/Castiel
Title: The Stillness, Chapter 4- The Vanishing
Author: Aerilex
Fandom: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Friendship/Pre-slash
Rating: PG
Characters: Cas, mentions of Dean, Sam, Bobby, and Bal, Eve
Word Count: ~1600
Disclaimer: I still don't own any of them.
Warnings: AU from 6x15
Summary: Castiel is summoned.
A/N: This took awhile because I was struggling with what I wanted to feature next, and then I was struggling with the emotional fallout of 6x20. Blah. So, sorry for the wait. I'm not sure about posting this to the Dean/Cas comm, since Dean isn't directly involved...ah, well. Enjoy!
Chapter Three
The Vanishing
Castiel is left alone in a warded-off citadel in one of his safe havens. His wing needs time to rest and mend, and Balthazar is…unhappy with him. Their "discussion" did not go well, as expected. Castiel still feels some of the residual sadness that he always does now whenever Balthazar is trying to make a point. He understands that his brother isn’t angry at him, but he has upset Balthazar. He upsets his brother just as often as he does Dean and Sam, anymore.
He sighs to himself, and sits quietly within the confining space Balthazar has designed for his recovery. Balthazar has done what he could for the wing, has set the broken bone and mended the tears as best as he could. They had both been surprised to find char marks on large tufts of his feathers, some of them dripping inky residue that neither angel recognized. Castiel concludes that the residue must have, like the burns, come from the Flame when he unleashed it.
Balthazar also encouraged the healing process within his shoulder, so while the bandages and stitches that Dean placed remain, they are no longer as uncomfortable as they were. Experimentally, he flexes his wings just slightly. They twitch in painful reproach, and Castiel sighs again as he settles into his seat. Typically, he is a patient enough creature that sitting and waiting do not bother him. Even in the midst of the war, when he has so little time to rest, he remains patient for the most part. (He does not include moments he has become impatient with Dean in this, for he thinks that the only creature in all of Creation that has enough patience for the young hunter is the Father himself; and really, how could Castiel be blamed for impatience with such an impetuous man as Dean Winchester?)
Something is bothering him now, though.
It is not the congregation to discuss the last battle that worries him-when Balthazar left him, he claimed he had to "cover Castiel’s ass" there so Castiel knows that when his brother returns, it will be with the absence of an apology, his smug smirk, and news from the lieutenants. It is not his last meeting with Dean-that actually had gone surprisingly well; and though Castiel recognizes that there are still fissures in the bond between them, he allows himself relief. Perhaps one day, he will not be rejected when he can put forth the effort to repair his relationship with his human family.
He becomes aware of a vague feeling of pain, and it takes him some time to track the hurt. As dampened as his perceptions of pain are, he is unsurprised that it takes him so long to track the pain to its origin, someplace in his chest. Where his human heart beats, he realizes, and looks inward because he knows this sensation and knows what it means. He tilts his head, turning his attention inward.
Not a prayer. A summons? Strange. If anyone is calling him, he would have suspected it to be Dean, Sam, or Bobby.
He sorts through his allies, wondering who would risk summoning him. Balthazar should have informed them already that he is detained. They always try to keep it quiet when Castiel is injured. Balthazar claims that this is the best way to boost morale; apparently, no one wants to fight for a wounded general. Castiel disagrees with this. When he fought by Anael's side, he never minded it when she was injured. If anything, it allowed himself and Uriel to take up the slack and build a united front. Balthazar had been uninterested in battle, then, although he has always been the better fighter. When they fought together in the Before, he and Balthazar made a fearsome team. They along with Uriel had been a force to be reckoned with in Heaven, praised far and wide for felling hordes of demons without the full force of their garrison at their disposal. Anael had looked upon them with pride brightening her Grace, then. Balthazar will never be as close to him as he once was, not anymore.
He has gotten sidetracked. He tries not to think that it is because he misses his siblings, those he has lost to the ether and those he has lost to time and distance.
He tries very hard not to think of the way he has had to betray them all one way or another.
