It had been a blink—at least, it had felt like one. Now, he's taking in the stark interior with a quick roll of his eyes and examining his surroundings as methodically as possible. Almost like a nervous tick, pressing spread hands to the hospital gown he's wearing even as he settles on the monitor and the things beside it. Strange. He doesn't remember any of this. Immediately, he recognizes the folded up fabric of the trenchcoat and steps forward to take it, stilling when the screen comes to life and plays out the pre-recorded message.
The majority of it is absently catalogued, finding it oddly difficult to concentrate beyond the moment and what memories slowly trickle through. He'd ran. He'd abandoned Dean to keep him safe. With such a price on his head, his unforgiveable mistakes, it had been the most logical there. Purgatory.
This is not Purgatory.
He is sane. Or mostly sane. His state is a highly questionable one now.
Castiel grabs at the coat and shoves his arms through it, touching the dirty material and finding no comfort in it. He needs to understand this, learn the details as quickly as he's able. Possibly-- There's a pause, abruptly cold, and if the shiver is any indication, very cold. His eyes dropped close, feeling his grace present but far too distant. When he turns, tries to take flight, he nearly falls through the door and out the room instead. This is worrisome, dangerous. This is a problem. He takes a look at the hallway, the people beginning to fill the corridor as he stands carefully with arms limp at his sides.
what have you done?
He very well could have said that aloud, but he needs to move, doesn't acknowledge it at all. Even if he can't fly... Castiel pushes forward and doesn't look back. ]
castiel | supernatural | prompt + ota
It had been a blink—at least, it had felt like one. Now, he's taking in the stark interior with a quick roll of his eyes and examining his surroundings as methodically as possible. Almost like a nervous tick, pressing spread hands to the hospital gown he's wearing even as he settles on the monitor and the things beside it. Strange. He doesn't remember any of this. Immediately, he recognizes the folded up fabric of the trenchcoat and steps forward to take it, stilling when the screen comes to life and plays out the pre-recorded message.
The majority of it is absently catalogued, finding it oddly difficult to concentrate beyond the moment and what memories slowly trickle through. He'd ran. He'd abandoned Dean to keep him safe. With such a price on his head, his unforgiveable mistakes, it had been the most logical there. Purgatory.
This is not Purgatory.
He is sane. Or mostly sane. His state is a highly questionable one now.
Castiel grabs at the coat and shoves his arms through it, touching the dirty material and finding no comfort in it. He needs to understand this, learn the details as quickly as he's able. Possibly-- There's a pause, abruptly cold, and if the shiver is any indication, very cold. His eyes dropped close, feeling his grace present but far too distant. When he turns, tries to take flight, he nearly falls through the door and out the room instead. This is worrisome, dangerous. This is a problem. He takes a look at the hallway, the people beginning to fill the corridor as he stands carefully with arms limp at his sides.
what have you done?
He very well could have said that aloud, but he needs to move, doesn't acknowledge it at all. Even if he can't fly... Castiel pushes forward and doesn't look back. ]