Feb. 11th, 2009

notahammer: (Emo)
Before Castiel had met Dean Winchester, he had never considered his immortality to be a curse. He had never considered an alternative; death did just not enter an angel’s thoughts, not even in the heat of battle against Hell’s fouler beings. If they were slain in war, it occurred with God’s soldiers safe in the knowledge that they would be delivered safely into oblivion. If they survived, they would continue with their Father’s work, and that was that.

But then, there had been Dean Winchester. A human who had, somehow, stolen the angel’s heart. He had almost fallen, many times. Had found himself prostrate in front of his superiors, explaining himself again and again, apologising for his sinful weakness. In the end, the angels just turned their backs on him; he was not so full of sin that he could no longer tread Heaven’s floors, but his angelic soul was still tainted to a degree that caused his brethren outright disgust. Even then, he had not worried. He had Dean, and so long as that remained the case, he did not need the approval of his brothers.

He healed the human, again and again. Kept him safe from every fight, every sickness. It was selfish, he supposed, but Dean was all he had and he was not ready to lose him. But, eventually, the inevitable came to pass; angels had no cure for simple old age, after all, and as such Dean Winchester was taken up into the arms of his Father.

And Castiel was alone.

One hundred years passed, and Castiel felt every minute of them weigh heavy on his shoulders. He had become too human, it seemed, in Dean’s arms. Immortality was a curse, after all, and he came so close, on so many occasions, to ripping out his Grace and falling into blissful ignorance. But he never did, could never insult Dean’s memory like that.

In the end, he found himself back in Cambridge, Massachusetts, outside the little café that seemed to have miraculously changed not one bit in the almost two centuries since Castiel had last stepped foot inside. Immortal as him, as its owner.

His eyes fell straight onto the man he was looking for, as he pushed the door open. He was hard to miss, even amongst the throng of customers. His soul mirrored Castiel’s perfectly, and as such it was no wonder he was drawn to him.

The attraction seemed mutual, as Drake’s eyes immediately picked him out and, without the barest show of surprise, nodded to the door marked ‘Private’. Castiel followed wordlessly, trailing the Dragon up the staircase and into the apartment above his thriving establishment.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” Drake finally commented when the door swung closed behind them, turning to fully appraise the angel.

“And you neither, friend.” Castiel responded with a bittersweet smile. Here, at last, he had found someone who could understand him. Who knew how it felt to watch the world go by, coming and going, whilst they themselves remained stationary. Fixed. Neither here nor there.

“Come,” Drake spoke quietly, offering a hand to the angel and leading him to his bed. There they lay together with an innocence that only immortality could teach, bodies warm and reassuring at each other’s side.

“I miss him,” Castiel finally managed to admit.

“I know,” Drake responded, and then nothing more needed to be said. They just lay, side by side, for what might have been five minutes, or might just have been five years. Time mattered little. No matter what happened, how many years turned, they had each other. They were constant, and now they could be so together. And with that knowledge, Castiel could feel just that bit less lonely.

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notahammer: (Default)
Castiel

December 2009

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