Castiel turned from Dean and hurried across the parking lot, not even waiting for the doors to fully slide open before slipping through. "Hey, Castiel," Rafaela greeted him cheerfully, but he ignored it and whatever unfinished sentence followed.
He forgot to clock in.
He forgot to remove his trench.
He simply commandeered a cart full of returned books and pushed them straight to the fiction section. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, his throat burned and his skin felt flush. His mind was such a mess of tangled thoughts that he didn't notice that Rafaela had followed him, only realizing that she was talking to him when her hand touched his shoulder. Castiel dropped the books he been blindly organizing, incorrectly he was sure, and stared at the woman, eyes helplessly wide.
Rafaela's face was twisted with concern and curiosity, and Castiel quickly schooled his expression to something he prayed was less vulnerable. He knew he'd failed when Rafaela's worried frown grew. "What's wrong, Castiel?" she murmured, the soft question hardly reaching his ears over the pounding of his own heart.
"Nothing," he replied, perhaps a moment too late. Rafaela did not seem to believe it. Castiel knew it was because he did not himself believe it.
"Something's wrong," she insisted. "Talk to me. Tell me-"
"Nothing is wrong," he answered quickly, cutting the woman off. "Everything is fine. I am normal." Castiel wanted to believe it, more than he wanted Gabriel to see the light, more than he wanted Michael to accept their differences, more than he could remember wanting anything.
Rafaela's brows furrowed together and her hand dropped to her side. "No one is saying that you aren't," she told him, and even Castiel could tell the woman was being cautious with her words. "You're just not really...acting it right now."
In any given situation, Castiel would say that Gabriel would be perhaps the absolute last person he might look to as a moral example. But somehow, just now, Castiel thought that his brother's penchant for lying to get out of helping around the house might be his most acceptable option. "I am unwell," the lie rolled too smoothly from his tongue, and Castiel wondered if it was not as much untruth as he thought.
"You do look a little hot," Rafaela admitted, the concern in her voice deepening. "Is it your stomach?"
Castiel nodded, pulling at his tie in what he hoped was an uncomfortable manner. He'd seen Gabriel do such once, and it had seemed to enforce his lie. "Would you please cover for me?" He hardly allowed Rafaela the time it took to nod before he'd thanked her and turned away. He exited the building in a rush, thankful that Dean had already left as he had not planned so far ahead that he knew what he might do if he met the man again so soon. He started his car and drove, focused on his destination, keeping at bay with only the strength of his will all other thoughts until he reached the church.
It was difficult to maintain a calm pace as he walked into the church. He picked one of the pews only midway up the aisle rather than his favorite at front. He'd been doing the same for many of his visits lately, and Castiel tried not to think of what that might mean. He sat stiffly at first, then ran his fingers over the cool wood of the pew in front of him, worn smooth over the years with the passage of many hands. He pushed his arms up, still feeling the wood through his trench, his jacket, and his shirt, until he was resting his elbows on the back of that pew. As he had done so many times before, he clenched his hands together, bowed his head, and prayed.
Castiel wasn't sure how long he had been praying when he realized he had company. He smelled the softly acrid smoke of the cigarette before he heard the words, though his lack of surprise no doubt disappointed his visitor. "Thinking of joining the clergy?" Balthazar asked, patting the backs of his fingers against Castiel's shoulder until he slid over to the right just enough for pastor to sit next to him. Castiel glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, repressing the urge to smile a little at the subtle disappointment he could see in the small downturn at the edge of his friend's mouth. "I would not recommend the switch. You get more girls as a sensitive librarian than wearing the clergyman's robes."
Castiel had learned years ago that Balthazar was a strange man, and certainly like no other religious figure he'd ever known. After a childhood spent living in fear of disappointing his brother, and thus God, the unquestioning acceptance and lack of judgment that Balthazar had given him had seemed utter freedom. To learn that the man gave this gift to all members of his congregation, to friends outside the church, even to simple strangers in the street, had inspired Castiel. Despite the near constant lies about his smoking habit, and the odd bit of humor that hinted to a past life less upstanding than the preachers of Castiel's childhood, if asked he would still say that he joined the Methodist church purely to become the sort of man Balthazar had proven himself to be. Only without the lies and presumably sordid past.
Until recently anyway.
Castiel sighed, closing his eyes against the image of the altar several rows ahead, and pressed the tips of his fingers to his lids. For long moments, Balthazar said nothing more. Castiel only knew he was still there by the soft humming. He knew eventually the pastor would get bored just sitting there, and would ask the questions Castiel wasn't sure how to answer. The ordeal might help him find clarity, and was what he'd hoped for when he'd come to the church rather than stay at the library. But as minutes ticked by, and Balthazar had yet to say anything further, Castiel found the words came more easily than he'd thought possible. "I have been cruel," he admitted.
Balthazar snorted with disbelief. "I honestly doubt that," he replied, laughter in his tone. Castiel didn't look up, but he didn't have to know the man was rolling his eyes when he heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Alright, my friend," Balthazar said, pausing to take a long drag from his cigarette, "tell me what you have done."
He was unsure where to start, unsure how much to say. Castiel kept his hands over his face, chewing for a moment on his bottom lip as he considered. Taking a deep breath in a failed attempt to calm himself, Castiel settled back into the pew, his hands dropping to his lap but clenched together tightly. He started from the moment he'd met Dean Winchester and developed a strong and honest desire to save the man, and forced himself to keep going straight through Dean's confession. As much as the situation twisted his heart in his chest and pushed his thoughts to the darkest places of his mind, the story was surprisingly short. He didn't falter though, until the end. "I was… I called him… and his brother…" Almost of their own accord, his hands flew back to cover his face. He couldn't look at Balthazar, couldn't look to the altar or the cross. "I was scared," he whispered into his palms, not even certain his friend could hear the words. "It is no excuse for what I said, but I was scared."
