[ When first learning that there were angels amongst the demons, she hadn’t expected to discover them so close, but the name given had been familiar for a reason. To think, a messenger of god, a divine warrior, administered an apartment as though he had any place amongst creatures perpetually caught in dusk.
And yet, she had sensed it within him.
More than that. It had touched her heart, squirmed in her gut, for the moments that her power had reached him—in turn, his light had nearly burned her. Even hidden away from the luminosity of Heaven, even tainted by her venom, it was too bright for the likes of her. It had unsettled him, the tarnished effect she'd had, that much was clear, but words couldn't be put forth on how it had affected her.
Vanessa thought she knew something of shame, given her ruined history, but this was uncharted territory. Who would have thought that she could find entirely new ways to sin, even still?
Rarely is Vanessa the shy sort, but she has always been prone to watching from the shadows when it suits her. Perhaps it is meant to be a perverse sort of control, but in truth she is in thrall to her curiosity—a desire for connection on her own terms. So she watches where she can, at times lurking just beyond the door, wondering if he can feel her presence as keenly as she can his.
At the moment, though, she’s just outside, pressed into the shade of a tree while straining to peer up at the window to his room in the hopes of a sighting. Why? Why does she ever do the things she does? Because she can. ]
It is not merely the rustling of leaves or the unnatural stillness that accompanies her presence — it's the scent of something once holy now warped, incense mixed with blood. She likely thinks herself hidden, cloaked by shade and distance, but Castiel has already felt her presence, even from where he sits.
He does not go to the window.
Instead, Castiel remains seated at the edge of the bed, hands folded in his lap, like he’s forgotten how to unclasp them. Just thinking, feeling. Sensing everything around him, frustrated at the way it can be muted, a power that has wrapped his world in gauze. The light in the room is dim; he prefers it that way now, though Heaven’s fire still flickers in his bones. Too much brightness has a way of drawing attention.
A split second decision has him vanishing from his room and appearing by her side, his head tipped like he's studying her soul (maybe he is), eyes a storm of blue, penetrating, standing too close. ]
[ Of course, she would have expected him to know that she might be there, but somehow she had convinced herself that he might continue to humor her from a distance. It's safer that way, isn't it? For the both of them.
But perhaps he is no longer in the mood to humor her, or perhaps angels suffer their own curiosity. There's no point in making too many assumptions on his sudden appearance, as she is too easily flustered to manage the high-level deductions she might normally make were he but a man. Even a demon, she might better read.
In this, her heart has a way of shielding her vision.
Though she is startled by his presence, Vanessa doesn't jump or gasp. She does manage to cross herself in the lightest motion—old habits die hard. Before slowly turning, her gaze tilts to meet his, forcing her way through her shame to avoid looking away as she knows she ought to.
Were it his true form, might she struggle more with it? Or would she be further encouraged to blind herself with madness by looking on? ]
Forgive me, I...
[ ...wanted to talk? About what? She would not ask him to suffer her confessions. By now, at least, she knows that God isn't listening. ]
I suppose I have been unable to resist my interest in your presence here. There have been moments where I wondered...if you were but a figment of my imaginings.
[ He watches her carefully, hands sliding into his pockets as he maintains space, unblinking as he stares.
There is no judgment in his tone, only the stillness of something ancient that has watched countless mortal failings and still doesn’t know how to name them. His expression doesn't soften—Castiel doesn't do softness, doesn't really know how, not yet—but there is something that eases in the way he watches her, like her presence disorients the compass in him that once pointed resolutely Heavenward. ]
Did you want to speak to me, or only confirm I'm real?
[ Given her history, it's natural for Vanessa to struggle with trusting everything she sees, but more and more she has come to understand that in one way or another, her visions have always been real. The whisper of Lucifer's failed attempts at seduction still echoes through her memory. We stand at the fire as it consumes all men and all women, and all the beasts of the Earth, until only we are left. And then, we shall turn our eyes Heavenward...
Castiel's very presence forces her being into something of a dichotomy—the need to be accepted by the Holy, and the fear of ruining anything God-touched. So she keeps her own distance, though perhaps not as far as she ought to.
