Sixth installment of the Castiel imagine series “At First Sight.” The five other installments “At First Sight,” “You’re Growing On Me,” “Under His Wing,” “Wandering Thoughts,” and “Warrior Of Heaven” are all linked on their titles. Sorry about that link overload. It’s like having six children at the grocery store and I have to count heads before leaving. Based very loosely on this request from a masked minion. “Could you write one where Cas is dating you and he has to keep his distance because the angel factions are after him and the reader as well look at that I warped a request to fit a series and he is scared they might hurt you?” This imagine has been edited for reposting to add detail. Hope you like it!
(All past and future installments can be found on the “The Story Continues…” page.)
You were sprawled atop the motel’s surprisingly well-kept bed sheets, the weight of your body pressing downward through your stomach to sink into the mattress below. Your legs tangled in the air above your spine, your eyes dissecting every pattern within the feather before you, twirling the quill between your fingers, watching the midday sun shatter spectrums from the pristine barbs of light. The colours you now knew but could not name danced against the walls, weaving in and out of focus as you fiddled with your last souvenir from Castiel for… who knew how long. Like light shone through a crystal prism, your world was enveloped in a duller, dimmer version of the fractal rainbows Castiel’s true wings cast against everything in reach. The single feather was a poor imitation on it’s own, but sufficient enough to occupy your time. This measly little trinket could not paint the stagnant air with delectable hues you could almost taste on your tongue, but it could dye the light as the sun struck it. How long you’d been fiddling with Castiel’s feather, you had no idea. You were unaware of the time that had passed, for the most part, only aware that time was passing and that each second ticking by was a second without Castiel by your side.
The motel was cheap enough in cost and in services that it did not offer the luxury of an alarm clock, thus you gauged the time by the state of Castiel’s blood sigil; the scarlet faded slowly to a murky, flaking brown, followed by the time-stamp of ebony against the light pain. You were confined to the room with only an angel blade sheathed beneath your pillow for protection, an unlikely necessity, and the iridescent feather as your entertainment. You of course had food, running water, and comfort (as much as a roadside motel can offer, that is), but after so long in the company of someone so intricate and interesting, even the ability to lounge around without responsibility provided a certain anxiety, a boredom really, deep in the cavity of your chest. You had easily picked up the habit of redirecting your attention to the feather, to the colours and comforts that faded more and more with every passing day whenever you felt your insides churning over the ragged thought of being separated from your lover. You brought the down to your cheek, guiding the plumed tip along Castiel’s usual route, stroking along your cheekbone to falsify his presence. If you closed your eyes, it was almost as if he were beside you… but the familiar celestial embrace lacked a blatantly obvious factor somewhere along the lines of fifty thousand other contact points that should have been following the single feather’s path along your skin, but the action was soothing nonetheless.
The feather was a curious oddity in many ways. For one, with every new day, the spectrums lost a colour, or intensity of a colour, perhaps the ability to throw light as far as the back wall. Castiel’s wings never failed to paint your world, and yet this single feather on it’s own was flooding your room with a dying glow. Another rather unfamiliar alteration was the lack of song. The feather sung a single-note hum when you ran your finger through the barbs. You were so accustomed to the flood of song that you hadn’t noticed that each feather contributed the tiniest breath to the great crescendo. The delectable melody you heard when your angel swathed you in light was elicited by the masses rubbing against each other… the single apart from the many lacked the musical talent you so longed to hear. Your sanity was draining out through the soles of your feet, your lungs found more of a struggle to process the air within the motel room every night, and your interest was held by a dying angelic feather you alone could view. Surely, you were going mad. Here you were, twirling an invisible feather between your fingers, lounging beside a gore-splattered wall as you awaited the arrival of your Heavenly boyfriend. You never took visitors or called for a maid to tidy the gradual disarray of the room. You were completely and entirely alone. You were thankful, though, for the prolonged absence of the motel housekeeping… for a maid to stumble in on you staring intently at nothing more than open space with blood painted in suspiciously satanic sigils would spark a rather uncomfortable, rather public event. In short, police would be called, and you’d be dragged kicking and screaming from the safety of your makeshift bunker. With a Heavenly bounty on your innocent head, publicity would not be advised.
Though you were safely flying under angelic radar, your boyfriend was about as vibrant a blip as any; thus, you had to remain separated to avoid suspicion. His recent misguidance along the lines of Metatron had sparked the attention of his bitter, malicious brethren all over the world. To be in his presence had proved fatal… not ten minutes after you had arrived at the motel, an enemy threatened your life at blade-point, and not before swiping at your lover as well. It seemed as though their fury did not truly lie with your actions as lovers, as possible parents to the heralder of angelic end-times, but in the actions another had made in Castiel’s name. They were angry at Metatron, not Castiel, but this illicit relationship only served to sweeten the pot. Thus, to meet with him was about as safe as making toast in a bathtub. You’d progressed to the point where you were convinced his leave of absence was causing you physical pain, what with the dull ringing in your ears left behind after so long surrounded in song, the fire in your fingertips as you lusted for touch, your eyes forever glued to the glimmering feather. You couldn’t handle the loneliness… surely he would go unnoticed with the sigil to protect you. It had safeguarded you both before. You ducked your head over your hands, the feather spinning to nestle between your palms as you began your prayer, hoping you wouldn’t attract another angel merely by thinking religiously. You’d heard they could be rather… sensitive. That is to say, they liked to listen-in on their neighbor’s phone lines.
