fic: The Way We Fall
Fandom: Supernatural
Language: English
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~1.700
Spoilers: 8x13
Relationships: Dean/Castiel
Warnings: Angst.
Disclaimers: I don't own SPN.
Summary: He doesn’t stop to think about the possibility of failure, like balancing on a tightrope; he doesn’t look down, because he doesn’t want to fall. Written for Nancy, who wanted some angst.
Download link on AO3
A/N: 1) It's not happy.
2) It's a writing exercise.
The Way We Fall
Silver
The angel knows the big secret which no one dares to even whisper in fear of some higher power that may listen and decide to play its cruel games. It’s a simple truth and it lays dormant in everyone’s heart, lurking and murmuring about dark things yet to come. Its shadow is always there menacingly, threatening to swallow any sunshine and lightness. It’s only a few words, a careless mix of letters and punctuation marks, yet it can cut into the bravest person, it can rip out hearts and shred them into pieces.
“In the end, anyone and anything can be broken.”
If one is lucky, they will have little trivial problems causing their pains and heartbreaks: a jumble of missed opportunities, little mistakes, to care too much for the wrong person, to care too little for the good ones. Plain, mundane things. Not every person has a story fitting to the theatres or movies, but everyone has their own tragedies. And maybe his tale doesn’t matter much on a cosmic scale, but it’s everything to him.
He broke too many times and can’t find the strength to put the pieces back together, can’t make himself perfectly whole. And if he’s honest with himself, he thinks he deserves it, it’s his punishment for every sin he’s committed, for every mistakes he’s made, and it feels right, it’s like Purgatory all over again, but he knows it’s permanent and the word ‘forever’ leaves a gaping hole inside of him.
But he accepts his fate, and does what he did for over a millennium: watches over people. And it feels right and familiar, to be the invisible guardian, it’s his only comfort, even if no one knows what he did or who he is. Though this anonymity has its advantages, at least no one knows how he let down everyone he cares about. But a small voice always stirs his doubts: Is it really a good thing? Can you earn forgiveness if there is no one to actually forgive you? Does it mean something if you will always blame yourself?
On days like this, when the guilt covers him like a heavy blanket, threatening to suffocate him, he wishes with all his heart that he hadn’t taken this path to oblivion and stayed and fought for everything. If only he could have come up with some other plan.
It’s time like these, when he takes a peek at his former friends - though they’re much more than that, really - and as he sees their carefree smiles, their hope and attempts at building a life, he knows his decision was inevitable. Because as much as he needs them to live, they are better off without him.
But no matter how his life has fallen into pieces, he still has his memories of their times together: the heatedness of arguments, the sharp pain of betrayals, all the confusions and misunderstanding, and the lightness of a smile, the hopeful looks, the strength of small touches. He keeps everything in his mind, as if it’s a framed picture, still images of riding in their car, fighting with monsters and the occasional shared meals or movie nights.
He cherishes every memory, and handles them like they’re fragile, or made of glass. Every moment is frozen in time, like a photograph capturing a perfect slice of life, and he hopes that they will remain intact there forever, locked up deep inside of him, and they won’t fall into a thousand shiny, silver pieces. Because if he even forgets one small detail, one smile or a line of jaw, or a feel of lips, he will truly and utterly be devastated and pulled apart, cut open, just like as if a sliver of glass or a blade would have sliced into him.
But for now, he has all the comfort he needs: he remembers everything. (And they don’t.)
Red
Everything is dripping with red, like a macabre painting of Hell, but the petrifying terror, the screams of anguish, and the lingering scent of rotting bodies and death are very real. The color red is supposed to bring life to one’s mind, because it’s vibrant and energetic, but now it means infected wounds, blood, or the hellfire which destroys and consumes everything. Even the shades of sunset have lost their beauty; the scenery doesn’t bring comfort, only dread. No one muses about the marvels of the world, because there is only death and loss.
It’s a late afternoon with a bleeding sky when Castiel decides what he has to do. He’s seen what the earth has become because he was too selfish yet again: everything comes apart at the seams and slowly but surely the world is coming to its end. If he could laugh, he would, because it’s almost funny when he makes a mistake, it’s always apocalyptic.