Staring right back, Vanessa's hands clutch near her chest, as though she must forcefully restrain herself from attempting to reach out to touch him. ]
I suppose...that I wonder... [ Her chin tips, her gaze searching deeper than any mortal woman has the right to. ] Were you trapped by something before or after the Fae brought you here?
[ Why does he appear as a man like any other? Why could her power reach him without completely burning her to ash? How much creature is within the angel? ]
[ Confusion flickers across his face, but it settles into something almost resigned, and his lips press thin. Yes, he was trapped, but perhaps not in the way she thinks. ]
If you mean this form, no. This is a vessel. Before, I could leave it at any time. [ If he so chose. After Jimmy's death, though, it became his. Solely his, with no one else residing within. Jimmy's soul has been taken to heaven, where it belongs.
His family, however, is another story. Castiel has effectively ruined their lives, though he doesn't quite know it yet. ]
Before...I obeyed. I believed that was freedom. [ He shakes his head. ] It isn't.
[ He cocks his head and studies her intently, blue eyes bright, curious. ]
[ While it's true that she had known fear when initially feeling his presence, now that she'd had time to come to terms with it, Vanessa can't say that it's him in particular she fears. Were God to choose to smite her, even that wouldn't be a fear. At least, not any longer. In some ways, it may be welcome. Would it not at least be an acknowledgment?
But he speaks as though he is a fallen angel. Like Lucifer. Is that something to fear? She doesn't fear the Devil, either, not like she once did. And there is something entirely different about this one, fallen or otherwise. She can't sense a desire of scorched earth from his presence.
What is it, then?
Vanessa is careful in her consideration before responding, her hands lowering to her side while she tilts her head. He may elicit awe, but there is more to it. ]
What frightens me, is... [ Herself? ] Not you, no. Though...I felt something like fear for what I nearly did to you. To think that I may have tarnished that which is holy—
[ She stops herself, then, reconsidering his words. ]
You didn't tarnish me. [ that comes out wry, and with the hint of a tired smile. No, he had done that himself when he chose humanity (Dean) over heaven.
As for the next question...it's complicated. He still believes, he still has his faith. He'd lost it, briefly, but upon his resurrection, it has been restored. He still believes; faith lingers, reshaped but not extinguished. Only God could have brought him back even more powerful than he was before. A seraph now, infused with holy divinity threaded through every cell like starlight. ]
...I don't. He has not spoken to his children in a very, very long time. As far as I am aware, only one angel has his ear currently, and it is not me. [ No, it's Joshua, and God had essentially told him to tell Sam and Dean to fuck off. ]
We are on our own. Now, I listen to the people I’ve bled for, fought with.
[ Being told she wasn't the one to tarnish him isn't much of a comfort. It's the sort of statement that ought to raise more of an alarm in Vanessa, given who's uttering it, but all it does is trigger a deep empathy that has her regarding with something a little less awe-inspired, and something more curious for the sake of connection.
Though, the awe is never going to vanish. She is still careful not to reach for him, despite the urge to place a hand over his arm, as though someone like she could ever actually offer any comfort for someone like him.
To hear about God's communication in such a direct manner is not something she quite knows how to react to. Should it bring her comfort? That she wasn't the only one He was ignoring? It doesn't bring her any further confidence, but it is something to consider, and she has no reason to think the angel is lying. She has always been on her own, where the soul is concerned.
Stepping aside, still keeping her hands close to her side, the gesture will be slight as she nods towards the trees. ]
Might you...walk with me? I would like to hear of it—that which you fight for, now. Those who you've bled for.
[ There was a time when he would have refused; humans were below angels, not worthy of discussion, nor insight into the inner workings of angels. Before the Winchesters, Castiel would have seen no purpose in sharing the things that haunt him, the things that linger in his mind that he. cannot quite remember, and the things that he does. But she has not asked for absolution or light, had she? She has asked to listen. Castiel is different now, despite his promotion, despite the self-righteous arrogance he can still portray.
