HC Bingo - Prompt 19
Title: Love Alone
Prompt: Mutation
Medium: fic
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Innuendo, references to sex
Summary: Castiel is losing is grace - and ponders if what it would take to get it back is worth it.
Castiel knew he was in danger of falling the moment he zapped Dean out of the abandoned muffler factory in California and to the convent in Maryland to stop Sam. He'd expected falling was done swiftly, totally and you started all over as a human baby. That was apparently just one way to fall - the way you went when you hacked out your own grace and jumped. He hadn't carved out his grace, truth was, Cas still wanted his grace. He didn't want to be a human - he was an angel and that is what he wanted to be, he had no desire to be anything else. He doesn't know how Gabriel had managed to keep a hold on his own grace, but he is an archangel and compared to him, Castiel is pretty much a bug. Grace was something he was losing, no matter how he tried to conserve it.
Rest seemed to help - but he was far from his maximum capacity. The ability to heal others had gone first - before he'd even had time to completely register the loss. Then it started to take him longer to heal himself. Thus the downward spiral went... he knew it would not be long before he lost that power completely, even with sleep. He wanted to be an angel and at the same time he wanted to stay on Earth. Emotions were a pesky thing he was starting to deal with, another side effect of losing grace and he missed home and at the same time, he knew if he could go back, he would miss being on Earth. Conflict, as Dean might say, was a sonuvabitch. He let out a soft groan and pushed himself off of the bed.
Castiel now knows why the Winchester Brothers have immunity systems most people would kill for - enough of these cheap motel rooms so full of germs have undoubtedly made them resistant to almost every single strain of influenza and cold. The beds are lumpy at best, rock hard at their worst - bathrooms full of mold and cracked tiles - he's fairly certain that prophets living in the desert have had better accommodations. A good room is one where the heater or air conditioner not only works, but works silently and has a clean kitchenette. This could also explain the bleach the Winchesters always seem to have in the trunk of the Impala. He glances to his left where Dean is slumbering, snoring softly. Sam's not with them again - he's in the room next door.
The apocalypse is not going the way it was planned.
The First Seal had broken, yes - but in a rather odd way - Dean had not accepted Alistair's razor until the very last day. The blood that had been shed by the righteous man had been his own when he pricked his thumb on the edge of the blade.
One little drop of blood had started all this.
Castiel does not hold this against Dean and he never will. The fact that he resisted as long as he did is a testament to the sort of person he is. Most men crack in a matter of weeks, never years. Only John Winchester resisted for a hundred - and had he not climbed out of the Devil's Gate, Castiel is certain the man could have lasted a hundred more.
Lilith shattered sixty-four more seals at a seemingly alarming rate, so much so that even now, Castiel's amazed they were able to stop as many seals from being broken - a grand total of two-hundred and seventy-three - worldwide. Sam had killed Lilith and made it sixty-six. Castiel doesn't entirely blame the man for that either. He fell under the category of Cosmically Screwed. He'd seen other people whose destinies were just as shitty, as Dean might say. Thus began the Apocalypse.
And Castiel's slow descent towards mortality.
It's not all bad - he's grown to like a few things. Besides companionship and love - which he gets from Dean more than the man could possibly understand, friendship from Sam and to some degree, Mr. Singer. He's also learned to love onion rings and pulled pork sandwiches. Food is, for the most part, not all that bad and he gets why Gabriel enjoys eating. He's just glad that the junk he's been consuming hasn't started to affect him physically. Sleep is taking some getting used to, bathing is not all that bad - and sex, well...
He gets why an angel might fall for that.
“Cas?” Dean turned over in the bed and looked up at him. “You okay?”
“I.... am not certain.” He wanted this - he wanted all of this, but what he wanted and what it actually was were two very different things. He still wasn't certain why he was hiding the brothers from Michael and Lucifer - he could get his grace back if he turned them in, but knowing that this would be over... there would be no way he could look Dean in the face again if he sold the two of them out.
Dean sat up and scooted over to him, putting an arm around his shoulder in a half hug. “It's okay if you don't want to talk.”
Castiel leaned his head against Dean's shoulder, enjoying the momentary peace. The truth of the matter is that he wants so much and knows he can only have a few things - or maybe just one - and he doesn't know what he wants the most.
All he knows is that he's losing his grace and becoming something else - he doesn't know if he's going to be a human or just an angel's soul trapped in a mortal body. The train of thought is cut off when he feels Dean's lips press against the area behind his ear.
It certainly doesn't help when he gets all persuasive like that...
“Cas?” Dean pulls away slowly. “Sorry...” He removes his arm and lays back down and even without seeing his face, the angel knows he's feeling guilty. Castiel can't think why - he's the one with the issues on what he should do and with no one to talk to about the issue except himself. And the last conversation I had with myself ended oh so well...
Castiel lays back down and sets his hand against Dean's back, rubbing the area gently. “It is not your fault, Dean. You have done nothing to be sorry for.”
Dean looked over his shoulder. “What's wrong, Cas? Some thing's bothering you...”
He shook his head in response. “It is something that I can only answer for myself, I'm afraid. Otherwise, I would very gladly welcome your help. But this something I believe I can only sort out on my own.”
“It's to early for this cryptic shit...” Dean mumbled, pulling the covers tighter over the two of them. 'But if you need to talk... or need help... you know I'm here, right?”
“I know, Dean. Thank you.” And that just makes making a decision all the harder...
