7668/City of Angels

City of Angels
Date of Scene:	29 May 2019
Location:	Two Bridges (Chinatown), Manhattan
Synopsis:	Two angels meet by chance on the Brooklyn Bridge and find out they have more in common with one another than they realized.. and with humanity too.
Cast of Characters:	Exile, Castiel

---

Exile has posed:
The bridge fascinates him. The architecture is so clearly based on church architecture....but it's a functional thing, not intended for worship. The views from the top of one of the supports, though....those are worth a flight. So Hayal is perched up there, watching the evening traffic flow into Manhattan. He's dressed darkly and crouched low, not standing, so he's not immediately noticeable to the human passers-by. But to a fellow angel of a kind.....well, his presence is like a little light, glowing.

Castiel has posed:
Castiel wasn't looking for Hayal - rather the opposite, in fact. Nevertheless, he found him.

The angel had looked for a place to think, and really, it was the fault of the movies. He'd seen it in one, an angel perched upon the highest stupport strut of a bridge, looking down upon the city and contemplating his fate. Falling to humanity. Castiel might not truly understand humans but there was something about that image that had haunted him, and tonight, struck him as fitting.

A clear, cloudless sky. Stars speckled and spattered everywhere. The colours of the city brilliant and brash, inviting everyone to celebrate the passing of the grey season and welcome the vistas of summer.

All unaware that a single angel - well, really two - were contemplating their lives. One of them, at least, considering the metaphor.

That is until he spots the spark of another holding the Divine within - which also means Hayal can sense him as well.

Castiel holds his upright stance upon the strut, looking out over the waters to where they touch the skyline. Silent. His trenchcoat loose and untied, hands shoved in his pockets. "I am not a stoic."

He doesn't turn.

Exile has posed:
The soldier's first reflexive response is to rise and spread his wings out and up, bringing them into existence between one moment and the next. A gesture of threat, though he hasn't drawn the dark blade he carries.

But then there's recognition in his face, and they fold neatly behind him, though they don't disappear. "Why would you be?" he asks, in apparently genuine puzzlement. There's only the glow of the city for light, rendering the wings shapes cut out of shadow.

Castiel has posed:
"We are nothing but stoics," Castiel murmurs. Or were. He's not quite ready to admit that he feels more than the small portion of compassion allotted to the Choir, to be portioned out at appropriate times, and even then only at the whim of the Lord.

There was little the Choir did without direction. Only the highest ranking truly had any measure of freedom, and that still strictly regulated. most often by their own overbearing sense of self-righteousness.

"I did not come here to find you." Castiel turns his head just enough to regard the other. The outspread wings taken in long enough before they are folded away to bring that light of pain to the other angel's blue eyes. A light that is thankfully hidden in the darkness. Or mostly so.

Exile has posed:
Castiel's more fascinating, at close range, than the parade of humanity passing below, and Hayal's reoriented himself accordingly - though he's still half-way poised for flight, as if Cas might take it into his head to attack. How far could he get before he was smote from the air?

"Most of you don't feel," he says, simply. He doesn't rank himself as part of that 'you'. He's cast out....and still a demon by default, by the lights of so many. "But you are learning," His voice has dropped to a conspirator's whisper, as if 'learning' were itself blasphemous. But then, they aren't supposed to change, eternal as a flawless diamond....apparently Cas's having done so makes him a bit queasy.

Castiel has posed:
"Fat lot of good it's done me," Cas rumbles in a moment of agitation. "What have I gained? A host body. Two brothers intent on destroying their lives for one another. And you tormenting me."

The angel shoves his hands ever deeper into his pockets, finding that they go no further. Hunching his shoulders instead to create a tight line of fabric across his shoulders that suffice instead.

"What I don't understand is why. Why do you care. And why do you torment me. Are you so smug, then?" Then, further, with a more concerted and directed gaze. "And that. You act like you expect I should strike you any moment. Do you want me blade? Will that convince you?"

A soft sound of disgust escapes him.

"I did not come here to find you," he repeats even softer.

