Please could you stay a while to share my grief,

It's such a lovely day to have to always feel this way

And the time when I will suffer less,

Is when I never have to wake

Those who have seen the needles I now tread

Like a husk, from which all that was now fled

Always doubled up inside, take a while to shed my grief,

Doubled up inside, taunted, cruel

Wandering stars, for whom it is reserved,

The blackness of darkness forever


Standing at the lip of the precipice, gazing down at the blue-green, slightly oblong orb below, he began to have second thoughts.

The wind whipped mercilessly at the ends of his long coat, seeking purchase to draw him down, to throw him from his perch at the top of that wonderous, beautiful world, to cast him away from everything he had known and into the embrace of everything he had come to love.

That is what he had wanted, wasn't it?

Standing on this ledge, the brink between two worlds- one of sterile order, the other of beautiful chaos, he knew what had made up his mind. He could recall the weight of the blade, the slight resistance as it had pierced flesh, his brother's lifeblood spilling over his hands.

He felt the hot wetness on his face as the tears came unbidden. I am sorry I could not save you, he thought to himself, though he knew that his hand had been forced. He knew that she had been the one to force it. He knew that once he stepped forward, the weight of his brother's death would be his own once more, and she would be forgotten.

"Wait," a voice called from behind him. "Don't."

He turned to see his brother, one of the few left alive that he could call so with near trust, the young face he wore now aged as it contorted in confusion and anguish, revealing the ancient being within. All he could offer in return was a sad, fleeting smile.

"Why," Inias pleaded. "Why here, in this place, where he himself was cast down?"
"Perhaps," he said in response, his throat tightening in effort to keep the words from reaching his lips. "Perhaps one day you will know. I do sincerely hope that you do."

The confusion on Inias' face deepened, then turned to horror half glimpsed as he turned away from his questioning brother and stepped forward, his foot catching on nothing as gravity caught him at last in its unforgiving grasp. His resolve wavered at the last moment, but it was already too late for second thoughts. Far too late to step back.

At first it was peaceful, completely soundless, and his first sensation was weightlessness. It was not like flying, but the feeling was similar, suspended above the expanse that seemed for the time being to draw no closer.

He would not unfurl his wings if he could. This was what he had chosen.

After a brief eternity the details began to come clear, the definition of the surfaces of land becoming visible against the hues of rust and green, the friction of molecules of carbon, oxygen, helium, elements that made up the breathable atmosphere as he plummeted through it, sent a wild stroke of panic through him as he felt his flesh warming- not the warmth of sitting in the sun on a clear Summer day, but the very fire of the sun itself. He pulled his wings around himself, his Grace shielding him from the contrasting vacuous cold and searing heat from the particles as he rushed through them.

A far worse sensation, he realised, was that he could feel his Grace burning away with the fall, brittle and finite against the incredible heat the rapid passage of his mass created.

This is what it is meant to fall, he thought, gritting his teeth through the pain that seemed to rack every cell of his vessel. No. His body. It was no longer merely a vessel, and hadn't been for some time.

He had time to reflect on that as he watched a familiar continent lose its edges to the expanse. When his sister had fallen, she had done so in her True form, tearing away her Grace as she fell. He wondered idly, albeit far too late, how it would affect him, bound within this frail human form that had withstood so much, but only at the benefit of his Grace reinforcing it.

Everything was happening so rapidly now. He had barely registered that he could no longer feel the fire that had torn at his wings as he saw the town approach.

The ringing that had been persistently growing over the last several minutes reached such a pitch that he could feel when it broke, warm fluid filling his ears as the dark ground rose up to welcome him.

He had hoped that the lake would meet his arrival, but instead found himself crashing dizzily into an old wooden shed, thankfully empty as his body crashed through it, obliterating it in the process. The impact tore away what remained of his already heavily damaged Grace, shattering it along with the splintered wood. He felt the remnants of his wings break apart in the small, concussive blast that followed, leaving him in darkness and pain as the world stilled around him.

And thus Castiel, angel of Thursday, fell from Heaven.

Quite literally.

(Wandering Star copyright Portishead 1994 from the album Dummy. I don't know how this licensed material BS works, so there you go. I didn't write the lyrics, but they're pretty- just covering my ass :P