Chapter Text
“...You can’t stay.” The words were sudden, shattering the comfort the warm lights of the Bunker provided, the warmth that had finally managed to seep into his skin from the shower. The pain that resided within the words themselves seemed inconsequential by the set of Dean’s jaw, and Castiel could even see the twisted surety residing deep in Dean’s gaze.
Sharp pains resonated in his abdomen, gaping and consuming emptiness filling the rest of his chest. He couldn’t stop his hands from shaking, one going to clutch his stomach at the abrupt change. The rest of time seemed frozen, blue eyes filling in pain as the shock slowly fizzled away.
How foolish was I to think I had a family? How foolish was I to think I could be loved?
His gaze broke first, his demeanor following suit, shoulders deflating, slowly, subtly curling into himself, as if he was defending himself from whatever words may follow.
With one glance up as he managed to stand, he found the green eyes were averted; perhaps it was for the best so no more words would be exchanged.
“I-“ understand was supposed to be the next word out of his mouth, but he felt a well in his throat, making it hard to talk, or even breathe.
“Listen Cas, I…” Dean’s words drifted off into a long and painful sigh.
Castiel couldn’t help the intrusive thought that filled his head; that the man in front of him just didn’t have anything else to say. But to be honest, what else could there be to say? You don’t need me. Human, powerless, what did Castiel really have to offer the Winchesters? Nothing, the answer was nothing .
It was cruel what hope did to a man; he was so delusional. He should never have thought that all he had done could be forgiven, glossed over and forgotten. The reality of it all was that forgiveness wasn’t what he deserved.
His fist clenched, not in anger but as a physical anchor, gripping tightly to the cloth of his sleeve, tugging the fabric taut. He managed another glance to where Dean was still sitting on the table, the man’s eyes resting firmly on his hands where he fidgeted with a pen next to a stack of files.
“I am sorry Dean.” Castiel managed, voice strained in sorrow and regret. He hated the way he couldn’t stand the tension filling the room any longer, he couldn’t stop the sharp inhalation as the lump in his throat grew bigger, jaw clenching as if in habit to stop it all.
He was stiff as he moved towards the stairs, his movement breaking Dean from his own paralysis, “Cas,” Dean’s voice was one of concern with a touch of urgency. Castiel’s chest twisted, he didn’t want to hear the reasons why he couldn’t stay, he knew, he knew. He made this whole mess, all that had happened was on him again. “Cas just wait. It’s late. Stay here tonight, man.” Castiel paused slightly, bracing himself in anticipation for what he knew would come next, “you can leave in the morning.”
Part of him wanted to feign indifference and continue his ascent up the stairs. But the other side knew that it was pouring rain, and there wasn’t any part of him that wanted to be out there in the cold again. “Thank you, Dean,” he managed to say, but the cold must’ve seeped its way into the bunker, chilling his words and leaving them hollow.
His arms crossed across his stomach, one hand clutching his shirt as he turned back to walk down the hall to the temporary room covered in dust and boxes. He couldn’t stand the silence and the feeling that Dean’s eyes left on his back. His hands began to tremble once more, one moving to his face, trying to rub away the stinging feeling in his eyes.
The door clicked closed softly behind him, a shaky exhale escaping past his constricted throat. In the dimly lit room, he slid to the ground, his eyes searching fruitlessly through the darkness.
How foolish am I? He glanced towards the door in front of him, his back ramming harder into the metal frame of the bed behind him. How could I have thought they would need me after all I’ve done? I have nothing to offer. How could I have thought they would want me here? I am nothing and yet I always bring the worst outcome; from leviathans to tearing apart heaven. And every time, every decision I make, they are the ones to put everything back together again. He couldn’t help but scrub at the dirt and dust that clung under his fingernails, his hands itching to move as the darkness closed in.
