Supernatural // "Lost in Paradise" (Dean/Castiel)
Title: Lost in Paradise
Author: terryh_nyan
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Genre: ALL MY FEELS
Warnings: spoiler for 8x02!
Rating: PG-15
Word Count: 1.294
Notes: Title and lyrics are from Evanescence's song "Lost in Paradise". Seriously, listen to it. It's feels-crushing. (I'm just as scared as you...).
Summary: Dean prays to Castiel every night.
Lost in Paradise
I've been believing in something so distant
As if I was human
And I've been denying this feeling of hopelessness
In me, in me
All the promises I made
Just to let you down
You believed in me, but I'm broken
I have nothing left
And all I feel is this cruel wanting
He’s been running for hours now. Actually, it feels more like he’s been running for days. His legs are two fucking pieces of wood and he strongly suspects the walls of his lungs have been touching.
Bright side, he’s still alive.
He leans against a tree, catching mouthfuls of air in heavy, ragged breaths. Letting his gaze wander around, able to take his time for the first time since packs of bloodthirsty sons of bitches started chasing him, was small comfort. Weren’t it for all the monsters, he would still be having hard time believing he’s actually in motherfucking Purgatory. It looks like the most ordinary forest: a place for wendigos to lurk in dark caves and werewolves to lick their wounds before waking up, memoryless, in their warm, white beds. Dean would almost sell his soul right back for one of those, right now.
He hasn’t heard a single sound yet, but he can’t bring himself to feel safe on the ground. Eventually, first luck of the day, - night? - he finds a short, thick oak with strong branches. He’s not Katniss Everdeen, but he thinks he can manage a small climb.
«Alright, then,» he mutters, words so low he can barely hear them, still the only comfort he allows himself in the desolation of the night, «let the Hunger Games begin».
And he climbs.
He’s been keeping watch.
Worry has been crawling over him since the moment Castiel first vanished but, as the night unfurls further, he’s still not getting any sign of him and his uneasiness is slowly growing into a hammering paranoia.
He has no idea how it works. Has no idea if it’s going to work.
He joins his hands, feeling really, incredibly stupid.
«Praying to Castiel in 3, 2, 1… and here we go. Cass? If you can hear me, I have no idea what sucked you to Almighty Elsewhere, but I’m guessing you ganked it. Or at least got away. So… I’m here. Feel free to join me».
He waits. One, two, three seconds. Ten. A minute. And though he keeps his ears open for another God knows how many, he knows he won’t hear the flapping sound of wings, that night. Maybe the angel was just asleep. Or so tired he couldn’t hear him. Dean has no idea if Castiel sleeps, as of now, but his eyelids are pretty keen about proving he needs to. Possibly soon.
He settles for the less uncomfortable position, then slowly slips into unconsciousness. Cass would be okay. He was a tough guy, after all. He’ll look for him come morning.
He hasn’t found him. He spent the whole day wandering through the woods - and, occasionally, running for his life - and he’s found zero traces of the angel. Then, before he knows it, twilight is stealing what little light’s left and he’s once more alone in the dark.
«Castiel? Me again. Guess last call didn’t come all the way to angelic voicemail… anyway, like I said, I’m here». He stops, nervously counting the seconds.
When he manages to fall asleep, he’s already in the low hundreds.
«Praying for Castiel to get his feathery ass down here… part seven. Seriously, man, where the hell are you?». He pauses. He wasn’t going to let himself think about it, but it’s been a week already, and if he still hasn’t replied… «You’re not hurt, are you? If… if you are, just give me a sign. A blow of wind. A whistle. A comet, I don’t know, man, just- just give me something».
That night, in the woods or the sky, nothing moves.
It’s harder every day.
«Cass… me again. It’s been a month. This place is fucking creepier every time I get a better look at it. I ran into a squirrel today. Would’ve been nice, to have company and all, y’know, if only he hadn’t tried to eat my face off soon as I came closer. Wouldn’t be surprised if I ran into evil fairies. Don’t trust the fairies, Cass. Ever».
He has no idea how long it’s been. Sometimes it feels like seconds, sometimes, a thousand years. He spends his days running and his nights staring blankly in the forest.
It’s driving him insane.
«Cass. Day bazillion and you’re still MIA. You wouldn’t believe who I met today. Remember Lenore? The vampire chick? Yeah. Turns out, she’s got her little pack of friends. Vegan Vampire Anonymous». He doesn’t know why he tells him these things. Hell, he doesn’t even know if this angelic phone thing is actually working - in fact, he’s pretty sure it’s not. Cass would’ve tried to reach him otherwise, wouldn’t he?
