[ castiel can hear it, the telltale scratching above them, the movement, the pull in metaspace that means the demons are drawing nearer, that they have even less time than he had thought. so when dean at last offers his ultimatum, castiel hardly even has to hear it to accept.
Yes.
he wastes no time. the moment dean accepts, the moment he is near enough, castiel scoops up his soul like a baby bird, closing his hands around it and sweeping it near and pressing it full into the heart of his grace. dean will be safe there, guarded by castiel's life energy itself, leaving him free to fight without the need to protect him or worry about losing him in the long climb back out of hell. it's dangerous, in its own way - human souls are incredibly strong, impossibly powerful and resilient, but too long within him and they could begin to erode, the hard lines between soul and grace beginning to blur and entangle.. but they have time, and castiel does not intend to dawdle.
a good thing, too, for they are upon him the moment he turns, black smoke demons screeching and tearing at him, and castiel worries, for a moment, that he will not have the strength for this, that it will be just as his brothers and sisters had teased, that he has spent too long down here that he is too weary to resurface, and it will cost him his life, and dean's rescue both.
in the end, however, there is no room for apprehension, not anymore, there is time only for action, for doing, and castiel must give all that he has left to see this thing finished. so he bucks them off, his blade of light materializing again, slashing the space between them, catching two demons - but castiel doesn't intend to fight, he intends to flee. in a burst of light he flings his wings wide and surges forward, one arm flung over his breast, over the great warmth of dean winchester's soul that he can feel within him, filling him with urgency, with the determination he needs to see this through, and as he flies he calls out, broadcasting to every angel in range, from the pits of hell to the high reaches of heaven.
I have him. I have him. I have Dean Winchester.
there is a great clamor of voices, but castiel pays them no mind, funnels all of his focus into the climb. he is flying, flying high, flying fast, arcing through the space at impossible speeds, cutting down demons that fly at his face, shaking them off when they chew and claw at his wings. they crawl out of holes, they come from above him and below him, for all of hell is spilling out its resources now to slow him, to stop him, but castiel won't be waylaid, won't give up, can only push and push and pay no mind to the way they tear at his grace, cannot think about how tired he is, for he is revitalized now, and full of purpose.
the demons begin to pull away, burned by his grace, slinking back, and it seems at once ominous and gladdening for they are very nearly there, they are so close.
it catches him off-guard. the demon slams into his side, hurtling him back, impossibly strong, rippling with power. castiel's wings fold and his grace recoils with a shriek as he is flung to the far wall, and the demon rises in grey smoke, grinning wide and looming, filling up the space with its enormous, black presence, blocking the path. its voice is slick as spilled oil, its eyes white slits. all too familiar, he's sure, to dean winchester.
Now now, little angel, I can't have you robbing me of my favorite toy, can I? You're going to have to give that back, you know. ]
no subject
Yes.
he wastes no time. the moment dean accepts, the moment he is near enough, castiel scoops up his soul like a baby bird, closing his hands around it and sweeping it near and pressing it full into the heart of his grace. dean will be safe there, guarded by castiel's life energy itself, leaving him free to fight without the need to protect him or worry about losing him in the long climb back out of hell. it's dangerous, in its own way - human souls are incredibly strong, impossibly powerful and resilient, but too long within him and they could begin to erode, the hard lines between soul and grace beginning to blur and entangle.. but they have time, and castiel does not intend to dawdle.
a good thing, too, for they are upon him the moment he turns, black smoke demons screeching and tearing at him, and castiel worries, for a moment, that he will not have the strength for this, that it will be just as his brothers and sisters had teased, that he has spent too long down here that he is too weary to resurface, and it will cost him his life, and dean's rescue both.
in the end, however, there is no room for apprehension, not anymore, there is time only for action, for doing, and castiel must give all that he has left to see this thing finished. so he bucks them off, his blade of light materializing again, slashing the space between them, catching two demons - but castiel doesn't intend to fight, he intends to flee. in a burst of light he flings his wings wide and surges forward, one arm flung over his breast, over the great warmth of dean winchester's soul that he can feel within him, filling him with urgency, with the determination he needs to see this through, and as he flies he calls out, broadcasting to every angel in range, from the pits of hell to the high reaches of heaven.
I have him. I have him. I have Dean Winchester.
there is a great clamor of voices, but castiel pays them no mind, funnels all of his focus into the climb. he is flying, flying high, flying fast, arcing through the space at impossible speeds, cutting down demons that fly at his face, shaking them off when they chew and claw at his wings. they crawl out of holes, they come from above him and below him, for all of hell is spilling out its resources now to slow him, to stop him, but castiel won't be waylaid, won't give up, can only push and push and pay no mind to the way they tear at his grace, cannot think about how tired he is, for he is revitalized now, and full of purpose.
the demons begin to pull away, burned by his grace, slinking back, and it seems at once ominous and gladdening for they are very nearly there, they are so close.
it catches him off-guard. the demon slams into his side, hurtling him back, impossibly strong, rippling with power. castiel's wings fold and his grace recoils with a shriek as he is flung to the far wall, and the demon rises in grey smoke, grinning wide and looming, filling up the space with its enormous, black presence, blocking the path. its voice is slick as spilled oil, its eyes white slits. all too familiar, he's sure, to dean winchester.
Now now, little angel, I can't have you robbing me of my favorite toy, can I? You're going to have to give that back, you know. ]