Was the Letter You Left One Lie Long - Chapter 2
Title: Was the Letter You Left One Lie Long? - Chapter 2
Author: primipassi
Rating: (eventual) NC-17 Genre and/or pairing: Dean/Castiel, Chaplain!Castiel AU
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Language, Eventual Explicit Scenes, Religious Extremes
Word Count: 1414 - this chapter - WIP
Summary: Castiel, one of two Chaplains at Marigold Hospital, had dealt with a variety of people, seeing as how this was a religiously pluralistic environment that also housed many personality types. Then there was Dean, whose blatant sexual advances had rattled him well past his strict Catholic core. Suddenly, Castiel was doubting himself and the people he'd followed his entire life.
Castiel huffed in spite of himself, and left the room in considerable haste. He really did need to grab his rosary from the hospital's chapel, though the prospect of getting away from all this for a few moments definitely didn't make the trip any worse. He heard the brothers begin to speak just as he passed the door frame. Unfortunately, they did so in a manner that made it obvious they didn't know they could be heard pretty much all the way down the hall.
Dean hummed, "Damn, I like 'em demanding," he said, and Sam made a kind of noise that was similar to a growl.
"Dean, he's a Chaplain, and a Catholic one, at that, you can't make a toy out of him, he won't let you," he warned. Castiel felt his appreciation for the younger brother swelling. At least he knew where he stood.
"Sam, do you honestly think all I want is sex? I'm hurt!" he played the obviously fake indignant card, and Castiel fought the urge to punch the wall, if only to remind Dean that he could still hear him. This man was simply infuriating.
"Very cute," Sam shot back sarcastically, and Dean laughed.
Castiel tried to stop himself from envisioning what Dean looked like at that very moment - the teeth, the eyes, the cheeks. The hands - Stop. And that really nice butt. NO, Castiel, Stop it right now! It took him a moment, and a couple of close calls. He almost stumbled into the nurses that were rushing about, but he finally got his mind back in the right place, luckily, before his friend down south caught up.
He really didn't need any more fire added to that flame. He'd had about as much of Dean for one day that he needed. It was for this reason that he took an extra minute in the Chapel to beg God to forgive him in advance, fearing lest Dean should attempt to provoke him again, he may snap one of two ways. Neither of which would be considered okay, and one he was fairly sure he wouldn't be able to forgive himself for. It was times like these that he truly questioned his choice to become a Chaplain.
Actually, this was the first time he really had.
Castiel loved people. Each person he met he struggled to understand, and once he did, he knew he'd never forget them. He wanted to give people hope, even if it was false hope. He wanted people to feel that press of assurance - God had a plan, and whether it led to Heaven, or stayed here, they were in good hands.
Castiel shivered. Dean was something he could handle, but uncertainty was not. He'd rather break all his values and ideals than completely lose who he was. Then again, other than a Chaplain, what exactly was Castiel? He hadn't spoken to his brother in years. Uriel was nothing more than fellow chaplain, and they, in fact butted heads far too often for Castiel to consider him a friend. He'd always chided to himself that God was his friend. God was his family. God was all he needed, and honestly, Castiel believed it.
You reap what you sow, as the saying goes, and right now Castiel was feeling that seed cracking something open in a place that was considerably more tender than any real organ. Tiny pricks of emotions he'd worked so hard to pent up behind a sturdy wall began to seep in. He really didn't need this at the moment, but there wasn't exactly anything he could do about it right now, other than mask it as best he could. The bandage would only hold for so long, but God willing, it would get him through the rest of the day until he got home.
Take a breath; it took three tries before he felt that satisfied feeling of successfully filling and releasing all of the oxygen in his chest. By then, he had steeled himself for whatever the rest of the day would bring.
Really, it couldn't get any more awful, could it?
Castiel wished he could banish that thought the moment it cropped up into his mind. He was a man of faith and a man of God. However, he was also a firm believer in luck, and now he had the horrible feeling he was headed for a fortune that wouldn't be easily divorced. If at all, that is.
Castiel's knees were beginning to tingle, and he finally picked up on the fact that he hadn't moved from his kneeling position in front of the alter for the past ten minutes. He cracked his neck The noise of popping bones cut through the dead silence like a knife and shocked his ears in a way that can only follow an extended lack of sound.
He winced as he pushed himself up off the ground, feeling little needles rippling all over his lower legs and knees.
I am getting too old for this, he mused. He'd been telling himself that ever since he turned twenty, though, so it didn't pack as much of a proverbial punch as it did mere comic relief from his constant contact with death and illness.