He shakes himself, wincing as pain trembles through the core of him, and focuses his energy on the source of the summons. It…feels like a human. He furrows his brow wonderingly. The spell is strangely familiar. He has not experienced it since before he met Dean in his human flesh for the first time. It is the summoning that Bobby Singer found, but why would Bobby or Dean be calling him now?
He leans forward, easing his odd sense of discomfort only slightly. Dean is not calling him…and he is immediately suspicious that whoever is has implemented his charge's methods; he is strangely at ease when it feels like his charge's signature brand of light, the light of a soul that spills through a summoning with the first call. Something seems to change, the glow of Heaven's light dimming around him. The warded room he hides in ripples with energy that is distinctly other, not of Heaven or of Earth. Castiel glances around, and his brow crinkles in consternation before he checks his own body. His hand is flickering, the white-blue that signifies his Grace bleeding through the edges of his vessel.
He jerks his hand up before his eyes and flexes it. The human vessel, which he wears into the lower areas of Heaven out of convenience more than necessity (it takes far too much energy to keep the empty vessel housed and protected in Heaven, and he can no longer leave the body Jimmy bequeathed him in death on Earth), is fading before his eyes as though it is being erased by Heaven's glory.
As though he is being eradicated, eaten away. As though he were a demon.
Castiel clambers to his feet, lips pursing as he hisses, "Damn it." Something is wrong. Something is terribly, terribly wrong. He glares at his hand, watching it as it begins to flicker not with the white-blue light of his Grace, but with something terrible and dark and of curling wisps of smoke. "This is…" He has no idea what this is, and barely has time to turn inward to his Grace, stretching it out toward Balthazar's before the first sharp tear rips through his Grace, driving a pained groan from his throat before he can call to his brother.
Cas?! Balthazar sends back, alarmed.
Castiel cannot answer him. He stumbles into the wall, holding out a hand blindly as though reaching for the light of his brother's presence. Blood fills his throat, and he coughs violently to dispel it. He feels his vessel's body begin to rip itself apart as if his wounded Grace was all that was holding it together. He hears someone calling to him, but the voice is very distant over the sudden echo of a thrumming bell-like voice intoning in his mind, Castiel. It's time to come and pay me a visit, angel.
A wave of pain rolles through him, starting deep inside and moving outward, seizing him suddenly like the raw, stormy power of Raphael's Grace ddi the instant before his elder brother burst him apart that very first time in Chuck Shurley's home. He manages to look up, eyes wide with unspeakable terror, just as he realizes that something has used Dean to breach Heaven...to pull Castiel out.
Castiel realizes he can no longer hear through his vessel's ears, and cannot hear the thrashing sound of his wings or the sound of Dean's name, a broken, desperate sound that struggles out of his throat. Then his poisoned Grace sizzles and stretches, and he is yanked through the undercurrent of space.
~
He comes to sharply at the first tug of sensation, realizing quickly that it is pain that calls him forth. It has been a time since he has been knocked from consciousness, and it never gets any less disconcerting. He blinks his eyes open, staring at a strange stone floor and his feet dangling some inches above it. When he tries to shift his wings, they burn burn burn and his recall of the sensation flashes to the instant when the demonic hellfire first brushes against the tips of his feathers and seizes them, licking and gnawing until his wings were being eaten away by the inferno beneath him. He twitches and struggles against the feeling. His wings won't move, can't respond to his will to make them move.
"Are we awake now?"
The soft coo draws his attention. Castiel struggles to look up, resting his eyes upon a dusky blue gaze. To humans she would appear as a young woman…an innocent girl. Castiel sees differently. He sees the hellfire that dashes the edges of Purgatory in her eyes. He sees her true form, an ugly twisted thing combined of dark light and shadow.
"Hello, angel," she says softly. Castiel stares at her blankly. So this is Eve, the Mother of All. He twitches as she reaches out and brushes fingertips over his lips. Broken murmurs escape his throat. "Hush, now, little one. Sleep."
