Benediction
Castiel was thinking more and more like a human would.
At first he’d hated it a little. He had tried to hide it, tried to ignore it, resented Dean for it because he knew, secretly, that the hunter had been the start of it all.
He hadn’t been able to fool Uriel. “You care for him,” his brother had said, his voice low and incredulous.
Castiel hadn’t looked at him. “Isn’t it natural that I should? He is important to all of us.”
“Don’t play ignorant, Castiel. You know perfectly well that that wasn’t what I meant. You like him.”
Castiel hadn’t said anything.
“It won’t do, you know. He is already proving uncooperative, and you know what he means to our mission. You cannot let yourself become sympathetic. He is only human, after all.”
“I know.”
“His purpose is to help us win this war, in the name of our father. That is all.”
“His will be done,” Castiel had replied automatically.
But was it God’s will? Who were they to presume? Their father had abandoned them a long time ago.
It had frightened him, that doubt. What had frightened him even more was that he had confessed his fears to Dean - no rhyme or reason behind that. Just the two of them, sitting in a park in the late Fall, but Castiel had felt safer there than he had felt with his heavenly siblings for longer than he could remember.
He had tried to explain it away at first. After all, he had been the one to get to Dean in Hell. He had healed the young man’s soul, restored his body - it was understandable that he would feel a bond with him. Dean was, essentially, his creation. Or re-creation, at least. Dean was a job well done.
But then there were other things that just couldn’t be justified. Like that one time when he had joined the two Winchester brothers in a bar after a hunt. It hadn’t been a big deal. Sam had bought him a beer, and the two men had just been talking, going over old stories, both more relaxed than usual. Castiel had mostly been listening. Dean was smiling, teasing his brother, and Castiel felt a strange bubble of lightness in his stomach as he watched him. It had taken him some time to realise that it was happiness.
It simply would not do. Angels were all about the bigger picture. Beings as ancient and powerful as they were had no time for transient feelings. Castiel had known some emotions, of course. He had felt fierce joy, he had felt cold fury, and he had felt the peace of Heaven. But those were all noble feelings; they had a purpose behind them. He had no business to experience these flashes of… of something else.
It was a strange and frightening process. Castiel had been trapped, it had felt, between two states of being. His sympathies had exiled him from Heaven, and yet there was still so much he did not understand. Death, for instance. He didn’t understand the grief humans felt over death. As long as their loved ones had led a good life they would have gone to Paradise, and human life was so short. They all knew that death was an inevitability, and yet it was always such a surprise. Human lives hadn’t mattered that much at all to Castiel before he had known Dean. He was older than the earth, and while he loved humanity as part of God’s creation, individual humans were no more than brief, miraculous sparks. But Dean cared so much, and Castiel couldn’t reason it away. That was why he had made himself scarce after the deaths of the Harvelle women. He respected that Dean needed to grieve for them, and that Castiel’s cool rationality would only upset him. Not upsetting Dean mattered to him now.
Castiel had begun to care for Sam as well. Not in the same way of course - Sam wasn’t his human - but he was… fond of the younger Winchester brother. He recognised a little of his own struggle in Sam. They had both questioned what was right, what their true path was. They had both done things because they thought it was for the greater good. They had both been mistaken. Sam was the child Dean had gone to Hell for. Dean’s overpowering need to protect his brother was what had brought Castiel into play in the first place.
Castiel wanted to protect Dean in the same way. He remembered when they had first emerged from the pit together, how he had cradled that bruised, trembling soul. These were things Dean would never know. He would never remember what Castiel had looked like in his pure form, nor how he had sheltered Dean beneath his wings. He had begun to ache for Dean’s guilt and self-loathing. He wanted to shake the young man until all the pain fell away and Dean saw how precious his life was. It made Castiel feel as if there was a knot inside him. Hadn’t he done everything to prove to Dean what he was worth? Hadn’t Castiel fought for him, fallen for him, died for him? Didn’t Dean realise that he had brought an Angel of the Lord to his knees? That it didn’t matter what Dean had been through to Castiel, because every time he looked at the hunter he wanted to start singing?
The things he had begun to feel were… were beyond emotions. He felt ashamed of it, not because it was wrong in itself, but because it wasn’t what Dean wanted from him. He wondered whether it would have made a difference if he had chosen a woman as his vessel. Jimmy had been a natural choice. He was a man of faith, and he had given his consent. And Jimmy had been dying, although he hadn’t known it when Castiel had taken possession of him. Humans do not just start to hear the voices of angels. It took something unnatural for two dimensions to merge like that - a tumor pressing against the cerebral cortex, for example. He would have started to get sick in a few weeks, and then he and his family would have had to suffer the long, painful process of the human body slowly destroying itself. It was better this way, Castiel had reasoned at the time, all cold angelic impartiality. They would suffer less. That made it right. Now, in hindsight, he wasn’t so sure. Humans have a strange habit of choosing certain paths despite the fact that they know they will be painful.
