Title: I Call Out Amidst of All the Fallout (Chapter 4/4)
Author: Taya
Pairings/Characters: Eventual Dean/Castiel, Sam, Bobby, Balthazar, OCs.
Spoilers: Up to 6.22. Some plot points are based loosely on comments made by the cast.
Warnings: No beta, so all mistakes are my own. Creative use of commas. OCs.
Rating: R (just to be safe)
Word Count: WIP (4900 for this part)
Author's Note: The title is from the Steve Carlson song "Love You or Leave You." Jensen wrote the line, "In spite of it all I call out amidst of all the fallout." Steve said it's his favorite line in the song. It's mine as well.
A/N 2: I always picture David Strathairn when I think of Father Patrick (the OC). IDK if that helps, or not.
Summary: "I haven't lost my faith…but sometimes you just need a little proof that there's something out there worth having faith in in the first place."
Chapter Four: Forgive Me, Father, For I Have Sinned
"We haven't got it yet," he said, annoyed.
When Balthazar didn't respond after a minute, Dean looked up at him.
The angel was smiling.
"I've found him."
Five Months Earlier
The Church of St. Jude
Winchester, Connecticut
Father Patrick Gregory was drunk.
Actually, he believed the technical term would be shit-faced.
This in itself was nothing out of the ordinary.
The fifty-two year old priest had long been in the habit of leaving his home and walking the thirty feet to his church next door. He would sit on the ground behind the church, drinking a bottle of wine, and watching the stars.
Only this night, there was something much more interesting to watch than the stars.
"Father Patrick! Come quick! You have to see this!" Sister Margaret's voice called from afar.
Patrick rolled his eyes, as he leaned his head back against the church and took another swallow of wine.
"Yes, Margaret. I see. I see," he slurred quietly to himself, his gaze fixed on the sky.
It was the most incredible meteor shower that Patrick had ever seen. The heavens were alight with a million glowing streaks, blazing a path across the sky. It was truly awe-inspiring.
Proof of the incogitable glory of the Lord.
"Father," called Margaret as she hurried around the side of the church, her face flushed and her breathing labored.
Margaret was a short, plump woman in her late-sixties, and had been working as Patrick's assistant for years.
She ignored the nearly empty bottle of wine, as she pulled Patrick to his feet.
"Father, you have to come. There's a man out front."
Patrick swayed unsteadily on his feet, but the desperation in Margaret's voice helped to sober him a little as he followed her quickly to the front of the church.
The warmth that the alcohol had provided faded as he gazed at the sight before him.
There was a man lying naked in the grass beside the church steps. For a moment, Patrick stood frozen; but then he sprang into action. He knelt down beside the man, and immediately checked for a pulse.
He was alive.
The priest sighed in relief, as he searched the stranger's body for any visible signs of injury. He found none. In fact, the man's skin was nearly flawless. Patrick lifted his eyelids and scanned his bright blue eyes for any sign of head trauma. The man appeared unharmed.
"I'm going to go call 9-1-1," Margaret said, turning towards her house.
"No," said Patrick, stopping her.
"Father-"
"I said no," repeated the priest, standing up and gazing down at the man. He ran a hand through his shaggy hair. "He didn't go to the hospital. He didn't go to the police. He came here. There has to be a…a reason." Patrick paused, looking up at the church. "A reason," he scoffed, before breaking into a fit of laughter.
Margaret watched him sadly.
Patrick finally got himself under control, and turned to her with a small smile.
"Come on," he said. "Help me get him inside."
Between the two of them, they managed to get the unconscious man inside the church and into a makeshift bedroom situated just left of the entryway.
Once Margaret had gone home, mumbling something about the Father's reckless behavior, Patrick stood for a moment looking down at the stranger.
The warm glow that had filled him earlier as he had gazed upon the meteor shower had vanished. Looking down at this poor man, he just felt cold.
As he turned to leave, he caught the reflection of a painting in the mirror. It was a picture of St. Jude-patron saint of desperate cases and lost causes. Patrick looked at it for a moment, before turning his eyes upon his own reflection.
