[ castiel is not at his full strength, no, but truth be told he will not be fully healed for some time. crawling through the pit for so long will take its toll on even the holiest of creatures, and castiel had been at the end of his rope even before he found dean, before the demons clawed him up, before he and alistair fought one another like rabid dogs. it will take a little more time for him to fully recuperate, but he has already wasted enough of it in how long they have lingered here, how long he has been asleep, however the flow of time here might be altered. there will be time enough for rest, soon. the worst has passed, and once he deposits dean on earth again he will be able to retire to heaven to rest, at last.
for now, though? for now he has dean to tend to. dean, who speaks so strangely, in riddles castiel can hardly fathom. for the second time, his haloed head tilts, blue eyes calm but puzzled as they regard dean from beneath his hood.
My name is Castiel.
he repeats, because perhaps dean hadn't heard him right the first time.
You do not need to worry about me. I have more than enough strength for this.
angels are, if nothing else, incredibly resilient, and certainly built to last, indestructible save against another angel, or god himself. he might have been worn thin, but he'll bounce back, he already is. it helps, to have dean to tend to, to have something to put his hands to, work to do. gently, he lifts dean in his hands again, pulling him higher into the space around him, to the level of his head and his watchful eyes.
This may be a little painful. I will try to be gentle.
like anything else, a soul is capable of great pain, and a wounded soul is hardly different from a wounded body part - sometimes it might hurt to clean and suture and bandage, but it is a scouring sort of feeling, and there is a necessity to it, the sort of crisp, sharp pain of alcohol over a wound.
no subject
for now, though? for now he has dean to tend to. dean, who speaks so strangely, in riddles castiel can hardly fathom. for the second time, his haloed head tilts, blue eyes calm but puzzled as they regard dean from beneath his hood.
My name is Castiel.
he repeats, because perhaps dean hadn't heard him right the first time.
You do not need to worry about me. I have more than enough strength for this.
angels are, if nothing else, incredibly resilient, and certainly built to last, indestructible save against another angel, or god himself. he might have been worn thin, but he'll bounce back, he already is. it helps, to have dean to tend to, to have something to put his hands to, work to do. gently, he lifts dean in his hands again, pulling him higher into the space around him, to the level of his head and his watchful eyes.
This may be a little painful. I will try to be gentle.
like anything else, a soul is capable of great pain, and a wounded soul is hardly different from a wounded body part - sometimes it might hurt to clean and suture and bandage, but it is a scouring sort of feeling, and there is a necessity to it, the sort of crisp, sharp pain of alcohol over a wound.
Tell me when you are ready. ]