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emerald_embersTitle: Come They Told Me
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Castiel/Uriel
Rating: PG
Word Count: 870
Summary: A mission need not be great to have meaning.
Uriel is disinterested in human affairs by and large, has practised distancing himself that his role as a destructor might be easier. Castiel understands the need after spending scarcely a few months on Earth - the passive cruelty to one another is wearying, and the thought that the Winchesters have lived with it since birth seems almost astonishing. All of them shine so bright, these humans, but do everything in their power to dim that light, be it by filthy words or filthier deeds.
Still, that basic need to shine, to shut out the dark, that hasn't changed.
"He wasn't even born in this month," Uriel says, eyes narrowing every time they pass an overly gaudy home. Castiel thinks there's something endearing about the festivities, adults enjoying the holiday with as much freedom as children enjoying the rides in a park, despite the materialism.
"The celebrations are in his honour."
"You speak as if they remember what they celebrate." Uriel seems particularly frustrated with mankind today, but Castiel does not ask why. His comrade is prone to odd shifts of mood whenever humans come into play, and it is easier instead to tune out much of this world's noise, zone in on the quiet music drifting out from the house they are making their way towards.
"Peace on Earth," Castiel says to himself, repeating the words of the recorded singer, before quietly urging Uriel to see the truth. "They still want what He offered them, in many ways. Peace. Love."
"A world without stains," Uriel replies before gesturing for Castiel to be quiet. If it weren't for their mission, it might have seemed like an agreement.
Ten minutes later a young man wonders if he's had too much to drink as he wakes to find himself lying down in the kitchen. Similarly, a young woman in the same household wakes from a horrific nightmare where her body was forced to hold a knife to her child's throat.
The child remembers nothing, but cries until the young woman holds him regardless.
It is by no means the greatest challenge they have faced, but they cannot afford to be complacent about any seal. Lilith will take whatever opportunities she is given, so vigilance in their protection of the seals is vital. There are a little under four hundred left of the original seals, and Lilith has broken thirty one that they know of.
It's a frightening ratio given their dwindling numbers, and Castiel finds it all too easy to dwell on the horrors of such a point while trapped in the confines of his vessel. The security of feeling his brothers from afar in his angelic form is a luxury he misses, but there are alternatives.
Strangely, though he had touched Dean Winchester before, it was Sam Winchester who taught him the simple pleasure of letting flesh hold onto flesh. The procedure is clumsy and sweaty, at once more and less intimate than communing, but the results are satisfying nonetheless.
Uriel glares and grumbles as Castiel takes the slightly plumper hand of Uriel's vessel between his own and holds it tight. Up close the differences are fascinating, but he likes the idea that while their colours may contrast, their basic shapes are the same. It feels appropriate, and the shared warmth is a comfort.
For all his apparent distaste towards the act, Uriel does not pull away, and silences with a look those who pay them undue attention. "They are hateful creatures," Uriel speaks at length as they sit down outside the local cafe, waiting to be served. "They deserve God's wrath."
"They deserve a chance," Castiel replies with iron certainty. "They deserve to earn His love."
"As we do by serving? By obeying His will?" Uriel leans forward, narrowing the gap between them, and Castiel presses his forehead to Uriel's out of habit. "Are you so certain of His love?"
"If it is in human hearts to love and they were created in His image, I am certain."
It is easy to rest like this, forehead to forehead and hand to hand until the waitress interrupts them, youth and vitality glowing bright as she asks, "What can I get you two lovebirds?"
Castiel blinks, pulling back to look up at her. "I am not a bird."
"He's new to the U.S.," Uriel adds in response to the waitress' puzzled look. It isn't a lie, Castiel supposes. "Two coffees, pancakes, and a side of sausage."
"I bet," She replies with a wink before heading inside.
Uriel splutters and reclaims his hand.
"It's the sentiment they celebrate more than anything else," Castiel concludes around a mouthful of sausage, tucking it into the side of his cheek with his tongue so that he may speak. "Hope and change."
"Spring would be more appropriate."
"Spring is change," Castiel counters. "Winter is when you need change most."
Uriel seems to consider this for a moment before shrugging and frowning at his coffee. "That we should live to see Spring."
"We may," Castiel replies. It is not a promise; he would not make himself a liar. But it is a hope, as vital for an angel as a human.
He allows Uriel the conceit of pretending not to need it.
