|My Soul to Take
Author: sunsetdelilah PM
Brief ficlet from Castiel's point of view, as he watches from a distance while Dean works through the grief of his father's death. One-shot, written per request for a friend. Hints of Destiel.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Angst/Hurt/Comfort - Castiel & Dean W. - Words: 718 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 8 - Published: 03-01-11 - Status: Complete - id: 6787694
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: Written per request for a friend. I hope you enjoy! Feedback is always welcome.
My Soul to Take
Castiel does not claim to understand the human emotion of grief, though he has seen his fair share of the repercussions of death in his many years. He has observed both the resilience and weakness of the human soul in one of its most fragile states.
And yet watching Dean Winchester, his most recent heavenly assignment, he is suddenly stricken by the force of one human's grief. It is night, and the burning pyre casts long, flickering shadows on the tense faces of the brothers as they watch their father's body burn. Both are standing straight and rigid, frozen as they watch. Castiel feels the pain radiating from their very souls, and thinks that if he were human maybe he would weep for them.
Castiel's assigned human stands a head shorter than his younger brother. Dean's jaw works silently and tears have gathered in his eyes, yet there is something so fundamentally protective in the way he stands that Castiel sees a softening in the younger brother's stance as he draws strength from Dean.
The angel moves forward and raises one invisible hand as though to place it reassuringly on Dean's shoulder; he stops, barely an inch away, and tries to ignore the way his fingers yearn to reach out and touch the man. Castiel has watched humans before but none have captivated him the way this one has, and in his more contemplative moments he wonders how long he can keep the other angels from noticing his developing fondness for Dean Winchester.
In the end, though, Castiel realizes he doesn't care, and that he would gladly spend his days keeping watch over Dean whether he was ordered to or not. He finds it undesirable that he is not able to reveal himself to his charge just yet, but he knows the day will come and until then he waits patiently.
Later, Castiel is lurking in the shadows of Bobby Singer's scrapyard, watching with interest as Dean painstakingly begins to rebuild his '67 Chevy Impala. He wonders if it is pride that he feels, seeing his human – when did he start thinking of Dean as his? – so determined to move on, move past the grief and allow his soul to shine with something more than the pain of loss.
As he watches, he sees Sam, the younger brother, attempt to offer comfort. Castiel cannot hear the words because he is blinded by Dean's denial, his hapless fury, the weight of responsibility that he can sense the man fears, and he shifts restlessly.
Sam is gone and Dean turns back to the Impala, venting his frustration on one of the windows. The only noise is the shattering of glass and then Dean's anguished breathing in the silence that follows. Castiel closes his eyes as he allows himself a brief moment of emotional indulgence to share in the human's pain, and then he moves closer, seeking out the calming presence he has somehow come to associate with his fierce and broken human.
Castiel's wings unfurl with a rustle unheard by Dean, who is staring off into space, oblivious to his presence. The angel closes his fingers into loose fists to resist the impulse to rest the back of his hand against Dean's cheek. Instead he rolls his shoulders back and his wings make a soft noise, whispering in an unfelt embrace as they curl protectively around Dean's immobile form; not touching, never actually touching. Castiel whispers then, softly, in Enochian, but he pours his grace into his words and if there is something of love in his tone too then he isn't aware of it.
Dean shows no sign of having heard. He hasn't. Yet all the same he looks up at the sky and a wry smile twists his lips. He nods to himself, and although Castiel is unable to interpret his gestures, the human's soul is no longer throbbing like an open wound. A spark of hope has come to rest there, a glowing ember, one that Castiel intends to nurture and protect if it is the last thing he does.