Exile has posed:
Chagrin writ large, on Hayal's face. "I torment you?" he asks, looking around as if it were something he were doing inadvertantly. "How? Why do I care about what? About humans?"

The environment is not offering any clear answers to what he might be doing to Castiel. "I'm used to angels trying to strike me," he adds, as if that, at least, were self-evident. Are there scars from other shining blades, under his clothes? "No. You'd attack me. You wouldn't talk to me. And you did not set out to, yet here you are."

Castiel has posed:
"If I were to attack you, you would know," Castiel says grimly. "We - you and I - I think we understand one another that much." There were certain respects due, and while Hayal might not yet understand that about Castiel, and his relationship with the angel-not-angel Hayal, it was certainly in Castiel's understanding of things. It would be a certain type of self-laothing anger that would drive him to strike otherwise, and without warning. They had already passed the point where Cas would stike without reason or warning.

"I am here to think," the angel admits. "Was here to think. There is a movie. I don't expect you to understand. And I do not know why you torment me. I have asked myself that very question. You were not sent to. You do not have His Glory about you, and yet you are exactly what He would send to both sway and chastize me."

He turns again, giving a quizical look to Hayal, "You did not set out to torment me, and yet you are here."

Exile has posed:
"I like that movie," Hayal says, with idiot enthusiasm. "Der Himmel über Berlin. Yes. I sometimes wonder if the human who made it met me. I've met so many....and they do like to put angels in their art."

He sits back down, drawing up his knees. "No," he says, more quietly. I am not sent to do anything. I have no instructions, I have mostly disavowed my function. I send myself where I go." That bright gaze wanders, back down to the flow of light beneath them. "They almost never look up. They like heights, but so rarely give themselves the means to reach them. Their roofs are empty."

Castiel has posed:
"Different movie," Castiel says with a gruff sounding almost-laugh. "But the sentiment might be the same." He doesn't tell Hayal the movie is one where an angel choses for a human female he falls in love for, only to lose her and ponder the loss of his Divine. At least not yet.

"No. They do not look up. Their lives are heavy. Weighted with thoughts and words and deeds without meaning. They've shackled themselves to ideals they don't believe in and forgotten.. I do not know why I am telling you these things."

The angel's body relaxes, shoulders suddenly unshrugged, trenchcoat falling to a more forgiving line. Hands loosening their ball in his pockets, not that Hayal can see this.

"I do not know my function anymore. I have not been allowed the luxury you have." His gaze falls to the trailing lines of red tail lights slipping past the edge of the bridge and into the city where they are swallowed up by other coloured lights, becoming nothing more than part of a disparate landscape. "I choose some small few to bestow my favour and watch over them. They do not always appreciate this. I suppose with Free Will they are entitled to their disdain."

Exile has posed:
"Because you have no one else to tell these things to," Hayal supplies, helpfully. Still observing Castiel with that open curiosity. "How do you not know it? You are here, you know who and what you are? We don't forget. It remains what it was - you're just not called to it, at the moment." Another birdlike tilt of the head, as if viewing Cas through a different angle of matter might offer clarity. "You were not intended as a guardian of them, were you? And I imagine not. Their perspectives are so limited."

Castiel has posed:
"I was a warrior," Castiel says gruffly in a manner that might be sorrow in another. "My purpose was to lead His armies and smite the foe. Numberless counts of bodies before me for eons of wars. Demons. Humans. Nameless things. Until I chose not to let one of them die."

There's a flicker of tightness over the angel's features. "They do not have guardians. You should know this. Even before you were cast out they were nothing but markers. Counts against a tally that is endless until eternity comes to a close. We were never made to be guardians. And yet, I find myself drawn to their pathos. Drawn to offer protection. They do not understand how small and fleeting their lives are."

He gives Hayal a truly wondering look, "They are so gloriously defiant."

Exile has posed:
"Then you remain a warrior. You're just not currently at war. You led me, once, remember?" Was Cas there when he rebelled and fell, choosing exile rather than destruction? Maybe he wasn't. And the nameless mass of the Host.....as like one another as pigeons in a flock.

