"But if I tarry long, that thou mayest know how thou oughtest to behave thyself in the house of God, which is the church of the living God, the pillar and ground of the truth."
- Timothy 3:15

"So, uh, I've been thinking…" Dean began unsteadily.
It was Saturday morning and he was sat against the headboard watching Lisa get dressed for her yoga class. She had a good body and Dean was more than happy to sit and enjoy the view of her. He wasn't being creepy; he was just appreciating all the gifts God had given her, like her ass.
"Always dangerous for you." She replied, her eyes flashing over to meet his in the mirror as she pulled her hair on top of her head to tie up.
He would never admit it, not even to himself, but his stomach dropped with disappointment at the sight of her brown eyes. It's not that Dean thought there was anything wrong with brown eyes; he thought they were freaking beautiful, especially Lisa's. The problem was, he'd been expecting a pair of blue ones. And how in the hell did that make any sense?
"Ha ha." Dean sneered childishly as if he hadn't been completely thrown a moment ago, but then suddenly he was serious again.
"I was thinking that maybe I'll go to church with you tomorrow," He started, immediately holding a finger up when a smile broke out across her face and she moved towards the bed. "I'm not saying I'll ever be going again, but just this once."
"You're serious? You're finally going to come with me?" Lisa asked as she perched on the end of the bed, her hand reaching out to cover one of Dean's.
"Yeah." He replied quietly, nervously.
"You'd do that for me?" She asked with awe and such happiness radiating from her that it hurt for Dean to even look at her.
"Course I would." He said automatically, his smile frozen on his face as the guilt settled in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't doing this for Lisa at all. He was doing this for him and the weird, possibly subconscious, thing he seemed to have going on with the priest. The priest for God's sake Dean! He wanted to see the guy's face. Needed to really. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled on instinct at just the thought of it and it unnerved him because that meant trouble. He was a finely tuned hunter and killer and he seemed to almost sense danger when it was close enough. He was wired that way, had to be, because if not he'd be dead. It was imperative he was alert and always on his game, always ready to act and protect and defend. It was his job to watch everyone's backs; Sammy's, dad's, and obviously his own if he could. There was a reason why he drank himself to sleep most nights. There was a reason why there was a constant aching in his neck and shoulders. There was a reason for most of the pain in his life and anyone looking in from the sidelines would say there was one person responsible for it, but Dean hated himself for even thinking it. It had never been his dad's fault. Never. He had never asked for any of this. He'd been doing the best he could. Dean was just an ungrateful bastard, that's all it was. So what if he was fried all the time? John had been through enough without having to deal with an ungrateful, worthless, whiny brat for a son. Dean tried to be good, to look after Sammy, to follow dad's orders to make him proud and to make him happy, but he was never good enough. Never, never, never.

Dean was nervous and uncomfortable as he walked into the church with Lisa the following day and apparently he hadn't been covering it up as well as he'd hoped.

"Stop fidgeting." She sighed.

"It's this monkey suit." He huffed in reply, his finger running beneath the collar and tugging it away from his throat in irritation.

"Well you couldn't exactly come to church in your old t-shirt and torn-up jeans could you? There's a certain etiquette expected at services. It would be disrespectful to not wear a suit." She explained to him as they sat down in one of the wooden pews.

Dean shuffled a little to try and get comfortable and frowned when he realized he was going to be stuck sat on the unforgiving bench for the better part of an hour. He was beginning to regret his decision to come; it was making him feel antsy.

"Hey, you okay?" Lisa whispered as someone slid into the pew beside him, their leg pressing against his and, excuse me but personal space?

"Oh I'm just peachy." He replied with a wry smile.

Before Lisa got the chance to get another word in everyone in, the nave suddenly fell silent. Dean turned his head slowly and looked up towards the altar, his eyes travelling slowly up the long, black-robed body until he had nowhere else to look but to his face. He knew it was perfectly possible that it wouldn't be the same guy because churches had more than one priest for the services right? However, the moment his gaze fixed upon a familiar pair of wide electric blue eyes, he knew it was him. Weirdly enough, he also noted that he'd seen that face before, a week or so ago on his return from a hunt.