Still, it’s comforting. Having someone to talk to. Even if he doesn’t hear him, even if he can’t hear him… it’s something. Dean thinks those one-man conversations are the only thing that’s kept him sane so far.
«I asked them if they’d seen you. Turns out they haven’t but, apparently, the two of us are big rumour around here. Maybe someone else knows where you are».
He’s not sure he wants to say everything, though. There are still things he’s been keeping to himself. Like the werewolf that almost chopped off his foot. Or what he’s about to do.
Then, all of a sudden, he doesn’t know what’s been holding him back. It’s not like he’s going to do something wrong. Or rather, he is- but he can’t bring himself to feel wrong about it. Purgatory has blurred the edges of his right and wrong like rain on a painting, and what’s left is a big, grey pool of colour that’s slowly losing all its shades.
He just says it.
«So… I’m gonna ask around».
Moonlight reflecting on the surface of the water, he leans against a tree and listens.
He’s got nothing.
«Can’t believe this place is so fucking big, can you? We keep missing each other wherever we go». A smile curls his lips, a bitter one that quickly fades. He’s so tired of this. So tired of talking to the wind.
«Cass… » he continues, as he wipes the blood off his knife. Weapons are the only thing he bothers keeping clean, at this point. «Cass, I can’t do this. Please. Please, fix your goddamn angel phone booth and answer me. I’m really starting to think something bad happened to you».
So tired of drifting off to sleep waiting for a rustling of wings that’s never going to come.
So he doesn’t sleep. It’s not safe, anyway.
He tightens his grip on the knife’s handle. The night’s long, and there’s plenty of monsters to ask directions to.
He drops him directions, meeting spots, anything that could be useful, anything at all.
It still gives him nothing.
Head between his hands, fists tight in his hair, he just listens.
Every day, he feels his edges sharpen. Every day, he feels them harden, like metal under too much pressure.
«Cass. Just checking in».
He doesn’t know, for the world’s sake, what Purgatory is carving him into.
He guesses he should be more scared than he is.
If Dean keeps doing this, he’s sure he’s going to fly.
If Dean keeps doing this, he doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to hold back.
But he must.
He must.
«Cass… »
It’s harder every day.
Castiel only wishes he’d stop.
We've been falling for all this time
And now
I'm lost in Paradise
Author: terryh_nyan
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Genre: ALL MY FEELS
Warnings: spoiler for 8x02!
Rating: PG-15
Word Count: 1.294
Notes: Title and lyrics are from Evanescence's song "Lost in Paradise". Seriously, listen to it. It's feels-crushing. (I'm just as scared as you...).
Summary: Dean prays to Castiel every night.
Lost in Paradise
I've been believing in something so distant
As if I was human
And I've been denying this feeling of hopelessness
In me, in me
All the promises I made
Just to let you down
You believed in me, but I'm broken
I have nothing left
And all I feel is this cruel wanting
He’s been running for hours now. Actually, it feels more like he’s been running for days. His legs are two fucking pieces of wood and he strongly suspects the walls of his lungs have been touching.
Bright side, he’s still alive.
He leans against a tree, catching mouthfuls of air in heavy, ragged breaths. Letting his gaze wander around, able to take his time for the first time since packs of bloodthirsty sons of bitches started chasing him, was small comfort. Weren’t it for all the monsters, he would still be having hard time believing he’s actually in motherfucking Purgatory. It looks like the most ordinary forest: a place for wendigos to lurk in dark caves and werewolves to lick their wounds before waking up, memoryless, in their warm, white beds. Dean would almost sell his soul right back for one of those, right now.
He hasn’t heard a single sound yet, but he can’t bring himself to feel safe on the ground. Eventually, first luck of the day, - night? - he finds a short, thick oak with strong branches. He’s not Katniss Everdeen, but he thinks he can manage a small climb.
«Alright, then,» he mutters, words so low he can barely hear them, still the only comfort he allows himself in the desolation of the night, «let the Hunger Games begin».
And he climbs.
He’s been keeping watch.
Worry has been crawling over him since the moment Castiel first vanished but, as the night unfurls further, he’s still not getting any sign of him and his uneasiness is slowly growing into a hammering paranoia.
He has no idea how it works. Has no idea if it’s going to work.
He joins his hands, feeling really, incredibly stupid.
«Praying to Castiel in 3, 2, 1… and here we go. Cass? If you can hear me, I have no idea what sucked you to Almighty Elsewhere, but I’m guessing you ganked it. Or at least got away. So… I’m here. Feel free to join me».