And Castiel knows blackness.
Chapter Five
Author: Aerilex
Fandom: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Friendship/Pre-slash
Rating: PG
Characters: Cas, mentions of Dean, Sam, Bobby, and Bal, Eve
Word Count: ~1600
Disclaimer: I still don't own any of them.
Warnings: AU from 6x15
Summary: Castiel is summoned.
A/N: This took awhile because I was struggling with what I wanted to feature next, and then I was struggling with the emotional fallout of 6x20. Blah. So, sorry for the wait. I'm not sure about posting this to the Dean/Cas comm, since Dean isn't directly involved...ah, well. Enjoy!
Chapter Three
The Vanishing
Castiel is left alone in a warded-off citadel in one of his safe havens. His wing needs time to rest and mend, and Balthazar is…unhappy with him. Their "discussion" did not go well, as expected. Castiel still feels some of the residual sadness that he always does now whenever Balthazar is trying to make a point. He understands that his brother isn’t angry at him, but he has upset Balthazar. He upsets his brother just as often as he does Dean and Sam, anymore.
He sighs to himself, and sits quietly within the confining space Balthazar has designed for his recovery. Balthazar has done what he could for the wing, has set the broken bone and mended the tears as best as he could. They had both been surprised to find char marks on large tufts of his feathers, some of them dripping inky residue that neither angel recognized. Castiel concludes that the residue must have, like the burns, come from the Flame when he unleashed it.
Balthazar also encouraged the healing process within his shoulder, so while the bandages and stitches that Dean placed remain, they are no longer as uncomfortable as they were. Experimentally, he flexes his wings just slightly. They twitch in painful reproach, and Castiel sighs again as he settles into his seat. Typically, he is a patient enough creature that sitting and waiting do not bother him. Even in the midst of the war, when he has so little time to rest, he remains patient for the most part. (He does not include moments he has become impatient with Dean in this, for he thinks that the only creature in all of Creation that has enough patience for the young hunter is the Father himself; and really, how could Castiel be blamed for impatience with such an impetuous man as Dean Winchester?)
Something is bothering him now, though.
It is not the congregation to discuss the last battle that worries him-when Balthazar left him, he claimed he had to "cover Castiel’s ass" there so Castiel knows that when his brother returns, it will be with the absence of an apology, his smug smirk, and news from the lieutenants. It is not his last meeting with Dean-that actually had gone surprisingly well; and though Castiel recognizes that there are still fissures in the bond between them, he allows himself relief. Perhaps one day, he will not be rejected when he can put forth the effort to repair his relationship with his human family.
He becomes aware of a vague feeling of pain, and it takes him some time to track the hurt. As dampened as his perceptions of pain are, he is unsurprised that it takes him so long to track the pain to its origin, someplace in his chest. Where his human heart beats, he realizes, and looks inward because he knows this sensation and knows what it means. He tilts his head, turning his attention inward.
Not a prayer. A summons? Strange. If anyone is calling him, he would have suspected it to be Dean, Sam, or Bobby.
He sorts through his allies, wondering who would risk summoning him. Balthazar should have informed them already that he is detained. They always try to keep it quiet when Castiel is injured. Balthazar claims that this is the best way to boost morale; apparently, no one wants to fight for a wounded general. Castiel disagrees with this. When he fought by Anael's side, he never minded it when she was injured. If anything, it allowed himself and Uriel to take up the slack and build a united front. Balthazar had been uninterested in battle, then, although he has always been the better fighter. When they fought together in the Before, he and Balthazar made a fearsome team. They along with Uriel had been a force to be reckoned with in Heaven, praised far and wide for felling hordes of demons without the full force of their garrison at their disposal. Anael had looked upon them with pride brightening her Grace, then. Balthazar will never be as close to him as he once was, not anymore.
He has gotten sidetracked. He tries not to think that it is because he misses his siblings, those he has lost to the ether and those he has lost to time and distance.
He tries very hard not to think of the way he has had to betray them all one way or another.