It was all irrelevant now. Jimmy had passed on some time ago, and this earthly form was his. His. It had been natural to choose to be a man as well. Angels in their pure form have no gender to speak of, yet when they walk on Earth they almost always take a male form. It is easier to be male; women are made to fight too much. Castiel knows that most men are secretly thankful that they weren’t born female, grateful to have been given the easy option. And so Castiel had taken male form as well. He liked to think that it would not have made any difference either way to Dean, but he couldn’t help but wonder. Funny, how gender mattered so much to humans. Funny how they thought that sexuality was significant somehow, to the point that they had a set of words for who you were attracted to in order to neatly define everyone. It was as if none of them realised that they were all just souls underneath, that none of it was really important. Would it have mattered to Dean? In a way, Castiel didn’t want to know.
It didn't matter now anyway. The war was over, Lucifer was bound, and Dean had walked away. Castiel knew from experience that what he was feeling now was pain. There was something far baser there as well - jealousy. He was angry with himself for that. He had no business to covet anything for himself, especially now when there was so much work to be done. Heaven was in a state of chaos, and they needed him. He wanted to return, to bury his experiences on Earth, leave it behind just as Dean had left him. Dean had not chosen him, and Castiel needed to accept that.
So why was he here, standing in the darkness opposite the house of the young woman Dean was driving to see? What did he hope to achieve? All it meant was more pain. Dean was only a couple of miles away now. He would pull up outside the house, ring the doorbell, and the woman would let him in. That was the choice Dean had made. It wasn’t for Castiel to tell him that he was wrong, that it would fix nothing, that no one would love him as much as he did. Dean was all about the free will, after all.
He was there because he loved Dean. Because even watching Dean leave him, watching him go to someone else, someone as different from Castiel as it was possible to be… it was still being with Dean. And it was to be his last chance to do that. He waited in the shadows, the knot in his insides twisting painfully. He had thought that it might have become easier now he was restored to his full angelic powers, but if anything it was worse. He remembers the time that Dean had told him that he hadn’t laughed so hard in years, and how good he had felt to know he had managed to give his friend happiness, however inadvertently. He was respecting Dean’s choice. He was letting Dean lead his own life. He wasn’t going to interfere anymore, especially not for selfish reasons. Just one more glimpse, just to say goodbye. He was respecting Dean’s choice.
He wondered what this woman would say when she sees the mark of Castiel’s hand on Dean’s shoulder. He wondered if Dean will tell her about him. The thought makes him feel sick.
He didn’t have to wait long. He could feel Dean drawing closer even before he heard the low rumble of the Impala’s engine. He watched as Dean pulled up, and then just sat there in the car, staring at the house he’d driven all this way to get to.
Just go, Castiel thought. This is what you wanted, and I’m not going to stop you. Please don’t drag this out any longer. Please just go. Castiel was a creature older than the Earth itself, and yet those minutes watching Dean watch that house were amongst the longest he had ever known. The night air was heavy around him; there were crickets singing and faraway music from one of the neighboring houses, and the whole world was completely oblivious to what was happening. Castiel knew that he should leave, because standing here in the dark wasn’t going to do any good, but he couldn’t as long as he could still see Dean. He was rooted to the spot, staring and staring until the rest of the world was swallowed in darkness, and only Dean was there. Finally, Dean moved. He opened the car door slowly, quietly, and Castiel felt his insides twinge. Miserable and nauseous and all too human.
Dean leant against the car door to close it with as little noise as possible; he clearly wasn’t ready to announce his arrival. He took a step towards the house, and Castiel sighed softly, not hating that he was in pain because it felt good now to know that he was capable of feeling something. He had loved with a pure, bruising intensity, and it wasn’t fair to think that Dean could ever reciprocate. There had been times, it was true, when Dean had looked at him and it was as if they understood each other so well that no words were necessary. As if Dean understood that they were bound together with something far stronger than any two humans could ever experience. Perhaps he had been mistaken; perhaps he had only been seeing what he wanted to see. And even if he had been right, it didn’t make any difference. Dean hadn’t chosen him.
Castiel watched as Dean walked slowly up to the house, and he wanted it to be over already. Dean stopped again, and Castiel almost cursed him. Just go. This is what you wanted, now take it! Let it be finished.