Castiel wondered, idly, how bad his knees would be by the time he was fifty. Or sixty. The thought, though, brought up something wildly more perplexing. Where did he plan - no, plan wasn't the correct word - want - where did he want to be when he was fifty or sixty?
There was an aching in his chest, and he ruefully glanced up at the hand carved wooden alter. For some disturbingly ineffable reason, he knew he wouldn't want to still be here. The idea of growing old around this bleakness would make even the most righteous bend from its morbidity.
As for the thought of dying like this? Castiel shook his head, denying that thought the right to further access. He needed to refrain from thinking so intensely, or it would mold him into a hapless ball of self pity and self loathing, and all things that had to do with the self, which wasn't who he was here for.
He was not Castiel who wore holiday socks because he couldn't resist the temptation when he spotted them in the sale bin at the store. He was not Castiel who had a pet rabbit that he kept, even though it was against his apartment complex's policy. He was not the Castiel that sometimes enjoyed watching How I Met Your Mother while eating uncooked ramen noodles because he loathed the way popcorn always got stuck in his teeth.
No, the moment he walked into the hospital building, he was Chaplain Castiel - rock hard, no nonsense, straight to the facts and sensitive only when faced with the misfortune of others. That was the role he played here. It was, in its own way, a kind of ploy. He got a sort of selfish satisfaction out of being selfless.
Although, there were times when those lines blurred and disappeared, and his real self - the one behind the mask - got to touch the fighting spirit of the ill. It was like finally feeling the sun after having hid away in a deep, cold and empty well. Is was moments like those that almost made Castiel's job worth it.
Almost.
One can only handle so much death. You can make light of it; you can even marvel in its wonders. Most people, however, are frightened by the mere idea. Castiel, he feared death like one does the teeth of a lion, knowing if it were right in front of him, he'd be petrified, but seeing as how it was not nearby, it clearly wasn't really a problem that adjures contemplation.
Not to say it wouldn't jump out at any single moment, and just like that, he'd be dead, but it was unlikely. That was what had Castiel so unsettled, though. Being here was like working at the zoo, in this sense. He felt that death was clinging ever closer, and it wouldn't hesitate to bite the hand that fed it.
There was something that was of paramount that Castiel felt, but could never really understand. Until now, that was.
Castiel fisted his hands. Why now? What had instigated this epiphany, he wondered. He knew the answer, he just didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.
Author: primipassi
Rating: (eventual) NC-17 Genre and/or pairing: Dean/Castiel, Chaplain!Castiel AU
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Language, Eventual Explicit Scenes, Religious Extremes
Word Count: 1414 - this chapter - WIP
Summary: Castiel, one of two Chaplains at Marigold Hospital, had dealt with a variety of people, seeing as how this was a religiously pluralistic environment that also housed many personality types. Then there was Dean, whose blatant sexual advances had rattled him well past his strict Catholic core. Suddenly, Castiel was doubting himself and the people he'd followed his entire life.
Castiel huffed in spite of himself, and left the room in considerable haste. He really did need to grab his rosary from the hospital's chapel, though the prospect of getting away from all this for a few moments definitely didn't make the trip any worse. He heard the brothers begin to speak just as he passed the door frame. Unfortunately, they did so in a manner that made it obvious they didn't know they could be heard pretty much all the way down the hall.
Dean hummed, "Damn, I like 'em demanding," he said, and Sam made a kind of noise that was similar to a growl.
"Dean, he's a Chaplain, and a Catholic one, at that, you can't make a toy out of him, he won't let you," he warned. Castiel felt his appreciation for the younger brother swelling. At least he knew where he stood.
"Sam, do you honestly think all I want is sex? I'm hurt!" he played the obviously fake indignant card, and Castiel fought the urge to punch the wall, if only to remind Dean that he could still hear him. This man was simply infuriating.
"Very cute," Sam shot back sarcastically, and Dean laughed.
Castiel tried to stop himself from envisioning what Dean looked like at that very moment - the teeth, the eyes, the cheeks. The hands - Stop. And that really nice butt. NO, Castiel, Stop it right now! It took him a moment, and a couple of close calls. He almost stumbled into the nurses that were rushing about, but he finally got his mind back in the right place, luckily, before his friend down south caught up.
He really didn't need any more fire added to that flame. He'd had about as much of Dean for one day that he needed. It was for this reason that he took an extra minute in the Chapel to beg God to forgive him in advance, fearing lest Dean should attempt to provoke him again, he may snap one of two ways. Neither of which would be considered okay, and one he was fairly sure he wouldn't be able to forgive himself for. It was times like these that he truly questioned his choice to become a Chaplain.
