[psl] and i've been taking chances

[freewill]

[It's painful in a way that Castiel can hardly describe, the way that his body is pulled apart and literally reduced to nothing. Each atom splits apart and he can almost feel that, but it's more than just physical. His Grace is splintering too, his wings shredded to bits, and it's bloodier than any angel's death should be.

This isn't the first time, of course, but this time Lucifer is responsible. And that makes it ten times worse.

But the pain, in reality, only lasts for a second (maybe less), even if it also feels like an eternity, like longer than he's lived. He feels lungs that are no longer there fill up with air, and understands, suddenly, that he's somewhere else.

He's moved on. It's a question every angel has asked for millenia: where do they go after death? Angels aren't supposed to die. If all went well, they would be eternal, and yet things never work out the way they're intended to. So many of his siblings have fallen. Has he joined them?

Slowly, cautiously, Castiel opens his eyes, not quite understanding why he still feels as if he's in some sort of human form.]

Comments

[affictitious]

[A waste. He wants to laugh at that, because what hasn't been a waste? He figures, if anything, he's the only angel that's learned his lesson. Sure, it took death to figure it out, but he got it. Fate and all that. No free will. Not around here, bucko.

You know what? He's not questioning it. Not this time. He figures - hell, doesn't he owe Castiel a little? And this hole, while not altogether a shit one, isn't a picnic. He just imagines it is, shapes it a little, makes it a little less blank and boring.

(And he misses his brothers.)]

Beam up us, kiddo. [He closes his not-eyes, draws the nothingness out of them and allows the intrusion. It's probably the most intimate freaking thing angels can do, and this is coming from a guy who's bagged thousands of chicks. He feels Castiel in him, around him, and yeah, there's something more there.

It's familiar. Family, huh. Little grunt got a promotion.]

[freewill]

[Though while Castiel's Grace is certainly stronger, there's still that sense that it belongs to him, that it's the same essence it's always been. Because as much as he's been changed by his rebellion and by his exposure to humans, there are some things that can never be altered. To other angels, he still feels the same.

As does Gabriel, of course. Right now the archangel's Grace comes across as weakened and insubstantial, but if Castiel drags him back across the curtain, he'll have returned to his former strength. That's the hope, at least.

Once Gabriel accepts him, it's much easier to pull him close, and then Castiel figuratively holds his breath as he tosses both of them back toward where he came from, where that part of his Grace that he pinned down is waiting for him.

As they travel backward, Gabriel's Grace starts to grow empowered, starts to burn, and every instinct is telling Castiel to release it. But he's good at fighting instincts, and he holds tight until they resurface in the world of the living once more.

Which puts him in that warehouse, his body still wounded from the ritual, flat on the floor and gasping for breath. But there's a presence near him, and he realizes he's been successful.]

[affictitious]

[There's the perceptible feeling of movements, crossing over, maybe the kind of thing human souls feel before their ghostdom. He's not a master of the supernatural, all right? He gets holy ghosts, that's about it.

He feels his fractured, broken Grace reforming. Now that. That he recognizes; pieces once stripped made whole again. They hit earth and he stretches; not only does he fill the warehouse (almost looks familiar, this warehouse) but he moves out of it, past these walls to his full height, his little human vessel only rolling his shoulders with a familiar grin on his face. Whole. This is all about being alive, whole and himself. What the hell, man. There's nothing freaking better. His wings unfurl, hot and burning the air around them, and the familiar warmth boils in his fingers, under his human skin and flesh and bone.

Gabriel hops to his brother and pulls him to his feet with a strong grip, testing Castiel's Grace with his own with a gentle brush. It's still there, not broken. A little weak. Well, he can fix that.

Proverbial holy tape, and Castiel's Grace is all patched up. The blood flows back in his vessel, the wounds gone. Call it a thank you.]

You are one severely moronic angel, Castiel. No wonder you run with the Winchesters.

[freewill]

[At first, Castiel turns over on the floor to see Gabriel, back on Earth and fully-formed, with his own eyes. His wings are almost so bright that it's hard for him to look straight at them, but Castiel doesn't turn away.

Before long, he's been pulled to his feet, and for a moment all he can do is stumble against Gabriel uselessly until he's healed. Which hits him so suddenly that it's a shock, and he stumbles back away from his brother and finds that all of that disorientation and weakness is gone.

It's no surprise that Gabriel's starting with the judgment already, and Castiel sighs and shake his head. He could make some comment about how Gabriel shouldn't complain when he just successfully brought him back from the dead, but that's not completely valid when he's done so for somewhat selfish reasons.]

It looks like that went better than expected. How do you feel? [Gabriel looks perfectly fine, but Castiel wants to make sure. Any number of things could have gone wrong, after all.]