there's a blaze of light in every word, a supernatural fanfic

Short, not much to it. But I had an idea for a hitmen AU thing and this is just a concept/starting point? I guess. If I write it, it'll be on a separate story. I figure I need to finish other things before I get too into it though, but I wanted to at least share this much.

In my head, Castiel and Dean are hitmen - Dean probably doing the work so that he can pay for whatever for Sam or work off Dad's debt to the mob or something (I'm thinking of doing the latter, mostly because Sam would probably get mad at him a lot because Dad needs to clean up his own messes Dean and One day you're gonna get in too deep and I'm going to be standing against you in a courtroom and I don't want that Dean), while Cas is probably just born into it. I feel like the emotionlessness he showed in season 4 is kind of the Cas I'm going for. Like, he's been in this so long that he's not really sure what's right or wrong, but he gets paired with Dean and suddenly he's questioning everything. Even when Dean doesn't want to think about it because he just wants to get the job done and go home.

Uh. So that is what this explores. Sorry it's no more than a drabble, but I had to get it out.

Also, the song Hallelujah just makes me think sad things all the time apparently.

Hallelujah

"Are they happy?"

Dean looks up from his hands and gives Cas a confused glance. "Eh…who?"

Cas leans his forehead against the cold glass of the window, raindrops on the surface casting splattered shadows against his features. "Them." His eyes are focused on people on the streets, umbrella-circles moving on the sidewalks.

Dean leans back, the back of his head resting gently against the window.

"Ah, fuck if I know, man. Probably 'bout as happy as we are." The room is cold, drafty. He rubs gloved hands on his arms, watches his breath float in a smoke from his mouth. Rainy and cold. He mutters softly, "What a day for an execution, eh?" and attempts to chuckle but he doesn't look out the window.

Below, a man greets a woman as he steps off the train, kisses her gently, rubs his hand on a little girl's head. Smiling. Happy. Cas's eyes narrow. "Is Doctor Peterson happy? Is his family? Does he lay with his wife, guiltless, every night—make love to her?" In a studied motion, he raises the rifle to his shoulder, pushing the bottom panel of the window out. "Does his child wait restlessly for him to get home everyday? Can he look at her without imagining the face of those boys?" A well-manicured, tanned face focuses in the scope, and Cas watches his mouth move, wonders about the words. "What does he tell his wife about his day? How long does it take him to wash his hands clean, to be able to run them across her body in the dark? Does he wash them at all?" His finger rests gingerly against the trigger.

Dean closes his eyes.

The silencer cuts away most of the noise, but the sound of the gun still causes him to flinch, eyes shutting tighter. Chaos erupts below, and Dean and Castiel hide in the shadows of the building.

"Cas…" Dean starts, but the other man is still looking out the window.

"What do you think he saw?"

"Does it matter? The man was a child-murdering bastard." But Dean doesn't look down to the street. He can hear the woman well enough, crying and crying in despair. The child… "Let's just pack up and get the hell out of here."

"Was he expecting a light? How many nights will they spend, praying that he is delivered to Heaven?" Cas's face is empty, eyes glazed over and dark, voice emotionless. "Will they ever be happy again?"

Dean looks at him with heavy eyes. "No," he whispers. "No, they won't."

Castiel puts the gun away.