ArgentNoelle

I’m in my room in the bunker when it happens again. The voices. They shoot through my skull with a piercing pain, a high-frequency white noise, and it makes me screw up my face, clutch my head in my hands as if I could somehow claw out the pain—but of course I can’t. It’s not physical, it’s not molecular—those kinds of hurt have never really seem to stick with me. I guess the celestial kind is different, though. It’s overwhelming, almost frightening—because even though I can now make out the voices within the tangled screaming, all I can hear is despair. It makes me feel cold, alone.

The door creaks open. “Jack?”

Castiel looks in with a worried expression, and I drop my hands, trying to put on an air of nonchalance.