Fic: Monstrosity Divine - Chapter 7
The world was spinning, stretching and spiraling in every direction all at once. Castiel’s mind was a yawning chasm, an abyss of darkness and the faint echoes of screaming. He couldn’t recognize his own voice, not for how distorted it was by the water that kept him pinned. Hands gripped at him. Claws scraped his flesh, hooking in to hold him beneath the surface, and he could not breathe. There was no air to scream with. Castiel floundered. The only thing he could do was kick and flail and try to reach the surface. His eyes snapped open, and there was light. A rush of air filled his lungs all at once, and he bolted upright to look around. It was darker than he had expected, quiet too. He was cold, and he was alone, but he was alive.
As his senses returned to him, Castiel realized that he was not lying at the bottom of a lake as he had been dreaming. He was not lying on muddy ground or the cold, tile floors of an old lab. It was a plush bed with a soft duvet peeking out between the layers of towels that had been laid across it to soak up the residual water that soaked Castiel to his core. He looked around, taking in the surroundings: the double beds, the pre-labeled phone, the strange lock on the door, and the pad on the table with a company emblem- a hotel.
There was a robe at the foot of the bed, monogrammed with what Castiel assumed to be the hotel’s logo or initials. He realized then how wet he was, that the only thing keeping him even remotely warm was the vaguely familiar jacket wrapped around his shoulders. Lucifer’s coat, he thought, though it was hard to tell with how waterlogged and wrinkled it was in comparison to how pristine the archangel had always kept it. It was warm though, which was a comfort until Castiel realized that he needed it to be warm. He was cold. That wasn’t right.
He stumbled when he tried to stand, barely catching himself on the side table as he crept around the room, checking around the corner and through the bathroom for any sign of life. His throat felt raw, coated with some poison, and when he realized that he could still faintly taste a coppery hint of blood, Castiel ran into the bathroom and heaved over the toilet. Bile, dirty water, then blood. He scrambled backwards, lips still coated with acid, trying to scream. Nothing happened. Panicking, he fled to the door, trying desperately to force it open, but it wouldn’t budge. The lock was completely jammed, welded in place by some distinctly otherworldly force. He ran for the window, but one glance was enough to tell him that, even if he did succeed in breaking out, the fall would kill him, especially as he was now: broken, weak, powerless.
Castiel crumbled to the floor and let out a choked, heartbroken wail. Trapped. He was trapped. And why shouldn’t he be, after what he had done? He didn’t bother to go back to the bed, just lay down there on the floor and cried helplessly. He wished the world would stop spinning.
It was a peculiar sensation, being picked up. Castiel hadn’t been carried since he was a fledgling in Heaven, and those memories were so old and forgotten that they were borderline to repressed. Yet someone was certainly carrying him. He could feel hands sliding underneath his body, one arm curling underneath his shoulders and shifting him to support his head. Whoever it was had cold hands, and yet they were strong and remarkably careful with him. He knew who it was on some level, of course, and perhaps he should have been frightened, but he wasn’t. It took a great deal of effort to blink his eyes open, and then he just stared up blankly.
Lucifer barely glanced down at him. “I leave you here with a nice bed and a warm robe to put on, and you instead lie on the floor in cold, wet clothes. You always were a strange one, Castiel.”
Castiel’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth when he tried to speak, and his words slurred and ran together. “I’m an angel. My clothes don’t… being wet isn’t… cold… won’t…”
“Yes, I know. You’ve been many things today: an angel, a self-proclaimed god, a Leviathan. I daresay that warm and dry would be an improvement, whether you deem it necessary or not. At least it will be more pleasant.” Lucifer glanced down, noting the vacant look in Castiel’s eyes. He frowned. “Castiel, are you with me? Do you remember what’s happened?”
“Yes. No. You asked two questions.”
“Indeed I did.”
“Lucifer.”
“Yes?”
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
“Oh.”
Castiel hunched on his knees beside the toilet. His body shook, and his stomach twisted, and this time, it worked. Copious amounts of the putrid black liquid surged up his throat, and Castiel barely had time to properly lean forward before it was spilling past his lips. He choked and heaved, trying to rid himself of whatever filth was coating his insides while desperately keeping his eyes squeezed tightly shut lest he see what he had consumed. When it was finally over, he heard the rush of water and felt something cool and wet wiping his face and lips.
“There we are. Better?” Lucifer asked.
“Why are you here?”
“All the things I’ve seen, and you worry that a little vomit will scare me off? Come now, little-”
“I don’t mean here. I mean here.”
Lucifer paused in where he was wiping the sweat from Castiel’s clammy skin and frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”
“I mean am I not dead?”
“So then you do remember?”
“I remember enough.”
“Do you? Tell me.”
