Phosphenes - SPN/Castiel (Trade with PuddinPop)

[MaiMai]

Hi~! This is my half of a trade with the wonderful Puddin!

I feel like Castiel's thoughts and fears were never really addressed enough in Supernatural (although I stopped watching at season 8, so I could be utterly wrong) so this is sort of...a response to that?

Anyway, it contains a feverish Castiel and lots of h/c (and the title sorta becomes clearer towards the end).

I really hope you enjoy this, Puddin. I tried my best!

Phosphenes

"You really are weak, Castiel," Zachariah spits. He narrows his eyes at the grounded angel, drives a kick into his side.

"You've been spending too much time with those humans, with those Winchesters. You're forgetting what it means to be a celestial being."

Castiel says nothing, because he knows that Zachariah is right. He's exactly right, and it hurts. He has been losing himself recently, kidding himself into feeling as though he has a place in the human world.

"Do you really wonder why Heaven isn't exactly pleased with you? Why the other angels are angry? You're too close to them, Castiel."

There's an odd urge in Castiel's chest, a desire to scream, to tell Zachariah that he's wrong, even if he knows that isn't true. He wants to defend himself.

Instead, he coughs. Pathetic, really.

Zachariah's words sting all the more sharply in the light of his renewed weakness. It's been going on for days now, his vessel becoming weaker, less within his control. He presumes his sudden loss of autonomy is owing to his undue involvement with humanity.

Instead of fighting, therefore, he takes it. Zachariah's foot collides painfully with his ribs once again, and Castiel braces himself for the next.

Only, it doesn't come.

"Get the hell off him, Zachariah!"

Castiel knows that voice. He looks up with tired, red-rimmed eyes. Zachariah, predictably, has already disappeared, not willing to waste his time fighting, leaving Sam and Dean staring after him.

"Yeah, you better run!"

"I don't think we're actually that much of a threat to an angel like Zachariah, Dean."

"Shut up, Sam."

Castiel hears it before he feels it. A whooshing in his ears, as though he's falling from a great height. Twin gasps, followed by shouts.

"Cas?"

"Castiel!"

There's a smack, like something hitting the ground. That's when he feels it, the impact. Lastly, he sees it.

Blue stars bursting in his vision against a backdrop of black, diamonds, shifting shades of grey. Castiel has never blacked out before. Somehow, the shapes and shadows morph themselves into a face. A snarling, hateful face-

He blinks, and immediately regrets it. Everything aches, right down to his eyelids. He is simultaneously hot and cold, shivering and sweating. The light burns his eyes, making him whimper, even though the room is dim.

Wait...room?

The last thing he remembers is Zachariah closing in, shouting, then darkness. He has no recollection of how he came to be here, and that in itself is unnerving. Zachariah must have done something to him. Cursed his vessel, injured him. That is what Castiel assumes.

He lies still, noting how his breathing has strayed from its regular rise and fall, instead becoming shaky and spasmodic. It must be a curse of some sort. The faint prickling in the area between and just below his eyebrows is confirmation of that. It's a wholly alien, unfamiliar sensation to Castiel.

When it intensifies, his breathing is pulled with it, swelling, like the pull of the tide to the moon, making his bruised ribs twinge.

Except, what happens next is most definitely not what Castiel had been anticipating.

"hhhii-hhi'iishCHUU!"

The release tenses his vessel, propelling him upwards into a half-sitting position.

"Bless y'. Cas, you awake?"

"Dean, you remember how I told you it's impossible to sneeze in your sleep-"

"Until recently we didn't know Castiel was capable of sleeping, so shuddup, Sammy."

There are voices directly to Castiel's right. He waits for the fog in his mind to dissipate a little before, again, trying to open his eyes. This time, he manages to do so more successfully.

"Sab...? Deand?"

He starts; that isn't his voice. He had felt his lips moving, that's true, but what had issued from them was, without a doubt, not his voice. It's too deep, too gravelly, and the pronunciation is all wrong.

Panicked, he sits bolt upright, clutching at the nearest thing to him, which happens to be Dean's wrist. Dean looks rather taken aback to have his circulation suddenly being cut off by an angel with a death-grip.

"Cas-"

"He's stolend bmy voice. This isd't bmy voice, Deand," he says seriously, and gives the hunter a perplexed look when he begins to laugh. Moments later, Dean is elbowed aside by his brother, who gives him a disapproving glare for the way he's handling the situation.

