Boo. I'm a ghost. And I scared you. Okay, not really, but I didn't know what else to put so I put that. Oh dear.
...
Anyway, before you start I'd just like to say a big thank you to my lovely beta NeonHeart69 for being an absolute darling and providing all the various sorts of help with this that she did (lots of virtual kisses being sent your way, my dear) - I love you.
And to anyone reading this, please feel free to review (it would make me very happy indeed if you did) or PM me if you have any questions/comments/concerns (or if you just wanna' chat, I'm always here to talk about whatever).
Thanks guys, happy reading!
He doesn't know why he does this; why he offers to Dean something he cannot receive, much less accept, but he does. Sitting here, silently and perfectly still, closer to the marble statue Anna had likened him to than ever before, Castiel offers words.
They're nothing special, he knows, his words are nothing worthy of this beautiful mortal laid before him but Castiel still speaks. He can't quite seem to stop himself. The words just flow from his mouth as if placed there by another being.
He tries to tell himself it's alright, that Dean can't hear him, that passed out in his current alcohol-induced state of unconscious Dean won't be hearing anyone anytime soon, but it falls flat. Castiel can't shake the feeling he's doing something wrong. That sharing his deepest, darkest secrets: his memories, his hopes, his dreams and his wishes is something he'll come to regret doing.
He's not entirely sure why, if he's honest. Maybe it's the fact Castiel's afraid that if Dean was aware of the words Castiel speaks, he wouldn't speak any in return. Maybe Castiel's afraid he's letting someone in too broken to do anything but harm.
Or maybe he's afraid that sharing his words he's unwittingly sharing his soul, as charred and damaged as it may be. Giving it to someone able to snatch it away, like a magician with the cards in a deck – Dean's mortal; mortals die. Maybe Castiel's afraid he's forging a bond stronger than the person he's forging it with. Afraid, that like the glass bottles that hold the liquid (beer, Castiel remembers) Dean is so fond of drinking, it'll shatter. Afraid that when it does, the shards will hit Castiel in places he's afraid won't heal.
It's times like these Castiel wishes, more than ever, for mortality.
He sighs, inserting a rare pause into his monologue, and closes his eyes. It's a stance commonly adopted by many, a pose displaying fatigue, but Castiel isn't physically tired. He's an angel; he couldn't imagine being physically tired even if he tried, nevermind actually feel it.
He's tired inside though. Tired of cutting himself into ribbons doing things only bound to backfire. He hates it; hates the self-inflicted torture, but he can't stop himself.
And that's why, keeping his eyes closed, but leaning back in the chair he's been sat on for however long since he transported Dean's unconscious body on to the bed in this room, he continues.
'They think I've developed... "feelings". You know, in Heaven. They all do. Rather a popular topic of conversation up there, apparently. "Castiel's feelings for Dean Winchester" - you'd think it was the funniest thing they've heard in a millennia,' Castiel shrugs, 'Probably is. Can't say I blame them though, talking about it. I'm a failure. I let my personal alliances get in the way of the greater good. I'm not surprised half of them want to nail me up – I'm a weakness, you know. A chink in the armour. A soldier who thinks he's too good for his orders.
'I can't help it though. Can't stop doing what they hate me for. It's being down here, you see... with you. I see you laugh and it feels, well it feels, natural. I'm not meant to feel. I shouldn't feel; none of us should – but I've started thinking that it's because we've never been allowed to be in a position to. It effects how we think. If emotions are involved then rationality is lost. We're compromised. We're a weakness.
'I know this, I do, but I refuse to believe that how I feel is wrong. Is it wrong? To be passionate... is it such a sin? He loves you. I know He does. It was on His orders you were rescued, Dean, His orders. If He loves you, isn't it natural that I should love you also?'
Castiel sighs again and this time the burden of what he is finally realising hits him. He opens his eyes and the sight of the man, this beautiful man, laid before him opens such a floodgate of emotional pain Castiel feels like he is being stabbed. It is now that Castiel makes up his mind.
'I do, you know,' he whispers, voice so soft it barely travels the minuscule distance between him and Dean, 'I do love you. And... I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry.'
He's not entirely sure why he's apologising; for being too much a coward to say his words to Dean's face, maybe? Maybe. He lets out one last sigh before he senses that it is almost morning: his cue to leave. Rising, Castiel smooths his trenchcoat and then, he disappears.
It is less than a minute later when Dean Winchester slings his legs out of bed and sits up. He has been awake for over an hour now, and his eyes glisten with unshed tears. He has heard everything.
'Oh Cas,' he whispers into the fading darkness, voice hoarse and pain-ridden, 'Oh Cas.' He says nothing more. He can't. It breaks him inside to do so, but Dean stays silent. There are so many things he wants to say, wants to scream and shout and weep, but he doesn't. He doesn't and he hates himself but as the tears fall, Dean knows he's doing the right thing. He knows some things aren't meant to be and some things aren't meant to be fulfilled and his love for Castiel is one of these things. He knows it is. For Castiel to unite with a human would be the last nail in his coffin and Dean knows that if Castiel died, and it was his fault, Dean wouldn't survive. Castiel completes him, without him there Dean is empty, and he owes to it to Sam, at least, not to die. Sam needs him right now.
At least, that what Dean tells himself, anyway, as he climbs back into bed and desperately tries not to remember that the bitterest tears, shed over graves, are for the words left unsaid and the deeds left undone.
Ta-da! All done! Quite a feat, I must say, for someone who hasn't written this many words in over a year! I hope you liked it (because it's been a joy to write) but I am immensely sorry if I shattered your heart into little pieces with all the angst - it's not my fault, it just fell out. I promise.
Anyhoo, I'm gonna' leave now so, yeah, goodbye my little munchkins!
Lots of Enochian love,
~sher-lochnessmonster