[ castiel's consciousness eases up beside dean, gracing slipping down through his nerve-endings, twisting along the whole musculoskeletal system, fusing into bone and ligaments. if dean's body were the F-14 in Top Gun, Goose and Maverick just swapped places while taxiing down the runway. it's that pottery scene from Ghost, but Dean's Demi Moore, not Patrick Swayze; sorry, bud.
rolling dean's shoulders out, cas stretches out his wings to full span, and shifts their eyes to the sky. he takes a single deep, steadying breath. then, the world blurs.
noise like a cyclone whips past dean's ears, and the next solid thing he can make out is a top view of Cadens, from a cruising altitude of about 40,000 feet. his new wings handle like a fine tuned machine, a smooth ride with a pilot that knows what he's doing at the helm. quite the view from up here, provided heights don't bother you - sorry, dean, he's missed it in recent months.
they hover there, just a moment, as cas sighs out, letting worry, tension, guilt and sorrow bleed out of him. there's no peace he knows like this, floating through the open sky of a miracle of a planet, full of life and beauty. wings spread wide, there's no teetering, no turbulence, held in the air like you're standing on some invisible shelf, sturdy. tranquil serenity washes through him, before he comes back to the task at hand.
travel, like angelic teleportation, requires envisioning a destination. closing their eyes, Cas builds the image of the marketplace in their mind, down to individual stalls, the surrounding streets, citizens milling around, the big statue of some the prime minister. ]
See yourself there, then go. [ another hurricane of sound around them, a blur of color, layers of reality rushing past their eyes, and dean's now standing atop the head of Prime Minister Marlo's statue, at the center of the marketplace. it isn't entirely that simple. there's equations and spatial considerations. he brought him to a place no one else is likely to be standing for a reason. but here we are. ]
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rolling dean's shoulders out, cas stretches out his wings to full span, and shifts their eyes to the sky. he takes a single deep, steadying breath. then, the world blurs.
noise like a cyclone whips past dean's ears, and the next solid thing he can make out is a top view of Cadens, from a cruising altitude of about 40,000 feet. his new wings handle like a fine tuned machine, a smooth ride with a pilot that knows what he's doing at the helm. quite the view from up here, provided heights don't bother you - sorry, dean, he's missed it in recent months.
they hover there, just a moment, as cas sighs out, letting worry, tension, guilt and sorrow bleed out of him. there's no peace he knows like this, floating through the open sky of a miracle of a planet, full of life and beauty. wings spread wide, there's no teetering, no turbulence, held in the air like you're standing on some invisible shelf, sturdy. tranquil serenity washes through him, before he comes back to the task at hand.
travel, like angelic teleportation, requires envisioning a destination. closing their eyes, Cas builds the image of the marketplace in their mind, down to individual stalls, the surrounding streets, citizens milling around, the big statue of some the prime minister. ]
See yourself there, then go. [ another hurricane of sound around them, a blur of color, layers of reality rushing past their eyes, and dean's now standing atop the head of Prime Minister Marlo's statue, at the center of the marketplace. it isn't entirely that simple. there's equations and spatial considerations. he brought him to a place no one else is likely to be standing for a reason. but here we are. ]