Fic. Rest in the Blackest of Nights (Supernatural, PG13)
Rest in the Blackest of Nights [Supernatural, Dean/Castiel, PG13, 440 words, allusions to episode 4x16. Don't own anything to do with SPN, honest! Written for spn_castiel's comment fic meme.]
Rest in the Blackest of Nights
There were moments when Castiel felt helpless.
He was an angel of the Lord, a warrior who fought for his beliefs and upheld them even when others began to doubt. He was a soldier, loyal until the very end, and he had enough faith in himself to know that he would not sway from that loyalty.
Angels could be killed; he'd watched as many of his brethren had died on battlefields, old and new. But they were strong - their physical strength matched only by their strength of will. Even residing in the body of a willing human host, the angels were stronger than demons ever could be.
Humans were fragile and easily broken.
Even those who pretended otherwise were; many shouldered burdens that were never theirs to bear. Others were pawns in the games of others. Some fell into both categories.
He felt compassion for Dean, and a deep sadness that his charge had been unfortunate enough to be included in that group. Despite his belief that he was unworthy of the faith Castiel and God had placed in him - even disregarding the prophecy - Dean was the most worthy human being Castiel had ever known.
His fear, his disbelief, and his unblinking desire to save as many people as he could, while he could, made up the man that would save everyone - human and angels alike. He knew when he made mistakes - he knew how many he had already made - and he was trying desperately to atone for them.
Castiel wished that he could show Dean that he had no reason to redeem himself.
Despite his earlier words to the contrary, Castiel had taken up the habit of keeping an eye on the Winchester brothers, his charge in particular. More often than not he found himself standing guard over Dean when Sam left at night; something would have to be done there, and soon, but he would let Dean try and sort it out first, before he stepped in.
When he watched over Dean, helplessness set in.
In the depths of sleep, Dean's dreams held him tightly, rarely letting him rest. They faded into nightmares, memories of Hell that threatened to overcome him.
Castiel couldn't take those memories away, no matter how much he wished he could.
All he could do was brush them away, to the back of Dean's unconscious mind and hoped that it alleviated some of Dean's unrest.
It was all that he was able to do; it was important to him to do it.
It was better than just sitting around and not doing anything else.
He owed that much to Dean.
Rest in the Blackest of Nights
There were moments when Castiel felt helpless.
He was an angel of the Lord, a warrior who fought for his beliefs and upheld them even when others began to doubt. He was a soldier, loyal until the very end, and he had enough faith in himself to know that he would not sway from that loyalty.
Angels could be killed; he'd watched as many of his brethren had died on battlefields, old and new. But they were strong - their physical strength matched only by their strength of will. Even residing in the body of a willing human host, the angels were stronger than demons ever could be.
Humans were fragile and easily broken.
Even those who pretended otherwise were; many shouldered burdens that were never theirs to bear. Others were pawns in the games of others. Some fell into both categories.
He felt compassion for Dean, and a deep sadness that his charge had been unfortunate enough to be included in that group. Despite his belief that he was unworthy of the faith Castiel and God had placed in him - even disregarding the prophecy - Dean was the most worthy human being Castiel had ever known.
His fear, his disbelief, and his unblinking desire to save as many people as he could, while he could, made up the man that would save everyone - human and angels alike. He knew when he made mistakes - he knew how many he had already made - and he was trying desperately to atone for them.
Castiel wished that he could show Dean that he had no reason to redeem himself.
Despite his earlier words to the contrary, Castiel had taken up the habit of keeping an eye on the Winchester brothers, his charge in particular. More often than not he found himself standing guard over Dean when Sam left at night; something would have to be done there, and soon, but he would let Dean try and sort it out first, before he stepped in.
When he watched over Dean, helplessness set in.
In the depths of sleep, Dean's dreams held him tightly, rarely letting him rest. They faded into nightmares, memories of Hell that threatened to overcome him.
Castiel couldn't take those memories away, no matter how much he wished he could.
All he could do was brush them away, to the back of Dean's unconscious mind and hoped that it alleviated some of Dean's unrest.
It was all that he was able to do; it was important to him to do it.
It was better than just sitting around and not doing anything else.
He owed that much to Dean.