Prompt: Mutation
Medium: fic
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Innuendo, references to sex
Summary: Castiel is losing is grace - and ponders if what it would take to get it back is worth it.
Castiel knew he was in danger of falling the moment he zapped Dean out of the abandoned muffler factory in California and to the convent in Maryland to stop Sam. He'd expected falling was done swiftly, totally and you started all over as a human baby. That was apparently just one way to fall - the way you went when you hacked out your own grace and jumped. He hadn't carved out his grace, truth was, Cas still wanted his grace. He didn't want to be a human - he was an angel and that is what he wanted to be, he had no desire to be anything else. He doesn't know how Gabriel had managed to keep a hold on his own grace, but he is an archangel and compared to him, Castiel is pretty much a bug. Grace was something he was losing, no matter how he tried to conserve it.
Rest seemed to help - but he was far from his maximum capacity. The ability to heal others had gone first - before he'd even had time to completely register the loss. Then it started to take him longer to heal himself. Thus the downward spiral went... he knew it would not be long before he lost that power completely, even with sleep. He wanted to be an angel and at the same time he wanted to stay on Earth. Emotions were a pesky thing he was starting to deal with, another side effect of losing grace and he missed home and at the same time, he knew if he could go back, he would miss being on Earth. Conflict, as Dean might say, was a sonuvabitch. He let out a soft groan and pushed himself off of the bed.
Castiel now knows why the Winchester Brothers have immunity systems most people would kill for - enough of these cheap motel rooms so full of germs have undoubtedly made them resistant to almost every single strain of influenza and cold. The beds are lumpy at best, rock hard at their worst - bathrooms full of mold and cracked tiles - he's fairly certain that prophets living in the desert have had better accommodations. A good room is one where the heater or air conditioner not only works, but works silently and has a clean kitchenette. This could also explain the bleach the Winchesters always seem to have in the trunk of the Impala. He glances to his left where Dean is slumbering, snoring softly. Sam's not with them again - he's in the room next door.
The apocalypse is not going the way it was planned.
The First Seal had broken, yes - but in a rather odd way - Dean had not accepted Alistair's razor until the very last day. The blood that had been shed by the righteous man had been his own when he pricked his thumb on the edge of the blade.
One little drop of blood had started all this.
Castiel does not hold this against Dean and he never will. The fact that he resisted as long as he did is a testament to the sort of person he is. Most men crack in a matter of weeks, never years. Only John Winchester resisted for a hundred - and had he not climbed out of the Devil's Gate, Castiel is certain the man could have lasted a hundred more.
Lilith shattered sixty-four more seals at a seemingly alarming rate, so much so that even now, Castiel's amazed they were able to stop as many seals from being broken - a grand total of two-hundred and seventy-three - worldwide. Sam had killed Lilith and made it sixty-six. Castiel doesn't entirely blame the man for that either. He fell under the category of Cosmically Screwed. He'd seen other people whose destinies were just as shitty, as Dean might say. Thus began the Apocalypse.
And Castiel's slow descent towards mortality.
It's not all bad - he's grown to like a few things. Besides companionship and love - which he gets from Dean more than the man could possibly understand, friendship from Sam and to some degree, Mr. Singer. He's also learned to love onion rings and pulled pork sandwiches. Food is, for the most part, not all that bad and he gets why Gabriel enjoys eating. He's just glad that the junk he's been consuming hasn't started to affect him physically. Sleep is taking some getting used to, bathing is not all that bad - and sex, well...
He gets why an angel might fall for that.
“Cas?” Dean turned over in the bed and looked up at him. “You okay?”
“I.... am not certain.” He wanted this - he wanted all of this, but what he wanted and what it actually was were two very different things. He still wasn't certain why he was hiding the brothers from Michael and Lucifer - he could get his grace back if he turned them in, but knowing that this would be over... there would be no way he could look Dean in the face again if he sold the two of them out.
Dean sat up and scooted over to him, putting an arm around his shoulder in a half hug. “It's okay if you don't want to talk.”
Castiel leaned his head against Dean's shoulder, enjoying the momentary peace. The truth of the matter is that he wants so much and knows he can only have a few things - or maybe just one - and he doesn't know what he wants the most.
All he knows is that he's losing his grace and becoming something else - he doesn't know if he's going to be a human or just an angel's soul trapped in a mortal body. The train of thought is cut off when he feels Dean's lips press against the area behind his ear.
It certainly doesn't help when he gets all persuasive like that...
“Cas?” Dean pulls away slowly. “Sorry...” He removes his arm and lays back down and even without seeing his face, the angel knows he's feeling guilty. Castiel can't think why - he's the one with the issues on what he should do and with no one to talk to about the issue except himself. And the last conversation I had with myself ended oh so well...
Castiel lays back down and sets his hand against Dean's back, rubbing the area gently. “It is not your fault, Dean. You have done nothing to be sorry for.”
Dean looked over his shoulder. “What's wrong, Cas? Some thing's bothering you...”
He shook his head in response. “It is something that I can only answer for myself, I'm afraid. Otherwise, I would very gladly welcome your help. But this something I believe I can only sort out on my own.”
“It's to early for this cryptic shit...” Dean mumbled, pulling the covers tighter over the two of them. 'But if you need to talk... or need help... you know I'm here, right?”
“I know, Dean. Thank you.” And that just makes making a decision all the harder...