Failure is not the falling down...
Who; to_rebel, wutaiwarhero, and voodooing
What; Castiel goes just a little crazy.
Where; Edge of the forest, to begin. Wherever it goes from there.
When; Friday evening
Rating; PG-13; some disturbing/triggering content
Status; Ongoing; closed
He was trembling.
Castiel turned the blade in his hands, giving it a blank look as he did so. Funny, somehow, a mortal holding an angel's blade. It was still his, of course, and he (evidently) knew how to use it. It just didn't seem right, in hands that had been possessed by a demon not long ago. What else was he capable of? How much further could he fall? He lived in some facsimile of hell, courting demon possession. Couldn't get much further from what he had been.
He'd gone into the forest for one purpose and one purpose only: to die. (And take out a few monsters along the way.) It might not be logical, but it had felt right, at the time. His future was nothing, he was far less than what he was, and the people around him deserved much more. Letting Hades have for what passed for his soul would keep him in the Underworld. He'd never go back to his world, but what did that matter? Apparently he caused more trouble than was right there.
Better for them all if the corruptible angel stayed in the Underworld. If a demon could force its way into his mind, there was no telling what he'd fall to later.
... It hadn't quite worked to plan, though. Castiel had found himself angry. At this place, at himself, at... everything. The demon had filled him with unreasonable rage; this anger had been something a little different. Justified. Maybe. On the knife edge between shutting down and, well, going a little crazy, Castiel had retreated, bloody and battered and on the verge of trying it again.
Probably not a smart idea. A little distanced from it and he could see that. His friends -- his family -- would be very... annoyed. Very annoyed. That was why he didn't want to chance speaking with any of them. Drawing up what mental fortitude he had -- it wasn't much -- Castiel projected on simple call to a friend. Sephiroth. I need your help. His 'tone' was carefully flat. When in doubt, show no emotion. Emotion was... difficult to categorize. It was only a moment before he sent another request, again carefully blank, to Sephiroth. The general was a friend -- a good one -- but they were too similar. He needed to speak with someone who understood.
... Or at least tried to understand.
And, so, at the edge of the forest he waited, holding the blade covered in dark wyrsa blood. He barely felt his own wounds -- superficial, for the most part -- and tried very, very hard not to shut down again. Logic wasn't helping him much here.
What; Castiel goes just a little crazy.
Where; Edge of the forest, to begin. Wherever it goes from there.
When; Friday evening
Rating; PG-13; some disturbing/triggering content
Status; Ongoing; closed
He was trembling.
Castiel turned the blade in his hands, giving it a blank look as he did so. Funny, somehow, a mortal holding an angel's blade. It was still his, of course, and he (evidently) knew how to use it. It just didn't seem right, in hands that had been possessed by a demon not long ago. What else was he capable of? How much further could he fall? He lived in some facsimile of hell, courting demon possession. Couldn't get much further from what he had been.
He'd gone into the forest for one purpose and one purpose only: to die. (And take out a few monsters along the way.) It might not be logical, but it had felt right, at the time. His future was nothing, he was far less than what he was, and the people around him deserved much more. Letting Hades have for what passed for his soul would keep him in the Underworld. He'd never go back to his world, but what did that matter? Apparently he caused more trouble than was right there.
Better for them all if the corruptible angel stayed in the Underworld. If a demon could force its way into his mind, there was no telling what he'd fall to later.
... It hadn't quite worked to plan, though. Castiel had found himself angry. At this place, at himself, at... everything. The demon had filled him with unreasonable rage; this anger had been something a little different. Justified. Maybe. On the knife edge between shutting down and, well, going a little crazy, Castiel had retreated, bloody and battered and on the verge of trying it again.
Probably not a smart idea. A little distanced from it and he could see that. His friends -- his family -- would be very... annoyed. Very annoyed. That was why he didn't want to chance speaking with any of them. Drawing up what mental fortitude he had -- it wasn't much -- Castiel projected on simple call to a friend. Sephiroth. I need your help. His 'tone' was carefully flat. When in doubt, show no emotion. Emotion was... difficult to categorize. It was only a moment before he sent another request, again carefully blank, to Sephiroth. The general was a friend -- a good one -- but they were too similar. He needed to speak with someone who understood.
... Or at least tried to understand.
And, so, at the edge of the forest he waited, holding the blade covered in dark wyrsa blood. He barely felt his own wounds -- superficial, for the most part -- and tried very, very hard not to shut down again. Logic wasn't helping him much here.