"They can imagine and glimpse eternity," Hayal's voice is calm, but there's an undercurrent beneath. "Some of them get guardians of a kind. Michael has a lineage he's charged with, for instance. Maybe your function is changing. Maybe you are retasked. You aren't fallen, and the great war hasn't been resumed - The Lightbringer remains downcast."

Castiel has posed:
"How can I be a warrior if I am not His?" Castiel seems unable - or relucant - to grasp that. He does manage a short, bitter laugh at mention of Michael.

"Michael is an ass. Whose line do you think I interfered with? No. There is no concern for humanity left in the Choir if ever there was. Compassion. Who would have thought it such a sin."

Exile has posed:
There's shock there now - Hayal's eyes get very big. Insulting the General.....he looks like a kid who's sure the teacher is about to come down on them like a bag of hammers. "You're not Fallen. You're still a warrior of the Host. You may be fooling around with humans, but if you have your Grace yet.....look, there are three options. You're an angel. You're a demon. Or you're something like me. But you aren't a demon, and you aren't like me. So you're still an angel. And......you went up against *Michael*? You defied the General?" He can't wrap his mind around it.

Castiel has posed:
"More like you than you know," Castiel grunts. "I've only enough of my Grace to know I've fallen. Most of the time I can't even hear the Choir. For a long time I thought they were gone forever. There was nothing but silence." Which might explain why he'd left when Hayal had sung that single, pure note.

"Michael has favourites," Castiel says quietly. "Of the humans. Not in that he cares about them, but there are plans. I saved one from eternal damnation. Brought him back and broke a contract he'd made with another by doing so. Michael himself did not castigate me, but he is not happy."

Exile has posed:
"But you have some Grace left!" Hayal sounds frustrated. "That's not Fallen! You haven't fallen! You're just....." He waves his hands, looking for words, and not daring to sing the phrase he needs. "Ugh. Lost isn't the word, you know where you are. You're out in the dark but you can see the city. Most of the time, but not never. I can't hear them. I haven't heard them for ages. I sing in the world of matter, but it sounds wrong." His feathers have fluffed up in annoyance.

But that pronouncement makes him pause. "There have always been plans." Despite that assertion, he sounds tentative. "Contract?"

Castiel has posed:
Hayal is givena confused look. "Don't you understand? I was left with enough to realize my punishment. Forever to be tormented with the promise of being taken back if only.. knowing that there is no way. Not without turning my back on the choice I made. My Grace is held hostage with the lives of these humans. I grovel and I admit they are worthless. What then the choice? What then my reaching out a hand in a single desperate moment and changing history? Don't you see?"

He, too, is frustrated but not so much that Castiel doesn't try to answer the other, "The elder Winchseter boy sold his soul to save his brother. I intervened and brought him back from a death that sealed the contract, breaking it in essense. All parties were denied and both boys yet live."

Exile has posed:
Now, now....finally he gets it. And Hayal looks everywhere but Castiel for a long few moments, like a child trying to avoid a task he doesn't want to do. He thrums a note of distress, suppressing the impulse towards song. "That is cruel," he says, after that silence. "I am sorry. That is punishment."

"I thought only the Lightbringer's followers made such contracts. They seek to seduce humans where they can not be compelled...."

Castiel has posed:
"Stupid made a deal with a demon broker. I understand Michael was not displeased. Though that knowledge came later."

To this day Cas can't explain to himself why he made that move. Why out of the eternities of being a Warrior for the Lord he suddenly felt compelled to step in, and not only step in, but to defiantly hold to that choice.

"You have missed much in your exile. The boundaries between us are not so clear." He should know. He's made deals with them himself on more than one occassion. "There are evils, and Evils. Not all under Lightbringer's influence agree with his paths of destruction. And of late the Lord.."

How should he say that the Divine seemed ever more singularly and disapassionarely uncaring of His human charges than ever?

As for punishment, yes. It had been cruel. And why Castiel had thought Hayal had been sent to torment him.

