( if there's ever been a thing that he would have never thought to find himself in the face of, it most certainly is the fact that he's being taken in by an angel, as physically as anything could be in the intangible realm of hell, taken in and surrounded by the thing that drives the holy. his grace surrounds him in a warm blanket of light, electrified, so much so that he faintly shivers from the feel of it, and it's all at once so overwhelming that he's not quite sure he'd made the right decision. that something has to be wrong, here, and that he's just signed his own death warrant ten times over.
but then they're ascending, and though dean doesn't have much of a view from inside an angel, he can hear just as well as if he were back on the outside. the demons screeching, calling out to his rescuer in the sense of you will not take him, slamming into him bodily and slowing their already meticulous progress upward. he would worry that they won't make it, but there's a tiny little voice in the back of his mind that assures him he has nothing to worry about, that castiel will remain good to his word, get them both out without anything horrible getting in their way.
they're so close – so close – and he feels the jolt when something slams into castiel, jostling him from what he'd found as a moderately comfortable way to be … well, wrapped up in grace, and he can't help but to think this is it, it's all over, we're not gonna make it and i'm gonna be stuck down here for the rest of eternity.
but then he hears that voice, and freezes, immediately at full attention and wishing he weren't stuck inside. that he could somehow contribute, do something.
… alistair? ah, hell.
of course he would recognize that voice. he doesn't think he'll ever be able to forget it – it's ingrained into him, burrowed deep into the back of his mind, a nearly constant presence telling him what he's capable of, what he's already achieved, and just how proud he is of the progress he's made. that sort of thing stays with you, you know? in that haunting, incredibly fucked up way. like a nightmare that hangs around even after you've woken up, staying in the periphery of your vision in a shadowy haze.
he's tensed, on edge, and even though he knows full well there is nothing he can do from his current vantage point, it doesn't mean he's going to stay quiet. docile.
back off, alistair. your little jailbird's about to fly the coop.
dean … that … is not going to help any. you do realize that, right? )
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but then they're ascending, and though dean doesn't have much of a view from inside an angel, he can hear just as well as if he were back on the outside. the demons screeching, calling out to his rescuer in the sense of you will not take him, slamming into him bodily and slowing their already meticulous progress upward. he would worry that they won't make it, but there's a tiny little voice in the back of his mind that assures him he has nothing to worry about, that castiel will remain good to his word, get them both out without anything horrible getting in their way.
they're so close – so close – and he feels the jolt when something slams into castiel, jostling him from what he'd found as a moderately comfortable way to be … well, wrapped up in grace, and he can't help but to think this is it, it's all over, we're not gonna make it and i'm gonna be stuck down here for the rest of eternity.
but then he hears that voice, and freezes, immediately at full attention and wishing he weren't stuck inside. that he could somehow contribute, do something.
… alistair?
ah, hell.
of course he would recognize that voice. he doesn't think he'll ever be able to forget it – it's ingrained into him, burrowed deep into the back of his mind, a nearly constant presence telling him what he's capable of, what he's already achieved, and just how proud he is of the progress he's made. that sort of thing stays with you, you know? in that haunting, incredibly fucked up way. like a nightmare that hangs around even after you've woken up, staying in the periphery of your vision in a shadowy haze.
he's tensed, on edge, and even though he knows full well there is nothing he can do from his current vantage point, it doesn't mean he's going to stay quiet. docile.
back off, alistair. your little jailbird's about to fly the coop.
dean … that … is not going to help any. you do realize that, right? )