"Castiel, if you’ve got your ears on, I need to see you-” you began, but a flutter of wings silenced you mid-prayer. Your eyes snapped open to find your dull motel room had filled with a growing illumination, dark hues gradually increasing to the unimaginable brightness signature to the glorious wings sprouting from Castiel’s back. His shoulders were rigid as he strode towards you, his wings reaching hungrily for any part of you they would brush against. You stood from the bed, collapsing into his embrace with ease, his face buried in your hair with an audible sigh of relief. His arms wound around your back with the conviction of someone with no intention of releasing you, feathers and song blurring every other imagery in the room that was not some part of the angel. Your eyes blindly searched for individual patterns in the roiling waves of down and music as Castiel’s hands crushed your back to his chest, his lips ducking to your forehead, your temple, your cheeks, his hands raising to cup your face in his gentle palms. His sapphire eyes reflected every colour, every glimmer carried by the waves that were his wings, unknown tones bursting around you like fireworks, his passion and longing written plainly on his face. It seemed as though your loneliness was not suffered alone. There was a certain fear tainting the moment of reunion, present in his eyes as they flashed once to his sigil, heaving a collected sigh when he reassured himself that his markings would mask his presence. He quickly returned his attention to you, his lips diving to melt into yours, his tongue tracing the swell of your bottom lip, feather tips tracing along the ridges of your spine, small flurries of air lifting your hair in distracting fly-aways as his wings shimmied in the delight of holding you close. He pulled away, his eyes absorbing your features.
“I shouldn’t have come, but I had to see you. Y/n, you cannot imagine…” he started, his voice breaking, exhaustion darkening his usually pleasant tone, his hands brushing down your arms to pause at your wrists, holding your hands in his. He shook his head, traces of agony flashing in his ocean eyes. You pressed your lips to his, a tender, understanding kiss you hoped relayed just how well you could relate to his unbearable loneliness. The angel walked you backwards towards the bed, sitting beside you, your body curling into his lap like puzzle pieces sliding home. His wings acted as cradle barriers as he held you in his arms, tracing your features with the gentlest of touches, the quivering trill of his wing’s sweet hymn lulling you into a trance. Your body was vaguely aware of his hands tucking you beneath the sheets, his arm crossing over your rib cage as he settled in beside you, his wings forming a familiar canopy of multi-faceted stars above. When you woke, his wingsong was still humming in your ears, though his canopy had disappeared from view. You turned, your hand outstretched to encounter only comforter… and another feather, laid gingerly atop his used pillow, his honey-and-sunshine aroma clinging to the fabric like cologne. You stroked the feather, understanding his reason for leaving, though your heart was in full protest. It was only for your safety, for his safety, that he left, but he did leave. This new addition to your family of souvenirs restored held the vibrancy of the wilted feather no longer possessed, the bristles singing softly against each other, your heart constricting in your chest. A two-note melody was better than one, you supposed. How terrible it felt to be severed from your other half, how empty you felt without his touch, without his voice in your ear. With his intensified emotions and evolved attraction, you were positive it was worse on him. He had radiated abandonment the last you saw of him, his entire being had crumbled like old stone, the lines in his face had deepened, his every hair hungering, thirsting for you. You sighed, stumbling towards the down-scaled kitchen, dewy morning sunlight shining through the glossy glass of a remarkably well-cleaned window, your hand grazing against the refrigerator door, your other fingers occupied with creating Castiel’s false presence through song. This was maddening, rubbing two feathers together to mimic your boyfriend’s wings. You found nothing but mold left in the refrigerator. and decided on taking a small hike to find out if the motel offered breakfast, or even a granola bar. There must be a vending machine that wasn’t too far away from your safe zone, somewhere you could slip out to and return before anyone noticed you were gone. You were starved, your stomach growling over the crisp song of Castiel’s treasures. You stumbled to the door, your warded bones assuring you of your safety, tucking the scraps of Castiel into your pocket before venturing out into the sun.
The air was leaden with the thickness of heat, rays of light warming the asphalt with dangerous determination, your feet scalding almost instantly, your instinctive twitch into the shadows accompanied by a denim-muffled trill from the feathers in your pocket. You strolled about the seemingly abandoned complex, peering into each window to find another empty bed, another vacant room, your search for a manager ended prematurely when a pair of hands clasped around your throat from behind. Your body was forcibly thrown against the shingled siding of the motel, the hands returning quickly to your neck. Two foreign faces peered down at you as your air supply depleted, an angel blade pressing against your collarbone with frigid integrity. It was impossible, through your panic, to distinguish features, impossible to identify the men with tears welling along your waterline. One of the men smirked, his grip loosening enough to allow you to breathe, remaining firm enough to choke off any sound you could struggle to produce. You cursed yourself for being so foolish as to leave your confinement without a sword of your own. The laughing man reached his fingers into your pocket, retrieving the precious feathers. With a grunt, he secured the two feathers to the wall beside your head, angel blade jabbing easily though the exterior of the building, the quills loosing all life and color, their last peal of sound a gut-wrenching cry of agony. If the sword by your face hadn’t frightened you enough, the silence of the feathers did a fine job. The angel pulled you to his chest, his hands slipping from your jugular to your wrists, his grip vice tight.
“He told us you were intelligent,” he sleazed, the air about him shimmering with malice as, you supposed, his wings unfurled, invisible to you. You were grateful that you couldn’t witness the true size of your dreadful companions. Your blood ran cold in your veins, your mind a whirlwind of panic. “How very wrong he was.” They would put an end to all of this in the blink of an eye. The other angel vanished, taking his leave from the scene with the softest fluttering of unseen wings. Your captor bent his shoulder towards you, the air thin, vapid without the luster of wings, preparing for flight.
You scarcely had time to pray, but you poured your every thought into his name, hoping with all of your heart that he would hear. Half of you wished he never would. His life was as in as much danger as your own, if not more. The world around you spun out of focus as your captor took flight, your head tipping back from the sudden rush of inhuman movement. Vertigo seized control of your mind as you were carted into captivity. Your world went black.