fic: my heart beats me senseless - Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, PG-13
Title: my heart beats me senseless (yes, gakked from my icon!)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Summary: I wrote this for a prompt at comment_fic but lost the URL to post it :p I think it's probably already been filled, anyway, so...
“Did you know?”
“Dean-”
“Did you know?“
Castiel cannot face him. He knows that Dean needs that from him - will misunderstand his averted gaze. But as always… Castiel is too weak. “That a second trip to Hell would transform your soul. Yes.” His words have the rhythm of a funeral dirge, its sad beats punctuated by the thumps of his heart. If anything of love is left in Dean Winchester, surely his love for his Cas is dead. The truth will have killed it. Castiel is as certain of this as he is torn by grief.
“But you- You pulled me out!” Dean cries. Castiel forces his eyes up from the floor.
Dean looks unchanged. There is still enough of Castiel’s “mojo” left to allow him to see a man’s soul. Or its absence. But the body Castiel had constructed for Dean is perfect. Dean is perfect, only-
“I did not say- I did not say what I pulled out.” Castiel stumbles over the words.
If Dean had been standing he would be on his knees. Castiel kneels, reaches for Dean as he slumps in his chair- Dean’s flinch screams the things his voice cannot, his breath lost with his faith in this last constant: that Castiel will always save him.
Castiel failed. As all things in Heaven have failed Dean Winchester. God turned away. Zachariah betrayed. Michael manipulated.
Castiel manipulated too. He had known the price - the price of saving Dean… was losing Dean’s soul. “Why?” Dean asks, a broken sound. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Dean is shaking. Castiel shakes also; tears leak from his eyes. His. He is bound by this body now, if not by time and the demands of the flesh. He wishes he could believe that he would not feel such pain if he were not fallen, but he knows that he would still hurt for what he’s done had he his full grace.
“The only other way to kill Lucifer was to tell Michael yes,” Castiel admits. “And for all his promises, his lies, he would have destroyed you.”
“And - what? This is better?” Dean’s despair slips beneath his rage, just as the green of his irises slips beneath an inky blackness. It should not surprise Castiel. This is a part of what Dean is now, but- He cannot help but startle at the sight.
Dean’s voice is a low roar; he emanates a hostile tension that Castiel should feel wary of. Instead Castiel feels hollow. Like he is the one whose soul was made molten and refashioned in Hellfire. And when Dean glimpses himself, over Castiel’s shoulder in the mirror on the hotel room wall- When the fury leeches out of Dean like liquid through a sieve, and only the despair - the pain - remains…
“Oh, God,” Dean sobs. The blackness fades and all that is left in his eyes is human, mortal and wounded. He does fall to his knees this time, forward and out of his chair. The sound of a man - this man, this hero - crying out to the God who will no longer hear him, because of his heroism…
Castiel catches Dean, holds him up by the shoulders. He presses their foreheads together and doesn’t know why the heartbreak doesn’t kill him, immortal or no.
Words pour from him as if burst through a dam. Fast, like if he doesn’t say it all - and he doesn’t say it quickly - Dean will be deaf to anything that might be said. “Yes. Yes, this is better. Impossibly, terribly, this is better. Dean, you are still you in every way that matters.”
The sobbing continues. Castiel clings to Dean with his fists, squeezes his eyes tight around his own tears. Dean’s hands form fists also. They rise at Castiel’s sides, stop beneath his ribcage, as if Dean can’t decide whether he wants to embrace Castiel and hold him, push Castiel away, or punch his way free from Castiel’s paltry explanations.
“You cannot go to Heaven. You cannot- He will not hear your prayers.” Castiel’s words are nearly a mumble; he doesn’t know if Dean is listening. He doesn’t know if Dean cares to listen. To Dean, it must seem as though He stopped listening long ago. “But, Dean, it would be the same if Michael had consumed your soul when he took you as his vessel. You would be gone now. In every way. Dean-” Dean is moving now. He’s decided. He wants Castiel away. He pushes at Castiel with weak fists; Castiel holds on tight. Speaks louder, over Dean’s ragged breathing and muffled protests.
“I could not let that happen,” Castiel explains. Confessions escape him in whispers, through Dean’s struggles. “It was selfish and it was wrong. I have no doubt that you will hate me for my deception, but I could not let you go. Your existence meant too much - means too much, altered though it is. Dean. You would have sacrificed yourself completely to save the world. And it would not have been a fair trade.”
He lets Dean break free, just enough that they can face one another. He takes Dean’s face between the palms of his hands before Dean can begin to rise off of his knees.
“How could you- How could you choose this for me?” Dean demands of him. His hands wrap around Castiel’s fists, but he’s stopped pushing Castiel away. “Cas. I’m a- I’m a monster. How could you want-”
Castiel doesn’t believe he deserves the implications of Dean’s questions. He deserves Dean’s hatred. He deserves accusation. Not this seeking for acceptance. But he can’t object to it. Hope, the one thing more irresistible than this man, begins to replace Castiel’s despair.
“Dean, when I met you, you were human. Flawed. Imperfect, even… tainted. I chose you over the Host, over Heaven, over my brethren.” Castiel couldn’t look at Dean when this discussion began. He can’t look away now. Dean’s eyes - brilliant, familiar green - entrance. Castiel wants to put his own view of Dean’s value in them, however he can. All he has for now are words. “I would choose you still. I choose you. Whatever the condition of your soul. I love you. Whatever the alternative… you will always be my choice.”
Castiel does not use infitives lightly. He has never been human - he understands the changeability of everything, even fate, even time. Before Dean, he would have said that only He is ’always’. Only He is Eternal.