Actually, this was the first time he really had.
Castiel loved people. Each person he met he struggled to understand, and once he did, he knew he'd never forget them. He wanted to give people hope, even if it was false hope. He wanted people to feel that press of assurance - God had a plan, and whether it led to Heaven, or stayed here, they were in good hands.
Castiel shivered. Dean was something he could handle, but uncertainty was not. He'd rather break all his values and ideals than completely lose who he was. Then again, other than a Chaplain, what exactly was Castiel? He hadn't spoken to his brother in years. Uriel was nothing more than fellow chaplain, and they, in fact butted heads far too often for Castiel to consider him a friend. He'd always chided to himself that God was his friend. God was his family. God was all he needed, and honestly, Castiel believed it.
You reap what you sow, as the saying goes, and right now Castiel was feeling that seed cracking something open in a place that was considerably more tender than any real organ. Tiny pricks of emotions he'd worked so hard to pent up behind a sturdy wall began to seep in. He really didn't need this at the moment, but there wasn't exactly anything he could do about it right now, other than mask it as best he could. The bandage would only hold for so long, but God willing, it would get him through the rest of the day until he got home.
Take a breath; it took three tries before he felt that satisfied feeling of successfully filling and releasing all of the oxygen in his chest. By then, he had steeled himself for whatever the rest of the day would bring.
Really, it couldn't get any more awful, could it?
Castiel wished he could banish that thought the moment it cropped up into his mind. He was a man of faith and a man of God. However, he was also a firm believer in luck, and now he had the horrible feeling he was headed for a fortune that wouldn't be easily divorced. If at all, that is.
Castiel's knees were beginning to tingle, and he finally picked up on the fact that he hadn't moved from his kneeling position in front of the alter for the past ten minutes. He cracked his neck The noise of popping bones cut through the dead silence like a knife and shocked his ears in a way that can only follow an extended lack of sound.
He winced as he pushed himself up off the ground, feeling little needles rippling all over his lower legs and knees.
I am getting too old for this, he mused. He'd been telling himself that ever since he turned twenty, though, so it didn't pack as much of a proverbial punch as it did mere comic relief from his constant contact with death and illness.
Castiel wondered, idly, how bad his knees would be by the time he was fifty. Or sixty. The thought, though, brought up something wildly more perplexing. Where did he plan - no, plan wasn't the correct word - want - where did he want to be when he was fifty or sixty?
There was an aching in his chest, and he ruefully glanced up at the hand carved wooden alter. For some disturbingly ineffable reason, he knew he wouldn't want to still be here. The idea of growing old around this bleakness would make even the most righteous bend from its morbidity.
As for the thought of dying like this? Castiel shook his head, denying that thought the right to further access. He needed to refrain from thinking so intensely, or it would mold him into a hapless ball of self pity and self loathing, and all things that had to do with the self, which wasn't who he was here for.
He was not Castiel who wore holiday socks because he couldn't resist the temptation when he spotted them in the sale bin at the store. He was not Castiel who had a pet rabbit that he kept, even though it was against his apartment complex's policy. He was not the Castiel that sometimes enjoyed watching How I Met Your Mother while eating uncooked ramen noodles because he loathed the way popcorn always got stuck in his teeth.
No, the moment he walked into the hospital building, he was Chaplain Castiel - rock hard, no nonsense, straight to the facts and sensitive only when faced with the misfortune of others. That was the role he played here. It was, in its own way, a kind of ploy. He got a sort of selfish satisfaction out of being selfless.
Although, there were times when those lines blurred and disappeared, and his real self - the one behind the mask - got to touch the fighting spirit of the ill. It was like finally feeling the sun after having hid away in a deep, cold and empty well. Is was moments like those that almost made Castiel's job worth it.
Almost.
One can only handle so much death. You can make light of it; you can even marvel in its wonders. Most people, however, are frightened by the mere idea. Castiel, he feared death like one does the teeth of a lion, knowing if it were right in front of him, he'd be petrified, but seeing as how it was not nearby, it clearly wasn't really a problem that adjures contemplation.
Not to say it wouldn't jump out at any single moment, and just like that, he'd be dead, but it was unlikely. That was what had Castiel so unsettled, though. Being here was like working at the zoo, in this sense. He felt that death was clinging ever closer, and it wouldn't hesitate to bite the hand that fed it.
There was something that was of paramount that Castiel felt, but could never really understand. Until now, that was.
Castiel fisted his hands. Why now? What had instigated this epiphany, he wondered. He knew the answer, he just didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.