#piesmake

the angel might have materialized right next to his pie crust, but that doesn't negate the effort he makes to adapt to human behavior. practices that are often confusing ; invisible rules no one seems inclined to explain to him. yet, castiel makes a genuine attempt to follow them.

" you know, this whole ... " he waves with the prongs of his fork. " dying ... resurrecting ... thing. ain't exactly been a walk in the park. " it's easier to steep himself in the butter-warm aroma of dough crisping around sugar browning, fruit sweetening in the air than it is to consider how many minutes, the volume of seconds ticking past since he'd opened his eyes, gasping air into the collapsed sacks of his lungs. the shuddering thump of his own heart re-starting an uncertain beat is an echo behind his sternum that he stifles with an uncomfortable knock of his knuckles. being a dead man walking, grave dirt freshly shorn from under the crusts of his nails, is disorienting. blinking into an undeserving light feels like staring directly into the blazing whorls on the surface of the sun.

INBOX PROMPTS ╱ 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔.