[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]

[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.