The Temple feels familiar to Castiel the moment he steps through the gates.
Not because it was built for any deity Castiel is familiar with, not because it looks like any place he's ever been before. But the weight of reverence is something he's accustomed to, and he settles into it like an old coat. So, he lingers. He winds through the dark and shadowy spaces as though he's a shade himself, ignoring all the offerings as an ascetic might. Perhaps this is why the temple doesn't crumble for him— He may not believe in himself or in Heaven any longer, but for all the pain he's caused, he still loves his Father. More than that, Bigger than that, he loves humanity's persistent keeping of their faith in spite of all signs they're given to the contrary of keeping it. They're stronger than him. He knows this is true. He thinks of a woman he met in a church, years ago, and knows that it's right.
He's planning to rest, just for a day. He'll use his phone and check the forum, see if he can't tease out any more clues about the missing girl. Like a hunt. In all honesty, he should be working with Sam. But being around Sam right now makes him feel guilty, so he's (if he admits the truth to himself) been avoiding him.
This is just another excuse.
But what can you do?
To say that he doesn't expect to have a visitor, and for that visitor to be Jack, is a bit of an understatement. He's off in one of the empty side rooms when he arrives, and though he hears the sounds of movement outside the door, he dismisses them (careless, and heedless of his own safety) until the raised voice echoes his way. The rumbling may have just been an old building shifting under its own weight. But the voice is impossible to mistake for anything other than what it is.
He stumbles out into the nave, eyes widening at the sight of Jack. He can feel the pressure of his power bearing down on him in the same familiar way that Raphael and Michael's always did, and struggles with the urge to stand to attention or kneel. Instead, he holds up his hands to show he has no weapons, his shoulders hunched in defense.
"Jack! Jack, it's— it's just me."
With his powers truncated, he hasn't been able to feel the presence in the temple. Unsettling as the silence is, it's a blind spot he's unfortunately been getting used to.
no subject
Not because it was built for any deity Castiel is familiar with, not because it looks like any place he's ever been before. But the weight of reverence is something he's accustomed to, and he settles into it like an old coat. So, he lingers. He winds through the dark and shadowy spaces as though he's a shade himself, ignoring all the offerings as an ascetic might. Perhaps this is why the temple doesn't crumble for him— He may not believe in himself or in Heaven any longer, but for all the pain he's caused, he still loves his Father. More than that, Bigger than that, he loves humanity's persistent keeping of their faith in spite of all signs they're given to the contrary of keeping it. They're stronger than him. He knows this is true. He thinks of a woman he met in a church, years ago, and knows that it's right.
He's planning to rest, just for a day. He'll use his phone and check the forum, see if he can't tease out any more clues about the missing girl. Like a hunt. In all honesty, he should be working with Sam. But being around Sam right now makes him feel guilty, so he's (if he admits the truth to himself) been avoiding him.
This is just another excuse.
But what can you do?
To say that he doesn't expect to have a visitor, and for that visitor to be Jack, is a bit of an understatement. He's off in one of the empty side rooms when he arrives, and though he hears the sounds of movement outside the door, he dismisses them (careless, and heedless of his own safety) until the raised voice echoes his way. The rumbling may have just been an old building shifting under its own weight. But the voice is impossible to mistake for anything other than what it is.
He stumbles out into the nave, eyes widening at the sight of Jack. He can feel the pressure of his power bearing down on him in the same familiar way that Raphael and Michael's always did, and struggles with the urge to stand to attention or kneel. Instead, he holds up his hands to show he has no weapons, his shoulders hunched in defense.
"Jack! Jack, it's— it's just me."
With his powers truncated, he hasn't been able to feel the presence in the temple. Unsettling as the silence is, it's a blind spot he's unfortunately been getting used to.