He looked old. His eyes were bloodshot, and there were lines on his face. His gray hair was sticking up in every direction, and in his hand he still clutched the bottle of wine.
Patrick chuckled as looked at the painting again, and then down at the stranger. He raised the bottle in a mock salute.
"Welcome to the club, my friend," he said, and he drained the rest of the bottle.
As he left the church, Patrick let his eyes wander once more back towards the heavens.
The sky had gone dark.
The first thing that Castiel noticed upon waking, before he had even opened his eyes, was the silence. Not just the silence of his surroundings, but the silence inside his own head. He could no longer hear the voices of his brothers and sisters. He could no longer feel their presence. The Purgatory souls, which had provided a comforting fulfillment, were also gone.
He was all alone.
For a moment, the loneliness threatened to overwhelm him, but Castiel quickly became aware of other sensations. He could see the sunlight from behind his eyelids; feel it on his face. Something soft was lying atop his body. A blanket? And despite the initial silence, he could now hear birds singing somewhere nearby.
All of these new sensations helped prove to Castiel that he was still alive. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed.
He opened his eyes, but quickly had to squint; the sun peeking through the blinds was too bright for his newly human eyes.
When his eyes finally adjusted to the light, Castiel let his gaze wander around the room. There were several religious paintings hanging on the walls, and a small dresser with a mirror sat against the wall opposite the door.
He sat up in the tiny bed, causing the blanket to fall and pool around his waist.
He was naked.
Castiel let his eyes scan the room once more, looking for his clothes-and when exactly he had started thinking of them as his clothes, he had no idea-but he didn't see them. It only added to the feeling of loss.
There was, however, a pile of new clothes sitting on the dresser-black dress pants, a black button-up shirt, white socks, and a pair of black tennis shoes.
After dressing, Castiel looked at himself in the mirror.
This was his body now.
His arms. His hands. His face. His eyes. He had never thought of this form as his before.
Castiel stared at his reflection for several minutes, before pulling his gaze away and leaving the room.
The church that Castiel walked into was small-a neighborhood church. Fifteen pews led up to a small alter, and a balcony circled above. At the other end of the nave, a man stood upon a ladder, changing a light bulb. He was tall and thin, with a head of gray hair. He was dressed in blue jeans and a dark blue shirt similar to the one the former angel was wearing.
Castiel looked around him.
A church.
He was in a church.
The irony of it caused him to scoff.
The man on the ladder turned at the sound.
"Ah, you're awake. Good," he said, climbing down. "I was starting to worry." The man set the old light bulb on the ground, and made his way towards Castiel. "I didn't call the hospital or the police. I figured there must have been a reason you ended up here."
A reason, Castiel thought. Right.
The man reached Castiel, and put out his hand.
"I'm Father Patrick Gregory," he said, "but please, call me Patrick."
Castiel took his hand. "Castiel."
"The Angel of Thursday," said Patrick, smiling. "Religious parents?"
"You could say that," Castiel replied, releasing the priest's hand and looking around the church.
Patrick continued to smile at the stranger.
"Castiel's quite a mouthful. Do you ever shorten it?"
"No," Castiel said sharply.
"Okay," said Patrick, the smile slipping from his face.
Castiel took a few steps away. "Where are we?"
"This? This is the Church of St. Jude."
"No, I mean what city? State?"
Patrick's brow furrowed, as he regarded Castiel curiously. "Winchester, Connecticut."
Castiel turned and looked back at the priest. He couldn't seem to stop the laugh that bubbled out of him. The sound was so foreign to him, that it caused him to laugh even harder. Patrick watched him apprehensively as Castiel's laughter bordered on hysterical.
"You don't by chance remember how you ended up on the steps of my church do you?" Patrick asked, once Castiel's laughter had died down.
The former angel took a calming breath, as he gazed fixedly at a crucifix on the wall.
"I fell," Castiel said quietly.
"Oh. Are you alright?" Patrick asked, concerned. "I checked you for injuries last night. You didn't seem like you'd been hurt."
