☥ 008 ; open } { there's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby
When Castiel returns to Chicago, it’s almost like he was never gone.
He appears the way he normally does, even if he does look a little worse for the wear. He doesn’t understand what that … place … was supposed to teach him, but all it seems to have gotten him is more questions about the newfound place he has come to call home. He isn’t sure that he needed more questions in the first place, but apparently the Rift seems to think he did.
He isn’t sure how long he’s been gone, but he knows it’s been some time. Things seem … different. There’s something hanging in the air that feels more out of place than normal, almost as though there’s a kind of weight resting on the city’s shoulders. Something that the city isn’t supposed to hold. As he takes a step forward into the street, peering around for any sign that he is absolutely where he is supposed to be, and this isn’t some kind of alternate Chicago. He arrived in an alternate Chicago to his own all those months ago, there’s no reason the same couldn’t be said for now.
As he steps forward, however, he feels a subtle tug on the edge of his trench coat. He turns and looks, and finds a puppy resting at his feet. It’s similar to the puppies he had encountered in the world he had just come from, the only difference being that this one didn’t stay there. And Castiel has no way of returning him. He looks down and sighs heavily, before reaching down to pick him up. “You don’t belong here,” he says to no one in particular (he knows the dog can’t understand him). “Though I’m starting to believe no one does.”
Ain’t that the truth.
He appears the way he normally does, even if he does look a little worse for the wear. He doesn’t understand what that … place … was supposed to teach him, but all it seems to have gotten him is more questions about the newfound place he has come to call home. He isn’t sure that he needed more questions in the first place, but apparently the Rift seems to think he did.
He isn’t sure how long he’s been gone, but he knows it’s been some time. Things seem … different. There’s something hanging in the air that feels more out of place than normal, almost as though there’s a kind of weight resting on the city’s shoulders. Something that the city isn’t supposed to hold. As he takes a step forward into the street, peering around for any sign that he is absolutely where he is supposed to be, and this isn’t some kind of alternate Chicago. He arrived in an alternate Chicago to his own all those months ago, there’s no reason the same couldn’t be said for now.
As he steps forward, however, he feels a subtle tug on the edge of his trench coat. He turns and looks, and finds a puppy resting at his feet. It’s similar to the puppies he had encountered in the world he had just come from, the only difference being that this one didn’t stay there. And Castiel has no way of returning him. He looks down and sighs heavily, before reaching down to pick him up. “You don’t belong here,” he says to no one in particular (he knows the dog can’t understand him). “Though I’m starting to believe no one does.”
Ain’t that the truth.