FILL: De profúndis clamávi ad te (demon!Dean, Castiel)getyourgunsAugust 19 2010, 04:06:29 UTC
Right as he's about to slice through her vertebrae a third time, a blinding light drowns out the gore that surrounds him. A white hot heat wraps itself around his shoulder and spreads throughout his body, rendering him useless. He can't feel anything but heat (hotter than Hell ever was) and can't see anything but light, piercing into his eyes until everything goes black.
He wakes up with dirt in his lungs and the smell of rot all around him. He chokes out a scream, ripping from his insides. He was so close to his goal - 30 years of work down the drain, and it was torn from him so fast. Everything from before was finally gone - he no longer had reason to huddle in fear from the demons, the torture, his teacher, Alistair. Anger boils up inside him and he starts clawing, ripping at the wooden planks, blood pouring from his fingernails and can't help but choke when a flood of dry dirt rushes over him. He feels the weakness of being in this world again and it only fuels his need to go back down.
When he's finally free, he rolls onto his back and feels. The pain from his lungs and fingers, weak muscles bunching in pain for his frantic escape, the grass tickling his neck. He doesn't know where he is but no where he's been before; it's not Hell either and he knows that that should be a good thing. He stands up and catalogues his surroundings. He vaguely recognizes the rustle of trees, the crunch of dry grass, the chirps of distant birds. So many years of screaming and blood and pain made him forget but flashes of memories spring into his mind and he remembers...
Suddenly more of the light and heat and screeching sound from before assaults his senses, causing him to fall back to his knees. He wraps his arms around his head to try and block most of it out, but he can still feel the wetness pour from his eyes, ears. Everything stops just as abruptly as it started, and he hears soft footsteps in the grass in front of him.
"My apologies, Dean. I forget that my true form can be... overwhelming to most humans. I had hoped that you were one of the few exceptions."
He looks up at this man before him, piercing blue eyes the only thing that fits what lurks beneath the flesh and bone. This angel pulled him out of Hell... but why?
"Who the fuck are you?"
"I am Castiel. I am an ang-"
"I know what you are, you sonofabitch. I was so, so close. I was his favourite, he said. I could have been something great."
The angel - Castiel - tilts his head. Understanding dawns on him, his eyes holding a deep sadness and Dean can't stand that look, especially not directed at him.
"I see. I am... too late. You are no longer a man."
Dean's had just about enough of this shit. He lunges forward but despite the body being restored better than he left it - a joke flutters in the back of his mind, a familiar exasperated expression from someone in response - the muscles are still weak from disuse and he trips. He tries to flip himself over to try again but Castiel is already there, holding him down, his hand on Dean's forehead.
"I am... sorry, Dean. Réquiem ætérnam dona ei Dómine; et lux perpétua lúceat ei. Requiéscat in pace. Rest."
The light returns, sores and drowns out everything once again, only this time: no heat, only pain. His screams echo off the trees around him. And then -
Re: FILL: De profúndis clamávi ad te (demon!Dean, Castiel)alwaysenduphereAugust 19 2010, 04:25:33 UTC
Aw yay you filled it! You WROTE SHIT!! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU KILLED DEMON!DEAN! lol EXCLAMATION POINTS!! This is quite good though, babby. I like how Dean's FUCKING MADE SOMETHING OF HIMSELF down in hell and is pissed when it's ripped away. thanks for filllllin. :D
He wakes up with dirt in his lungs and the smell of rot all around him. He chokes out a scream, ripping from his insides. He was so close to his goal - 30 years of work down the drain, and it was torn from him so fast. Everything from before was finally gone - he no longer had reason to huddle in fear from the demons, the torture, his teacher, Alistair. Anger boils up inside him and he starts clawing, ripping at the wooden planks, blood pouring from his fingernails and can't help but choke when a flood of dry dirt rushes over him. He feels the weakness of being in this world again and it only fuels his need to go back down.
When he's finally free, he rolls onto his back and feels. The pain from his lungs and fingers, weak muscles bunching in pain for his frantic escape, the grass tickling his neck. He doesn't know where he is but no where he's been before; it's not Hell either and he knows that that should be a good thing. He stands up and catalogues his surroundings. He vaguely recognizes the rustle of trees, the crunch of dry grass, the chirps of distant birds. So many years of screaming and blood and pain made him forget but flashes of memories spring into his mind and he remembers...
Suddenly more of the light and heat and screeching sound from before assaults his senses, causing him to fall back to his knees. He wraps his arms around his head to try and block most of it out, but he can still feel the wetness pour from his eyes, ears. Everything stops just as abruptly as it started, and he hears soft footsteps in the grass in front of him.
"My apologies, Dean. I forget that my true form can be... overwhelming to most humans. I had hoped that you were one of the few exceptions."
He looks up at this man before him, piercing blue eyes the only thing that fits what lurks beneath the flesh and bone. This angel pulled him out of Hell... but why?
"Who the fuck are you?"
"I am Castiel. I am an ang-"
"I know what you are, you sonofabitch. I was so, so close. I was his favourite, he said. I could have been something great."
The angel - Castiel - tilts his head. Understanding dawns on him, his eyes holding a deep sadness and Dean can't stand that look, especially not directed at him.
"I see. I am... too late. You are no longer a man."
Dean's had just about enough of this shit. He lunges forward but despite the body being restored better than he left it - a joke flutters in the back of his mind, a familiar exasperated expression from someone in response - the muscles are still weak from disuse and he trips. He tries to flip himself over to try again but Castiel is already there, holding him down, his hand on Dean's forehead.
"I am... sorry, Dean. Réquiem ætérnam dona ei Dómine; et lux perpétua lúceat ei. Requiéscat in pace. Rest."
The light returns, sores and drowns out everything once again, only this time: no heat, only pain. His screams echo off the trees around him. And then -
there was nothing.
"Amen."
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