A/N: Hello lovelies... look at me acting like I know any of you. But if you're here you probably ship Destiel, and therefor are lovely. This is my first fic. It's going to have a lot of Cas!Angst, and Destiel... but I love Sammy too, even if he's not part of my otp, so no Sam hate here. I can write you all some pretty feel-licious stuff, but I'm not quite sure where I'm going with this story yet, so if I don't get any reviews I'm probably going to hit a dead end. That's why you should leave a review, or at least a follow, so I know someone is out there... also you will win my unyielding love and passion. Seriously, leave a suggestion and I'll probably find a way to write it in! This story is fresh and impressionable as a newborn babe, as open as a harlot's legs... too vivid? Well. Enjoy the story. :3
Castiel was first aware that he felt cold. Very cold. And empty. It was an unpleasant sensation, one that prompted a slight trembling of his body.
Secondly, came the awareness that he felt... he felt. And not in the detached, angelic way. Everything was raw, amplified, from the throbbing in his head to the chill of the metal touching his wrists.
He moved said wrists, but to no affect. They were handcuffed to the pipe he was slumped against. He pulled insistently, wielding similar results.
Mustering all of his strength, Castiel yanked against the manacles.
The full strength of an angel was enough to annihilate millions, and sink landmasses back into the ocean.
The metal around his wrists hadn't seemed to be informed of this. It did not budge. It did, however, grace him with a pain from where it had began to cut into his flesh.
And now there was yet another sensation. It began with a sharp curling in his stomach and then he could hear his heartbeat accelerate twofold, adrenaline pumping rapidly. Fear. My body is afraid. He thought, and subsequently realized that this was indeed his body. Jimmy Novak's soul was gone. Within their shackles, his hands began to tremble.
No. I am afraid. He blinked, looking around, but could see nothing through the darkness. Darkness. This was unfamiliar. He knew what it was of course, in both a physical and metaphorical sense, but as angel it had never inhibited his vision. The dark was like a black, stifling blanket now, and some unruly part of his mind fed his memories from a recent ice age. There had been great pits of tar, which would catch unsuspecting animals and stifle them as they struggled.
He reached for the bond with the Host, trying to call on his brothers for answers (how had he gotten here? where was the soul of Jimmy Novak?), but was greeted by only the strange emptiness that had initially filtered into his awareness. The connection with heaven was broken, he realized. He was alone.
For the first time in his existence, Castiel felt terror. The simple fear was nothing in comparison. It bloomed in his chest like weeds, and spread like poison. He thrashed involuntarily, causing another twinge in his wrists, before struggling to regain control. All of this was new. He didn't know how to cope, how to regulate these feelings that only grew stronger as he took in his situation.
I am alienated from heaven. I am captive in a place without light. My powers are certainly diminished, and Jimmy's soul is not present in his body. Or rather, my body. I have no memory of arriving here, and I... I'm cold... Castiel's progression of steady thoughts crumbled as another wave of panic crashed through him. He once again began to struggle against his restraints, the pain only growing as he did.
For two hours he tugged, psychical action the only means he had discovered to quell the fear and crushing emptiness of being cut off from the host. Sensations were a significantly more affective distraction now than they had been. Everything was sharp and hard to ignore, and he embraced it- rather than consider the more worrying internal distress.
Fatigue and pain finally stopped his struggling, making him drift back into his mental assessment of his situation, and leaving him alone with his emptiness. He couldn't bear it, finding another solution in daydreams. He thought of millenniums past, of wars and fallen emperors. He thought of the small things, of random observations he'd made and people he'd watched in his many years on Earth. He thought of God, of light, of his deep but recently wavered love for his brothers and Father. He thought of Sam and Dean Winchester. The brothers who had taught him of humanity, and the meaning of free will. He thought of Dean in particular, who's soul had shone so brightly even in the flames of perdition. Even marred, streaked black with the blood of those he'd tortured, it had utterly bedazzled Castiel. That a human could have so much good, so much spirit and believe he deserved damnation. He wondered at it, as he wondered constantly at the Winchester brothers. Their sometimes infuriating stubbornness, their passion for life, and the extremes they endured for what they cared for. Sam, throwing himself into the Pit to save a world that thought him a criminal. And Dean, selling his soul for his brother with nothing but a smile on his face. Yes, thinking of the older Winchester seemed to be a wise distraction. His wrists hurt less, and his chest filled with a warm feeling- not enough to drive away the cold and the lonesomeness, but perhaps to forget, if just for a moment.
Castiel lost track of time, sitting for undetermined hours in the dark as his body grew sore without movement. The thoughts of Dean could only fuel him for so long, and eventually he fell back into his battle with the cuffs, perhaps with less vigor. He had little to no hope of escape besides from what he was beginning to think of as 'the hole'- the lack of his brothers- which was so profound, it felt like a psychical and painful presence on it's own.
He had lapsed into an idle mix between his two refuges, pulling half-heartedly on the manacles while musing on Dean's tendency to lie about his pornography-viewing habits, something Castiel had never fully understand. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts. He tensed. They got louder and closer, heavy and confident in their pacing.
The angel- or what remained of an angel- thought once more of prehistoric animals, trapped to die in oozing tar.
And then a door opened, flooding his view with light.
A/N: Short chapter, I know, but don't worry, this is just me testing the waters. If you liked it at all, I'd really like to know, even just follow or leave a little + or - sign to tell me if it was good or bad. You could probably sway the entire course of this story with a short suggestion at this point. Thanks for reading! :)