And so he will. ]
I fell from Heaven for a human, because he asked me to. [ He likes to say it's because Dean made him see the light, that Dean is the one who showed him humanity was worth saving. In reality, it is because Dean asked. That particular tidbit isn't something he is willing to admit, but falling from grace - that's not a secret he bothers to keep. It's a well known fact back home, and here...well. They know, or they don’t. It makes little difference to him. If asked or it comes up, he confesses. If not, he doesn't mention it. ]
At first, I believed it was rebellion, that I had disobeyed. That is the worst thing an angel can do, question orders. Disobey. The sentence is death. [ Disobedience is rarely forgiven. ]
But looking back...For me, it was choice. The first real one I ever made.
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And yet, she had sensed it within him.
More than that. It had touched her heart, squirmed in her gut, for the moments that her power had reached him—in turn, his light had nearly burned her. Even hidden away from the luminosity of Heaven, even tainted by her venom, it was too bright for the likes of her. It had unsettled him, the tarnished effect she'd had, that much was clear, but words couldn't be put forth on how it had affected her.
Vanessa thought she knew something of shame, given her ruined history, but this was uncharted territory. Who would have thought that she could find entirely new ways to sin, even still?
Rarely is Vanessa the shy sort, but she has always been prone to watching from the shadows when it suits her. Perhaps it is meant to be a perverse sort of control, but in truth she is in thrall to her curiosity—a desire for connection on her own terms. So she watches where she can, at times lurking just beyond the door, wondering if he can feel her presence as keenly as she can his.
At the moment, though, she’s just outside, pressed into the shade of a tree while straining to peer up at the window to his room in the hopes of a sighting. Why? Why does she ever do the things she does? Because she can. ]
no subject
Of course he does.
It is not merely the rustling of leaves or the unnatural stillness that accompanies her presence — it's the scent of something once holy now warped, incense mixed with blood. She likely thinks herself hidden, cloaked by shade and distance, but Castiel has already felt her presence, even from where he sits.
He does not go to the window.
Instead, Castiel remains seated at the edge of the bed, hands folded in his lap, like he’s forgotten how to unclasp them. Just thinking, feeling. Sensing everything around him, frustrated at the way it can be muted, a power that has wrapped his world in gauze. The light in the room is dim; he prefers it that way now, though Heaven’s fire still flickers in his bones. Too much brightness has a way of drawing attention.
A split second decision has him vanishing from his room and appearing by her side, his head tipped like he's studying her soul (maybe he is), eyes a storm of blue, penetrating, standing too close. ]
Hello.
no subject
But perhaps he is no longer in the mood to humor her, or perhaps angels suffer their own curiosity. There's no point in making too many assumptions on his sudden appearance, as she is too easily flustered to manage the high-level deductions she might normally make were he but a man. Even a demon, she might better read.
In this, her heart has a way of shielding her vision.
Though she is startled by his presence, Vanessa doesn't jump or gasp. She does manage to cross herself in the lightest motion—old habits die hard. Before slowly turning, her gaze tilts to meet his, forcing her way through her shame to avoid looking away as she knows she ought to.
Were it his true form, might she struggle more with it? Or would she be further encouraged to blind herself with madness by looking on? ]
Forgive me, I...
[ ...wanted to talk? About what? She would not ask him to suffer her confessions. By now, at least, she knows that God isn't listening. ]
I suppose I have been unable to resist my interest in your presence here. There have been moments where I wondered...if you were but a figment of my imaginings.
no subject
[ He watches her carefully, hands sliding into his pockets as he maintains space, unblinking as he stares.
There is no judgment in his tone, only the stillness of something ancient that has watched countless mortal failings and still doesn’t know how to name them. His expression doesn't soften—Castiel doesn't do softness, doesn't really know how, not yet—but there is something that eases in the way he watches her, like her presence disorients the compass in him that once pointed resolutely Heavenward. ]
Did you want to speak to me, or only confirm I'm real?
no subject
Castiel's very presence forces her being into something of a dichotomy—the need to be accepted by the Holy, and the fear of ruining anything God-touched. So she keeps her own distance, though perhaps not as far as she ought to.