Only fools would keep a disaster like that around, it is no wonder that they no longer wish for me to stay. What can I even say in apologies? I try to make it right and yet I somehow manage to fail, each and every time. They are more than tired cleaning up the messes I make and I can not blame them. His attention moved to his arms when his vision began to swim, palms digging into the skin of his forearm, scrubbing against the dust that had somehow already settled even though he was convinced he had just washed himself clean.
There had been a time where he would’ve seen humans the same way, the splotches of dirt, dust and clay, remnants and reminders of their creation; made from dust and destined to return to dust after years of beauty and magnificence. He had once thought fondly of the sentiment, the circle God had created, the interlocking mechanisms that couldn’t hope to be replicated.
Now, with his vision fractured by the tears in his eyes, he wanted to get rid of the itching at his skin, his nails digging into his flesh as his jaw clenched to lock the knot in his throat and away from the open air.
Tears began to flow from his eyes, falling down his face in a sporadic line, landing with a sharp sting on his left forearm.
It was rubbed raw, surface level scratches covering the skin; his nails had torn away the flesh that now contained a being that had existed before the earth was thought to be formed. The soft trickle of blood rolled down his arm to his palm, barely a pool to form by the small quantity.
The blood is on my hands. Chills ran across him in the cold and dark room, seeping into his bones through the concrete floor. It’s always on my hands. Thousands of angels laying dead in the fields, their cries , the pleading ringing out in his ears, begging for him to stop, to see reason. How could he always be so blind? He had been merciless, following a path he was so sure was right.
And here he was, back to where he had been; at the end of the road of good intentions. Back to bruised, broken and bleeding.
He dragged his palm down his pants, staining the fabric with crimson. What have I done? The silence taunted him, the whole world seemed to go quiet in utter disbelief that such an act could be committed. I used to hear the rocks singing out, and now even they have abandoned their tune… he curled up tighter, dragging his knees to his chest … or perhaps I’m just too broken to hear them.
It wasn’t even consciously that he began to hear the ringing, the now constant buzz and agony over the angels waves.
“Find Castiel-“
“-doomed us-
“He betrayed us, leaving-“
“Kill Cast-“
“-Traitor-
“Lap dog for anyo-
“Castiel led us all astray-“
“-trusted him-“
“-Winchester has corrupted-
“Disobeyed”
“I’m sorry, I did not mea-“ he choked out softly, shaking in silent sobs as his siblings' hatred rolled over the waves, desperate words leaving his tongue even though he knew they wouldn’t hear. “I just wa-“ he couldn’t help shaking his head, his reasons were pointless, they didn’t take away from any of his actions. “ I’m sorry,” he whispered out to the darkness, the words only leaving more cold deep in his bones.
“Killed us-“
“-pretending to be God-“
“-cost us every-“
“-defiance-“
“Offer him no mercy.”
“-tear his wings-“
The radio snapped silent within seconds, yet he still whispered, “I’m so sorry,” shuddering as his memories drifted to his wings; couldn’t help but feel the phantom touch of the feathers, ones that would surround him and take him away from this desolate agony in a heartbeat. The wings that connected him to his siblings, signified all the power he could ever need. Maybe though, them being stolen was what he deserved, they were pure and he was so far from that.
The confines of his flesh bore in on him in tune with the constricting of his throat. How can I get this to stop? A hand traced to his throat, where he had no choice but to turn to gasping breaths to get the oxygen this body now required. The tears leaked freely from his eyes, his vision completely failing him now as his sobs grew sporadically to accommodate the necessities of this life.
The walls and his very being seemed to begin to collapse, as he fought to stop and gain control of his vessel, an unrelenting tirade of agony and thoughts raining down on him, his lips only being able to cry out to the universe in two words, “I’m sorry” .
The weight settled over him, his emotions, self-condemnation, and the weakness of humanity dragging him down into exhaustion. Each breath laborious through the cries and heart pumping in erratic rhythm as he curled onto his side, face against the frigid ground. His body, his mind, they couldn’t help but surrender to the darkness that covered him, dragging all he knew into the sweet, dark void of unconsciousness.