This is actually an intro for a private roleplay, and thus fairly raw and unedited, and also I have no intention of continuing it as a story. But it seemed like something people might find worth the time it takes to read, so here it is!
Title: Purgatorio
Words: 567
Characters: Castiel, mention of Dean and a few others.
Warnings: None
Other: Destiel-ish, non-explicit and possibly one-sided.
Castiel had met Dante Alighieri only once, after his death, in transit to his final peace in Heaven. He had found him very passionate. Earnest. And devout, of course, if rather misguided in some ways. In their brief exchange, the poet had described love as both sin and savior, and Castiel, who had a reputation for introversion and social awkwardness even among angels, had been utterly unable to relate. Love? Was that a human fantasy, or part of the Divine plan? He didn't know, and told himself he didn't care.
But he remembered. For centuries, he turned the conversation in his mind, alternately derisive and enchanted with the concept. He'd never understood until recently.
Love was what had gotten him to this point, and not just him, but Dean as well. He didn't dare name what he felt for the elder Winchester as anything so complex as sexual desire, but love? What else could love be, but gambling everything-brothers, friends, self-in a bid to save a person, protect him, spare him further pain. "I'm doing this for you," he had said, and hastily amended it to a softer, "because of what you taught me by your example", sensing he was treading close to the line. Dean hadn't noticed, in any case. Which was probably for the best, given how rapidly and precipitously Cas had fallen afterward, wounding his mortal friends, making enemies of all of Heaven, and letting loose something foul on a vulnerable Earth.
He had a lot to live down, and he wasn't sure he wanted to try.
Back to Dante.
Purgatory was not, of course, what the poet had written. There was no mountain, no reward for making it to higher and higher levels, and certainly no River Lethe. No forgetfulness of old sins. He didn't relish the thought of being Dean's broken version of Virgil, particularly since their best chance of escape would be Sam. Assuming he still lived.
Leaving Dean where they had landed, he did a brief circuit of the area. Everywhere was gloom, cold, and the smell of rotting meat. Red eyes glowed from the undergrowth, but whatever the creatures were, they seemed reluctant to approach. Sizing up the new prey, perhaps. But the Leviathan they had just conquered was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps death had scattered his consciousness so far he would never re-form, but Castiel was afraid to count on that, and in any case there might be other enemies to fear. Even Eve, perhaps, who would not be pleased to see either of them, should they encounter her.
That thought sent him scurrying back to Dean's side, half looking for reassurance, half anxious to protect, or at least die with, his friend.
"There are no bees here," he said as he reappeared beside him. "Or flowers." As if that was the foremost thought on his mind. It would have been nice if there was a little color in the landscape, in all honesty, but in any case it was a more positive conversation-opener than 'we're both going to die here'. He looked at Dean expectantly, hoping against all rationality that the young human who never seemed to give up, and who defied his every expectation, would have some plan as to what to do and where to go.
Free will was very nice, but just now he wanted to be told what to do.