Staring right back, Vanessa's hands clutch near her chest, as though she must forcefully restrain herself from attempting to reach out to touch him. ]
I suppose...that I wonder... [ Her chin tips, her gaze searching deeper than any mortal woman has the right to. ] Were you trapped by something before or after the Fae brought you here?
[ Why does he appear as a man like any other? Why could her power reach him without completely burning her to ash? How much creature is within the angel? ]
no subject
[ Confusion flickers across his face, but it settles into something almost resigned, and his lips press thin. Yes, he was trapped, but perhaps not in the way she thinks. ]
If you mean this form, no. This is a vessel. Before, I could leave it at any time. [ If he so chose. After Jimmy's death, though, it became his. Solely his, with no one else residing within. Jimmy's soul has been taken to heaven, where it belongs.
His family, however, is another story. Castiel has effectively ruined their lives, though he doesn't quite know it yet. ]
Before...I obeyed. I believed that was freedom. [ He shakes his head. ] It isn't.
[ He cocks his head and studies her intently, blue eyes bright, curious. ]
Do I frighten you?
no subject
But he speaks as though he is a fallen angel. Like Lucifer. Is that something to fear? She doesn't fear the Devil, either, not like she once did. And there is something entirely different about this one, fallen or otherwise. She can't sense a desire of scorched earth from his presence.
What is it, then?
Vanessa is careful in her consideration before responding, her hands lowering to her side while she tilts her head. He may elicit awe, but there is more to it. ]
What frightens me, is... [ Herself? ] Not you, no. Though...I felt something like fear for what I nearly did to you. To think that I may have tarnished that which is holy—
[ She stops herself, then, reconsidering his words. ]
You no longer listen to God?
no subject
As for the next question...it's complicated. He still believes, he still has his faith. He'd lost it, briefly, but upon his resurrection, it has been restored. He still believes; faith lingers, reshaped but not extinguished. Only God could have brought him back even more powerful than he was before. A seraph now, infused with holy divinity threaded through every cell like starlight. ]
...I don't. He has not spoken to his children in a very, very long time. As far as I am aware, only one angel has his ear currently, and it is not me. [ No, it's Joshua, and God had essentially told him to tell Sam and Dean to fuck off. ]
We are on our own. Now, I listen to the people I’ve bled for, fought with.
no subject
Though, the awe is never going to vanish. She is still careful not to reach for him, despite the urge to place a hand over his arm, as though someone like she could ever actually offer any comfort for someone like him.
To hear about God's communication in such a direct manner is not something she quite knows how to react to. Should it bring her comfort? That she wasn't the only one He was ignoring? It doesn't bring her any further confidence, but it is something to consider, and she has no reason to think the angel is lying. She has always been on her own, where the soul is concerned.
Stepping aside, still keeping her hands close to her side, the gesture will be slight as she nods towards the trees. ]
Might you...walk with me? I would like to hear of it—that which you fight for, now. Those who you've bled for.
no subject
[ There was a time when he would have refused; humans were below angels, not worthy of discussion, nor insight into the inner workings of angels. Before the Winchesters, Castiel would have seen no purpose in sharing the things that haunt him, the things that linger in his mind that he. cannot quite remember, and the things that he does. But she has not asked for absolution or light, had she? She has asked to listen. Castiel is different now, despite his promotion, despite the self-righteous arrogance he can still portray.
And so he will. ]
I fell from Heaven for a human, because he asked me to. [ He likes to say it's because Dean made him see the light, that Dean is the one who showed him humanity was worth saving. In reality, it is because Dean asked. That particular tidbit isn't something he is willing to admit, but falling from grace - that's not a secret he bothers to keep. It's a well known fact back home, and here...well. They know, or they don’t. It makes little difference to him. If asked or it comes up, he confesses. If not, he doesn't mention it. ]
At first, I believed it was rebellion, that I had disobeyed. That is the worst thing an angel can do, question orders. Disobey. The sentence is death. [ Disobedience is rarely forgiven. ]
But looking back...For me, it was choice. The first real one I ever made.
[ that he remembers, anyway. ]