( it's almost funny, in that satirical, mocking way that time does seem to stand still here. that for all it had seemed to speed by him in the blink of an eye down in the pit, he wouldn't have been able to tell you how long they lingered between time and space itself had you deigned to ask him, and there's something so satisfying about that that he can't bring himself to think about anything else. it's one thing for time to fly, another for it to crawl, and something else entirely for it to stop. it's … a calming sort of thing, truth be told, and he doesn't quite mind being caught up in it.
it's far from over, that which had been set into motion the very first time he'd raised a hand and struck against a tortured soul; and it's even longer still before he knows the full breadth of what he's done, that the coming apocalypse could have been staved off for just a little longer if he hadn't given in. if he'd held on just as long as it had taken an entire army of angels to fight through the varying layers of grit and grime and sin to get to him, to raise him up, as if he really were something worth saving.
if he hadn't given up.
it's something that will haunt him, plague him with a vengeance until it's all over and done, and even still, it will follow him like a lingering shadow, a cancer metastasized and ingraining itself ever deeper within him along with all of his past mistakes. shortcomings. reasons in spades that he isn't worth the time and effort put forth by the holy brigade, but it's too little, too late for that, isn't it? because here he is, wrapped up in the grace of the one that had nearly died to save him, and he doesn't know a goddamned thing about what his is all about.
ignorance is bliss, or so they say, and sometimes, dean winchester should be the happiest human being on the planet.
when castiel speaks to him again, he still has no idea of how long they've been in this little pocket paradise, but he can't deny that he's reassured by the sound of the angel's voice, tangible or not. he still sounds like he isn't up for the rest of the trek back topside, but he does sound like he's a little further away from the jaws of death, and that gives dean a bit of hope.
something that he's been sorely lacking as of late, but it isn't without reason.
you okay there, clarence? hey, he can't help but to jab a little, here, even if he's just been risen from hell and might just be back on his way from a dirt nap, and sometimes … he doesn't know when it's best to keep his dumb jokes to himself. like, probably, right now, but the words have already slipped out of his mouth and are probably well on their way to confounding his resident savior. sorry about that, castiel.
i don't really think i'm going anywhere, so if you need to regenerate some more of your mojo, by all means. i'm good.
meanwhile, he's still just as broken as he's ever been in the miserable extent of his mortal life, but he isn't about to show any sort of weakness now. not while he's still –proverbially – breathing, in any case. )
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it's far from over, that which had been set into motion the very first time he'd raised a hand and struck against a tortured soul; and it's even longer still before he knows the full breadth of what he's done, that the coming apocalypse could have been staved off for just a little longer if he hadn't given in. if he'd held on just as long as it had taken an entire army of angels to fight through the varying layers of grit and grime and sin to get to him, to raise him up, as if he really were something worth saving.
if he hadn't given up.
it's something that will haunt him, plague him with a vengeance until it's all over and done, and even still, it will follow him like a lingering shadow, a cancer metastasized and ingraining itself ever deeper within him along with all of his past mistakes. shortcomings. reasons in spades that he isn't worth the time and effort put forth by the holy brigade, but it's too little, too late for that, isn't it? because here he is, wrapped up in the grace of the one that had nearly died to save him, and he doesn't know a goddamned thing about what his is all about.
ignorance is bliss, or so they say, and sometimes, dean winchester should be the happiest human being on the planet.
when castiel speaks to him again, he still has no idea of how long they've been in this little pocket paradise, but he can't deny that he's reassured by the sound of the angel's voice, tangible or not. he still sounds like he isn't up for the rest of the trek back topside, but he does sound like he's a little further away from the jaws of death, and that gives dean a bit of hope.
something that he's been sorely lacking as of late, but it isn't without reason.
you okay there, clarence? hey, he can't help but to jab a little, here, even if he's just been risen from hell and might just be back on his way from a dirt nap, and sometimes … he doesn't know when it's best to keep his dumb jokes to himself. like, probably, right now, but the words have already slipped out of his mouth and are probably well on their way to confounding his resident savior. sorry about that, castiel.
i don't really think i'm going anywhere, so if you need to regenerate some more of your mojo, by all means. i'm good.
meanwhile, he's still just as broken as he's ever been in the miserable extent of his mortal life, but he isn't about to show any sort of weakness now. not while he's still –proverbially – breathing, in any case. )