Exile has posed:
Now the feathers are sleeked down in distress, wings tight to his back. "Things are much less clear," he says, passing a hand over his head, though the long hair isn't in the least tangled. Physical manifestations of mental unease.

He hums another chord to himself, improbable harmonics. "Why these humans?"

Castiel has posed:
The distress is noted, though it is not unlike Castiel's own given more explicit form. Hayal has his wings. Castiel has his trench coat.

"I do not know why these humans. I have struggled to understand what it is that makes them special, but there are no answers. I only know that I can't abandon them."

He gives something of a smile, his stubbled face slipping into a gesture of softness. "There are so many of them tug at you for so many reasons. It matters more now. I can't explain that, either. Less pride, but I catch myself at odd moments feeling things I do not understand. I am trying harder, though."

Exile has posed:
"Love," he says, softly. "Love. It creeps up on you." Hayal's making it sound like a fungus, honestly. "It has no reason. It leads to such pain, but it is so sweet. Be careful." Though he knows his warning will do no good at all, by his tone.

He rises, and sidles over to Castiel. First a wing and then an arm steal around him - he's kind of edging into a hug, rather than coming forward the way a human would.

Castiel has posed:
There's a strangled sort of sound from Castiel, a nearly pained one, as he asks, "I thought He was Love. Why has he turned from them, then?"

The hug, as it comes, is a surprise, but not so much of one that Cas lashes out - he was hugged recently as it happens. He has a framework, if an odd one given the source(s).

There's moments where he's just stiff in that embrace, struggling with his inner demons. Castiel relaxing shortly, hunching his shoulders forward towards Hayal in an echo of the embrace, though his own hands remain in his pockets still. He is not so attuned to this gesture that he thinks, yet, to draw them forth and return the hug fully. Still, the shoulders make a nod to the matter, and complete the embrace just so.

"I did not ask to love them," he says gruffly, voice coloured with deeper things and notes of witheld emotion. "I do not know if I want to love them."

Silence.

"I do, though." The singular admission drawn from him in an exhausted rasp of defeated sound. It isn't a thing you choose, and it is much too late.

Exile has posed:
Now he angles himself to face Castiel - forehead to forehead, and the wings come around to enclose and shelter them both, for a long moment. Hayal doesn't speak; the commiseration is in the all-too-human gestures.

"I know," he says, and he's not merely acknowledging that fact, by his tone.

Castiel has posed:
It's a moment of clarity and connection between the two, and unlike any Castiel has had before - perhaps bar one.

"How do you live with it," Castiel asks, his voice barely a whisper. "They are such brief things, and it is such a large feeling. We were not made to be minute vessels. And they were not made for anything but brevity. All I ever did was postpone the inevitable."

He adjusts his position so that his gaze meets Hayals fully within this sheltered embrace of wings.

"I would do it again. A thousand times again. Even knowing."

Exile has posed:
HE's thoughtfully silent for a bit, still holding them in place, as the night breeze off the river stirs his feathers. "I accept it. Creatures in the stream of time - they begin and they end, save that which in them is eternal. You love knowing they will die and bear your love away with them like leaves in a stream. It hurts. It always will hurt. That is the essence of mortality - that sweetness and bitterness can never be untangled."

Another human gesture, then - he kisses Castiel on the brow, solemnly.

Castiel has posed:
The kiss is accepted - it's a benediction, and a prayer. More, it's an oath and a seal. A compact between them of sorts.

The moment carries as long as it takes for the wind to cool away the warmth of where that kiss had lingered, leaving Cas to grumble, "Unless one of us is tossing the other or ourselves off this bridge we could be drinking instead."

It's true, though. You accept. You accept because to do otherwise is to deny, and as he has said, what then of his choice. Or as Bucky had tried to explain, that, too, was part of being human. With free will, or even an approximation of that, you accepted what came. To do otherwise was to not be human.



"Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse. 'It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.'

'Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit.

'Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.'

'Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,' he asked, 'or bit by bit?'

'It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

~~Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit

"...once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always.."