Used to be a time when Cas was called Castiel, like the angel of identical faces and different stories residing in this place. During that time, Cas' favorite Heaven was the eternal tuesday afternoon of an austic man's memory, with a kite in the air, green grass, gentle sunshine. It's peaceful and beautiful, and Cas kneels in the middle of it.
Black wings grow from his back, elegant arches that frame his body. It's a peaceful scene, until the rot sets in.
It starts with the surroundings, slowly decaying around him, and after a moment the first black feathers drift to the ground. The beautiful wings are mottled with pus and a strange, silvery substance, not quite liquid, but not quite insubstantial either. It seeps into the ground, a squelching, rotten, black mass itself at this point. The breeze moves the every growing piles of feathers, scatters them carelessly. Bones crack and creak as the wings crumble, leaving deep, oozing gashes along Cas' back when they finally become so rotten and instable that they simply tear out of him and thump to the ground.
He stares ahead with an impassive face and horror in his eyes. Whereas in the waking world, every action, every word of his covers up the truth of his pain, in his dreams he's condemned to suffer silently, unable to laugh and hide the pain away.
2 - White crippled wings beating the sky
Black wings grow from his back, elegant arches that frame his body. It's a peaceful scene, until the rot sets in.
It starts with the surroundings, slowly decaying around him, and after a moment the first black feathers drift to the ground. The beautiful wings are mottled with pus and a strange, silvery substance, not quite liquid, but not quite insubstantial either. It seeps into the ground, a squelching, rotten, black mass itself at this point. The breeze moves the every growing piles of feathers, scatters them carelessly. Bones crack and creak as the wings crumble, leaving deep, oozing gashes along Cas' back when they finally become so rotten and instable that they simply tear out of him and thump to the ground.
He stares ahead with an impassive face and horror in his eyes. Whereas in the waking world, every action, every word of his covers up the truth of his pain, in his dreams he's condemned to suffer silently, unable to laugh and hide the pain away.