Even immortals learn.
[end.]
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Summary: I wrote this for a prompt at comment_fic but lost the URL to post it :p I think it's probably already been filled, anyway, so...
“Did you know?”
“Dean-”
“Did you know?“
Castiel cannot face him. He knows that Dean needs that from him - will misunderstand his averted gaze. But as always… Castiel is too weak. “That a second trip to Hell would transform your soul. Yes.” His words have the rhythm of a funeral dirge, its sad beats punctuated by the thumps of his heart. If anything of love is left in Dean Winchester, surely his love for his Cas is dead. The truth will have killed it. Castiel is as certain of this as he is torn by grief.
“But you- You pulled me out!” Dean cries. Castiel forces his eyes up from the floor.
Dean looks unchanged. There is still enough of Castiel’s “mojo” left to allow him to see a man’s soul. Or its absence. But the body Castiel had constructed for Dean is perfect. Dean is perfect, only-
“I did not say- I did not say what I pulled out.” Castiel stumbles over the words.
If Dean had been standing he would be on his knees. Castiel kneels, reaches for Dean as he slumps in his chair- Dean’s flinch screams the things his voice cannot, his breath lost with his faith in this last constant: that Castiel will always save him.
Castiel failed. As all things in Heaven have failed Dean Winchester. God turned away. Zachariah betrayed. Michael manipulated.
Castiel manipulated too. He had known the price - the price of saving Dean… was losing Dean’s soul. “Why?” Dean asks, a broken sound. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Dean is shaking. Castiel shakes also; tears leak from his eyes. His. He is bound by this body now, if not by time and the demands of the flesh. He wishes he could believe that he would not feel such pain if he were not fallen, but he knows that he would still hurt for what he’s done had he his full grace.
“The only other way to kill Lucifer was to tell Michael yes,” Castiel admits. “And for all his promises, his lies, he would have destroyed you.”
“And - what? This is better?” Dean’s despair slips beneath his rage, just as the green of his irises slips beneath an inky blackness. It should not surprise Castiel. This is a part of what Dean is now, but- He cannot help but startle at the sight.
Dean’s voice is a low roar; he emanates a hostile tension that Castiel should feel wary of. Instead Castiel feels hollow. Like he is the one whose soul was made molten and refashioned in Hellfire. And when Dean glimpses himself, over Castiel’s shoulder in the mirror on the hotel room wall- When the fury leeches out of Dean like liquid through a sieve, and only the despair - the pain - remains…
“Oh, God,” Dean sobs. The blackness fades and all that is left in his eyes is human, mortal and wounded. He does fall to his knees this time, forward and out of his chair. The sound of a man - this man, this hero - crying out to the God who will no longer hear him, because of his heroism…
Castiel catches Dean, holds him up by the shoulders. He presses their foreheads together and doesn’t know why the heartbreak doesn’t kill him, immortal or no.
Words pour from him as if burst through a dam. Fast, like if he doesn’t say it all - and he doesn’t say it quickly - Dean will be deaf to anything that might be said. “Yes. Yes, this is better. Impossibly, terribly, this is better. Dean, you are still you in every way that matters.”
The sobbing continues. Castiel clings to Dean with his fists, squeezes his eyes tight around his own tears. Dean’s hands form fists also. They rise at Castiel’s sides, stop beneath his ribcage, as if Dean can’t decide whether he wants to embrace Castiel and hold him, push Castiel away, or punch his way free from Castiel’s paltry explanations.
“You cannot go to Heaven. You cannot- He will not hear your prayers.” Castiel’s words are nearly a mumble; he doesn’t know if Dean is listening. He doesn’t know if Dean cares to listen. To Dean, it must seem as though He stopped listening long ago. “But, Dean, it would be the same if Michael had consumed your soul when he took you as his vessel. You would be gone now. In every way. Dean-” Dean is moving now. He’s decided. He wants Castiel away. He pushes at Castiel with weak fists; Castiel holds on tight. Speaks louder, over Dean’s ragged breathing and muffled protests.
“I could not let that happen,” Castiel explains. Confessions escape him in whispers, through Dean’s struggles. “It was selfish and it was wrong. I have no doubt that you will hate me for my deception, but I could not let you go. Your existence meant too much - means too much, altered though it is. Dean. You would have sacrificed yourself completely to save the world. And it would not have been a fair trade.”
He lets Dean break free, just enough that they can face one another. He takes Dean’s face between the palms of his hands before Dean can begin to rise off of his knees.
“How could you- How could you choose this for me?” Dean demands of him. His hands wrap around Castiel’s fists, but he’s stopped pushing Castiel away. “Cas. I’m a- I’m a monster. How could you want-”
Castiel doesn’t believe he deserves the implications of Dean’s questions. He deserves Dean’s hatred. He deserves accusation. Not this seeking for acceptance. But he can’t object to it. Hope, the one thing more irresistible than this man, begins to replace Castiel’s despair.
“Dean, when I met you, you were human. Flawed. Imperfect, even… tainted. I chose you over the Host, over Heaven, over my brethren.” Castiel couldn’t look at Dean when this discussion began. He can’t look away now. Dean’s eyes - brilliant, familiar green - entrance. Castiel wants to put his own view of Dean’s value in them, however he can. All he has for now are words. “I would choose you still. I choose you. Whatever the condition of your soul. I love you. Whatever the alternative… you will always be my choice.”
Castiel does not use infitives lightly. He has never been human - he understands the changeability of everything, even fate, even time. Before Dean, he would have said that only He is ’always’. Only He is Eternal.
Even immortals learn.
[end.]