Author's Note: S'up y'all? IT back again, this time with a Supernatural story.
This isn't actually my first time writing in the SPN universe, but this is not only the first in quite a while, the first set somewhere around season five, but it's also my first time writing Castiel. I can't say I'm nervous about how he turned out here, in fact, I'm actually pretty pleased at how I wrote him. It was very easy for me to imagine MishMish saying all of dialogue in character as I wrote Cas, but if any seasoned writers of him want to school me, be my guest.
So, with that out of the way, let's get down to the basics of the actual story. I stole another livejournal prompt for this story. Specifically, from sacred_20's second prompt table. This would be number five, "Fallen". Initially, I wanted to write something with Castiel in it, and this was intended to be centered around him entirely (I originally had him reminiscing about his time in Heaven, with the other angels- in particular, Lucifer before he got his ass booted), but those pesky fucking Winchesters snuck their way into here and it turned into an emofest, as it tends to sometimes do with them as of late. :'''(
In any case, though, I'll let everyone know that I was intending for this to be a gen piece, but I suppose it could also be pre-Dean/Castiel slash. Something screwy to that effect, I dunno. We could stick Dean with a rodeo clown for all I care, as long as there's no Wincest. I got off that crazy train two seasons ago.
Plain English summary? Flash-fic in where Castiel and Dean have a "heart-to-heart" about destiny. Needless to say, Dean doesn't take any of it very well. Nothing special or flashy, just a moment in time between Dean and Cas, and then Dean and Sam ... sorta. Set during any of season five so far, so if you haven't seen up to "I Believe the Children are Our Future"/5.06, then you probably need to leave now. I don't think I mention anything particularly spoiler-y, but better safe than sorry, right?
For anyone interested, the title comes from "Hurt", by NIN and/or Johnny Cash, depending on the genre to which you're more partial. Personally, I'm listening to Johnny Cash as I type this.
Oh, and while I'm rambling, I think it's important to note that my referring to Dean in one sentence as the "sword of St. Michael" is kind of Catholic-y in flavor, but I only did it for the alliteration.
Now, all that's left is obvious: read, hopefully enjoy, and tell me how I can do better.
Dean snaps back at the angel without hesitation when he says it, and all Castiel can do is look at him. In hindsight, he probably deserves to be called out on the things he said, regardless of their validity. In fact, he knows it and isn't surprised. They aren't strangers here, but Castiel is sure that he crossed an invisible line just now, a line that separates considerable courses of action from unimaginable impossibilities. Castiel is so sure of it not because he's finally grasped the concept of what humans call "tact", but because he knows Dean well enough now to purposefully set him off. Somehow, he thinks Dean might see that too.
"Dean," Castiel says, voice deep and calm like always. "This is not what you wanted to hear, I understand- "
"No, Cas," Dean cuts him off. "You don't understand a damn thing." Dean's voice is either shaking with anger or about to break; with Dean, sometimes it's hard to tell. But Castiel knows.
"I don't understand? You think I don't understand?"
"No."
And Castiel cocks his head, like he tends to do in his tourist-like confusion, but this time he isn't confused. He takes a step forward, and then another, and then a few more before he's face to face with the Sword of Saint Michael. "You don't think I understand what it's like to lose a brother to the Pit?"
The way Castiel looks Dean dead in the eye is enough to make the hunter shut up, though he keeps his angered expression.
"You don't think I understand what I have experienced before? Dean, every demon in Hell, every fallen angel, Lucifer himself- they are all my brothers. They are the brothers of every angel in God's Kingdom. All of us are children of the Lord. When they fell from Heaven, it was because of their insensible actions. They rebelled against what they knew was right and were banished for it. I wish as much as you do that things did not have to be this way, but they are, and denying what you know is true will help no one. Especially yourself."
Dean just tries to stare him down, and Castiel knows that something inside of him is broken. It sends a strange feeling, a sort of pang to his vessel's heart, and Castiel wishes more than anything at that very moment that he could fix everything, and not for anyone else but Dean.
Of course, this shows up absolutely nowhere on his face, but he's not so indifferent that he can't show some form of empathy. His voice quiets down and the tiny storm between the two begins to quell. "Dean, listen to me-"
"Why the hell should I?! I already know what you're gonna tell me. I got it the first thousand times, I get it now. I don't need to hear it again."
Dean is trying his damndest to continue looking pissed, but the anger dissolves as fast as it manifested. He heaves an exhausted sigh and looks away, subconsciously dips his head a little bit to show that he's calmed somewhat, and Castiel knows what it all means. The angel mirrors the apology with a nod of his own and a soft vocalization.
"Dean, I apologize. I should not have brought this up."
"Doesn't matter, it was gonna come up anyway, right?"
"Yes, but there was no need for me to make it any more worse than it had to be."
"I think it's about as worse as it's gonna get, Cas." Dean speaks sadly, and another sharp pang is sent through Jimmy's spine and to his heart.
"Unfortunately, I have to agree," Castiel says, fighting the urge to clutch at his chest. He hesitates, frowning, then looks up, face back to neutrality. "Believe me when I tell you I understand what you feel right now, Dean. Maybe not as much or as powerfully, but I do. The more you keep these emotions at bay, the faster they will destroy you."
Dean is silent for about half a second, then he snorts and shakes his head. "Lemme guess, Heaven's army just can't have that?"
"No, I can't have that."
The spiteful smile on Dean's face disappears and he gives the angel a look at the same time that Castiel realizes he's just spoken without thinking, something he had never done before. In all the time he could remember, not once did he ever speak on impulse. Impulses were only driven by emotions, and ... and ...
What was happening to him?
Dean tries to question him, but Castiel makes sure he doesn't get the chance. "Dean," he says hurriedly, "I give you my sincerest apologies for upsetting you so badly, but hope for him ... has been nothing short of lost. I am sure you will do your best to deny that with every fiber of your being, but you must understand that this is how things are. This is destiny, Dean, and as I've told you before, destiny cannot be changed. His is set in stone, just as yours is."
" ... "
Castiel sighs and takes a few steps back. He looks straight at Dean and speaks in an uncharacteristic whisper. "For your sake, I wish it could be."
There's a soft rustling of invisible feathers, a ripple in time and then Castiel is gone. Dean is alone in the dark, whitewashed motel room for an approximate total of five whole seconds before the door opens and another angelic vessel returns with to-night's dinner.
"There's nothing even close to a fast food joint in this town, so I just picked up some junk food from the gas station on the corner, sorr- hey, are you okay?"
Sam's shrugging off a jacket when Dean snaps out of the angel-induced stupor. Dean can't keep their conversation out of his head while he stares at his brother, and for only a split second, wishes that he'd planted his fist in Cas' jaw before he left. He shakes it all off, though, for his own sake as much as Sam's. God knows he wouldn't get any sleep if he gave Sam something to worry about.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm good, just hungry. Y'think you took long enough?"
He eggs Sam on like everything is fine, and when Sam scrunches up his face and retorts with some wordy, Ivy League insult that Dean doesn't give two shits about, Dean takes the opportunity to repeat to himself that things are fine and if they get really bad, he can fix them. He can fix them, no problem. Fix them, fix them, fix them, fix him, fix them. He did it before, he'd do it again. That is his job. And it's Sam's job to make the messes for him to fix in the first place.
It's a small yet full circle, and that's how it will remain until one or both of them drops dead from normal, human means.
-
From the roof of the motel, Castiel can feel another pang shoot into Jimmy's heart.
Good? Decent? Buttfuckingly awful? Let me know.
-IT