Dean’s shoulders grew tense and he turned around slowly. He had that look about him as if he’s on a hunt, and Castiel was momentarily bewildered. He couldn’t sense anything near them, and he didn’t know what was wrong. But then Dean looked over to the exact spot where Castiel stood hidden, and the angel realised that it’s him.
There was no more hesitation then. Dean strode across the street towards him, even though Castiel was sure that the hunter couldn’t actually see him. Realising that there was no point in avoiding him now, Castiel stepped forward to meet him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean snarled, fingers gripping onto the lapels of Castiel’s coat. Castiel knew that Dean was trying to be angry, because anger was easier to feel than anything else. He was trying to be angry, but really he was heartbroken and lost and terrified. Castiel stood his ground, silently. “You can’t fucking do this to me, Cas! You can’t just… I’ve made my choice, okay? And… and it’s for the best. I’m not gonna… I can’t live that life anymore. I promised. And you… you can’t just… you left, just like everyone else. Go back to your fucking Paradise.” Dean shoved him hard in the chest, but Castiel didn’t move. “Just leave already! Your job’s done now; you can go home. Stop… stop doing this to me. Stop… just…” Dean was hitting him now, raining blows that he must have known were futile against Castiel’s chest. It must have been hurting him, and Castiel considered making him stop just for that, but he knew it wouldn’t make Dean feel any better if he did. “You… fucking… idiot… you… it’s not fair… I can’t…”
Eventually, Dean tired. Castiel took the opportunity to grab hold of his arms and hold him at bay. The man struggled for a moment before going still, breathless, head bowed.
“Are you finished?” Castiel asked.
Dean nodded. “I guess.”
Castiel let go of him, and Dean fell to his knees on the sidewalk. The angel knelt down beside him, oblivious to how strange they must look. “I needed to say goodbye,” he said. “After everything, I… I seem to be having trouble letting go. I thought it might be easier if I regained my place in Heaven, but I was wrong. I think you may have… broken me.”
Dean laughed humourlessly. “I broke you?”
“Yes. I think I may have forgotten how to exist without you, and… and I don’t want to.”
Dean looked up at him, and there was something so frightened and shattered in his eyes that Castiel can’t help reaching out to stroke his cheek. Dean’s face was cold, a little rough with stubble, and he blinked rapidly at the touch of Castiel’s fingers. He was so fragile, and Castiel wanted to keep him safe.
“You can’t…” Dean tried to say, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please…”
“It’s all right,” Castiel replied, something painful and sweet at the same time in his chest. “I never wanted to leave. You only ever had to ask.”
Dean laughed weakly. “I don’t have the-”
“Yes, you do. After everything, you do. I wanted you to.”
“I can’t just-”
“This isn’t where you belong,” Castiel said. “You belong…”
“With you.”
“Yes.”
Castiel knew that something was about to change irrevocably between them. Dean knew it too, and there was so much awe and apprehension in his eyes that Castiel didn’t allow his own fear to show. He had to be strong for his human now. He kept still, kneeling in the street, watching Dean as he moved closer, moistened his lips nervously, eyes flickering over Castiel’s face. They were so close now; Castiel could feel Dean’s breath ghosting over the cold skin on his cheek, and it gave him a pleasant trembling sensation. Dean looked up at him one last time as though expecting a reprimand, and then he softly pressed his mouth against Castiel’s.
Castiel kept his eyes open at first. It was his first taste of sensuality, and he wanted to remember everything. But them Dean opened his lips and Castiel’s eye’s fluttered closed involuntarily. He felt almost like his insides were melting into shivers and he made a soft sound of pleasure. Dean pushed his tongue into his mouth, and Castiel shuddered, such intimacy completely alien to him. Dean guided him slowly, teaching him pleasure, and Castiel realised that he was hungry for it. He hadn’t known. He hadn’t known before exactly what he wanted, but he was beginning to understand now. He reached up with feverish hands, and touched his fingertips to Dean’s forehead. He knew enough about the ways of humans to realize that whatever was about to happen between them should not take place in a suburban street.
Dean didn’t seem to notice the sudden change in location, nor did he pause to take in his surroundings in the empty hotel room Castiel had found for them. He was almost aggressive in his desire now, biting at the angel’s mouth, fingers digging in as if he’s scared that all this will just slip away again. Castiel knew that this rough treatment would hurt a human, but he can take it. He understood what it was Dean needed from him, and he was more than happy to give it. He would have given it long ago, if only Dean had asked.
