Apr. 7th, 2013

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The watcher stretched his wings out through the veins of the land.

These creatures belonged to him, the angel and the human, and he would guard them.

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The angel was not simple, on the inside.  

While the human slept, the watcher nuzzled up around the angel, close and curious, and brushed against the aching parts of his mind. The angel flinched, and stared; but he let him do it.

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Dean spoke with more than just words. He spoke with silences too. Those places where he stopped and stuttered, and went on with a grin about something else altogether - the places that he talked around as if he was carefully stepping the edges of a vast gaping hole in the ground without acknowledging that it was there - those were the most speaking of all.

Most of the silent spots were about his brother.

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In the land beyond knowledge, there is a forest of forgetfulness.

Into this forest there came a lion who had changed his roar for a hyena’s cackle, a leopard who had lost his spots, and a warrior bear without his shadow.

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There were twelve faceless figures in silver and gold, standing on the hills around them. Always dancing, always out of reach, always lulling you to sleep as you watched.

They weren’t real. Or rather, they weren’t real creatures. Not a blip on the monster radar.

That didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous.

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Gabriel woke up with Castiel’s hair in his mouth, and warm slow breath gathering damply on his neck.  

Huh. Possibly Gabriel hadn’t completely screwed him up, then.  

He waited for the surge of smug exhilaration that should have followed that thought. It didn’t come.  

Possibly because of the headache. And the heavy sluggishness in his limbs.

Maybe angels could get the flu in Purgatory.  

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