"Cas," Sam explains, keeping his voice hushed, "No one has stolen your voice. There's nothing wrong with your vessel, exactly. You're sick. It's...normal, for humans."

"Sigck...?" Castiel questions, as though he can't quite comprehend the possibility. The idea of being sick is not an entirely unknown concept to him - he has been hunting with the Winchesters long enough to have at least some sense of what its implications are.

To Castiel, sickness means even more bickering than usual, stubbornness and denial, yet, equally, an uncommon softening of the brothers' treatment of each other. It means swapping coffee for tea, cramped bodies curled up in the back seat of the Impala, oversleeping in the morning or long nights of no sleep at all.

"hii'uuh-" Oh, yes. And that. That horrible, teasing feeling is back again. Castiel dislikes it; it detracts from his control over his vessel, renders him completely and utterly at the mercy of an urge that he can't even name. "uuh'sshYUU!"

"Bless you. Here," Sam is holding out a spoonful of something. Castiel eyes it with deep suspicion. "It'll help you feel better."

That sounds appealing. Willingly, Castiel takes the spoon and swallows the bitter liquid, choking and coughing in reaction.

"Sam, I thought we were trying to help him, not kill him."

"I did not kill him," Sam scowls as he pats Castiel on the back, but Castiel is so tired, exhausted by the simple act of coughing. There are starbursts before his eyes again, and then he's falling all over again.

"Oh my god. You actually did kill him."

"..."

"Are you still pissed at me for laughin'? I couldn't help it."

Sam holds both hands up in surrender, "I didn't say anything, Dean."

-

Next time he wakes, Castiel is in heaven. The voice of Him, his Father, fills his mind.

"Yes...yes, Father. I understand. I will rescue Dean Winchester from Hell and guide him through the plan," he waits for a second, cocking his head to one side, listening. "No, I will not become friends to the Winchesters. I will remain impartial and detached."

Castiel genuinely believes it, because he does not believe himself capable of emotion.

Suddenly, there's a booming voice, disturbing the tranquility of Heaven.

"YOU FAILED."

Castiel knows that voice.

What makes it all the worse is that it's his own.

-

"hi'yyshhuu! hh-hhu'ihSHUH!"

They're more wrenching than the last time, more painful. Castiel is curled up on his side. The blankets feel horribly cold around him, pillow too hot against his burning cheek. He knows instinctively that he is back in the motel room, but he can't figure out why, or how.

"I was id Heaved," he croaks.

"Heaven?"

He can't tell which of them it is.

"I...I failed..."

It's rare to see Castiel so vulnerable, open with his insecurities. Usually he retains an arrogant, closed-off quality that makes you forget how new he is to humanity.

"Cas, you didn't fail anything," the voice is explaining. "You have a fever. It's fever dreams; they're not real."

"Dreambs...?"

"Dreams are like...a product of your subconscious. Feelings, thoughts, fears. But the main thing to know about dreams is that they aren't real."

The voice fades into an echo. This time the glimmers are a bright white.

"Remember that, Cas. Dreams aren't..."

-

Castiel is standing in a corridor, deserted. At his feet are two bodies.

"No-"

He knows who they are. He doesn't want this, of all things. This can't be happening.

With the Winchesters dead, Heaven has no use for him any more. It's practically a green light for them to kill him.

Footsteps sound at the opposite end of the hall, and Castiel swings round, edges of his trench coat flapping against his legs, reaching for a knife that isn't there.

Zachariah.

"What did you do to them?" he demands. The other angel surveys him calmly.

"I did nothing," his eyes glitter maliciously. "You did it."

Castiel can't speak.

He doesn't even have to look to know where his blade is.

-

"Doh-!" Castiel coughs, rough and grating on his throat.

"Cas, it's just a dream, it's okay..."

Castiel opens his eyes very slowly, as if afraid of what he might find. What he does find is reassuring; both brothers watching him - worriedly, granted - but definitely alive.

Castiel just nods, raising his hands to his face, steepled, almost in a praying position. He's not sure why he does it, other than that it feels instinctual and correct. "hhiih-hih!-hih'yshuu! ikhshuu!"

"Bless ya," Dean hands him a stack of tissues, which Castiel uses to swipe half-heartedly at his running nose. He receives a disapproving look from Sam for not having blown, but he's too tired to care.

"Do you want to sleep some more?"

The angel shakes his head so hard he makes himself dizzy, "Doh. Doh bmore sleep." He's beginning to feel relieved that he is usually not subjected to this particular human vice, to sleeping and dreaming. It's disturbing and seems to render him vulnerable, and Castiel dislikes it intensely.

