[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]

[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.]