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[psl] and i need new skin for this old skeleton of mine
Like all of his brothers and sisters, Castiel had been part of the meteor shower that had taken Earth by surprise. Rocketing down toward the physical plane, his wings burned to ash and torn from him by force—this is the exact situation that they've all been taught to fear, ever since they came to be.
Unlike some of the others, though, Castiel never hits the ground. He doesn't crash land into his vessel, beaten down into the hard earth that will now have to be home.
Metraton had failed to mention that Castiel would have no husk of Jimmy Novak to place himself into, and so he becomes part of the celestial soup that's floating overhead. None of them can really fly, and so instead they drift around like lost souls, like angelic ghosts with skeletal wings, waiting for an appropriate vessel to come along.
Maybe Castiel would have been able to bear that, if it hadn't been for his siblings lambasting him the whole time, reminding him that this is all your fault and that Metatron should have finished you off while he had the chance.
Castiel doesn't bother arguing with them. Instead, he searches for Dean.
It takes time to make his way to the hospital, and while Castiel isn't surprised that Sam's in such terrible shape, he's still disappointed by it. Everything they'd planned for has gone horribly wrong, and while he should be used to that by now, he can feel dread and regret bubble up in him as he floats above the hospital room and watches Dean fall apart.
He follows Dean to the chapel and listens to him pray—and he aches when he can't even reply for fear of bursting Dean's eardrums.
There is one way, and only one way in which they can talk, and Castiel has to wait for Dean to drift off in the chair next to Sam's hospital bed before he can take advantage, slipping into his mind to find him in his dream. Right now, he doesn't have the ability to form a vessel even in a dreamscape, and so instead he appears in his true form, yet visible in a way he shouldn't be.
He's all around Dean, a pulsing energy that's enveloping and that borders on suffocating. He isn't exactly solid, but instead he's wisps of color and energy that sometimes forms into the shape of one of his heads. The outlines of his ruined wings are visible from time to time, but mainly he tries to keep them hidden.
He curls in close to Dean before shifting outward again, and finally his voice whispers, then booms out, not seeming to settle on one volume. "You finally slept." A small tendril of energy reaches outward, warping into something that's more like a claw than a hand.
Unlike some of the others, though, Castiel never hits the ground. He doesn't crash land into his vessel, beaten down into the hard earth that will now have to be home.
Metraton had failed to mention that Castiel would have no husk of Jimmy Novak to place himself into, and so he becomes part of the celestial soup that's floating overhead. None of them can really fly, and so instead they drift around like lost souls, like angelic ghosts with skeletal wings, waiting for an appropriate vessel to come along.
Maybe Castiel would have been able to bear that, if it hadn't been for his siblings lambasting him the whole time, reminding him that this is all your fault and that Metatron should have finished you off while he had the chance.
Castiel doesn't bother arguing with them. Instead, he searches for Dean.
It takes time to make his way to the hospital, and while Castiel isn't surprised that Sam's in such terrible shape, he's still disappointed by it. Everything they'd planned for has gone horribly wrong, and while he should be used to that by now, he can feel dread and regret bubble up in him as he floats above the hospital room and watches Dean fall apart.
He follows Dean to the chapel and listens to him pray—and he aches when he can't even reply for fear of bursting Dean's eardrums.
There is one way, and only one way in which they can talk, and Castiel has to wait for Dean to drift off in the chair next to Sam's hospital bed before he can take advantage, slipping into his mind to find him in his dream. Right now, he doesn't have the ability to form a vessel even in a dreamscape, and so instead he appears in his true form, yet visible in a way he shouldn't be.
He's all around Dean, a pulsing energy that's enveloping and that borders on suffocating. He isn't exactly solid, but instead he's wisps of color and energy that sometimes forms into the shape of one of his heads. The outlines of his ruined wings are visible from time to time, but mainly he tries to keep them hidden.
He curls in close to Dean before shifting outward again, and finally his voice whispers, then booms out, not seeming to settle on one volume. "You finally slept." A small tendril of energy reaches outward, warping into something that's more like a claw than a hand.