The End
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Castiel/Uriel
Rating: PG
Word Count: 870
Summary: A mission need not be great to have meaning.
Uriel is disinterested in human affairs by and large, has practised distancing himself that his role as a destructor might be easier. Castiel understands the need after spending scarcely a few months on Earth - the passive cruelty to one another is wearying, and the thought that the Winchesters have lived with it since birth seems almost astonishing. All of them shine so bright, these humans, but do everything in their power to dim that light, be it by filthy words or filthier deeds.
Still, that basic need to shine, to shut out the dark, that hasn't changed.
"He wasn't even born in this month," Uriel says, eyes narrowing every time they pass an overly gaudy home. Castiel thinks there's something endearing about the festivities, adults enjoying the holiday with as much freedom as children enjoying the rides in a park, despite the materialism.
"The celebrations are in his honour."
"You speak as if they remember what they celebrate." Uriel seems particularly frustrated with mankind today, but Castiel does not ask why. His comrade is prone to odd shifts of mood whenever humans come into play, and it is easier instead to tune out much of this world's noise, zone in on the quiet music drifting out from the house they are making their way towards.
"Peace on Earth," Castiel says to himself, repeating the words of the recorded singer, before quietly urging Uriel to see the truth. "They still want what He offered them, in many ways. Peace. Love."
"A world without stains," Uriel replies before gesturing for Castiel to be quiet. If it weren't for their mission, it might have seemed like an agreement.
Ten minutes later a young man wonders if he's had too much to drink as he wakes to find himself lying down in the kitchen. Similarly, a young woman in the same household wakes from a horrific nightmare where her body was forced to hold a knife to her child's throat.
The child remembers nothing, but cries until the young woman holds him regardless.
It is by no means the greatest challenge they have faced, but they cannot afford to be complacent about any seal. Lilith will take whatever opportunities she is given, so vigilance in their protection of the seals is vital. There are a little under four hundred left of the original seals, and Lilith has broken thirty one that they know of.
It's a frightening ratio given their dwindling numbers, and Castiel finds it all too easy to dwell on the horrors of such a point while trapped in the confines of his vessel. The security of feeling his brothers from afar in his angelic form is a luxury he misses, but there are alternatives.
Strangely, though he had touched Dean Winchester before, it was Sam Winchester who taught him the simple pleasure of letting flesh hold onto flesh. The procedure is clumsy and sweaty, at once more and less intimate than communing, but the results are satisfying nonetheless.
Uriel glares and grumbles as Castiel takes the slightly plumper hand of Uriel's vessel between his own and holds it tight. Up close the differences are fascinating, but he likes the idea that while their colours may contrast, their basic shapes are the same. It feels appropriate, and the shared warmth is a comfort.
For all his apparent distaste towards the act, Uriel does not pull away, and silences with a look those who pay them undue attention. "They are hateful creatures," Uriel speaks at length as they sit down outside the local cafe, waiting to be served. "They deserve God's wrath."
"They deserve a chance," Castiel replies with iron certainty. "They deserve to earn His love."
"As we do by serving? By obeying His will?" Uriel leans forward, narrowing the gap between them, and Castiel presses his forehead to Uriel's out of habit. "Are you so certain of His love?"
"If it is in human hearts to love and they were created in His image, I am certain."
It is easy to rest like this, forehead to forehead and hand to hand until the waitress interrupts them, youth and vitality glowing bright as she asks, "What can I get you two lovebirds?"
Castiel blinks, pulling back to look up at her. "I am not a bird."
"He's new to the U.S.," Uriel adds in response to the waitress' puzzled look. It isn't a lie, Castiel supposes. "Two coffees, pancakes, and a side of sausage."
"I bet," She replies with a wink before heading inside.
Uriel splutters and reclaims his hand.
"It's the sentiment they celebrate more than anything else," Castiel concludes around a mouthful of sausage, tucking it into the side of his cheek with his tongue so that he may speak. "Hope and change."
"Spring would be more appropriate."
"Spring is change," Castiel counters. "Winter is when you need change most."
Uriel seems to consider this for a moment before shrugging and frowning at his coffee. "That we should live to see Spring."
"We may," Castiel replies. It is not a promise; he would not make himself a liar. But it is a hope, as vital for an angel as a human.
He allows Uriel the conceit of pretending not to need it.
The End