It hit Castiel all of a sudden-like a freight train. He was suddenly overcome with emotion. Guilt. Sadness. Loneliness. He had the overwhelming urge to cry, and he hated himself for it.
He turned back to Patrick, with tears in his eyes. That's when he noticed it-a confessional.
"You're a Father of the Catholic faith, yes?"
Patrick nodded. "That's right."
Castiel took another deep breath.
"Would you hear my confession?"
Once he was seated in the booth, Castiel lifted his eyes to the ceiling.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."
He then proceeded to tell Father Patrick everything. He told him that he had once been an angel of the Lord. He told him about saving Dean Winchester from Hell, and how everything had changed after that. He told him all about the Apocalypse, the civil war in Heaven, and his partnership with the King of Hell. Finally, he told him how he had opened the door to Purgatory.
"…and then I took in all of the souls, and became the new God."
"Alright. That's enough."
Castiel heard commotion from the other booth, as Patrick clamored out. He exited as well, and looked at the other man. Patrick looked angry.
"Look, don't get me wrong. It's a very entertaining story and all, but I'm afraid I can only listen to so much blasphemy without fear of being struck by lightning."
Castiel looked at him sadly.
"You don't believe me."
"That you're an angel who fell from Heaven? No," Patrick said, smiling.
"You don't believe in angels?"
"Of course I believe in angels."
"Then why is it so difficult to believe that I used to be one?"
"Well, where's your proof?" asked Patrick, waving his hand towards Castiel.
Castiel narrowed his eyes at the priest. "I thought you were a man of faith?"
"I am a man of faith," Patrick replied defensively, crossing his arms. He stared at Castiel angrily, and Castiel just stared back. Patrick threw his arms up in the air. "Look, as far as I'm concerned, I've played the Good Samaritan and I'm done. I think it's about time you went home," he said, as he turned to walk away.
"I don't have a home," Castiel said quietly, causing Patrick to look back. He looked so lost that the priest felt his anger begin to ebb away. "I don't have anywhere else to go."
Patrick looked away and sighed. He stared at the light coming in from the stained-glass windows, as he contemplated this strange situation that he had somehow gotten himself into. After several moments, he looked back at Castiel.
"I can't listen to anymore crazy," he said bluntly.
"You won't have to."
"And you'll have to help out around the church, and with some volunteer work in the community."
"Of course."
Patrick just looked at Castiel curiously. "Alright then," he said. "You can stay."
The look of pure relief on Castiel's face twisted Patrick's heart.
"Thank you," he said, and the priest could tell how much he meant it.
In the following weeks, Castiel helped out a lot around St. Jude's. He would lay out hymnals before services, assist Margaret in folding and sending out the church newsletter, and help keep the building in good working condition.
However, once Patrick learned of his affluence of languages, he recruited Castiel to help him with translating some ancient religious texts from their original Hebrew-a project he'd been slowly working on for years.
For the first few days, Castiel had taken his meals by himself in his room, but Patrick soon invited him over to his home to eat. Castiel had gratefully accepted, thankful to be spending less time alone. Patrick had just shrugged, saying that he was simply saving himself a trip.
Patrick had also offered to let Castiel sleep in his spare room. He had refused. Castiel liked the church. He would leave his room late at night and sit in one of the pews. He would just sit there, listening to the silence, trying to hear his brothers…his father.
Patrick was becoming more and more intrigued by Castiel. He was obviously highly educated, judging by the number of languages he knew and his knowledge of world religions; but he was quiet around strangers, and socially awkward.
Oh yeah, and he thought he was an angel.
He had, however, begun to open up to Patrick more and more. Nothing personal though. Not since the confessional incident. They mostly spoke about religion, sometimes getting into vigorous debates, which Castiel always seemed to win.
Patrick constantly found himself wondering where this man had come from. Sometimes it was almost easy to believe that he had fallen from the sky.
Father Patrick Gregory was drunk.
This in itself was nothing out of the ordinary.
Castiel had gotten into the habit of taking late-night walks around the church before turning in for the evening. Several times he had stumbled upon the priest sitting behind the church, halfway through a bottle of wine. Most of the time, Castiel would acknowledge him with a simple nod, and keep walking; but tonight the former angel was feeling particularly lonely, and had sought out Patrick's company.
