Does One Even Sign Prayers? ;Chapter One
Just short of 1000 words. Unbeta-ed and unchecked, so any mistakes are mine.
An earlier season six Dean/Castiel ficlet. Also my first fanfic... ever. Please don't eat me. An ongoing project in the back of Algebra 2 class.
---
Castiel crouched low behind the boulder and willed all of his grace to fold in on itself so as he would not be noticed by his brothers, who were close on his tail.
He slid his knife into the sheath that was fastened to the base of his left wing, pointedly looking away to avoid seeing the blood and charred grace of his brother that he knew was smeared on his hands and up his harms.
Footsteps behind him.
He drew his grace in faster until he was almost the size of his human vessel and as small as his grace would allow. He missed his human vessel; he missed Dean and Sam.
Speaking of the brothers, Castiel knew he was going to have to lay low for a while until the searching-- err, hunting party passed, so he sent a part of his consciousness to the prayer vaults to check on his friends.
Dean Winchester prayed every night, though he would deny it to anyone who asked him. Sam used to as well before his soul was lost, but now Dean's daily prayers had become one of the few highlights Castiel had left to look forward to each day.
The prayer vaults were a series of infinite hallways with drawers covering the walls. The drawers were ordered by century, then by decades, then by last name. No one had checked the vaults in at least the last hundred years, so Castiel let his guard down as he hurried down the maze.
The hallways extended faster then the human mind could comprehend, millions of prayers coming in every hour to be ignored, but Castiel knows precisely where the Dean's file lies, and arrived in moments.
Dean's prayers were always addressed to Castiel instead of God, which was something Castiel wasn't sure if he should enjoy or take offense at. They vary in length from brief 'I miss you's to more lengthy reports of the brothers' adventures and requests for Castiel to visit them.
It had been three days since Castiel had last found a moment to visit. The first two prayers read, “Hey Cas, I miss you,” and then, “Dear Castiel, stay safe,” respectively. The most recent was longer, it went:
“I'm still not sure if this even works, Cas, but here goes:
I, err, pray to the angel Castiel to.. hear me out, or something. So, um, you know that I'm really worried about Sam's soul. I still want it back, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about what you and all the other angels have said. About it being wrecked and... dying. But I've come to a bit of a conclusion, and I've decided to pull him out of the pit anyways. I know it's sort of out of place, a human saying this to an all-knowing angel, but I think you're being short-sighted about this. If we drag him out of hell and his body can't handle the shock, then at least he won't be stuck in hell for, you know, eternity and all. Right? I mean, if he dies up here on the surface, he's got to go to heaven for sacrificing himself to save the world. There's no way your angel buddies can deny that that's a pretty heaven-worthy act. So maybe you should think about that some...
Well, things have been pretty normal, but we haven't heard from you in a while. It would be great if you could stop by sometime when the war calms down, to let us know you're safe. So um... yeah. I guess that's it. I'm gonna go.
Does one even sign prayers? Dean.
And then there was one more blip of message, an after thought, probably not intended to be included in the prayer:
Iloveyou.Imissyou.
Castiel wondered if that Dean had even been aware of that thought. He presumed not. He had barely finished rereading that last line before a sharp pain in his shoulder pulled him back to where most of his grace was still manifested behind the boulder.
It was Ramiel, who was stepping on his wing. To say it hurt would be the largest understatement Castiel could possibly think of, but Castiel could barely think at all with the pressure on his wing. It was what Sam and Dean would call embarrassing, Castiel figures, how immobile and helpless it renders him. He needs to get out from under Ramiel and either retreat or fight back depending on the damage, but he just can't think straight with this agonizing affliction to his wing and he's afraid-- so childishly afraid that moving in any way whatsoever might make it worse.
This ordeal was only a few seconds long before there was an audible snap! and Castiel found himself falling out of the heavenly dimension altogether, accompanied by what had to be the worst pain in the world (below and above it as well). He tried holding on, willing himself to stay, but it was no use. He was slipping, and unless the pain stopped there was nothing in his power he could do to save himself the fall. After taking one last second to steer himself in the right direction, he gave in and let his mind shut down as he dropped into his second unintentional trip to Earth.
* * *
Dean was under the front hood of his baby, tuning her up, when a crushing weight landed on the hood and nearly squished him in two.
“Sammy!” he roared as he extricated himself from a face full of engine grease, but before he could yell at his brother more for jumping on the hood to annoy him, he got another face full-- this time of sticky black feathers.
