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 with another, are you less aware then? What dictates consciousness, was Nick ever more conscious than the vivid memories he was plagued with, was he ever more aware than when he was entombed within his own body.
Nick wondered about these things on and off over the years but none more a question than now, less introspective and more a fleeting thought. Was he was really conscious this time or if it was just another dream, will this one bring him to hell's doorstep like the previous ones? He couldn't tell any more. 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 that took all the colors when it pierced his skin and took away that which he still 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. Even when he had no will to move, his body still did, a betrayal with every breath that still plagued his fragile body.
He just needed something to keep him busy, that's what people do after trauma, isn't it? That's what he did after Sarah, after...
He couldn't help but feel abandoned, even though logically he knew it wasn't Lucifer's fault. He knew Lucifer 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. Lucifer would always keep him safe. That was until he got a blade shoved into his ribcage. In that moment everything changed, all he knew gone in a moment.
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Nick sighed. He was seeing triple, he decided, as he let the bottle in his hand tip over and clink onto the tiled floor. Audible accusations in the dark room. He could hear Sarah's voice still saying he'd had enough, but she never quite witnessed him at his worst. That was only after she was gone. Lucifer never said he's had enough, direct opposition they stood. 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 Nick thought he did, it was all up for a debate that now could never be concluded.
He was the one that was supposed to die, is a thought that continuously popped into Nick's 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 still 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 they knew, 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, he didn't give it the satisfaction of a reaction. 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.