"I certainly hope that isn't the Communion wine," Castiel said, as he approached the priest.
Patrick smiled up at him. "Would it make you feel any better if I said that it wasn't?"
Castiel sat down on the ground beside him, and Patrick passed him the bottle without hesitation. For awhile, the two of them drank in silence, before Castiel turned to look at the priest.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Shoot," replied Patrick, taking a drink of the wine.
"What is it that caused you to lose your faith?" Castiel asked hesitantly.
Patrick went still, staring at the bottle. "What makes you think I've lost my faith?"
Castiel took the bottle from him. "I believe the phrase is "it takes one to know one"," he replied, taking a long pull from the bottle.
Patrick chuckled quietly, as he looked over at his companion. "And what is it that you've lost faith in, Castiel?"
Castiel stared down at the bottle of wine for a moment. "Everything," he answered. "God. Heaven. Myself." Dean.
Patrick looked at Castiel for a moment, before taking the bottle back. "My dad and I used to do this all the time-sit outside and watch the stars. Whenever my faith would fail me, he would always take me out into our backyard at night and point to the sky. He would talk about the infinite numbers of stars and the vastness of the universe, and it suddenly became extraordinarily easy to believe there was a God out there watching over me."
Patrick took another drink and continued on. "I was sitting out here four weeks ago. I was pondering the "Big Question". You know…why do bad things happen to good people? It's the type of question that can drive a man insane-drive him to drink," he laughed, holding up the bottle. "I came to the conclusion that either God was sadistic, he just didn't give a shit, or he wasn't out there at all.
"And that's when it happened. The sky just lit up. Out of nowhere, thousands of lights, streaking across the darkness. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. It's impossible not to feel the glory of God when you're watching something like that-impossible not to feel him present in your very soul."
Patrick started laughing. He started laughing, and he couldn't stop.
"And then I found you on my doorstep," the priest said, patting Castiel affectionately on the knee. "Cold, naked, and alone. And you wanna know why?" Patrick asked, no longer laughing. "Because God doesn't give a damn about you, Castiel. He doesn't care about you. He doesn't care about me. He doesn't care about anybody. Not personally, anyway."
Patrick fell silent, as he drained the rest of the bottle. Castiel watched him sadly, and tried to ignore how those words pierced his heart.
"You still haven't answered my question," he said quietly.
Patrick gazed silently at the empty bottle in his hands.
"My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was thirty. I prayed everyday. Every single day. It didn't make a difference. She died two years later.
"A year after that, my dad put a shotgun in his mouth. He had left me a note on his kitchen table, telling me not to go in the garage. Of course, I did anyway."
Patrick leaned his head back against the church, and stared up at the stars.
"Do you have any idea what it's like to lose the one person you thought you could always count on?"
Castiel didn't answer. He probably couldn't have even if he'd wanted to. He simply stared quietly out into the darkness.
The two men were silent for a long time. When Patrick finally resumed speaking, his voice was barely more than a whisper.
"Four months ago I hit a kid with my car," he said, staring off into space. "I wasn't drinking, I just…it was dark. His bike came out of nowhere. I jumped out of the car. He was in pretty bad shape.
"I didn't have a phone, so I checked for his." Patrick broke off and chuckled humorlessly. "I mean, what kind of sixteen year old doesn't carry a fucking cell phone?" he asked, slightly hysterical.
"I screamed for help, but no one came. All I could do was hold him and pray. I closed my eyes, and I begged God to help me. But God wasn't there. That boy was all alone, with no one to comfort him. Not his mother. Not his father. Not even his God." Patrick took a deep breath, as he tried to quell his emotions. "And he died in the arms of the son of a bitch who hit him."
Patrick threw the wine bottle as hard as he could, before struggling to his feet. Once he had steadied himself, he looked down at Castiel.
"I haven't lost my faith, Castiel," he said, "but sometimes you just need a little proof that there's something out there worth having faith in in the first place."
And with that, Patrick walked away, leaving Castiel sitting alone in the dark.
