“Jack.” Castiel whispered his name. Not the name of his birth, a name chosen for a time and place far away. A name he’d expected to discard as soon as he finished using it. But the name had clung to him, had taken roots. It was the name the Doctor had called him, and Rose. The name he had died carrying. The name he had taken into another century and eventually to meeting his very namesake. It was as much a part of him now as the strap on his wrist and the coat on his shoulders and the never-ending life in his blood and bones. And on Castiel’s lips it was a prayer and a promise. [x]
iamianto gave me a fantastic prompt and I ran with it:
The Sound of Wings – The sound of wings could thrill him almost as much as the sound of the TARDIS…
