[ Buffy has met some of the garbage-souled humans, the ones who see the world as their playground and smear darkness all across it in order to create their twisted version of art. There have been times when it's been so easy to understand how Faith had been able to give in to that darkness, to use their power to do whatever they want to the people who 'deserve' it, and it's been so tempting to take matters into her own hands... But human life is precious, and even bad art is still art that deserves to exist.
What Castiel is... isn't art. He's something so much more. As he sits and sets his hand on her, she can feel the warmth that comes from his touch, a warmth that brings tears to her eyes because of the memory of the last time she'd felt it. That comforting embrace she'd felt in death when she'd felt done and finished. When she'd felt so loved.
No, Castiel isn't art. He is color itself, an entire palette ready to create and shape all around him, and she instinctively understands that he'd use every drop of it within him without hesitation if that's what it took. And just as surely as she knows that he would, she knows that she can't let him. So after a few moments of basking in that warmth, letting it fill her up and ease the aches that shouldn't be there, she reaches up with her other hand to gently remove his from her arm—
Only to hold it between both of her own. Looking up at him, there's a peace within her that hadn't been there before, even if it still surrounded in pain. ]
[ Castiel returns the gaze for a moment. He's reminded of the way he held Sam's hand a few years ago.
Years that fly by like nothing for something as old as him, and yet the last few years have felt like lifetimes even to him.
It catches him by surprise, almost visibly so, that way she looks at him, as if he'd intended to do good and is now shocked to discover that he did good. The expression flickers through his eyes, even as most of his face remains impassive, as it usually does.
It's good to know - that the reminder helps her. He filters that knowledge away for later. In response to her gratitude, he inclines his head. ]
[ She holds back the automatic response that wants to fall from her lips. Yes, she does, she's always been on her own when facing the true darkness out there. But... that was before. She's not the Slayer here, where there's nothing to slay that she can easily find and understand. So maybe things can be different now. Finally. ]
Neither do you.
[ His story is still a mystery to her beyond the basics but she knows what their kind of life is like. And with the way he offers himself without hesitation — he could probably use someone on his side too. ]
[ That gets her the full weight of those too blue eyes again, a head tilted to the side a little, as if she, like so many humans, is a great big mystery that he's both inexplicably endeared towards, and hopelessly perplexed by. ]
An agreeable arrangement.
[ He's not sure why she'd make that offer, but it's... oddly soothing aches that he sometimes forgets he carries. It feels like 'I'd rather have you, cursed or not' rather than 'No one cares that you're broken'. ]
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no subject
What Castiel is... isn't art. He's something so much more. As he sits and sets his hand on her, she can feel the warmth that comes from his touch, a warmth that brings tears to her eyes because of the memory of the last time she'd felt it. That comforting embrace she'd felt in death when she'd felt done and finished. When she'd felt so loved.
No, Castiel isn't art. He is color itself, an entire palette ready to create and shape all around him, and she instinctively understands that he'd use every drop of it within him without hesitation if that's what it took. And just as surely as she knows that he would, she knows that she can't let him. So after a few moments of basking in that warmth, letting it fill her up and ease the aches that shouldn't be there, she reaches up with her other hand to gently remove his from her arm—
Only to hold it between both of her own. Looking up at him, there's a peace within her that hadn't been there before, even if it still surrounded in pain. ]
Thank you.
no subject
Years that fly by like nothing for something as old as him, and yet the last few years have felt like lifetimes even to him.
It catches him by surprise, almost visibly so, that way she looks at him, as if he'd intended to do good and is now shocked to discover that he did good. The expression flickers through his eyes, even as most of his face remains impassive, as it usually does.
It's good to know - that the reminder helps her. He filters that knowledge away for later. In response to her gratitude, he inclines his head. ]
You don't have to face the darkness on your own.
no subject
Neither do you.
[ His story is still a mystery to her beyond the basics but she knows what their kind of life is like. And with the way he offers himself without hesitation — he could probably use someone on his side too. ]
no subject
An agreeable arrangement.
[ He's not sure why she'd make that offer, but it's... oddly soothing aches that he sometimes forgets he carries. It feels like 'I'd rather have you, cursed or not' rather than 'No one cares that you're broken'. ]