castiel felt high.

heartbeat banging in his chest. he was so turned up, just sparked that and got burnt. pounds of it all up in his trunk. pounding in his thick skull. he was walking in his feelings but he didn't wanna feel it. laid down, messed up, gave in. wake up, messed up, and restart. oh, father. what had i become? the angel wanted to ask. but then he remembered. god stood them up.

oh, the battle's dead. cityscapes had turned to dust. humans are almost gone. hell is on earth. heaven is locked. sam had given up and leapt from crumbling bridges. and here lies the consequences. the rain of swords, the tower, the apocalypse. and of every bit of beating heart that he had, he admit that it's his fault.

he looked like himself but he's somebody else. and the angel knew you'd been watching, staring at his ocean eyes, staring at the state he's in and he knew that you're already thinking that it's not fair. he's not being fair. he's being unfair to himself, to everyone. that he's swallowing it all in raw just like dean.

if he's being honest, he'll tell you that he is scared, terrified even. he had never fallen from quite this high. but what is the use of words if they only feed grief's appetite, the use of any of this if this cannot keep you alive, the use of any of it when it's already too late? we're too late and all he could do is throw up at the corner of the camp, walk off, and wallow.

teary eyed, forcing on a bitter, practiced narcissistic smile on his lips to face you, "you know, maybe this is how it should be." he said, his voice breaking like soil under intense summer heat. "i've already fallen, what's there left to lose— what's more after this, hm? hell? the empty? purgatory?"

he clenched his teeth, breathing through them. his eyes crucified you. his eyebrows curling. shoulders sagging in utter defeat. "it'll just be myself and my mistakes all over again."