He waits. One, two, three seconds. Ten. A minute. And though he keeps his ears open for another God knows how many, he knows he won’t hear the flapping sound of wings, that night. Maybe the angel was just asleep. Or so tired he couldn’t hear him. Dean has no idea if Castiel sleeps, as of now, but his eyelids are pretty keen about proving he needs to. Possibly soon.
He settles for the less uncomfortable position, then slowly slips into unconsciousness. Cass would be okay. He was a tough guy, after all. He’ll look for him come morning.
He hasn’t found him. He spent the whole day wandering through the woods - and, occasionally, running for his life - and he’s found zero traces of the angel. Then, before he knows it, twilight is stealing what little light’s left and he’s once more alone in the dark.
«Castiel? Me again. Guess last call didn’t come all the way to angelic voicemail… anyway, like I said, I’m here». He stops, nervously counting the seconds.
When he manages to fall asleep, he’s already in the low hundreds.
«Praying for Castiel to get his feathery ass down here… part seven. Seriously, man, where the hell are you?». He pauses. He wasn’t going to let himself think about it, but it’s been a week already, and if he still hasn’t replied… «You’re not hurt, are you? If… if you are, just give me a sign. A blow of wind. A whistle. A comet, I don’t know, man, just- just give me something».
That night, in the woods or the sky, nothing moves.
It’s harder every day.
«Cass… me again. It’s been a month. This place is fucking creepier every time I get a better look at it. I ran into a squirrel today. Would’ve been nice, to have company and all, y’know, if only he hadn’t tried to eat my face off soon as I came closer. Wouldn’t be surprised if I ran into evil fairies. Don’t trust the fairies, Cass. Ever».
He has no idea how long it’s been. Sometimes it feels like seconds, sometimes, a thousand years. He spends his days running and his nights staring blankly in the forest.
It’s driving him insane.
«Cass. Day bazillion and you’re still MIA. You wouldn’t believe who I met today. Remember Lenore? The vampire chick? Yeah. Turns out, she’s got her little pack of friends. Vegan Vampire Anonymous». He doesn’t know why he tells him these things. Hell, he doesn’t even know if this angelic phone thing is actually working - in fact, he’s pretty sure it’s not. Cass would’ve tried to reach him otherwise, wouldn’t he?
Still, it’s comforting. Having someone to talk to. Even if he doesn’t hear him, even if he can’t hear him… it’s something. Dean thinks those one-man conversations are the only thing that’s kept him sane so far.
«I asked them if they’d seen you. Turns out they haven’t but, apparently, the two of us are big rumour around here. Maybe someone else knows where you are».
He’s not sure he wants to say everything, though. There are still things he’s been keeping to himself. Like the werewolf that almost chopped off his foot. Or what he’s about to do.
Then, all of a sudden, he doesn’t know what’s been holding him back. It’s not like he’s going to do something wrong. Or rather, he is- but he can’t bring himself to feel wrong about it. Purgatory has blurred the edges of his right and wrong like rain on a painting, and what’s left is a big, grey pool of colour that’s slowly losing all its shades.
He just says it.
«So… I’m gonna ask around».
Moonlight reflecting on the surface of the water, he leans against a tree and listens.
He’s got nothing.
«Can’t believe this place is so fucking big, can you? We keep missing each other wherever we go». A smile curls his lips, a bitter one that quickly fades. He’s so tired of this. So tired of talking to the wind.
«Cass… » he continues, as he wipes the blood off his knife. Weapons are the only thing he bothers keeping clean, at this point. «Cass, I can’t do this. Please. Please, fix your goddamn angel phone booth and answer me. I’m really starting to think something bad happened to you».
So tired of drifting off to sleep waiting for a rustling of wings that’s never going to come.
So he doesn’t sleep. It’s not safe, anyway.
He tightens his grip on the knife’s handle. The night’s long, and there’s plenty of monsters to ask directions to.
He drops him directions, meeting spots, anything that could be useful, anything at all.
It still gives him nothing.
Head between his hands, fists tight in his hair, he just listens.
Every day, he feels his edges sharpen. Every day, he feels them harden, like metal under too much pressure.
«Cass. Just checking in».
He doesn’t know, for the world’s sake, what Purgatory is carving him into.
He guesses he should be more scared than he is.
If Dean keeps doing this, he’s sure he’s going to fly.
If Dean keeps doing this, he doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to hold back.
But he must.
He must.
«Cass… »
It’s harder every day.
Castiel only wishes he’d stop.
We've been falling for all this time
And now
I'm lost in Paradise