He shakes himself, wincing as pain trembles through the core of him, and focuses his energy on the source of the summons. It…feels like a human. He furrows his brow wonderingly. The spell is strangely familiar. He has not experienced it since before he met Dean in his human flesh for the first time. It is the summoning that Bobby Singer found, but why would Bobby or Dean be calling him now?
He leans forward, easing his odd sense of discomfort only slightly. Dean is not calling him…and he is immediately suspicious that whoever is has implemented his charge's methods; he is strangely at ease when it feels like his charge's signature brand of light, the light of a soul that spills through a summoning with the first call. Something seems to change, the glow of Heaven's light dimming around him. The warded room he hides in ripples with energy that is distinctly other, not of Heaven or of Earth. Castiel glances around, and his brow crinkles in consternation before he checks his own body. His hand is flickering, the white-blue that signifies his Grace bleeding through the edges of his vessel.
He jerks his hand up before his eyes and flexes it. The human vessel, which he wears into the lower areas of Heaven out of convenience more than necessity (it takes far too much energy to keep the empty vessel housed and protected in Heaven, and he can no longer leave the body Jimmy bequeathed him in death on Earth), is fading before his eyes as though it is being erased by Heaven's glory.
As though he is being eradicated, eaten away. As though he were a demon.
Castiel clambers to his feet, lips pursing as he hisses, "Damn it." Something is wrong. Something is terribly, terribly wrong. He glares at his hand, watching it as it begins to flicker not with the white-blue light of his Grace, but with something terrible and dark and of curling wisps of smoke. "This is…" He has no idea what this is, and barely has time to turn inward to his Grace, stretching it out toward Balthazar's before the first sharp tear rips through his Grace, driving a pained groan from his throat before he can call to his brother.
Cas?! Balthazar sends back, alarmed.
Castiel cannot answer him. He stumbles into the wall, holding out a hand blindly as though reaching for the light of his brother's presence. Blood fills his throat, and he coughs violently to dispel it. He feels his vessel's body begin to rip itself apart as if his wounded Grace was all that was holding it together. He hears someone calling to him, but the voice is very distant over the sudden echo of a thrumming bell-like voice intoning in his mind, Castiel. It's time to come and pay me a visit, angel.
A wave of pain rolles through him, starting deep inside and moving outward, seizing him suddenly like the raw, stormy power of Raphael's Grace ddi the instant before his elder brother burst him apart that very first time in Chuck Shurley's home. He manages to look up, eyes wide with unspeakable terror, just as he realizes that something has used Dean to breach Heaven...to pull Castiel out.
Castiel realizes he can no longer hear through his vessel's ears, and cannot hear the thrashing sound of his wings or the sound of Dean's name, a broken, desperate sound that struggles out of his throat. Then his poisoned Grace sizzles and stretches, and he is yanked through the undercurrent of space.
~
He comes to sharply at the first tug of sensation, realizing quickly that it is pain that calls him forth. It has been a time since he has been knocked from consciousness, and it never gets any less disconcerting. He blinks his eyes open, staring at a strange stone floor and his feet dangling some inches above it. When he tries to shift his wings, they burn burn burn and his recall of the sensation flashes to the instant when the demonic hellfire first brushes against the tips of his feathers and seizes them, licking and gnawing until his wings were being eaten away by the inferno beneath him. He twitches and struggles against the feeling. His wings won't move, can't respond to his will to make them move.
"Are we awake now?"
The soft coo draws his attention. Castiel struggles to look up, resting his eyes upon a dusky blue gaze. To humans she would appear as a young woman…an innocent girl. Castiel sees differently. He sees the hellfire that dashes the edges of Purgatory in her eyes. He sees her true form, an ugly twisted thing combined of dark light and shadow.
"Hello, angel," she says softly. Castiel stares at her blankly. So this is Eve, the Mother of All. He twitches as she reaches out and brushes fingertips over his lips. Broken murmurs escape his throat. "Hush, now, little one. Sleep."
And Castiel knows blackness.
Chapter Five