arsonist's lullabye >> destiel au

chapter I

Castiel had taken his vows at twenty one just like his brothers before him.

They had been men of God ever since their mother had woken up one summer morning to see His face.
Castiel had been sitting on the small kitchen table and had listened to her sing, when in the next moment she was gone. Not literally gone, but the kind woman with warm eyes had been changed, an air of power surrounding her. Outside of the kitchen window, clouds darkened the blue sky and Castiel had never felt more scared.

He had been four years old.

Ever since that day nineteen years ago, his mother dreamed of God. She never tried to tell Castiel or his brother what He looked like, but she didn't need to. Sometimes Castiel could see Him in her eyes. And when she talked, Castiel liked to think of her words as an echo of His.
God never spoke to Castiel but he could talk to God as good as any other man and God had his way of listening.

Castiel had been the last of the Novak brothers to leave their childhood home, the town where they grew up and their mother.
The day he left, Castiel had worn a cross around his throat and carried his first bible in one hand and his mother's rosary in the other.
For a while he had wandered across the country, embracing his new found freedom. He had slept under the stars and sometimes in churches, when it was too cold or he felt homesick.

Now at twenty three, Castiel wears a cross around his throat. His bible and his mother's rosary are safely stored under his mattress in the place he calls home. A small, unremarkable church in one of America's small towns that are undistinguishable from each other. But it's a home, Castiel found for himself, that feels safe. A home he was not born into.

Sometimes it feels like everyone in this town lives in a small bubble. Rarely anyone leaves and when they do they often return.
Rarely anyone moves into one of the small houses with the little windows that are painted shut.

But Castiel likes that he knows the people who seek comfort, assurance or help. He likes that they know him and trust him to listen when they need someone to talk to. He likes that he can be that person for them.

There's the old man coming in every Thursday to tell Castiel stories about his late wife. How she loved daisies, danced to the radio no matter what song played and baked the best apple pie in town. His loving words always bring a smile to Castiel's lips.

There's the single mother that always stays late after Sunday mass. Sometimes she brings pictures of her children: one is studying to become a teacher, the other just married and the youngest graduates high school in four month. She is scared how everything will change then and is grateful for every calming word Castiel sends her way.

There's the young girl and her girlfriend who like to sit on the wooden benches and talk in hushed voices. Sometimes they keep to themselves and Castiel can hear their muffled laughter. And sometimes they'll tell him stories about school, their families.

Castiel likes that they trust him to listen when they need someone to talk to.

He likes the days when the church feels full of life.

But on some days the stone walls feel cold, the light that shines through the colorful glass dim and the silence eerie.

Castiel is never alone. He knows that He is always by his side, but on those days, Castiel is reminded of loneliness.

It's one of those days, when Castiel sees the man for the first time.

Castiel is doing his usual round, letting his eyes drift over the wooden benches, the cross over the door, the altar with the candles, when he notices him.

The man is sitting in the last row and his face is obscured by the darkness.
His shoulders are hunched and his whole body seems to scream: leave me alone!

And that's what Castiel does.
He has learned how to offer someone comfort without having to talk to them or touch them when he was younger.

When it was one of the days where his mother wouldn't talk, would just sit in the living room and stare at the wall, Castiel would lie on the carpet and draw a picture for her.
When he was older, he would do his homework or read. But the outcome was always the same: long after his older brothers had tucked him into bed, his mother would come and kiss him on the forehead. And Castiel had felt like he had been useful, had helped her somehow.

And that's what Castiel does. He settles on the steps and takes out his bible. Not his first bible, but his bible nevertheless.
His eyes quickly scan over the familiar words and he can feel some warmth return into his fingers, his bones.
And every time he looks up, he can see that the man still hasn't left.

Castiel sits on the steps and reads and sends quick glances to the man and waits, even though he doesn't know for what, until the world outside the windows has turned dark.

The next time Castiel looks up from the scripture, he sees the retreating back of the man.

His silhouette merging with the church's shadows.

Outside the rain is drumming against the windows and a cold breeze rushes through the chapel.
Then the door slums shut.
And Castiel feels strange. Like something of importance has happened, like something had shifted in the balance of the world, but he can't put his finger on what exactly.

The church is quiet except for Castiel's footsteps and the metallic jingling of his keys.

That night when Castiel goes to bed, he dreams of his mother singing in the kitchen, his brothers praying in the living room on their knees and the man laying in a cornfield. Blood staining his t-shirt red.