4 Works by beetnik
Listing Works
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Summary
The thing is, Castiel-as-a-human isn’t actually all that different from Castiel-as-an-angel. He’s still sarcastic and nerdy and stubborn as hell.
(He’s also still beautiful, but that’s surprised no one, least of all Dean.)
Case in point regarding all that stubbornness, he’s been working his way through about a thousand seasons of some British show about a doctor. After Metatron had implanted thousands of pop culture references into his brain, Cas had been determined to consume all the media they’d come from, so he could say he got them honestly. And by god, he’s been trying.
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So the funny thing is, healing doesn’t stop. It’s not something you just up and do one day and then you’re fine. It’s a process, as Robin constantly reminds him.
And it’s something Steve tries to remember, both on the days when he thinks he’s doing alright and days when he actively is not. Those latter days are fewer and further in between lately, but he isn’t where he wants to be yet, and that’s okay.
Right now, almost a year after the last stirrings of the Upside Down, where he wants to be is twofold. The first is to not be shaken awake by nightmares of leathery wings and rows of teeth and too much blood and the sound of a voice echoing in his ears, asking Steve why he’d left him behind to rot.
The other goal is, more immediately, to not be on this date anymore.
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“Are you sure about this?” Martin sobs, clutching him tightly.
“No. But I love you.” If Jon can offer any assurance, it’s that. If Martin somehow survives this, at least he’ll never have to question if he was loved.
“I love you too,” Martin whispers, and presses their lips together for a last kiss. Jon leans into it, then feels a burning pain in his chest.
As the building collapses around and atop them, Jonathan Sims dies.
.
The happy ending is that they wake up Somewhere Else. The hard part is remembering how to live.
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Back on the old world, Jon was used to the way panic felt. It would start with his hands, it always started in his hands. He would lose all grip in his fingers, often drop whatever he was holding. He’d feel an influx of stomach acid, then he’d clench his jaw against the sudden nausea. His chest would tighten and breathing would become a chore. And his knees would give out -- he’d lost track of how many bruises he’d gotten from trying not to fall when he was overtaken by fear. Which was often.
But it’s been a few months here, a few beautiful, safe months, and he hasn’t felt those things in a long while. He’d forgotten how it felt to be stricken with the sudden, palpable certainty that you or the one you loved were moments from death.
But he feels it again now.