He pushed Dean backwards onto the bed. They fell down together, and Castiel could feel his borrowed heart hammering in his chest. Dean was making low, desperate noises as they kissed. Castiel wasn’t prepared for this. He knew the technicalities of what was involved in these things of course, but nothing could have made him understand how it would feel. How everything was hot and shivery at the same time, how he couldn’t catch his breath, how even though they were touching, he couldn’t get close enough to Dean. He felt himself grow hard, his body taking over now, showing him what to do.
“Cas…” Dean’s voice was ragged with want, and he was ripping their clothes away, trying to bring Castiel closer to him, pupils blown and lips bruised red with kisses. Castiel knew what he needed. Dean had chosen Castiel, finally, thankfully, and he needed affirmation that he was right. He needed to know that he is finally wanted, completely. He needed for Castiel to take possession of him, to make all the pain go away, to not stop, not let go, until everything that’s broken and dirty and shameful doesn’t matter anymore.
Castiel needed it too; he needed to make Dean his completely. He should have done this before, he could see that now. He had been foolish to doubt, to fear the consequences - he should have made Dean see that it would always have been okay between them. He should never have let Dean walk away. He still had much to learn, and he could still make mistakes. He would make up for it now.
Dean’s naked skin smelled so good. He knew this body so well - he had been the one to piece it back together - but this is the first time he had explored it like this. He was learning how to touch Dean in ways that make the human arch against him in pleasure. Everything was so damn fascinating.
The pleasure he felt when he pushed himself into Dean’s body was so intense that he cried out in surprise. The human body was surely designed for great things, and Castiel wondered through the haze of desire clouding his brain how anyone could doubt the existence of God when it was possible to feel this good. Dean’s fingers were digging into his back, and Castiel was aware that this was causing the human some pain, but he also knew that if he stopped now Dean would never forgive him.
They began to move together, Castiel’s body taking over once more, and he thrilled at every noise of pleasure he manages to draw from Dean. It’s frightening, loving someone this much. These sensations were making his head spin. It’s as if he is the ocean and Dean is the shore, or maybe the other way round. Castiel isn’t sure it matters.
He could feel heat and pressure building up inside of him, and it was almost too much. His fingers twined in the sheets as he struggled to find some kind of purchase. Dean touched his face, drawing him close, soothing him. “It’s okay, Cas,” he said shakily. “I got you.”
Castiel realised that perhaps Dean wasn’t the only one who needed rescuing.
There was nothing to fear now. All he could do was chase after the heat that was enveloping him, feel himself fall into shuddering fragments, love love love the way that Dean writhed against him. It was, he realised, a form of worship. It was a prayer of the flesh.
Our Father
He had fought for his father so many times, but maybe that hadn’t been what God intended. His father had given him the ability to love, to give pleasure, to feel it for himself.
Which art in Heaven
And this was greater than anything he had experienced in Paradise. The way his flesh tingled, the way Dean arched up towards him, the way it felt like his heart would explode when they kissed…
Hallowed be Thy name
And Castiel couldn’t help crying out to God, crying out his thanks, that he was allowed this.
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done
And this has to be God’s will, has to be, otherwise why would it feel so good?
On Earth as it is in Heaven
Allowing mortals to glimpse Paradise like this. This is what they fought for.
Give us this day our daily bread
He can’t stop. He bites at Dean’s jaw, traces his tongue along the hunter’s neck, tasting of salt, feeling the throbbing pulse point, feeling how Dean’s insides are trembling now.
Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us
They were forgiven now, they have to be; this has to be a sign of benediction. He’d banished the demons that were eating at Dean’s soul.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil
How could this be thought of as a sin? Love. It’s love, and they’re both saved by it. Everything was tight liquid heat, and Castiel didn’t care anymore if it destroyed him.
For Thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory
Dean cried out wildly, clinging to him in desperation, and Castiel felt Dean’s body clamp down on him, wave after wave after wave, and it blinds him with sparks of pleasure.
For ever and ever
He can’t see, can’t think, can only cry Dean’s name, one final prayer, as he feels himself shatter, come undone, broken up by bursts of ecstasy that become almost unbearable in their sweetness before dying away, only to rise up again and again.
Amen amen amen.
He held onto Dean tightly, both of them shaken, and kissed away the tears from Dean’s eyelashes. This was something sacred, something so pure neither of them could fully comprehend it yet. Of one thing Castiel was absolutely sure - it wasn’t falling. It was flying.
For the second time in their acquaintance, Castiel holds Dean Winchester close, and shelters him beneath his wings.