[ When Castiel awoke, he'd reflect on everything he was hearing here, now, on what was so different between the Lucifer he knew and this version, who was...compassionate. Not actually compassionate, obviously, because he wasn't empathetic, he didn't seem to care one way or another. Or... Did he? Thoughts for later. Questions for later. Castiel had always loved his brothers and sisters, but he doubted they had any affection for him--certainly not any more. But he was able to remember the way that Lucifer had looked at him, when they'd faced each other over the holy fire, like Castiel and he had something in common; like he would be welcome to join him, just as the Grigori and some of the others had joined him when he'd turned against Heaven.
The hallucination didn't respond to any of his words. They weren't for the hallucination to listen to, after all. Each word, every murmur, was angled for Castiel's own attention. He was supposed to be listening.
The eventual question, when the visitor crouched in front of him, made that clear. His eyes cleared, and slowly Castiel raised his heavy head, making eye contact again. It was Lucifer but it wasn't, so far away from the brother he knew, who would crush him under his heel so much as look at him. He didn't want to fight. The visitor didn't want to fight. That was all he wanted from his own kind, wasn't it? Peace? Acceptance? An effort to understand and cherish the humanity that they had been put here to serve.
The confrontation forced him to look inside, but not hide there. Why? ]
I... [ And it was his own voice again, not the sneering archangel standing over them both. ] I failed. I betrayed the only family I've ever had, and I killed the only family I ever knew. Thousands of angels, my own brothers and sisters, with my own hands. If it had been a battle, perhaps then--but it was a purge. A genocide. I killed them, and then I released this Hell, these memories, into the mind of a man who would, despite everything, without hesitation, call me brother.
I can't forgive myself for that. For any of it. How can you?
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The hallucination didn't respond to any of his words. They weren't for the hallucination to listen to, after all. Each word, every murmur, was angled for Castiel's own attention. He was supposed to be listening.
The eventual question, when the visitor crouched in front of him, made that clear. His eyes cleared, and slowly Castiel raised his heavy head, making eye contact again. It was Lucifer but it wasn't, so far away from the brother he knew, who would crush him under his heel so much as look at him. He didn't want to fight. The visitor didn't want to fight. That was all he wanted from his own kind, wasn't it? Peace? Acceptance? An effort to understand and cherish the humanity that they had been put here to serve.
The confrontation forced him to look inside, but not hide there. Why? ]
I... [ And it was his own voice again, not the sneering archangel standing over them both. ] I failed. I betrayed the only family I've ever had, and I killed the only family I ever knew. Thousands of angels, my own brothers and sisters, with my own hands. If it had been a battle, perhaps then--but it was a purge. A genocide. I killed them, and then I released this Hell, these memories, into the mind of a man who would, despite everything, without hesitation, call me brother.
I can't forgive myself for that. For any of it. How can you?