[It's funny sometimes, how right the devil is about everything. That's what makes him so dangerous - the dick knows what he's talking about. That's where the enticing and the seduction come in, why most people never even know they're being seduced. He was right that humanity took the place as God's favorite, that this was something that felt wrong.
Worse yet, worse than being second best, is that death was kinder to humans.
Angels don't worry about death. It exists for them, but they don't waste time (eternity) pondering it. Gabriel doesn't know what he expected, if anything; he figured, at the very least, he wouldn't care. Humans are filled with a sort of blissful apathy. They care for themselves, indulge in what they love, without a second spent for their regrets. No one has regrets in Heaven.
But Heaven is not where he is, and Gabriel is full of them. Would killing his brother have changed anything? Maybe. Would he have done it if it had? No. Even now, he knows he couldn't kill his brother. Love got in the way of everything. He couldn't even save himself for want to drown in it.
When Castiel opens his eyes, it's not into the smiling guile of the Trickster. It's the human face he borrowed, no Grace shining out from under it - why would he have it when it had been destroyed? - and its brows are furrowed. There's a flicker every so often of a holy light, a fire that cannot be put out in his being, but his Grace, if it exists at all anymore, is a sad and crippled skeleton. Castiel is on the ground in imperceptible space, and imperceptible space looks a lot like southern Florida.
To ease his brother in.
Castiel's on the hardwood of a seaside cabana, and his older brother is squatting next to him with a little pink paper umbrella being twirled back and forth between his thumb and forefinger.]
Wish I could say it's good to see you again, kiddo.
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Worse yet, worse than being second best, is that death was kinder to humans.
Angels don't worry about death. It exists for them, but they don't waste time (eternity) pondering it. Gabriel doesn't know what he expected, if anything; he figured, at the very least, he wouldn't care. Humans are filled with a sort of blissful apathy. They care for themselves, indulge in what they love, without a second spent for their regrets. No one has regrets in Heaven.
But Heaven is not where he is, and Gabriel is full of them. Would killing his brother have changed anything? Maybe. Would he have done it if it had? No. Even now, he knows he couldn't kill his brother. Love got in the way of everything. He couldn't even save himself for want to drown in it.
When Castiel opens his eyes, it's not into the smiling guile of the Trickster. It's the human face he borrowed, no Grace shining out from under it - why would he have it when it had been destroyed? - and its brows are furrowed. There's a flicker every so often of a holy light, a fire that cannot be put out in his being, but his Grace, if it exists at all anymore, is a sad and crippled skeleton. Castiel is on the ground in imperceptible space, and imperceptible space looks a lot like southern Florida.
To ease his brother in.
Castiel's on the hardwood of a seaside cabana, and his older brother is squatting next to him with a little pink paper umbrella being twirled back and forth between his thumb and forefinger.]
Wish I could say it's good to see you again, kiddo.