"Of what?" Balthazar asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft and serious.
Castiel shook his head. But he knew he would answer. It was why he had come here, not to speak to God and pray for an answer, but to speak with Balthazar and receive one. Castiel leaned forward until his forehead rested against the pew in front of him and slid his hands up until he could fold his fingers together over his neck. "He was telling the truth, Balthazar. Not only his truth, but mine. I did feel something. But it is wrong. I called him and his brother... I called them abominations, but I am so much worse."
Silence followed his declaration, but Balthazar's hand was on his back, patting gently with the comforting gesture of an old friend. After a moment of it, Balthazar's hand gripped his shoulder, pulling Castiel to sitting. Castiel allowed it, letting his hands fall to his lap once more and keeping his face carefully forward. "Well," Balthazar finally spoke, and Castiel heard the click of a lighter. He hadn't even realized his friend had finished his other cigarette. "We know what the church has to say about such things." Castiel nodded, frowning. He knew. "But I imagine if all you wanted was to hear again what the church might say, you would be still deep in prayer, no matter how many questions I asked."
Castiel nodded again. Balthazar said nothing for a time, puffing at his cigarette every few minutes. Castiel waited for the other man to gather his thoughts. "God is not the angry, vengeful God He was in the Bible. He is loving and forgiving." Castiel's frown deepened at the announcement. This did not seem like an answer, so he waited for his friend to continue. "As a pastor, I cannot give you permission to engage in such relations with a man," Balthazar said and Castiel appreciated that he kept his voice low, even if the room was empty of parishioners. "Personally though, I believe that God has given us many gifts: hope, joy, and most importantly, love." Balthazar slanted his gaze to Castiel, and he felt that this statement of such a commonly held belief in his congregation, was somehow important to this specific conversation.
When the man didn't elaborate, Castiel shook his head. "I do not understand," he confessed, rubbing his fingers to his temple. The stress of the morning's events was beginning to build up a tremendous headache. Castiel hoped it would stay off long enough for him to receive the answers he so needed.
"I've known you for a long time, Castiel. Nearly ten years now, I should think, and never in all that time, have I seen you so distressed. Please keep in mind that I've met Gabriel." Balthazar chuckled, clearly remembering that unfortunate Sunday. "If one person could turn you on end like this, when not even your brothers could do so, I must believe that one person is somehow special. When God puts someone like that in your life, you must investigate." Balthazar put out his cigarette against his boot, then pulled himself to standing with a grunt. "I am getting old, my friend," he muttered and Castiel watched as he dropped the burnt cigarette into his jacket pocket. "It is a great sin to claim to know God's plan for each of us, Castiel, and I am not so arrogant that I can say I have any sort of idea what He means for you, but I do hope I've helped."
Castiel watched Balthazar walked away, disappearing into the room behind the altar. He wished that the man could speak plainly, but Castiel supposed he had his answer either way. Love was a gift, and Dean was somehow special. That he understood well enough. He simply couldn't reconcile his entire life, every deep-seated religious belief he'd ever held, to the idea that a man could be with another man. He settled back against the pew and contemplated.
Shadows shortened then lengthened again as the sun passed over and morning turned to afternoon. His stomach growled, reminding Castiel that he had had neither breakfast nor lunch thus far, but still he sat, sorting through his thoughts, through each conversation with Dean Winchester, and through Balthazar's advice. Sometime around three, he reached a conclusion that, while not completely satisfying, seemed at least reasonable.
If love was a gift from God, and if what he and Dean felt for one another was indeed love, then it was not a sin to pursue a relationship with the man. Castiel frowned and rubbed his hand against his head again. That seemed to be what Balthazar had been trying to tell him, but it still somehow felt wrong. Michael's voice, the echo of religious self-righteousness that was left of his childhood under the man's thumb, screamed at him that even thinking about such a thing was wrong and he would burn for it.
But Dean's voice came through louder. "I felt something, and I never feel anything." He pictured the happiness on Dean's face before Castiel had called him an abomination. He couldn't be certain what had been going through the man's mind at the moment, but if he had been the cause of that happiness, just as he had been the cause of the pain only minutes later, then perhaps Dean was much like himself- turned on end when he'd never expected to be. Before meeting Dean, Castiel did not believe that people, strangers even, simply felt something so strongly and so immediately. It certainly seemed that Balthazar had the right of it, that such a thing may be a part of God's plan. But then, Balthazar had also admitted to not knowing that plan. Castiel suddenly wished he had a few aspirin in his pocket. Not that the aspirin would be at all useful in determining if the strength and suddenness of feeling he had for Dean meant something like love. They only barely knew each other.
Unbidden, Rafaela's exasperated explanation gained the foreground in his mind. "You go out for coffee to find out more about each other and make the basis for a solid relationship." Castiel's frown lifted. Even Michael's voice did not exclaim that having coffee with the man was a sin, though he did imagine it repeating the old adage about the road of good intentions. He would ask Dean for coffee and try to get to know the man through it. He would think about anything that might come after… well, he would think about that later.
Having come up with some semblance of a plan, Castiel stayed in his pew, praying for guidance he was no longer sure he would know to follow.