“I know I opened Purgatory. I know I took a host of monsters into my being. I know I… There is death and destruction everywhere I look inside my own head, and yet somehow I remain. It’s selfish to say so, but I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to know. Destroy me so that I can no longer be a threat, and let it be done with.” Castiel gagged again, leaning against the side of the toilet and resting his head against the rim. “Just leave me here if you won’t do it.”
Lucifer sat back, chin lifted and eyes narrowed in cold scrutiny. “You have some concept of gratitude,” he whispered.
“Gratitude? Gratitude? Do you not understand? I deserve to die. I want to die. You would be doing me a favor.”
“A favor? You think killing you is a favor?”
“Yes!”
“No. I think I’ve done you enough favors for the present moment, and I’m not doing that. Now, I’ve brought you some-”
“Why not? You’ve done it before,” Castiel snapped.
Lucifer was very still, very quiet. He looked stricken, as if the words had shot from Castiel’s lips and slapped him across the face. He took a deep breath and exhaled very slowly. “I am sorry,” he whispered, rising to his feet and setting a small bag within reach. “I brought you some clothes that I think will fit you. Please put them on if for no other reason than for the sake of the deposit placed on the hotel.” The door clicked softly behind him when he left.
Castiel kicked the bag across the floor in a little fit of frustration. He hated the bag. He hated the clothes. He hated the hotel. Everything, he hated everything. He threw himself back across the floor like a small child having a tantrum and refused to move as he listened for the sound of the outside door being opened or closed. There was only silence. Eventually, the allure of not being covered in sickness and filth overwhelmed him, and he began to carefully peel his dirty, saturated layers off. For a moment, Castiel was horrified by the condition of his own body. A wealth of scrapes and contusions were painted across his skin. There was something resembling a burn, and he was quite certain that some bones were broken. Worse still, even if he concentrated, he found that he had no means by which to heal himself. He’d felt this way before, years ago. Powerless, graceless, human. Unable to look at himself further, he hastily pulled on the fresh layers of soft cotton and padded back out to the main portion of the room.
Lucifer was standing at the window, hands clasped behind his back as he stared off at nothing. The bed had been stripped of soggy towels and turned down properly. Castiel hesitated, lingering near the bathroom door and watching quietly. He expected some reaction. He got none.
“About before… That wasn’t fair of me to say.”
Lucifer turned to glance over his shoulder. “It wasn’t a fair thing for me to have done,” he whispered. “I am very truly sorry.”
Castiel nodded, keeping his eyes down. “So am I. …Could I ask again?”
“Ask what?”
“Why you’re here.”
“Because you’re my little brother. Lie down now. Get some rest. Things will be better later.”
Castiel didn’t believe him, not for a second.
The heaps of blankets and the soft mattress made lying down feel a bit like floating, which would have been fine had Castiel not currently been entertaining a morbid fear of the water. He hadn’t expected the weight beside him on the bed, but he found that it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. If nothing else, Castiel knew that Lucifer had stayed with him through whatever had happened, and there was an undeniable camaraderie in that. He leaned his body backwards, tilting his shoulders in search of some press of contact. The brush of fingertips along his spine was startlingly unexpected, but Castiel didn’t move away. The touch moved slowly, tracing the contours of his sore back before running up the length of his arm, but when it reached the side of his neck, brushing over exposed skin, it made him uneasy. It was soft and light and warm. Lucifer’s hands were cold. Castiel turned his head, neck craning with agonizingly slow reluctance to look over his shoulder.
He was met with a grotesque image of his own face, split ear to ear with a bloody, macabre grin. Slime dribbled down his face, leaking from nose, ears, and mouth, pooling up in tear ducts and bulging from one bloated, black eye. The double’s lips split back to reveal rows of sharp, pointed teeth gleaming in the darkness. Castiel jerked back, trying to escape, but a hand caught his throat and held him fast in place.
“Hello, angel. We’ve missed you.”
Castiel thrashed helplessly in place, eyes rolling wildly as he sought some means of escape or assistance. “Luci-”
“Ah, ah, ah.” Bloody, black fingers squeezed, crushed. “Big brother isn’t coming to save you this time. You see, we already took care of him. It was over quite fast. Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.” Each word was punctuated by a quick snap of teeth as the monster inched closer to Castiel’s face. “You, however… You we will savor,” the Leviathan purred. They leaned forward, nuzzling a sticky, wet nose under Castiel’s chin before dragging the hot point of their tongue up the front of his throat.
Castiel’s instinct was to fly, but his wings hung limp and numb, unable to manifest or move him even an inch. He tried to reach for the lamp on the table or even just to wrench out of the grip, but the monsters easily overpowered him.
