Title: Amazing Grace
Summary: Sequel to Heaven Don't Hear Me. Dark wings shaded their bodies from the shrapnel that they had created as they consummated what had been set in motion; as Lazarus rose and Castiel fell, as Cain would slay Abel, as Lucifer burnt and Lilith screeched, as Samuel would perish and Ruby would break. D/C.
Warning: Character spoilers for 4.01. Dean/Castiel. Mention of character death.
A/N: I'm so going to Hell for this. Like, really. They're making out in a church now. Good news is, it's the last in the series! I might put them all together into one story eventually.
Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine. Please don't sue!
He wondered sometimes what it was that had led him here, into this man's arms. Because this man wasn't a man. And, hell, he wasn't even into dudes.
But then he looked into those eyes, those deep blue need-you eyes, and he knew. Those weren't the eyes that had been in the photo he'd found on the internet, the ones that belonged to Leslie Martin of Providence, Rhode Island. These eyes were too pure to belong to anything human, too trusting and innocent and perfect to be corruptible.
And yet, somehow, Dean was corrupting them.
That first week had been hard. He'd wanted to call his brother, to explain, but every time he tried the windows shook and the phone buzzed and his ears ached and he gave up. They kissed and he looked into those eyes and he saw forever. He saw eternity without pain and he saw hope and he saw salvation and he saw a chance at making things right. A chance at being right. A chance at being better.
And then came Thursday, their first Thursday, and the first time they'd gone all the way, and Dean had to laugh because he hadn't called it that since he'd been in elementary school.
Apparently, Heaven taught a strict abstinence-only course when it came to sex-ed, and he'd found himself on the edge of a motel bed, half-hard already, trying to explain the birds and the bees in the best way possible to a very confused angel.
He loved that confusion, loved that first-time feeling, the look of longing and innocence, the contemplative head cock, the later calls of moremoremore, the crackling of the mirrored ceiling as it broke above them, shattering with cries that hurt his ears, pulled at his heart, made him scream with pain and love and lust and everything that neither of them should have wanted but both of them deserved.
Dark wings shaded their bodies from the shrapnel that they had created as they danced on into the night, consummating what had been set in motion as God above watched and planned, as Lazarus rose and Castiel fell, as Cain would slay Abel, as Lucifer burnt and Lilith screeched, as Samuel would perish and Ruby would break.
They stood side-by-side, Castiel's hand resting on that sweet spot where invisible feathers met tender flesh, providing what little comfort he could, watching the flames lick at the cloudy night sky. There was silence as the one that had innocently threatened to bring Hell to Earth burnt before them, silence that spoke volumes.
"Why can't I see you?"
Castiel's brow furrowed in confusion. He turned to face Dean for the first time since helping the man build his brother's pyre. "I am right here."
"Not Leslie. You."
The angel dropped his hand, startled. "How did you…?"
"Missing persons. You didn't really think they'd let him go for two months without looking for him, did you?"
He sighed. "He won't be gone much longer."
That caught Dean's attention, finally caused him to turned from the dancing flames that covered his brother's body. "We're going back now?"
Castiel looked down at the body that had served him well. It should have healed in the two months since he'd first shown himself to Dean, should have been repaired. The man would be fine, would be able to get back to his life. "He can go home."
"Answer my question."
He met Dean's eyes and smiled. "Sam won't be there. He's been forgiven. He was betrayed, used, chosen against his will. He never asked for it. God gives all men free will. Azazel took that away. Ruby ripped it farther." He trained his eyes to the sky, up toward the spiral of smoke that blew away on the wind. "He's at peace."
"Are we going to Hell, or not?"
The angel shook his head. "No, we're not. God is truly merciful, Dean, even if you still don't believe in His mercy. He wouldn't release you from the fire just to return you to it. You were given a second chance, and that second chance starts today."
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
Dean didn't respond, just looked at the dying flames, scattering ashes in the wind. He didn't have to say a thing, knew that now. He never had to say a word again, had finally found someone who knew everything about him at a glance, his innermost thoughts and wishes, hopes and dreams. It was disturbing and freeing all at once.
"It's not because you're not worthy," Castiel said. "Nobody deserves it more than you. It is your lack of faith. You cannot see what you do not believe, and you do not believe what you cannot see."
"I want to see."
"I know you do."
Dean pulled his eyes from they embers once again, from the dying flames that were now the same color that Sam's eyes had been in the moments before his death. "That wasn't my brother."
"I know that. And so does God. That's why he was forgiven."
The hunter nodded. "I believe you." And how could he not? In seven full weeks, he hadn't been lied to, had been able to trust someone completely, with all of his soul. "When will you go?"
