On the mun's designs for character development

[decadency]

Even that ninth grade history text book you stole from your Catholic high school told you that the crusades ended badly.

I'm not doing it. Dean is unable.

So, uh. I rebel.

Comments

Got it :)

[betterthisway]

[When he concentrates, he can vaguely recall this. Dean has never told him details, of course. Castiel understands why, now. It's that, maybe, which prompts him to brush his fingers against your temple to dull the effect. He doesn't take it away, just softens it.]

They really don't. Psych ward, remember? They... they really don't. Please.

[Is there no version of them, nowhere, that doesn't break and shatter? Is there no happiness? But no. YHe has to believe that you, at least, can be saved. You deserve it, because you didn't make his mistakes.]

[decadency]

[ What are you doing? Heaven left. The only other angel—the only grace left in the world—is Lucifer. He makes an irritated whine in the back of his throat, ducking his head away. ]

Don't—. [ Shit. Don't touch him. He can't stand it. The part of him that he doesn't have any more. ] Ugh. [ He fumbles to open the bottle again. ] They may not work for you, but, uh. For me, for this body—[ He glances over at you. Grins a little. ]—they work. We all got to cope somehow.

[ So. He's going to take his drugs. If you don't mind. He pauses with the pills in his palm long enough for you to object if you do. ]

You're in a hospital? [ You didn't actually mention that part to him, angel-him. It's not like it doesn't actually make sense when he thinks about it. If he still had his mojo, things might go badly when he tripped out. ] What happens when you hallucinate?

[betterthisway]

[And there's the return of the fidgeting. Castiel has a habit of breaking things. Includinghimself. Always, it seems. Still his fingers curl around your hand and cling, shaking, covering the pills for now.]

Yes. Sam was in the hospital. I fixed Sam and took his place, they left, the people there give me pills. The more pills I, I take, the more it... it dampens my... and then Lucifer talks to me. Sometimes Dean or Sam. Balthazar. Everyone I killed. They are not real, and they hurt.

[Sometimes he wishes he had no Grace to shield him, that Lucifer would torture him until he died, like Sam almost did. But it would be too easy, and it won't happen.]

You have... you have two Deans. Stay with the younger one, the one we have faith in. He will be pulled back, please, you can go with him. That way, he can have you when I destroy everything. Everybody will be happy.

[decadency]

[ Yeah. They break things. Especially themselves. And there's no absolution. There's no forgiveness or purpose. Things just are. He looks down and smiles, grin cracking his expression wide like a wince.

They hurt. Yeah. He gets that. Hence the pain meds. ]

I can't—I can't leave him. [ Dean. Dean in 2014. ] I'm, we're a part of this, angel. He'd be alone. [ And Dean does not function well alone. ]

[ He smiles again, apologetic, desolate. ] I, uh, I can't make Dean happy. Sam—Dean needs Sam. He doesn't need—us. [ His voice cracks. This is just the way things are. ]