thinking about a spn finale where cas becomes a full-powered angel again and gets the love and home he deserves (based off this post and tags)
Castiel’s first days on Earth after his time in the Empty were dizzying. He was alive, he could feel joy without a threat hanging over his head, he could look at Dean without a secret sitting heavy in his chest, and he could hear Dean say the words he’d never let himself dream of hearing.
And then, when he felt he could never be happier, Jack asked him a simple question, weighty in its implications:
Would he like to see his grace and wings restored?
Castiel’s grace had been weakening for years, but Jack had the powers of God now. The power to give back all that Castiel had given up for lost.
It was a gift almost too great.
He had long resigned himself to a life of weakened grace, of eventual humanity. A future not too bleak—he had admired humanity for centuries now, always distantly. While his fellow angels may have viewed humans as inferior, he considered the chance of becoming one of them an honor.
Most days, that was.
Some nights, when his back ached with phantom weight and his grace clawed, claustrophobic, to escape his chest, he mourned.
Once he flew over arid desert and lush hills. Once, he flew among the stars, wound his form around star dust, felt the tremor of new planets being birthed, particles colliding. Once, he felt power warm his vessel’s palms, the ability to fully heal, restore, soothe.
All that had been lost to him—until now.
Jack offered him that life again, and Castiel sat, stunned, long after Jack left the room telling him, you don’t need to decide yet.
He remembered a vision Jack had shown him—when Jack still lay in his mother’s womb, when the unborn child's very presence seemed a threat.
Vision of Kelly, content, calm, undisturbed by the fears and guilt which racked her then. Sam, carefree, no weight on his shoulders. Dean. Suffused with joy.
And himself, fully restored to his glory, majestic in a way he hardly remembered, wings flared, strong.
In that moment, as Jack’s power coursed through him, the child’s conception seemed a miracle, his birth a promise. Recklessly, Castiel had bid all on him, this miracle child, this child which held the potential for joy and peace in his barely formed fists.
That future, which Castiel had seen in a vivid flash before his eyes in a wave of warmth and power, now lay before him.
You’ve given up so much, Dean told him. Take this one thing for yourself.
It was a decision he did not take lightly.
As a soldier enrolled in Heaven’s charge, his angelic nature had been manipulated, forced into strict molds. Obedience, control, apathy. The ability to restore was not so marvelous as the ability to sway, to control, to maim and kill.
He was free from those ties now. He had long lived among humanity, long walked in a physical vessel on earth, long studied the face of the humans he loved. Some days he felt closer to the dirt under his feet, the rasp of his clothes, the warmth of the sun on his skin, than to the pulse of his grace deep inside.
Some days, humanity seemed a marvelous prospect.
Other days, he remembered the vicious, searing pain tearing through his form as his grace was ripped from his body and his consciousness fused with his vessel. When he fell without his consent and found himself, bewildered, a human. Shivering nights, cavernous stomach. Bone-chattering loneliness.
It would be different now; he felt secure in his home, in his family. Dean loved him back, told him they were done saying goodbye.
If he chose to become human, he would have a home. He would be clothed and fed and held.
Do you miss them? Dean asked one night, tracing his bare shoulder blades.
He did.
He once believed he could be a different kind of angel—one both tied deeply to Heaven and yet autonomous. One obedient to God and yet free-thinking.
He had learned the hard way that Heaven did not take kindly to such angels. For years had grieved the loss of his Heavenly home, his angelic siblings.
His distance from Heaven, though, had brought him a new freedom. Lessons in faith and hope and individuality. And he began to wonder if he could find a new balance between the two parts of him that once warred—his angelic nature and human one.
If he could live fully on Earth, among humans, as an angel. If he could suffuse the empathy and emotion which he’d learned from humans into his true powerful form.
If he could simply be himself.
Jack gave him the choice, and Dean told him, I’m in love with you—and Castiel knew he meant him. Distant from vessel or power—him.
A father, a friend, a lover. His essence which remained regardless of how much or how little grace resided in his vessel.
He thought he could be himself, truly, in all his facets.
He chose to be restored.
The first stretch of his wings, full and weighty, was glorious. His first flight brought him to tears, and his first return to his true form in so many long years was exhilaratingly freeing. He saw the stars, he moved among them. He twisted in the air and whooped, cheered, hummed.
Dean said he sounded like music, like bells in the sky.
Over time, he learned he did not have to be so distant from God and Heaven as he thought.
God was no longer a distant father, but his son who viewed the world with maturity and wonder. A young boy learning to find his own balance of angelic nature and humanity, willing to learn and teaching Cas so much through his open-eyed view of the world.
And Heaven, too, was being restored. With his experience and Jack’s power, made into a home without discord and hierarchy.
So much he thought he’d lost, restored to him in ways he'd never expected.
Some days, he flew, he twisted up to the heavens in his true form, he summoned his grace to heal, and some days he walked, he tucked his grace deep inside his chest to taste the food Dean prepared for him, to touch the fresh dirt in the gardens outside and feel the coolness under his fingertips.
He felt as if he’d been reborn.
One day, he might like to be human. One day, he might remove his grace and tuck it away, carefully. He might feel his lungs fill with air, his blood run through his veins with life, he might age.
For now, though, power and heat filled his vessel, his wings extended to their full capacity, his true form swirled among the stars, and he,
he was content.
tag list
@xojo @marvelnaturalock @aelysianmuse @prayedtoyou @letsjustdieeveryone @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @theninthdutchessofhell @madronasky @famouspsychicpizzabandit @multifandomdisorder @arcticfox007 @improvedpeanut @castiel-is-a-cat @harmonyhelms @dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you @confusedisaster @welcome-to-crowleys-hellhole @celestialcastiel @wormstacheangel (hope y’all don’t mind me tagging you but your tags on my original post were inspiring so I gotta give credit where credit is due :)) @nothoughtsjustdestiel @hawkland @strokesnatural @notspiccy
let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tag list :)
Back with some more doodles for my Clone Seven AU, but this time it's with Tiny Son-zawa and his cat, Whiteshoes. Gran Torino got Shota a cat (trained as a support animal for people who have gone through trauma) and Shota loves his Whiteshoes. He has never seen or touched a real cat before Whiteshoes. This is why Aizawa is so obsessed with cats.
[Steal my art and say goodbye to your kneecaps you fool]
