Disobedience, Castiel decided, tasted of rust. Rust, or blood, the stench laying thick on his tongue, cutting with tiny splinters of iron. It was the same color as the gore that stained his hands; it stood in stark contrast to the pallor of his skin, caked beneath his fingernails, tinted his fingers red. It wasn’t warm, not anymore. Just gritty.
His brother lay at his feet. He wasn’t moving. Castiel thought he should have felt worse than he did, but the truth was that he felt nothing. Just numb, a cold burgundy that pooled in the pit of his stomach, quenched the flames there.
A sharp whiteness tugged at Castiel. He tilted his head to listen; it came from above, shot down from starchy clouds in a single violent bolt. The white buzzed in Castiel’s teeth, resonating at a frequency far below the range of human hearing. But Castiel could hear it.
It sounded like the tossing waves and howling winds of a storm at sea as a fish might hear it, fathoms beneath the surface. It flickered and roared with the deliberate fury of millennia – almost like a brighter, colder Hell, Castiel thought. It hissed with the faint threat of a seething, stinging blue.
He didn’t know it was her. He couldn’t. But he knew he needed to leave, so he did. His brother’s wide, still eyes watched him go. They were shockingly blue.