Conscious; what does it mean to be conscious?
Is it having your own thoughts and feelings, being in control of your choices and actions or just being awake, aware? Are you not conscious when you lose your ability to control your actions? What if when you share your thoughts and feelings, are you less aware then? What dictates consciousness, was he ever more conscious than the vivid memories he's plagued with.
Nick wondered whether he was conscious of it was another dream, will this one turn into hell like the previous ones. He couldn't tell anymore. Everything was a blur. Some of it was due to his own weakness, he'd admit but still, shouldn't he be able to distinguish?
He remembers a time that he could. Sarah. Teddy. It always brought such a sharp pain but even now, it felt dull in comparison. Did he just feel so greatly towards this one situation that everything else just lost color or did Lucifer take everything with him when he left? Maybe it was the blade who took all the colors when it pierced his skin and took away all that he had left to love. It didn't really matter who or what was to blame just that he felt no need to move as he laid on the floor, blinking at the ceiling periodically.
He just needed something to keep him busy, that's what people do after trauma, isn't it?
He couldn't help but feel abandoned even though logically he knew it wasn't Lucifer's fault. He knew he wouldn't leave him again, not like that. Not after what happened to him last time. They both knew he was better off where he had been, safely tucked within Lucifer. That was until he got a blade shoved into his ribcage. In that moment everything changed, all he knew..
Nick sighed. He was seeing triple, he decided, as he let the bottle in his hand tip over and clink on the tiled floor. He could hear Sarah's voice still saying he'd had enough but she never quite witnessed him on his worst, that was after she was gone. Lucifer never said he's had enough. Lucifer pushed him to do things he normally wouldn't. Lucifer wasn't a gatekeeper, maybe he just didn't care about human convention enough to worry about him in that capacity. Maybe he never really cared like he thought he did.
He was the one that was supposed to die, is a thought that continuously popped into his head in the last few days. He had left the bunker as soon as he could but now he only had these four pale walls of the motel room to keep him busy. He was busy, he admits. Self-deprecation was tiring and a full time job.
How long would he be able to hold on doing this to himself, how long before his body finally gave out. He was cursed with living a lonely life, everyone he ever had was pulled from his grasp so abruptly. Why does his body hold on? Why do the Winchesters get chances after death but a literal angel has to be cut down when trying to help them. He wasn't the enemy. Michael was. He knew that for sure. He was there when Michael was torturing him, he was there for the monologue. He was there for all of it but nobody wants to talk about that. Nobody wants to hear that Lucifer wasn't the devil, the one truly evil being. Nobody wants to be wrong.
Nick thought he heard footsteps but paid no mind. Even if it wasn't his imagination. He was tired, he was done. Whatever happens, could happen without him. He accepts what comes next. There's nothing worth his time if it's without Lucifer.
Nick closed his eyes slowly and thought of Lucifer. How he felt, how he knew it was Lucifer in Sarah's body, what he felt for Lucifer. It was still so raw and vivid and never left. He could feel the wetness gather behind his eyes and slip down his cheek to the floor. His heart was beating slow as his chest rose and fell. It was a painful thought but it was equally calming as he drifted off.
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