Supernatural One Shots

Jack Kline x Reader SOUL

—- WARNING —-
Please note before reading that this DOES contain a brief torture scene, a kidnapping, blood, and violence. No major character death or anything but there are mentions of fire, knives, and other canon typical violence/monsters! Stay safe!

Soul /sōl/ noun - the immaterial essence, animating principle, or actuating cause of an individual life.

You often found yourself asking Castiel the most random of questions about the universe. What was the beginning of the world like? What did the Bible completely get wrong? How have things changed over time in Heaven? Who thought the platypus was a good idea?

Most of all, though, your questions seemed to focus on one thing: souls. You were absolutely enamored by the subject. Something about them felt so incredibly intriguing, and after having seen the change in Sam Winchester when he happened to lose his soul, you wanted all the information you could get. Having an angel friend to answer your questions was exactly what you needed.

"Cas," you spoke his name softly, intent on not destroying the peacefully quiet nature of the bunker's library at 4 o'clock in the morning. The pair of you were up researching for a hunt after you found yourself unable to fall asleep. You insisted that instead of having Cas use his grace to help you sleep, that you could use your time to get some work done. The seraph reluctantly agreed.

"Yes?" He hummed in acknowledgement. His eyes lifted from his book in front of him just slightly to meet your gaze.

"What does a soul look like?"

Castiel let out a quiet chuckle, leaning back in his seat and pushing the book away just enough to show that you had his attention. A small smile quirked at the corners of his mouth at the question. This was far from your first time asking it. You questioned him relentlessly about every topic you could think of, but no matter what, you always came back around to the same question. What does a soul really look like?

And every time he gave the same answer: "They look like light."

Sometimes you took this at face value, just glad to hear him say it again, but sometimes, like this particular night, you needed to hear more. You gave him a nod of encouragement, urging him to continue speaking. He took in a breath and cast his eyes over the room momentarily. His hands clasped together in his lap, and the small, relaxed smile remained on his face. He loved answering your questions and you could tell. There was always a childlike excitement to you when he would offer you a new piece of information. You would take his words and hold them close to you, eager to commit them to memory. You knew secrets of the universe that other people could never even dream of knowing. It felt nice to take you under his literal and metaphorical wing to teach you the things you wanted to know.

"Souls tend to shine differently depending on the person. You can tell so much about someone based on their soul alone. This is why demons are so easy to spot: their souls are so twisted that they become something so much different than the purity of a human soul," he elaborated, his eyes trailing over the swirls of the wood grain on the table top.

You leaned forward slightly. "But surely not all human souls are so... pure," you pointed out. He nodded.

"You're correct. Many human souls find themselves being twisted in their life on earth as well, but never to the extent of a demon's, of course."

"But demons manifest themselves as black smoke. So, does that mean that the purity of a soul is based on how bright it is?" You continued to pester. You trailed your nails along the edge of the table subconsciously.

Castiel shook his head side to side. "No, not at all. It's less of it being one rule for all and more of just a... feeling. Much like you are often able to tell the intentions of a fellow human with a glance, souls are much the same. Some souls are dim, but that does not mean that they aren't beautifully pure," he informed you. His voice remained level and patient, as it always did when you started a line of questions. You smiled at his tone. You were always grateful for the care he took in these situations. He never made you feel bad for your questions or your lack of knowledge, something you wished that your old school teachers had taken lessons in.