Title: Confessional
Summary: Father Richard Flanders had heard a lot of people confess, but this man was different. Murder, lust, and blasphemy make for an odd mix. Dean/Castiel. One-shot.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Implied Dean/Castiel, talk of blasphemy, comparison of Dean to Jesus
A/N: Another idea that just wouldn't leave me alone. I have a lot of those, huh?
Disclaimer: The show and characters don't belong to me, no matter how much I wish they did.
Confessional
Father Richard Flanders wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting that morning, but it wasn't what he'd gotten.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."
Rich nodded at the sound of the deep voice, the shape of the man on the other side of the screen. It wasn't anyone he knew, wasn't one of his parishioners. Not that he was supposed to be thinking about those things. But, still, sometimes he couldn't help it.
The mystery man cleared his throat. "I've… never really done this before. I'm not exactly sure how it works."
The priest smiled. "Let me make it easy on you, then. You tell me what you did wrong, and I tell you how to make it right."
"I'm not Catholic."
He almost asked what religion the man was, but stopped himself. It was none of his business. Besides, God held redemption from no man. That was what he told the stranger.
"I know. Still…"
"What have you done wrong?"
There was a pause, as if he were thinking about it, about his sins. "I've killed innocent people, I suppose."
Rich sighed. "I see. You suppose?"
"They weren't exactly acting of their own free will."
The priest's brow crinkled in confusion, soft wrinkles deepening. "What are you saying?"
"They were forced into fighting."
"You're a soldier." It wasn't a question, and it made the idea of being separated from a murderer by a thin screen of wood easier to swallow.
"I'm at war."
"Shore leave, then?"
"You could say that. I hope." The man sighed. "Maybe. With your help."
"If it was in self-defense-"
"The murder isn't what has me worried," he said. "It's something else. Something worse."
Richard chewed on his lower lip. He'd heard a lot through that little screen over the years. This man certainly wasn't the first to come through with tales of wartime horrors, blood on his hands, but he was the first to continue with something worse. "I see?"
"I've lusted after a man." There was disgust in the man's voice now, along with quiet desperation. "I don't understand why. I'm not… I've never even…" He sighed. "You must think I'm horrible."
"I don't judge. Neither does God."
The man laughed. "That's a joke."
Rich blinked, offended. "Is it?"
"You don't know what I know. You haven't seen the things that I have. You could never understand."
"Richard leaned forward, closer to the screen, and laced is fingers together. He dropped his voice to just above a whisper. "Just between you and me, my friend, I don't put much stock in what the Bible literally says. It's just a translation, one passed down over millennia. It's unreliable. Who's to say who you can or can't lust after? Who's to say who you can or can't love? This other man, what does he think about it?"
The mystery man was silent for a moment, hopefully letting the preacher's words sink in. "He says that God brought us together. That it's all part of some bigger plan."
"And you don't believe him?"
The man shook his head. "He isn't doing anything wrong. He isn't doing anything evil. I'm the one… He justifies it, says that it's right, that he can just tell. Says that it's destiny, but he doesn't understand."
"What doesn't he understand?" Rich prodded gently, knowing from years of experience that the real reason for the stranger's visit was bubbling closer to the surface with every word he spoke, was just waiting to come bursting forth in a torrent of guilt-ridden emotion.
"He doesn't understand that what I'm doing is so much worse than what he's doing. He doesn't understand what it means for me in the end."
"And what's that?"
"Damnation."
"Because you're both men?"
"Because it's blasphemy," the man hissed.
Rich leaned away and stared at the screen, at the barely discernable outline of the man behind it. "Blasphemy?"
"The violation of something holy," the man explained, his voice soft, careful. It was as if he believed the priest hadn't understood the word.
"I know what it is," Richard said slowly. "What I don't understand is why you think you've committed blasphemy by being with this man."
"It's complicated." The statement was final, the deep voice laced with authority.
Rich nodded. "Very well. What do you think your penance should be?"
The figure behind the screen snorted. "Nothing short of stopping the apocalypse can save me now, Father."
"Barring that, let's say a couple of Hail Mary's and call it good, huh?" He struggled to hide the smile in his voice. The stranger seemed so convinced of his wrong-doing, so convinced that he'd done something unspeakably evil.
