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Words to Live By: Repent, Life, Priest, Silence, Revelation
Author: BirddiPairing: Castiel/Dean
Fandom Disclaimer: Supernatural - therefore I don't own it.
Rating: Prude sanctioned.
Repent:
There was no such thing as forgiveness in Dean Winchester’s world. Not for him at least. But he repented, for sins committed and for actions not taken. Bobby would have said it was childhood trauma, Sam would have said something else. Although what Sam would have said, Dean didn’t think bare repeating.
Castiel made a reference to repentance once, something about seeking forgiveness. Dean hadn’t been listening too hard, Castiel spoke in riddles and with a prose Dean stumbled over. It wasn’t the words, Dean wasn’t stupid, but the intent behind them that was disconcerting. Wasn’t human, lacked that essential strand of understanding. Dean understood what Anne had meant when she talked about not knowing. After Anne and Uriel’s delightful visit, well Dean was burned through with sour understanding. It wouldn’t really matter what actions he chose to follow from returning to hell.
His actions caused the death of an innocent girl. Omission and commission.
Anne wasn’t the first person who died by his hand. His place in Hell had long been determined before he made that deal, and he wasn’t getting out. Not for good at least. Sam was still safe, and well, Dean knew his limits.
So, how do you repent for saving your brother’s life? He should ask Castiel that.
Life:
Philosophers like to think about life. Dean did too, sometimes. Usually with tequila, and usually only with strangers because it would suck to have someone you actually know remember anything you’d say drunk.
This probably explains why he was learning over a stick table, making hand gestures as he talked about the meaning of the universe, which to his beer-laid mind is about Metallica’s Black Album. The fact that he’s explaining the ultimate truth to Castiel, and the why of it, was lost somewhere three shots ago.
Sam never listened to him when he started going on about these things and Dean rather liked the fact that he has a willing, and surprisingly earnest, audience in an angel of the lord.
He finishes his discussion with a sloppy salute of the glass, “And that my friend is why if knee-socks were invented, proof of love.”
Castiel is smiling, head tilted sideways looking at him like Dean’s the one who is a pleasure to be around, and Dean grins at him because he doesn’t usually get that look. It makes Dean feel giddy and a little important, and most of all accepted. Because it's a nice feeling. But it’s also a little bit that a drunk and philosophical Dean is usually not smiled at, and his hand is never held like Castiel is doing. Holding it between the two of his. The angel leans right into his space, too. Whispering into Dean’s ear and Dean’s drunk enough to lean into the warm words.
“That is very good evidence of love.”
Priest:
Dean has dressed as a priest before.
He’s never gone x-rated in a priest uniform, never really wanted too. To easy to feel like he’s taking advantage. And Catholic Priests already have enough of a rep that Dean doesn’t want to add to it.
Dean has never gone to see a priest for a confession before. Pastor Jim was a friend, not a spiritual counselor. Never saw the need, but his head’s on Castiel’s lap right now and all he can do is talk. Confessing all the ugliness inside, the stuff he’s never told anyone, the stuff that he never could with Sam. And thank Cas's God for that, just another thing to be mocked.
Whining about all those souls you tortured in Hell. Boo Hoo.
Eventually, Dean doesn’t talk about how pathetic he is, because he knows what a bottom-feeder he is. Knows how truly worthless he is, those things are just facts right now. Castiel’s still with him though.
Sam’s been gone for two days now.
Castiel runs his hand through Dean’s hair, he doesn’t remember but he hopes his mom might have done that once upon a time. Castiel’s hand is running through his hair. It makes him feel tingly and relaxed.
Dean thinks this sense of peace is what priests should bring to people. But Dean’s never been to a priest, doesn’t need to now because he has Castiel.
Silence:
When Castiel kisses him they make no other noise.
Castiel kisses as if he could move mountains with the (Dean shies away from the word) for what he feels for Dean. Pushing into him, tasting him, kissing him harder and deeper until Dean’s entire world is in the damp silent prayers of an angel’s lips on his.
They don’t need to keep their voices hushed, but Dean can hear the sounds of their breaths, the affirming sound of life. It’s so much more intimate, and crazy-filthier, hotter than any words could ever be. The gentle slide of skin on warmer skin and the relief of having someone near is a defining experience. It’s no longer just you, but full awareness of another and of the comfort that brings.
Dean can smell…taste, the vessel Castiel wears. Smelling like all things holy with the taint of human sweat and carnality, like some twisted prayer or the holiest temptation.
It’s almost like everything Dean thinks love would be.
Dean finds himself a little undone by the whole thing.
A little too unbroken by the promises he hears in the silent kisses of an angel.
Revelation:
At the end of the world, Dean sees something breathtaking.
Castiel in his truest form: of glory, and light, and holy.
Dean watches as the vessel he knew burns away and Castiel, the angel, stands in front of him. It’s more than Dean’s eyes can comprehend, but still he sees. He does not understand Pamela, with her anger with angels, because the sight of the man he loves in Castiel’s true form is enough of a gift. He's burning.
He had come to accept that there was a god, some higher deity a long time ago, but Castiel’s so much more than he had ever imagined.
Too much.
He stumbles to stand in front of Castiel, every step he’s further burned by something he can feel to his soul. The war is won. And nothing will ever be the same. Dean thinks maybe that’s a good thing.
Dean stands before the angel, the man who was once his lover, and the being which saved his soul; saved him from the grasp of Hell and from his own self-loathing. Stands before his companion in an almost hopeless-war and rejoices.
They have won.
It is now his time to go.
Castiel’s vessel is gone, but Dean still sees the kind blue eyes stare at him with the same intensity and compassion and love as always.
It’s his end, and it’s a glorious vision that he will take with him.
Dean leans up and kisses him, presses his lips to where they would meet if Castiel weren’t an angel. He’s being burned away, and he smiles into the kiss. Standing on tip-toes as he goes, he giggles at the thought of how far they’ve come; running what’s left of his finger tips, of who he is, on the angel he had come to love.
He burns himself away, burns himself into Castiel, just as Castiel burns into him.