Campaspe (cs_whitewolf) wrote,

[spn] falling from the sky (and all I found was you) [Castiel (Dean)]

falling from the sky (and all I found was you);

Castiel, (mentions of Dean, past!Dean);

PG/13-Rated: drug use. 643words;

Set in the 5.04 ‘The End’ verse;

Castiel thinks about the end.



Sometimes he likes to sit on the roof of his cabin and stare up at the stars. He likes to pretend that they are the eyes of his brethren looking down upon the world. He likes to imagine that he is still one of them. He smiles at the thought; lips pulled wide and open as he laughs little puffs of smoke into the night. He tries not to dwell on the past nor what the future will bring him. Dean taught him fairly early on that the present was the only moment that really mattered and Castiel has held firm to that philosophy with grasping, child-like fingers.


He doesn’t like to think about just how far he’s fallen. And when he does, the pain he feels is fleeting at best (there’s nothing drugs can’t cure, he’s found, for a time at least). This here and now though, it’s different. He feels the end approaching with a hitching heartbeat and he cannot help but mourn that which he has lost.


He knows that if this humanity was to be a test of his faith, of his person, that he’d failed it long ago. Failed it from the start, from the first seed of doubt to take hold of him to the first tasting of alcohol which passed still-angelic lips, from the sating of carnal desires with willing flesh to the polluting of his body’s temple with all manner of opiates and narcotics and things he doesn’t even know the names of.


The thought of just how far he’s fallen from grace makes him tremble inside but still he presses firm his lips against the prayers of forgiveness he wishes to speak. He is too far fallen. Too far. Death will come for him soon and then he will be judged. He will not repent. He cannot. He did this to himself.


He remembers the look Dean gave him. Not his Dean. The other, younger, more innocent Dean who came to them from the past. He remembers the shock and the judgement and the heart-wrenching sorrow he saw reflected back at him from those staring green eyes. As if Dean blamed himself. He remembers the same look, from so long ago (so long ago) reflected in his Dean’s eyes and it makes him want to curl in on himself, makes him want to find a needle and shoot the pain away. But he cannot. He itches but has nothing but nicotine between his fingers with which to scratch the itch. There is a job to do tonight and Dean (his, either, both) will not see him high as a kite and useless to everyone including himself. There is a job to do. They’re going to kill Lucifer.


Castiel laughs long and hard into the night. It’s the best joke he’s heard in his lifetime. It feels good to laugh even if the humour is tainted and the emotion swift to dissipate like the smoke between draws of a cigarette. He feels a burning need- eyes blurring against the twinkle of the stars above him- to see him one last time, to see his old Dean one last time and remember the days when everything was new and fresh and being afraid was combated by tightly wrapped arms around a trembling body instead of a tourniquet tied roughly around an arm shaking with needy withdrawal. He needs to see Dean, not-his Dean, the one he fell for even though he knew Dean could never hope to catch him. He’s been falling ever since. He’s sure there was a time when Dean tried. He can’t remember anymore. He’d given up on him long ago. They both had.


Castiel looks up at the stars and smiles, slow and sad as he blows little puffs of smoke up into the air. He wishes he didn’t itch so much.


written for Caspe-Wri-Mo 2010.

Tags: [&]: gen, challenge: caspe-wri-mo, character: [spn]: castiel, fanfic: supernatural, fanfic: supernatural: coda: 5.04, fic: rating: r/18, fic: wordcount: 100-500

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