The truth was, Richard was worried. The man seemed unsettled. It was possible that he needed serious help. But he wasn't there to perform a professional mental evaluation on the man whose face he couldn't even see. He was only there to offer spiritual guidance.
He began the prayer, surprised when the man picked it up, reciting the lines perfectly and with more gusto than even the priest could muster.
-.-
The door to the small confessional opened and the man walked out into the church, eyes scanning the pews for his now-constant companion. He was sitting there, looking up at the stained glass, the colors falling across his strong frame, making him look even more beautiful than was the norm.
The man shook his head. A church was the last place he wanted to be having these thoughts, especially after trying to cleanse his tarnished soul. He cleared his throat, announcing his presence, and the other man turned, flashing a brilliant smile.
"Feel better?" Dean asked.
Castiel sighed. "Not really."
"Then why did I just spend half an hour in a church? Is this your way of telling me what the right religion is?"
"There is no right religion, Dean. I told you when we came here, if you live a devout life-"
"You'll go to Heaven. Yeah." He stood, stretching his legs and grimacing as his knees popped. "I wasn't the one with the problem."
"So you keep telling me."
"I'm just saying. If God knew this would happen, He shoulda sent someone else. Unless I'm just so totally awesome that I have this effect on everyone I meet, in which case, you shouldn't feel so bad."
"This is a very serious matter."
Dean nodded. "Yeah. Ok. You're freaked."
"I'm concerned."
"Do you want to stop?"
Castiel looked at him, stared. He knew Dean hated it, said it was like those bright blue eyes were staring into his soul, but he couldn't help it. The way the man held his body, the look on his face, they gave away nothing. It was a simple question. A question of free will, of falling or not falling, tasting the fruit or living in bliss. But his eyes…
His eyes were hurt. The angel had learned a lot since ripping Dean from Hell. Sometimes, for example, when people got scared, they got defensive. They got snarky. They got sarcastic. Dean did all of those things. But he could never hide his soul. It shone so brightly from within, shone from his eyes. And it was hurting. It was needing,
He'd been told, late one night, when Sam had been out doing whatever it was that Dean liked to deny that he did, that he was warm. That when Dean was with him, he felt like he was loved. He felt like he was worth something. He'd never known he was missing that until he'd felt it.
Dean had asked that night if some demons were really fallen angels, and if that meant that angels could make deals, too. He offered to do whatever it took, to believe in whatever Castiel was "peddling" if the angel would swear to stay with him. Not on his shoulder, but in his bed.
Angels couldn't make deals like demons, but he hadn't told Dean that.
The hunter still didn't believe his promises of love, though. That was perhaps the most disturbing part of the whole ordeal.
He sighed. "No."
The look didn't fade from Dean's eyes. It was still there, still cautious, born from mornings found alone in motel rooms where two bodies had once lain. "You sure? Because-"
"I'm sure." He smiled and approached the other man, slid his hand into Dean's, knowing by now how strong the need for physical contact and comfort was with him. "What will be, will be."
Dean matched his grin. "Yeah. Besides, I'm not worried."
Of course he wasn't. He had no reason to be. He was Chosen. He was Perfect. He was the One that would save them all. He just couldn't know that. "And why is that?"
"Well, I figure even if the whole gay-thing is frowned on, and the angel-sex is considered blasphemy, it's cool."
Castiel frowned as they started out of the church. "Most people wouldn't see it that way."
"But you and God are tight, right?"
"Once. Before. Why?"
"I figure, we save the world from literally going to Hell, the Big Guy's gonna owe you one, right? Redemption should be pretty high on your list if today's little outing is anything to go by."
"I'm not sure I follow."
Dean rolled his eyes. "You can put in a good word for me."
"Right." Because that was exactly the way it was going to go. A fallen angel putting in a good word for the Savior of the human race. And hey, maybe Lilith would take bottom to Adam.
Castiel shook his head. He'd been spending too much time with Dean. One look at the taller man, though- at the smile on his face, the light in his eyes, the shine on his soul,-and he could tell that was a good thing. Maybe it was preordained. Maybe he was living out God's Will after all.
The end. Reviews are love :)