And it’s one of the many reasons why he thinks that he is the one who needs to set everything right, even if it comes with a price. When he learns the way to end this suffering, he doesn’t tell Sam and Dean, because he knows they would stop him, because they still think that every one of them could survive this. Even Dean who wears a stone cold, stoic façade has hope deep down. It’s another reason of his: to protect Dean, to give him what he needs the most, a normal life.
Though Castiel isn’t sure how much will change, how normal will be the world without the angels - without him - but at least there is still hope that this bloodshed will end, and for now it’s enough for him. He doesn’t know if the Winchesters’ life will be different, what will become of them. Will their brotherly bond disappear or will they be hunters at all? But it’s a risk he has to take, because if they’re alive and relatively safe, they could mend their fences. At least they have a future, even if they can’t have the past.
But no matter how much Castiel rationalize his decision to rewrite history, he feels a little guilt nagging at him. He did this once with Balthazar, and that was yet another deadly mistake. He tries not to dwell on this much, because the loss of his brother is just one more thing that eats him alive from the inside, one more regret he has to face every day.
However he allows himself one luxury before he takes the irreversible step. The night before he leaves on his quest of redemption, he seeks out Dean, who as usual spends his time in the company of some alcohol. Castiel briefly muses about how he couldn’t understand a lot of the human customs, but he finds the methods of expressing love fascinating, but he casts aside his thoughts and chooses actions over words. Because he has a need to tell - or in this case show - Dean that he loves him, and that’s why he’s doing everything. After all he fell for him in more ways than one.
When Castiel kisses Dean, it’s brief at first, it’s all surprise, tense muscles, shocked stares, but then Castiel’s desperation creeps into it, and the kiss becomes deeper, something hungry. It’s a moment which Castiel wants to stretch as long as he can, even into infinity. It’s the moment when they’re one person; he doesn’t know where he ends and where Dean begins. It’s the moment when they feel alive and - ironically - human and normal, even when the world is crumbling around them.
Maybe Dean feels the urgency and the finality of this kiss, that this is goodbye, but Castiel doesn’t let him voice any of his fears, he puts him to sleep, and asks for forgiveness.
Without a backward glance, struggling with all of his feelings, he goes in hopes of bringing the light back into a fallen world. (And leaves behind what brings light into his life.)
White
After the harsh and invasive whiteness of Heaven the clouds smeared across a light blue sky seem almost gentle. Castiel then decides he prefers the earth with all its soft edges and endless possibilities, little miracles and beauties and the mysteries of human nature - family bond, love and persistence. If he thinks about it, he always liked people’s personal Heaven, and never the parts where angels have lived, he didn’t want to admit it then, but he was always an outcast, he always felt a little alien in his own supposed home.
He wonders if he was always mean to be fallen, because as far as he remembers, he was the angel on the edge, tiptoeing and balancing on a thin line. And Dean was the last pull, but not a small nudge, more like gravity. And Castiel feels right when he’s with the Winchesters, no matter what they have to face together. He can’t think of a scenario where he would give up this new family he found and he’s ashamed when he remembers the last time he went off to deal with his problems alone and ended up with Crowley and a bunch of Leviathans.
So when he’s freed from Heaven and Naomi, and he’s with the Winchesters and Kevin again, he’s sure they will find a way to overcome this obstacle. He’s sure no matter how hard it will be they will ensure that whatever secret powers the tablets hold will be contained and won’t fall into wrong hands.
When Sam tells them that they will work it out in his usual determined voice, Castiel relaxes, because it’s the one thing they do and the familiarity of it is calming. They are a couple of misfits who always fight against the odds, push back, and defy fate, and if anyone has a chance against the power of the Word of God, they have.
So Castiel hopes it will be yet another ‘job,’ just an adventure nothing more, and then they can build up their lives and friendships again, patching together the broken pieces. (He doesn’t stop to think about the possibility of failure, like balancing on a tightrope; he doesn’t look down, because he doesn’t want to fall.)