arsonist's lullabye >> destiel au

chapter III

Castiel sits at his desk in one of the rooms in the back of the church that he calls his, and reads.

The wood on the desk is dark and smooth despite a few scratches left by priests before Castiel.

He runs his fingers over the surface, mindlessly, while his eyes follow the letters on the paper.

He feels calm. Some sort of comfortable silence settles under his skin.
It is not the kind of quiet that reigns before a storm.
There is no violence to be expected.

Reading has always made Castiel forget about the sorrows of the world. Well, not really forget, but more like the small reality hidden in the pages gives him a short escape.
Short and bittersweet. But it is a beginning.

Sometimes Castiel dreams of finding his place in the world.
In some ways he has already found his purpose: to dedicate his life to God. Still, he would like something more. That he can feels this calm, always.

It makes him feel selfish. Wanting.

He tries not to want things.
Tries not to want his brothers to reply to his letters nor to want his past to be a different one, more memories with his mother. Not to want the man -Dean- to return.

But God seems to know anyways, and grants Castiel his wish.

"Hey."

Castiel looks up from his book. In his doorway stands Dean with a nervous smile on his lips. He looks pale in the sunlight streaming through Castiel's window. His eyes though, are a stark contrast.
The deep green is bright despite the dark shadows in Dean's face.
His shoulders are broad and strong. The fabric of a grey shirt is pulled tight across his chest.

"Hello." Castiel answers quickly. He had been staring. A bad habit he couldn't seem to get rid of. His brother Michael once told him that it made people uncomfortable and still, Castiel couldn't take his eyes of Dean.

Castiel clears his throat and wipes his hands on his dark trousers, "How may I help you today, Dean?"

The other man huffs out a laugh, "You remember my name? I must have made quite an impression."

Castiel shrugs awkwardly with one shoulder. I don't think I could forget you even if I wanted to.
"There are no other hunters in this town." He opts to say instead.

A weird look flits over Dean's face. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about.", he hesitates and looks around the room.
Castiel gestures to a chair next to his book case. Dean throws a grateful smile his way and settles down.

He continues, "I've been thinking that I don't want to be a hunter anymore."

Castiel feels his eyebrows rise involuntary.
He never heard of hunters just stopping to be hunters.
Everyone -well, obviously not everyone- knew that if your father or mother had been a hunter, you would be as well, and so would your children and their children.

It was a fate you could not escape. A fate that would dictate your whole life. Until death.

Dean seems to sense his surprise and is quick to add, "I know it's unheard of, but I just don't want to be a hunter anymore. Life's short enough."

He looks lost and so very young for a moment. His shoulders are hunched and he's curved into himself.

Castiel feels an ache settle in his chest. For a short moment he mourns the life Dean probably never had. He mourns the young boy Dean once was. He closes his eyes for a short moment, trying to shake off the sadness that had settled over him.

His life isn't over yet. There's still time.

"If you don't want to be a hunter anymore, I will do what I can to help you.", Castiel manages to rasp out. His throat feels raw.

Dean's face is transformed in surprise. Castiel doesn't know what Dean expected. It makes him even more sad.

"You will?", Dean asks, an unbelieving tone to his voice, "I mean I was hoping you would say that, but we don't really know each other, are you sure?"
The way he holds himself is self-conscious and his smile looks nervous and thin.

Castiel nods, feeling more sure every second that passes, "You deserve to live the life you want. And if I can, I'm going to help you."

Dean looks like he wants to argue for a moment, then smiles showing his white teeth, "Thanks, Castiel. I knew priests had to be good for something."

Castiel huffs out a laugh. He shakes his head but can't help the smile creeping on his face.

The way Dean said his name makes his stomach turn.
Castiel.
The word sounded right coming out of Dean's mouth, rolling of his tongue like the name of a friend.

Just as Castiel opens his mouth to retort something, a knock on the door interrupts him.

A muffled voice sounds through the door, "Father, you are needed."

"Of course, I'll be there in a second,"
Castiel turns to Dean, "I'm sorry but I need to go."

Dean nods and holds out his hand after standing up and joining Castiel to the door, "I will come back if that's alright with you."

Castiel is fast to reply, "You're welcome anytime, Dean." He is not surprised to find that he really means it.

Dean nods again, his eyes having turned somber again, "Thank you."

Before the words you're welcome can leave Castiel's mouth, Dean has already left, leaving Castiel only with his thoughts as he hurries to the chapel.

___

When Castiel sits on his bed in the evening, his mother's rosary dances between his fingers.

With his evening prayer still on his lips, he thinks of her.

Sadness still lingers underneath his skin and for the first time since he arrived in his little church, he allows himself to mourn.

He mourns the young boys he and his brothers were before God came into their lives. Their childhood and youth.

He doesn't think he would like it any other way, but still, it makes him wonder how much of a choice he had.
How much if his adulthood, his life now, would be his if his mother hadn't disappeared.

Is there a free will?