[Castiel, in his attempts to help others try and find ways out of this house, namely, trying to help pick locks and open windows, trying to heal the injuries of others as they occurred, and running around without pausing to even catch his breath, let alone recharge his own batteries, winds up expending more Grace than he can really afford to.
By the late afternoon, Castiel stumbles into the living room, distinctly pale, his nose pink as though he’s struck with fever, and eyes wide and watery, his movements like that of a haphazard rag doll as he all but falls into a chair close to the fire place. He finds himself overcome with chills, and he can’t stop sneezing and occasionally coughing. He drapes himself across the chair like an old, wilting blanket, and he tries hugging himself to keep from getting too cold. His limbs feel heavy and archaic; Castiel can’t bring himself to move now that he’s off of his feet, which ache as though he’s walked through mounds of Legos.
This, even Castiel can admit, was a stupid move on his part. Imagine what could happen if he used up all of his Grace, his inner thoughts scold him, his inner thoughts that very much resemble Dean Winchester’s own voice, currently. He winces, and he hugs himself tighter. He sneezes.]
Apparently doing too much now makes me liable to stupid human diseases.
[He mutters under his breath. He hopes he’s alone in the room, he thinks. He doesn’t want anyone, especially Dean, to find him like this.]
Day 024 | Burned Out on Grace – Open
By the late afternoon, Castiel stumbles into the living room, distinctly pale, his nose pink as though he’s struck with fever, and eyes wide and watery, his movements like that of a haphazard rag doll as he all but falls into a chair close to the fire place. He finds himself overcome with chills, and he can’t stop sneezing and occasionally coughing. He drapes himself across the chair like an old, wilting blanket, and he tries hugging himself to keep from getting too cold. His limbs feel heavy and archaic; Castiel can’t bring himself to move now that he’s off of his feet, which ache as though he’s walked through mounds of Legos.
This, even Castiel can admit, was a stupid move on his part. Imagine what could happen if he used up all of his Grace, his inner thoughts scold him, his inner thoughts that very much resemble Dean Winchester’s own voice, currently. He winces, and he hugs himself tighter. He sneezes.]
Apparently doing too much now makes me liable to stupid human diseases.
[He mutters under his breath. He hopes he’s alone in the room, he thinks. He doesn’t want anyone, especially Dean, to find him like this.]