As if the words were a cue, lightning flashed and thunder cracked in the distance. The angel raised his eyes skyward, mouth falling open, and burst forth from the vessel he'd chosen.
Dean shielded his eyes, only for a moment, as shock overcame him. Feathers littered the ground as the body beside him slumped to the dirt and a creature made of pure light hovered before him. It was beautiful beyond description, beyond recognition, even though he knew with his soul that this was the one that had branded him, had claimed him as its own. This was his angel, his lover, his Fallen.
Black wings unfurled behind the angel in his glory, blue eyes shining as Dean watched. Suddenly, his own eyes burned, unable to take the radiance, the brilliance, the truth of what he'd done. He hit his knees, clawing at his empty sockets, as the angel was pulled into the depths of Hell.
The hospital had a small chapel. He had spent most of his time there, trying to avoid the nurses that insisted on changing his bandages, the doctors that told him it could have been worse. Why, if Mr. Martin hadn't been there, he could have died from shock and blood loss.
He was avoiding them all, the doctors and the nurses and Leslie, who had insisted on staying by his side, had offered to pray for him. He hated Leslie, mostly because he sounded so familiar, but so different. His voice had lost those inflection that Dean had grown to love, had lost the curiosity, the surety, the confidence. He wasn't the same person he'd been for the past seven weeks, and that was what made the situation so much worse.
So he sat in the chapel, with the stark white bandages wrapped over the ruins of his eyes, and he prayed. He prayed to whoever had mandated that he be saved. He prayed for the one who had gripped him tight and raised him from perdition. He prayed because he was alone in the world and he feared that no one but the God that he had long ago deemed nonexistent would listen.
He prayed, and on the third day, he was answered.
He heard the doors to the small chapel open, and he straightened on the bench, his back protesting the movement. Footsteps crossed the floor, shoes clicking smartly on the hardwood, and he marveled at how his ears had adjusted to his lack of sight.
The shoes stopped, and he could feel a body near his, hovering, close enough that the person was in his bubble. The stranger sighed. It was an exasperated sigh, a tired sigh, and he cold almost place it, almost recognize it. He hated not being able to see, hated feeling so vulnerable, without anyone to look out for him.
He knew he should call Bobby, but didn't know how to explain. He had killed his brother. Maybe it hadn't really been Sam at the time, but it had been Sam once. And then there was the angel. And the fact that Dean had run away. And now he was blind. He was useless. Nobody would want him.
"I want you."
Dean moved his head, turned toward the sound of the voice. It was Leslie. It sounded like Leslie, anyway. But… it didn't. It was Leslie's voice, the voice of the man that had woken up to find him clawing at his eyes, wailing in pain, with blood running down his face. It was the voice of the man that had called 911, had saved his life, but it wasn't.
It wasn't Leslie. It wasn't the man that had saved Dean's life. It was the angel that had saved his soul.
He braced himself, hands on the benches, and got to his feet, knees weak from praying, legs tired. "How?"
He could hear the smile in the angel's voice. "You tell me."
He shook his head. "You mean…?"
"Your prayers have been answered."
Hands wrapped around his waist, and Dean shuddered at the touch, wondered whether they should be doing this here, in the chapel, if they could possibly get into any more trouble. "God gave all men free will. He prayed for you."
"And this is what he got?" Dean asked. "Sucks for him."
Castiel laughed, an easy sound. He moved his hands to the bandages wrapped around the hunter's eyes, began slowly peeling them off. "I warned you about spying on my true form."
"Didn't have much of a choice," Dean said, grimacing as cool air hit his face. He heard the angel hiss in shock, maybe pity. "Happened kinda fast."
"Did you like what you saw?"
He shrugged. "It was ok. For a guy with wings." He paused, wondering whether he should ask the question that had been on his mind since the angel's return, the question that had been at the surface since he had first discovered there was a chapel, since he had first asked to be taken there. "Can you fix it?"
"I'm afraid God's punishments are final."
"Perhaps we should pray?"
Dean grinned. "Perhaps you should go to Hell."
He felt the crook of the angel's smile as their mouths ghosted together. "Perhaps you should close your eyes, Dean Winchester."
He welcomed the kiss, welcomed the soft blue glow, the warmth that welled up behind his ruined eyes, the curl of happiness rising within. It was wrong, but it was right.
The angel pulled away, and Dean dared to open his eyes. The church swam slowly into view, blurry at first, but getting clearer as he blinked. Castiel stood before him, smiling, free. "Thank you."
"'Thou shalt not lie with mankind as with womankind; it is abomination.'"
"Yeah, you're gonna have to get over that."
So, there's the end. What do you think?