(no subject)

[thursdays_angel]

The room is small and fairly plain. But it is comfortable, as humans judge such things. Castiel had asked Bar for “quiet” and this room somehow manages to exude it.

The view from the window is not terribly different from the view from his own. Which, Castiel reflects, it wouldn’t be. His own room is right next door. He has been standing at the window, appreciating the sight, for some time. It is good to see something other than Hell.

And he is still waiting for his charge to wake up.

Dean is laid out on the bed, dirt and smoke against clean muslin. He hasn’t stirred yet, but they have time here. And when he wakes, Castiel will explain what has passed, and then they can move forward in their respective missions.

They both have work to do.

Comments

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean drops like a stone.

Hell is waiting.

[thursdays_angel]

Castiel deposits Dean back on the bed, and looks down at him for several moments, considering.

This is uncharted territory, and Castiel is beginning to doubt his ability to find his way alone. He is not sure he has the capability to help Dean by himself.

In fact, it may be hubris to think that he could.

Castiel needs help. He knows he has help for the asking.

And Dean is not going to come around again for a while.

Castiel leaves the room, locking the door behind him.

[66_seals]

Does the little angel really think he's locking anything out?

Does the little angel have any idea what he's locking in?

Because, yes, hell is waiting, behind the door, and around the corner, just inside the lids of Dean's eyes, and deep in his head.

Where a voice is singing.

Hush, little baby, don't say a word,
Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird . . .