It is never the fall that kills you, it’s the landing.
But right about now, Castiel wasn’t so sure about that. He was racing towards the ground with an abominable speed and it was all Dean’s fault.
Sure, when he still had his wings, he was roaming the earth with an altitude far higher, but the motion had always been under his control. Now he had to pray to a higher power, which he knew wasn’t there, to save his miserable ass from becoming tomato soup on the ground. Besides his vessel didn’t seem accustomed to this kind of falling.
In his distress he was reaching for Dean’s hand, to clench his fingers. He had to hold on to something, otherwise he would probably scream like all the others on this godforsaken freefall tower. But he didn’t want Dean to think of him as a screamer.
Finally the hellish machine stopped, slowly lowering itself the last few meters to the ground.
“Wasn’t that fun?” Dean asked with a wide grin on his face.
“I’m never doing this again,” Cas said gravely, trying to stand on his trembling knees.
“Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad,” Dean insisted.
“If I could choose between doing this again and going to hell, I’d choose hell. I don’t see why anyone would do this willingly.”
“It’s the adrenaline rush. It gives you a high, can be addictive.”
“Well, it makes me nauseous.”
“You are a little white around the nose,” Dean admitted. “Well, you are on the ground now …”
“Yes and I’m very thankful for that,” Cas answered fighting down the sour feeling in his throat.
“That means you can let go of my hand.” Dean was raising his hand, which was still painfully clenched by Cas’ fingers.
“No, I’m keeping it as compensation.”
“Yes, I think I’ll keep it. Say goodbye to your hand, Dean.”
“You know, I’m still attached to this, right? …right?”