"O God who is greater than the most powerful forces in this world, enable us to be still and know that You are God. O Lord who answers out of the whirlwind of everyday life, breathe in us Your Holy Spirit to strengthen, comfort, and guide us in the midst of the storm. O still, small voice, speak to us this hour, that we might become makers of Your peace in our homes, in our communities, in our world. We pray all this in the name of the One who calmed the raging sea. Amen." He began as his opening prayer, his eyes tracing over every face in attendance, his eyes almost unbearably kind. His deep voice soothed Dean in a way he didn't know was possible and he found himself slowly falling into a trance like state. He didn't believe in any of the holy mumbo jumbo that was flying from his good-natured mouth, but the way the guy said it made Dean almost want to. The words comforted him as they fell from the priest's lips, wrapped him in a inexplicable warmth that told him he was safe here.

Dean listened attentively throughout the whole service, although he may have mimed during the hymns because nothing in the world could convince him to sing those dreary tunes. He didn't really understand the words or the prayers in the way he knew he was supposed to because to him it just screamed lore and a bucket ton of sugarcoating. O Lord who answers out of the whirlwind of everyday life. Seriously? Try telling him, dad and Sammy that. All the crap he's been through on a daily basis and he's meant to believe that God's helping out? Nope, God had either left the building or he just didn't give a damn. Maybe it was all some kind of joke to him, watching people squirm and destroy one another. Dean couldn't wrap his head around it.

"Castiel's great isn't he?" Lisa asked with a soft smile on her face once the service had ended, people flocking like sheep towards the altar.

"Ca- what?" Dean replied, his attention only now shifting back to the beautiful woman by his side.

"Castiel," She repeated with a nod of her head in the direction of the Christian herd. "He's new, but he's really good. Don't you think?"

"Castiel," Dean said slowly, testing the name out on his tongue and savoring how right it felt. "That's a bit of an odd name isn't it?"

"It's the name of an angel, so actually it's pretty fitting." She told him.

"Huh, guess he was born for this kind of job then." Dean murmured, his eyes flickering over the now dwindling group in the hopes of catching another glimpse.

"Come on, let's go say hello." Lisa said, tugging Dean from the pew before he even got the chance to protest.

"Good morning Lisa, it's good to see you." Castiel murmured softly with a small nod of acknowledgement in her direction.

"This is my boyfriend Dean." She said with a small press of her hand in between Dean's shoulder blades, encouraging him a bit like she might push a child to say hello to the other kid at the park.

Castiel's eyes turned immediately to meet Dean's and he felt his face flood with blood as recognition filled Castiel's gaze.

"It's good to meet you Dean." Castiel greeted politely, a small smile playing at his lips.

Dean couldn't stop staring or being awkward and it was stiff when he held out a hand in front of him for Castiel to shake. The moment their flesh touched, the moment their hands clasped on to one another, he relaxed. He couldn't explain it. There was just this inexplicable rightness. Comfort. Safety. Ease. But damn it Dean, it was just a handshake. So what if his hand held on just that little bit too long? So what if his hand was still warm and tingling as they said goodbye and made their way out the church. So what if that one measly moment of contact with another human being had been the most peaceful he'd felt in years.

That night Dean went back to the abandoned house and made pasta for Sam. He fought back a wide smile of satisfaction when his brother groaned his approval, embarrassingly happy that his cooking was appreciated. They sat and played cards at the table until Sam's eyes were drooping and he dragged himself up the crumbling stairs to find somewhere to crash. And for the first time in a long time, Dean didn't have a drink. He stood in the doorway and looked out at the stars and when he went back inside and lay down he fell asleep with images of blue eyes and breath-taking black feathered wings flickering behind his eyelids.