Fanfiction: SPN - Exsisto Memor Mei (Patience) - 2/7
Title: Exsisto Memor Mei
Author: conclusivelead.
Fandom: Supernatural.
Rating: G.
Genre: Drabble, slash, drama, angst.
Warnings: Angst, slash.
Word Count: ~500.
Challenge/Inspiration: Written for the 7_virtues fanfiction challenge.
Summary: “Castiel trusts in the Lord and believes the Lord will be mindful of this at the end of all things.” Hope is, in the end, all he has. The second of seven short vignettes using the prompts liberality, patience, chastity, abstinence, diligence, kindness, and humility about Castiel, Dean, Hell, and what it really means to be virtuous.
2. Exsisto Memor Mei - PATIENCE.
“Hell is a place, a time, a consciousness, in which there is no love.” - Richard Bach
How does one search for one’s father when one’s father is God?
His fingers grip the leather loosely. The amulet hangs down, thumping against his thigh with every step, but the sensation is barely-there, practically nonexistent. He’s not sure he has the patience for such a task as the one he is embarking on. These days, the slightest thing irritates him: a run-in with a lesser demon, injury done to his vessel’s body, the Winchesters refusing to listen to his careful advice.
The air is thick, smells of fragility and death and anxiety and stress and everything else that separates this world from the one he is used to. It’s heavier here, in this place of heightened emotions and pain, and it has taken getting used to, but he is still not completely accustomed to it all.
This hospital is especially dark, so like the rest of the world in that death and its consequences linger here as they do outside, but it’s all so fresh here: an onslaught of the aftermath of the ending of lives.
Castiel thinks back to Bobby and Sam and Dean. He thinks back to the look in the older man’s eyes, the hatred he felt for his own newfound weakness; he thinks on Sam, and his desperation for his brother’s forgiveness; he thinks of Dean, of anger in his face, of the eventual, reluctant complacency when he handed over the amulet. The leather loop from which it hangs is hot in his hand, and Castiel takes a deep breath, the rush of cool air through his vessel’s lungs bright and vibrant - it clears away the shadows of death that linger in this building. He emerges from the hospital, fingers squeezed tight around the amulet, and disappears to the space between this world and the next, already beginning the search.
‘Father,’ he thinks. ‘Where are You?’
How does one search for one’s father when one’s father is God?
He’s learned patience in all his time in Heaven, but it’s a difficult thing to master in an entirely new body, without his link to home and without anything but the barest hope that things will be alright, eventually. But Castiel reappears in an empty field somewhere outside of Tuscaloosa, and the amulet is there again, thump-thump-thumping against his thigh and he thinks of Dean and knows that patience is just something he will have to re-master, even if there is little time in which to do so. Dean trusts him; he must disregard his anxiety (such an odd emotion, anxiety) and just do what it is that will save them all, what he needs to do - search.
Castiel reaches up and slips the leather thong over his head, the warm metal amulet settling against his chest. Patience, he reminds himself, is a virtue. A quick moment to feel for the overwhelming presence he only vaguely remembers, and then he’s off again.
How does one search for one’s father when one’s father is God?
The old fashioned way, it would seem.
END.