For righteous_bro
It hurt, that realization that this was his fault and that he couldn't fix it. Looking at Sam on the bed, that knowledge that this wasn't something he could touch and make better made him feel helpless, powerless. He was still coming to terms with his memories, with everything he'd done, how he'd hurt the only people that had trusted him, that had cared for him more than his own family. And in the midst of explaining to Dean why he couldn't just fix Sam's wall anymore, he landed on an idea.
He could use his Grace, use it to burn away the pieces of corruption, the part of Sam's soul that was broken, festering. He could do this, he was sure of it. He wasn't sure that he'd live through the process, but it was more than worth the risk. He owed them this. Dean needed Sam on his feet, and if Castiel had faith that anyone could stop the Leviathans, it was Sam and Dean, even if it was a burden that did not deserve to have to bear. He moved to sit on the bed, looking down sadly at Sam as he scooted away.
"It's better this way. I'll be fine."
Castiel had been ready to face death. He had not been ready for what happened. He had not been ready for the way his body ached, the way he felt hungry and tired and so many things he'd never considered all at once. His body felt so heavy, and he felt so empty as he fell away from Sam. The younger Winchester seemed to regain his senses, calling for his brother. That was... reassuring. It was a distant thought as he found himself fading into the darkness of unconsciousness.
When he woke later, he was alone with Dean, laid out on some sort of hospital bed, still with that trenchcoat on over his clothes; he wondered how much time had passed. He swallowed, didn't look at Dean as he fought to come to terms with what had happened. Maybe it was selfishness, maybe it was pride, but dying had seemed so much easier, more obvious, more noble. Maybe that was why he was left... like this.
"Is he alright?"
He could use his Grace, use it to burn away the pieces of corruption, the part of Sam's soul that was broken, festering. He could do this, he was sure of it. He wasn't sure that he'd live through the process, but it was more than worth the risk. He owed them this. Dean needed Sam on his feet, and if Castiel had faith that anyone could stop the Leviathans, it was Sam and Dean, even if it was a burden that did not deserve to have to bear. He moved to sit on the bed, looking down sadly at Sam as he scooted away.
"It's better this way. I'll be fine."
Castiel had been ready to face death. He had not been ready for what happened. He had not been ready for the way his body ached, the way he felt hungry and tired and so many things he'd never considered all at once. His body felt so heavy, and he felt so empty as he fell away from Sam. The younger Winchester seemed to regain his senses, calling for his brother. That was... reassuring. It was a distant thought as he found himself fading into the darkness of unconsciousness.
When he woke later, he was alone with Dean, laid out on some sort of hospital bed, still with that trenchcoat on over his clothes; he wondered how much time had passed. He swallowed, didn't look at Dean as he fought to come to terms with what had happened. Maybe it was selfishness, maybe it was pride, but dying had seemed so much easier, more obvious, more noble. Maybe that was why he was left... like this.
"Is he alright?"