The following morning, Castiel decided not to go over to Patrick's for breakfast like he normally did, assuming that the priest would want to sleep in.
Later that day, Castiel was working on translating some text in the small office inside the church, when Patrick knocked lightly and came inside.
"I wanted to apologize for last night," he said, taking a seat across the desk from Castiel and giving him a small smile. "Wine, unfortunately, has that effect on me."
"There's no need to apologize," Castiel told him. "I actually found it quite illuminating."
Patrick chuckled. "Really? How's that?"
Castiel set down his pen, and looked the priest in the eyes.
"I've been thinking a lot about faith," he said. "As long as I can remember, I've always had faith in something—God, my family…Dean." He swallowed thickly. "I don't like not having faith. I want to find it again, but I need your help."
Patrick quirked an eyebrow at him.
"Um…you must not have been paying attention last night…"
"I just need somewhere to start," Castiel told him.
Patrick leaned back in his chair, and simply began throwing out suggestions—mission trips, joining the priesthood, a vow of silence.
"Vow of silence?" Castiel asked, intrigued. "How does that work?"
"I think it's pretty straightforward. You just stop talking," said Patrick. "Something about the silence making it easier for you to hear God or something."
Castiel nodded. "When would I resume speaking?"
"Whenever something in your soul compels you to do so."
Castiel was quiet for a long time, as he stared out the window. Finally, he looked back at Patrick, smiling. The he picked up his pen, and got back to work.
Patrick let his chair fall back to the floor. "Wait, are you starting now?"
Castiel nodded once, as he continued translating.
Patrick just laughed. "Well, alright then."
Nothing really changed all that much over the next few months. Patrick and Castiel still took their meals together; still worked together. Only now they did so in silence; and Patrick never made any attempt to fill it. In fact, he actually found it quite comforting.
One morning, the two men were working in the office, when Patrick decided to run next door and get them something to eat. He was at the church doors, when the sound of rustling leaves caused him to turn around.
Standing in the middle of the church was a tall man with blonde hair, wearing some of the tightest clothes Patrick had ever seen. He looked as if he belonged more at a nightclub than a Catholic church.
"Ah, Padre. Good. I was wondering if you could help me," the stranger said as he approached. He had a thick accent.
"Uh…yes?" asked Patrick, curiously.
"I'm looking for my brother. He's about ye high, with blue eyes and bed head. Answers to the name Castiel."
"Castiel?" Patrick said suspiciously. "He's your brother?"
"So he's here?" the man asked excitedly, looking relieved. "I knew I should have been looking at churches all along. I mean, what more appropriate place for a fallen angel, am I right?"
Patrick narrowed his eyes.
"Wait a minute," he said, stepping forward. "What is this, some sort of scam?"
The stranger raised his eyebrows at him.
"Look, I don't know what you're going on about, but I need to see Cas. Right now."
"No way," Patrick said sternly. "I don't know who you were to Castiel, but he's left his old life. He's been living and working here. He's taken a vow of silence in order to get closer to God. And I'm not just going to let you come in here and-"
"Enough!" the other man bellowed, and Patrick could have sworn he saw the lights flicker. "I want to see my brother. Right…now." This time, the lights went out completely. Lightning flashed from somewhere, and the shadows of two massive wings stretched across the church walls. Patrick stepped back, startled. "Please," the stranger added with a tight smile.
Patrick pointed a shaking hand at the office door.
"Thank you," the man said, moving past the priest. "Vow of silence, did you say?"
Patrick nodded mutely.
"Hmm…well, that should make things considerably easier."
Then the stranger disappeared into the office, leaving a shaken Patrick in his wake.
Castiel looked up when he heard the door open and close, and then he froze.
Balthazar was standing there, a look of pure relief on his face. Castiel felt a dozen different emotions at once.
"Thank God," Balthazar said, stepping further into the room. "Are you alright? I've been worried sick."
Castiel opened his mouth, and gestured to it with his hand.
"Oh yes, you're friend told me about your vow," said the angel. "I'm afraid I may have terrified the poor fellow."