To be continued.
An earlier season six Dean/Castiel ficlet. Also my first fanfic... ever. Please don't eat me. An ongoing project in the back of Algebra 2 class.
---
Castiel crouched low behind the boulder and willed all of his grace to fold in on itself so as he would not be noticed by his brothers, who were close on his tail.
He slid his knife into the sheath that was fastened to the base of his left wing, pointedly looking away to avoid seeing the blood and charred grace of his brother that he knew was smeared on his hands and up his harms.
Footsteps behind him.
He drew his grace in faster until he was almost the size of his human vessel and as small as his grace would allow. He missed his human vessel; he missed Dean and Sam.
Speaking of the brothers, Castiel knew he was going to have to lay low for a while until the searching-- err, hunting party passed, so he sent a part of his consciousness to the prayer vaults to check on his friends.
Dean Winchester prayed every night, though he would deny it to anyone who asked him. Sam used to as well before his soul was lost, but now Dean's daily prayers had become one of the few highlights Castiel had left to look forward to each day.
The prayer vaults were a series of infinite hallways with drawers covering the walls. The drawers were ordered by century, then by decades, then by last name. No one had checked the vaults in at least the last hundred years, so Castiel let his guard down as he hurried down the maze.
The hallways extended faster then the human mind could comprehend, millions of prayers coming in every hour to be ignored, but Castiel knows precisely where the Dean's file lies, and arrived in moments.
Dean's prayers were always addressed to Castiel instead of God, which was something Castiel wasn't sure if he should enjoy or take offense at. They vary in length from brief 'I miss you's to more lengthy reports of the brothers' adventures and requests for Castiel to visit them.
It had been three days since Castiel had last found a moment to visit. The first two prayers read, “Hey Cas, I miss you,” and then, “Dear Castiel, stay safe,” respectively. The most recent was longer, it went:
“I'm still not sure if this even works, Cas, but here goes:
I, err, pray to the angel Castiel to.. hear me out, or something. So, um, you know that I'm really worried about Sam's soul. I still want it back, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about what you and all the other angels have said. About it being wrecked and... dying. But I've come to a bit of a conclusion, and I've decided to pull him out of the pit anyways. I know it's sort of out of place, a human saying this to an all-knowing angel, but I think you're being short-sighted about this. If we drag him out of hell and his body can't handle the shock, then at least he won't be stuck in hell for, you know, eternity and all. Right? I mean, if he dies up here on the surface, he's got to go to heaven for sacrificing himself to save the world. There's no way your angel buddies can deny that that's a pretty heaven-worthy act. So maybe you should think about that some...
Well, things have been pretty normal, but we haven't heard from you in a while. It would be great if you could stop by sometime when the war calms down, to let us know you're safe. So um... yeah. I guess that's it. I'm gonna go.
Does one even sign prayers? Dean.
And then there was one more blip of message, an after thought, probably not intended to be included in the prayer:
Iloveyou.Imissyou.
Castiel wondered if that Dean had even been aware of that thought. He presumed not. He had barely finished rereading that last line before a sharp pain in his shoulder pulled him back to where most of his grace was still manifested behind the boulder.
It was Ramiel, who was stepping on his wing. To say it hurt would be the largest understatement Castiel could possibly think of, but Castiel could barely think at all with the pressure on his wing. It was what Sam and Dean would call embarrassing, Castiel figures, how immobile and helpless it renders him. He needs to get out from under Ramiel and either retreat or fight back depending on the damage, but he just can't think straight with this agonizing affliction to his wing and he's afraid-- so childishly afraid that moving in any way whatsoever might make it worse.
This ordeal was only a few seconds long before there was an audible snap! and Castiel found himself falling out of the heavenly dimension altogether, accompanied by what had to be the worst pain in the world (below and above it as well). He tried holding on, willing himself to stay, but it was no use. He was slipping, and unless the pain stopped there was nothing in his power he could do to save himself the fall. After taking one last second to steer himself in the right direction, he gave in and let his mind shut down as he dropped into his second unintentional trip to Earth.
* * *
Dean was under the front hood of his baby, tuning her up, when a crushing weight landed on the hood and nearly squished him in two.
“Sammy!” he roared as he extricated himself from a face full of engine grease, but before he could yell at his brother more for jumping on the hood to annoy him, he got another face full-- this time of sticky black feathers.
To be continued.