[Supernatural] "Relic" (PG)
Oct. 5th, 2011 09:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mtxref_ficAuthor's Note: Written for Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, the trenchcoat. SPOILER WARNING: Spoilers for Episode 7x02 WARNING: Language
The damn fool had it coming. He had to take in all of Purgatory, then run around pretending to be God. At least he'd done something useful, like taking out that anNOYing Westford Baptist Church and it's asshole leader Frank Phipps. But they'd try to reopen Purgatory and dump the souls back in, only to have the Leviathans stay inside him. They'd either compelled him to the water, or he'd tried to drown himself to be rid of the things.
No trace remained of him except the black stain in the reservoir. And then Dean saw it, floating on the surface like a wet paper bag or floating kelp. The trenchcoat. That damn brown coat that he wore, summer and winter. Dean scooped it up, wringing it out, crushing it in his hands.
All that remained of that angel, all that remained of that pain in the ass who'd helped them, until he'd double-crossed them, He rung the fabric, as if he were wringing Castiel's neck, or gripping his shoulders, hanging on for dear life. It was all he had left of the angel and he wasn't about to let go of it.
The damn fool had it coming. He had to take in all of Purgatory, then run around pretending to be God. At least he'd done something useful, like taking out that anNOYing Westford Baptist Church and it's asshole leader Frank Phipps. But they'd try to reopen Purgatory and dump the souls back in, only to have the Leviathans stay inside him. They'd either compelled him to the water, or he'd tried to drown himself to be rid of the things.
No trace remained of him except the black stain in the reservoir. And then Dean saw it, floating on the surface like a wet paper bag or floating kelp. The trenchcoat. That damn brown coat that he wore, summer and winter. Dean scooped it up, wringing it out, crushing it in his hands.
All that remained of that angel, all that remained of that pain in the ass who'd helped them, until he'd double-crossed them, He rung the fabric, as if he were wringing Castiel's neck, or gripping his shoulders, hanging on for dear life. It was all he had left of the angel and he wasn't about to let go of it.
