jenniebellie: (SPN Castiel)
[personal profile] jenniebellie
Title: The Persistence of Memory
Author: Jen, [ profile] jenniebellie
Rating: GEN
Wordcount: 382
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Castiel remembers...simple as that.
Spoilers: Up to end of 4.02
Beta: The wonderful [ profile] niennah

When he closed his eyes, he could remember how it felt.

The reassuring weight of the hilt against his hip; the gentle sway of the blade as he walked, like a reminder of its importance. The weight of the world, of humanity, contained within; the power an invisible shift and surge beneath its gleaming surface. Its sound as it slid out of its sheath, both sharp and dull; the hum and pitch that accompanied its freedom: a sound to set teeth on edge. The feel of the gilded hilt in his hand; the ease at which it cut its swath, as if it were an extension of him, bending to his will. The fiery wake it left as it cleft the very air in two.

He opened his eyes and cast his gaze around the dark room, across murky shapes barely defined by weak moonlight, to the figures supine in the other room. Soon, he thought. He would no longer have to remember, he would know its vengeful weight in his hand, indifferent in cutting down the righteous and damned alike: whoever got in the way of the ultimate goal.

He shifted his weight, his true form cramped inside his mortal casing. Muscle and bone ached against the very idea of him, the corporeal straining to restrain that which it could not comprehend, the intangible within. The vessel he had acquired had proven useful so far, but he was aware of the frailty of his taken form. His initial meeting with humanity had been quite...eventful, but it was to be expected. The injuries did little to hinder him, but he was aware of the other consciousness that resided with him. It was beginning to have an impact on him, to shape his view of the world, of other people. With a pang of what he knew to be guilt and regret, he knew that when the time came, he would shed this form, delivering this consciousness to his maker.

First, he would have to set the boy upon his path. His eyes lingered a beat on the dark shape huddled on the floor, a dark and silent word forming in his mind; a command that emanated across the room. WAKE.

Dean opened his eyes to the sound of feathers fluttering in the kitchen.
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June 2010

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