Castiel raised his eyebrows questioningly.
"Well, he wouldn't tell me where you were. So…I had to introduce him to Castor and Pollex," Balthazar said, jerking his thumbs over his shoulders. "Anyway…let's get going."
He stepped towards his brother, but Castiel took a step backward, shaking his head.
Balthazar let out a frustrated sigh.
"Look, if this is about Dean…"
Castiel shook his head again, and shot Balthazar a hard look. Dean was not a subject that he wanted to discuss.
He moved away from his brother, and sat on the couch.
"Look, Cas…there's no need for you to do anymore penance. All's forgiven," Balthazar told him. "But we need to go. There are monsters to kill, grace to find…"
Castiel just sat there, staring at his hands. Balthazar watched him for a moment, before moving to sit beside him.
"You're not coming back, are you?" he asked. Castiel shook his head, and looked at his brother sadly. Balthazar sighed, and looked away for a moment, before getting to his feet.
Castiel stood up as well, and grabbed the angel's arm before he could turn away. There was so much that he wanted to say to his big brother, but he couldn't. So he just looked him in the eyes, and hoped that he would understand.
I'm sorry.
Forgive me.
I love you.
Balthazar understood.
He smiled warmly at Castiel, and pulled his head down in order to place a kiss on his temple.
Then he disappeared.
Castiel was suddenly hit with an overwhelming loneliness that threatened to bring him to his knees. He closed his eyes tight, and tired to focus on the good.
Balthazar forgave him.
It was a start.
Smiling, Castiel walked out into the nave.
Patrick was at the other end of the church, kneeling in front of a statue that he was pretty sure was supposed to represent his brother Gabriel. The priest's head was bowed, and he was deep in prayer.
Castiel's smile broadened, as he turned to go back into the office.
It looked like they both had had some of their faith restored that day.
Christmas Eve
Patrick had been gone for two days; since the day Balthazar had arrived.
He had poked his head into the office and mumbled something about going to Hartford for a couple of days. He hadn't met Castiel's eyes, but said that he would be back before the midnight mass.
Castiel knew that Patrick's family lived in Hartford, and that his parents were buried there. He took it as a good sign that the priest was reaching out to his family.
It was getting late in the evening, and Castiel was helping Margaret decorate the church for midnight mass.
He had just finished stringing up the last of the Christmas lights, before stepping out into the center of the church and giving Margaret a thumbs up.
She disappeared from her position in the balcony, and a minute later the church was plunged into darkness.
Then the Christmas lights came on.
Castiel had never understood humans' fascination with Christmas; but now, standing in the center of all of the multi-colored lights, it suddenly made sense to him.
The lights were reflected off the smooth surface of the pews, and Christmas music floated through the air.
It was incredibly beautiful, and he couldn't help but smile.
Behind him, Castiel heard the church doors open, and turned around. There, standing in the soft glow of the Christmas lights, snowflakes swirling around him, was…
"Dean?" Cas said gruffly, his voice rough from lack of use.
"Thank God," Dean said, rushing forward and enveloping his friend in a tight embrace. Cas's arms automatically wrapped around him.
"Dean," he said again, his eyes wide.
"Balthazar kept saying you were alive," Dean went on. "I wanted to believe him so bad, but he didn't have any proof."
Cas made a small sound, and clung to Dean even tighter. "Dean."
Dean just laughed.
"Dean, I'm so sor-"
"Shh," he interrupted, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against Cas's. "Don't…just, be quiet for a minute."
Cas obeyed, but he didn't want to be quiet. He had so much that he wanted to say, and he'd been quiet for far too long.
Neither of them knew exactly how long they stood like that, in the gentle glow of the lights, breathing one another's breaths.
Finally, Dean pulled away, clearing his throat and giving Cas a manly slap on the shoulder.
"Alright," he said, turning for the door. "Let's get goin'."
Cas followed him. Of course he followed him. It didn't even occur to him not to.
"Where?" he asked, though it didn't really matter.
Dean was already out the doors and down the steps, but the answer that he shouted back rang out clearly through the wind and the snow.
"Home."
TBC