Number 23 calls him ‘Cas’, and the angel blade clatters to the ground from numb fingers. You have to kill that one yourself, and it takes three other angels to hold Castiel back.
Number 108 kisses him, hard and rough and possessive, and Castiel disappears. You find him two hours later, hiding in a corner of the warehouse and muttering quantum physics laws under his breath.
Number 332 kisses him, soft and gentle and pleading, and Castiel stabs him in the heart, hisses, “Not Dean.” You’ll accept it as a small victory.
Number 491 calls him ‘brother.’ Cas cuts him down with a sob and cries over his corpse for forty-seven minutes.
Number 665 lets Castiel sink the blade into his left lung with a sadistic smile, steps into the puncturing pressure and whispers into Castiel’s ear. ”You were always a weapon.” You have to call the other angels back to stop Castiel from sinking his blade into his own heart after that.
Number 804 grins around a mouthful of blood and chokes, “I never cared about you.”
Number 887 spits, “You don’t even have a soul.”
Number 901 snarls, “Angels aren’t capable of real love.”
Number 983 breaks him. He looks up at Cas with cold, beautiful green eyes and whispers, “I wish you’d left me in Hell.” After that, you’re almost certain that these are mercy killings, but it gets the job done.
Number 984 is cut down in a vicious and sloppy melee.
Number 987 cries out, but Castiel doesn’t bat an eyelash.
Number 993 doesn’t even see Castiel approach.
Number 998 begs, but Castiel moves with ruthless precision and speed.
Number 1000 is dead before he hits the ground.
Number 1002 crumples against the linoleum and you hit the lights. Castiel is now fully operational. He’s the deadliest weapon in Heaven’s arsenal, once again.
andulkaphoto
vaporwave
2087
