[FIC] Avenging Angel; R; SPN
Title: Avenging Angel
Author: phate_phoenix
Characters: Castiel
Word Count: 1100
Rating/Warning: R; Torture
Spoilers: Through 5.16
Summary: Castiel has no purpose now. There is nothing. Except this.
Disclaimer: DO NOT OWN
Author's Notes: What can I say? This episode pushed the “CREATE” button in me. :D
----
Castiel remembers the moment Dean died. He could feel it, ice and lightning searing through his grace that had him dropping from the sky in shock. He remembers the horror and loss and despair that exploded through him, made him want to tear his grace out and forget everything and vanish into oblivion. Made him scream and shatter rocks and scatter the winds.
His panic dispersed long after his body had begun sinking into the ocean he’d fallen into, only when he realized that Zachariah would never let Dean die. He remembers his hope then, a flare so brilliant within himself it stole his breath. God could be reached, could be informed. And so he rushed to cast the spell to open the connection between Dean and himself, established long ago in the fiery depths of Hell.
Now, though…
Now, the pain that courses through him has no end in sight, no lingering hope that all will be right in the end. There will be nothing to dull this smothering, all-encompassing feeling. It’s like he never pulled himself from that ocean, and instead allowed himself to fall to the bottom.
His Father doesn’t care. He is not a just God. He would watch this world turn in on itself, watch His angels fight amongst themselves, watch His humans die and for what? Castiel doesn’t understand. Never will understand. Hopes that he doesn’t, because the anger and the rage that also fills him is easier to deal with than the pain and depression.
Anger he can use.
Castiel stands before an old abandoned home, with broken windows and faded paint. It makes him think of his fight with Raphael, and wonders if his brother ever escaped from his prison. A small, bitter part of him thinks that he owes Raphael an apology, because he’d been right all along.
He lets the thought roll off him, and walks towards the front door. Power lines above his head begin to crackle and spark, loose shutters and roof tiles flap and bang against the walls. Castiel can hear the humans within rushing around, can feel their fear and anticipation. It makes him eager, and the front door flexes inward against its locks, and then finally breaks, strips of wood flying off as the door gives way under Castiel’s prowess, slamming against the wall and finally falling from its hinges
Castiel steps through the doorway and over debris, and stares at the face of Walt and Roy.
He can still feel it in the air, the scent of death and murder that clings to their skin so tightly, and it stokes the fire in his chest. The portable television they’d brought hisses and crackles. Walt raises his shotgun and lets off a blast before Castiel has a chance to go any further into the room.
Castiel feels the impact, feels the salt rounds dig into his skin. He doesn’t blink. Instead he marches forward, ignoring Roy completely when he splashes holy water towards him. He blinks and the next instant he has his hand around Walt’s throat, lifting him into the air. Walt gags, chokes, sputters, legs flailing and hands tugging futilely against Castiel’s grip.
“Roy,” Castiel says, and he feels Roy freeze across the darkened room. Walt’s eyes stare helplessly over Castiel’s shoulder. “You will tell the hunters to leave the Winchester brothers be.”
Walt’s eyes bug slightly and they drop back down to Castiel’s. Castiel feels his lips curl into what shouldn’t be called a smile. “You made a great error in choosing them to be your next hunt,” Castiel says. He grabs hold of one of Walt’s hands and yanks it away. Walt gurgles in pain as Castiel crushes it in his own grip. He feels bones grinding against one another before they crack and splinter, feels muscles tear and shred, feels skin break and blood roll down and over his wrist.
Castiel wants to tear the limb off.
As Walt’s eyes roll in the back of his head, Castiel hears Roy chanting an exorcism behind him. He huffs, turning his eyes to Roy for the first time. The man is scared, Castiel can see, and he does not have the same stench of murder as Walt has. But Castiel finds he doesn’t care. These men worked together. They are both guilty. Unjust.
“I am no demon,” Castiel says, and Roy’s words dry up in his throat. With a last, bloody squeeze to the meaty sack that had been a hand, Castiel drops Walt to the floor and turns fully to face Roy.
Behind him, Castiel hears Walt taking quick, sharp breaths and keening low in his throat. Roy’s eyes are glued to him, horrified and pale. Castiel takes this chance and crosses the room in one breath. Roy steps backward, shocked and panicked, but Castiel takes hold of the front of his shirt and yanks him forward. Roy swallows, eyes darting across Castiel’s face.
“What are you?” he whispers.
“I am an angel of the Lord,” is what he would have answered mere hours ago. Instead, Castiel bows his head and glares at Roy. “I am a friend of Winchesters,” he says darkly, eyes narrowing. “Tell the hunters to back off, or I’ll kill them. All of them.” Castiel hauls Roy off his feet and allows him to dangle in his grasp. “Dean and Sam are under my protection. I will allow no harm to come to them from anyone or anything.”
Roy inhales shakily, but sets his jaw. “The Winchesters are already dead,” he snaps.
Castiel squeezes tighter, feeling his anger roll over him. “Not anymore,” Castiel snarls. “God has resurrected them. You failed.”
Roy’s eyes widen in shock just before Castiel turns and flings him through a wall.
Wood cracks, dust flies, mice shriek, and then all settles into silence. Castiel can feel life still, two heartbeats, two lives, pained, injured, but alive. Castiel clenches his fists tightly and spreads his wings. He wants them dead, he wants to smite them and leave them as examples for those who would dare cross him or his… family. Instead, he takes to the sky and flies back towards where he’d left Dean and Sam.
He’s not ready to talk to them, not yet. He’s not ready to explain how he feels. But he will watch over them. It’s all he can do.
Author: phate_phoenix
Characters: Castiel
Word Count: 1100
Rating/Warning: R; Torture
Spoilers: Through 5.16
Summary: Castiel has no purpose now. There is nothing. Except this.
Disclaimer: DO NOT OWN
Author's Notes: What can I say? This episode pushed the “CREATE” button in me. :D
----
Castiel remembers the moment Dean died. He could feel it, ice and lightning searing through his grace that had him dropping from the sky in shock. He remembers the horror and loss and despair that exploded through him, made him want to tear his grace out and forget everything and vanish into oblivion. Made him scream and shatter rocks and scatter the winds.
His panic dispersed long after his body had begun sinking into the ocean he’d fallen into, only when he realized that Zachariah would never let Dean die. He remembers his hope then, a flare so brilliant within himself it stole his breath. God could be reached, could be informed. And so he rushed to cast the spell to open the connection between Dean and himself, established long ago in the fiery depths of Hell.
Now, though…
Now, the pain that courses through him has no end in sight, no lingering hope that all will be right in the end. There will be nothing to dull this smothering, all-encompassing feeling. It’s like he never pulled himself from that ocean, and instead allowed himself to fall to the bottom.
His Father doesn’t care. He is not a just God. He would watch this world turn in on itself, watch His angels fight amongst themselves, watch His humans die and for what? Castiel doesn’t understand. Never will understand. Hopes that he doesn’t, because the anger and the rage that also fills him is easier to deal with than the pain and depression.
Anger he can use.
Castiel stands before an old abandoned home, with broken windows and faded paint. It makes him think of his fight with Raphael, and wonders if his brother ever escaped from his prison. A small, bitter part of him thinks that he owes Raphael an apology, because he’d been right all along.
He lets the thought roll off him, and walks towards the front door. Power lines above his head begin to crackle and spark, loose shutters and roof tiles flap and bang against the walls. Castiel can hear the humans within rushing around, can feel their fear and anticipation. It makes him eager, and the front door flexes inward against its locks, and then finally breaks, strips of wood flying off as the door gives way under Castiel’s prowess, slamming against the wall and finally falling from its hinges
Castiel steps through the doorway and over debris, and stares at the face of Walt and Roy.
He can still feel it in the air, the scent of death and murder that clings to their skin so tightly, and it stokes the fire in his chest. The portable television they’d brought hisses and crackles. Walt raises his shotgun and lets off a blast before Castiel has a chance to go any further into the room.
Castiel feels the impact, feels the salt rounds dig into his skin. He doesn’t blink. Instead he marches forward, ignoring Roy completely when he splashes holy water towards him. He blinks and the next instant he has his hand around Walt’s throat, lifting him into the air. Walt gags, chokes, sputters, legs flailing and hands tugging futilely against Castiel’s grip.
“Roy,” Castiel says, and he feels Roy freeze across the darkened room. Walt’s eyes stare helplessly over Castiel’s shoulder. “You will tell the hunters to leave the Winchester brothers be.”
Walt’s eyes bug slightly and they drop back down to Castiel’s. Castiel feels his lips curl into what shouldn’t be called a smile. “You made a great error in choosing them to be your next hunt,” Castiel says. He grabs hold of one of Walt’s hands and yanks it away. Walt gurgles in pain as Castiel crushes it in his own grip. He feels bones grinding against one another before they crack and splinter, feels muscles tear and shred, feels skin break and blood roll down and over his wrist.
Castiel wants to tear the limb off.
As Walt’s eyes roll in the back of his head, Castiel hears Roy chanting an exorcism behind him. He huffs, turning his eyes to Roy for the first time. The man is scared, Castiel can see, and he does not have the same stench of murder as Walt has. But Castiel finds he doesn’t care. These men worked together. They are both guilty. Unjust.
“I am no demon,” Castiel says, and Roy’s words dry up in his throat. With a last, bloody squeeze to the meaty sack that had been a hand, Castiel drops Walt to the floor and turns fully to face Roy.
Behind him, Castiel hears Walt taking quick, sharp breaths and keening low in his throat. Roy’s eyes are glued to him, horrified and pale. Castiel takes this chance and crosses the room in one breath. Roy steps backward, shocked and panicked, but Castiel takes hold of the front of his shirt and yanks him forward. Roy swallows, eyes darting across Castiel’s face.
“What are you?” he whispers.
“I am an angel of the Lord,” is what he would have answered mere hours ago. Instead, Castiel bows his head and glares at Roy. “I am a friend of Winchesters,” he says darkly, eyes narrowing. “Tell the hunters to back off, or I’ll kill them. All of them.” Castiel hauls Roy off his feet and allows him to dangle in his grasp. “Dean and Sam are under my protection. I will allow no harm to come to them from anyone or anything.”
Roy inhales shakily, but sets his jaw. “The Winchesters are already dead,” he snaps.
Castiel squeezes tighter, feeling his anger roll over him. “Not anymore,” Castiel snarls. “God has resurrected them. You failed.”
Roy’s eyes widen in shock just before Castiel turns and flings him through a wall.
Wood cracks, dust flies, mice shriek, and then all settles into silence. Castiel can feel life still, two heartbeats, two lives, pained, injured, but alive. Castiel clenches his fists tightly and spreads his wings. He wants them dead, he wants to smite them and leave them as examples for those who would dare cross him or his… family. Instead, he takes to the sky and flies back towards where he’d left Dean and Sam.
He’s not ready to talk to them, not yet. He’s not ready to explain how he feels. But he will watch over them. It’s all he can do.