Blasphemey
Anyone spending more than five minutes at a time with Dean Winchester would find themselves hard-pressed to deny that his language was amongst the most colourful they had ever had the misfortune to come across in their lives. So, for an angel of the lord, Castiel reckoned he wasn't doing too badly at dealing with it. He'd come to realise that most humans found cursing to be a useful form of self-expression when angry or upset, and for most it did seem to offer some kind of comfort. Then there were those such as Dean who were so used to swearing that it had naturally become part of his own personal vernacular as the years passed. He had simply stopped noticing.
However, what Castiel found particularly interesting was the incredible frequency with which contemporary humans blasphemed. Not so many years ago – or at least it didn't feel like so many years ago – humanity professed to be afraid of such language, forbidding it for fear of the almighty's holy disapproval and punishing those who disobeyed with a severity that was rarely necessary. But these days it seemed that this view had largely died out and even those who claimed to hate foul language casually bedamned the lord's name as they carried out their daily mundane tasks. Religious views did not appear to be a factor – and this was where Castiel found himself stumped. An individual such as Dean Winchester, who had denied the very existence of God on a number of occasions, could invoke and abuse His name without fear of reproval from above, but so could a catholic priest stubbing his toe on the altar as he went about his duties, and so could a housewife cursing her children for taking too long to get their clothes on, and so could those same children later in the day without being told off for cursing.
Maybe humans could feel it too. The aching hole in his being where the presence of the Lord should sit calmly and reassuringly, maybe it resonated deep within them as well and erased their fear. Maybe it was a symptom of the shifting values of the modern world, constantly striving to move further and further away from the ideals that their fathers held. After all, if one man can blaspheme in the privacy of his own home and no holy hand of God appears to strike him down, the fear must lessen considerably. For the majority of cases, man only fears man nowadays – God has fallen of the radar in more ways than one. Maybe he deserves to be cursed and taken in vain. Haven't the same thoughts flitted across Cas's mind in dark moment? Nobody has attempted to strike him down lately. Well, no more than usual anyway.
And yet people still invoke the lord's name for positive reasons too, often the same people who deny his existence in the same breath. Few atheists can be found silencing their stunted prayers in the quiet, panting breaths of passion. He has never encountered a paleontologist who calls forth the names of scientists when they are surprised by their youngest son jumping out from behind a closed door. Whether pleasure or pain, emotion demands to be expressed, and the expression always seems to come back to Him. God permeates so many different things and has so many different meanings, even to people who deny his existence to their last earthly breaths.
So the next time Dean shuts his eyes and whispers the name of the lord through clenched teeth as Castiel digs his nails into his shoulders and gasps against him, bared skin sliding against each other and calling forth the very ecstasy that they are both so often starved of - the angel keeps his mouth shut. When blasphemous curses pepper his gasping language like pebbles in a stream as they cling together, searching for heaven and home in a dank motel room, Castiel dips his head down and kisses him without silencing him, a messy clash of teeth and frustration.
Because really, who is he to say he knows better?