“What’s wrong, Cas?” they chuckled. “Don’t you remember all the fun we had together? There were the protests and the churches, that little group of activists that had you so upset. Mmm, Heaven was the highlight of the tour, we think, and the way we tore into big brother, the way we’re going to tear into you… that’s artful.”
Castiel screamed. He thrashed and clawed at the creatures’ face as if he were hoping to rip off the skin and reclaim his own image. The Leviathan just laughed. They pushed him down easily, covering his body with their exact copy, except for the way it was swelling and oozing. It was like drowning again, but now it was the very essence of the Leviathan forcing its way back into his body, seeping in through his skin and sliding down his throat. Tears welled up in Castiel’s eyes, and he knew that his struggle was only making him more exciting prey.
Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.
Castiel was drenched, not in blood or black water but in a heavy, cold sheen of perspiration. He sat upright, eyes darting around the room, groping through the darkness. His trembling fingers ran along the edges of the bed and found it empty, save for himself. No blood, no blackness, no monsters wearing his face, just his own shuddering, aching body. He pushed the blankets down and kicked them off the bed in a frantic search, but the sheets were white, damp but white. There was nothing there. Dreaming, he realized, closing his eyes. He had been dreaming.
As he regathered and calmed himself, Castiel noticed the faint sound of soft breathing elsewhere in the room. His eyes settled on the opposite bed, finding Lucifer lying with his back turned, not having bothered to change clothes or curl beneath the sheets. He was simply draped across the bed, a bit awkwardly, breathing slow and even. The Leviathan’s words echoed in Castiel’s ears. The way we tore into big brother… that’s artful. He shuddered, struggling to piece together the fragmented pieces of his own memory. The protesters and the supposed church officials he vaguely remembered. He didn’t remember anything about Lucifer.
Moving very slowly so as to be quiet, Castiel slung his legs over the side of the bed and inched forward to stand. He hadn’t paid enough attention earlier, sick as he had been, but he was still certain he would have noticed something if there had been something to notice. He found himself to be very wrong. It was difficult to see with the paleness of the moonlight and the way the curtains blocked most of the room in darkness, but in the moment of clarity, there was no denying the black and red clinging to Lucifer’s skin and clothes. There was a barely healed over laceration across the front of his neck and a myriad of defensive wounds on his hand were he’d tried to stop so many attacks. At least his grace seemed to be actively knitting him back together, Castiel thought, taking a step backwards. The blood he had thrown up earlier suddenly made too much sense, and he had to clasp both hands over his mouth to keep from screaming. Even with his fingers down his throat, he found himself unable to purge anything else out of his system, and so Castiel spent the remainder of the night sitting alone in the darkness trying to contemplate what he had done.
Castiel was sitting at the foot of his bed, hands folded neatly in his lap, waiting when Lucifer woke up. Lucifer seemed a little startled, pushing upright on his hands abruptly and glancing around the room with groggy, lidded eyes. Castiel thought watching him that he had almost certainly never slept before, perhaps he hadn’t meant for it to happen.
“Hello, brother.”
Lucifer was muted by the nickname, but his fingers twitched upward in a subconscious effort to cover his neck.
“I’ve already seen it,” Castiel said, refusing to look up. “I did that.”
“No. Castiel, no. Something possessing you did that. It’s not your fault.”
“Isn’t it? I don’t remember much, but I know… I know it was my fault. I know I did something, and yet the only thing I can remember is being trapped. I kept screaming and screaming, thinking somebody was going to save me, but…”
“I tried.”
“I know. You killed them?”
Lucifer frowned, brows knitting together in confusion. “How could I? They were possessing you. If I had pressed any further, I would have ended up destroying you as well.”
“Yes, as well you should have. What became of them?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“No. They went off in every direction in the water.”
“And you just let them go?” Castiel whispered, eyes wide.
“I didn’t much let them do anything, Castiel. I was trying to get to you.”
Castiel lifted his head from where it had fallen cradled in his hands and stared over, mouth agape.
“You’re my family. That was the priority. I’m sorry if you can’t understand that.”
“I’m having a great deal of difficulty understanding a lot of things right now.”
“One more thing we have in common then. Are you at least feeling better?”
“I feel very strange. I’m sore. Sometimes it hurts to breathe.”
“I’m sorry. I was trying to-”
“I know. My stomach hurts.”
“You’re sick again?”
Castiel shook his head. “No. It’s different… I think I might be hungry. I’m not sure.”
“I’ll get you something for that.”
“…Why?”
Lucifer sighed. “I’m not just going to sit here and let you be hungry while I…” He trailed off, staring into the distance with vacant, glazed over eyes.
“Lucifer?”
“What? Oh. I thought I heard something. It’s nothing. Try to rest some while I’m gone. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Rest,” Castiel echoed, falling back. He couldn’t imagine anything ever being restful again.
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