"Well, whaddaya wanna do?"

"Dean," Sam begins. His brother rolls his eyes at his prissy tone. "I think Cas is a little too tired to-"

"Televisiod," Castiel interjects. Then, throwing caution to the winds, he looks up at Sam with an impeccable impression of his own beguiling puppy eyes. "Please."

Dean laughs heartily, "Nice one, Cas. But no pizza man."

"Doh pizza bman," Castiel agrees earnestly.

Sam huffs but moves to switch on the television, settling on the opposite side of Castiel to his brother. Although Castiel had rejected the idea of more sleep, he finds himself becoming drowsy again as the soft murmur of Dr Sexy MD fills the room. Only the bedside lamp is on, giving everything a gentle, cosy glow, one that makes him think of the ephemeral sundowns of Heaven.

Gradually, he drifts back off to sleep, eyes falling closed, once again sinking into a whirl of stars.

This time, his dreams are pleasant as his fever breaks. He's back in Heaven, in more peaceful times, before the demons and the monsters and the disappearance of his Father.

When he next wakes, he isn't sure whether he's dreaming or not. Everything is tranquil, silent, in the motel room.

Castiel decides that sleeping isn't one of his favourite aspects of humanity.

However, even after he recovers he sometimes closes his eyes, just to watch the dancing stars that hide behind them. They remind him of Heaven, of the night skies that differ so much to those of Earth, so much less static, so much more vibrant.

Later, he learns the name for it.

Phosphenes (noun): the stars and colours you see when you close your eyes tight.

Castiel doesn't think he could ever explain the beauty of this insignificant human quirk to Zachariah, or any of the other angels.

Perhaps he's neither an angel nor a human.

And perhaps he can make his peace with that.

[KickingUpTheDust]

*squeals into pillow* eeeeeeee this is so cute, baby angel angst help meeeeeee

[PuddinPop]

WOAH MY GOD.

THIS IS BEAUTIFUL. BEAUTIFUL

A sick, feverish angel is exactly what I have been craving. This is too perfect.

I love how you included Zachariah. I love fics that involve him for some reason

AND YOU INCLUDED THE PIZZA MAN. BECAUSE WE WERE TALKING ABOUT IT THE OTHER DAY IN CHAT. PERFECTION. ABSOLUTE PERFECTION. WHAT I LOVE IS THAT I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO WILL GET THE IMPORTANCE OF THAT REFERENCE WHICH MAKES IT ALL THE MORE MINE!

MaiMai, this is amazing. I love it so much, thank you so much for writing it.

I want to pick out bits that I love but I can't selective quote on my phone

But this made me laugh out loud:

"Oh my god. You actually did kill him."

"..."

"Are you still pissed at me for laughin'? I couldn't help it."

Sam holds both hands up in surrender, "I didn't say anything, Dean."

This is wonderful, thank you so so much for writing it, I love all of it and won't stop gushing forever.

I love you MaiMai!

[MaiMai]

*squeals into pillow* eeeeeeee this is so cute, baby angel angst help meeeeeee

Thank youu! Castiel angst is the best to write he's such a cutie!

WOAH MY GOD.

THIS IS BEAUTIFUL. BEAUTIFUL

A sick, feverish angel is exactly what I have been craving. This is too perfect.

I love how you included Zachariah. I love fics that involve him for some reason

AND YOU INCLUDED THE PIZZA MAN. BECAUSE WE WERE TALKING ABOUT IT THE OTHER DAY IN CHAT. PERFECTION. ABSOLUTE PERFECTION. WHAT I LOVE IS THAT I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO WILL GET THE IMPORTANCE OF THAT REFERENCE WHICH MAKES IT ALL THE MORE MINE!

MaiMai, this is amazing. I love it so much, thank you so much for writing it.

I want to pick out bits that I love but I can't selective quote on my phone

But this made me laugh out loud:

"Oh my god. You actually did kill him."

"..."

"Are you still pissed at me for laughin'? I couldn't help it."

Sam holds both hands up in surrender, "I didn't say anything, Dean."

This is wonderful, thank you so so much for writing it, I love all of it and won't stop gushing forever.

I love you MaiMai!

Puddinnnn! I'm so, so happy you liked it and you're very welcome!

After the pizza man came up in chat I had to include it, haha!

I also really like writing Zachariah for some reason?? So I'm glad you like seeing him in fics!

Ily!

[tenderwarrior]

This was so sweet!