Day 15: Carol of the Bells
Dec. 15th, 2008 11:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
iliaTitle: Carol of the Bells
Author: Lady Yueh
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not my property and no infringement is intended.
Character(s): Dean Winchester/Castiel (slashy only if you squint really really hard from an upside down point of view through a magnifying glass with a slashy mind. That is, not really at all.)
Date: December 15
Author’s Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kira_bouviea's prompt "church, carol of the bells". Blame my Muse.
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The grain of worn wood is smooth to the touch. The air is warm thanks to the heater and smells of wax and old dust. The lights are dim, the glow of candles the only illumination to be had.
“Do you seek refuge?” Castiel's voice is low and reverent, soft like a whisper on the wind.
Dean doesn’t turn to look at him; afraid of what he’d see, wondering whether this holy place would bring more of Castiel’s angelic nature to the fore where he’d see something humans were never meant to. More afraid that Castiel would catch sight of something in him that no one should ever see.
“No,” Dean answers as he stares at the candles, golden flickers of light.
“I think you do,” Castiel disagrees.
Dean is too tired to argue, hollow and empty, waiting for something to fill him--anger, sorrow, pain, purpose, all of it has deserted him.
“You seek sanctuary in the wrong place, Dean.”
Dean shuts his eyes, as if that will shut out Castiel presence, his words, his existence.
The church bells ring. Their low tolls reverberate in the silence of the night, echo in the deserted room with it’s high walls and vaulted ceiling.
There is warmth at his back and Dean doesn’t open his eyes, afraid that it is the warmth of the divine that will burn him to cinders with a single stolen glance.
There is a human hand--flesh and blood, skin and bone--that clutches his shoulder, a grasp that is tight and steady, filling him with fire and determination and life and it hurts, it hurts so good because he can feel.
“The Lord is with you, Dean.”
Castiel’s words sound like a promise, ironclad and unbreakable, like the inescapable peal of bronze bells.
“I am with you.”
They sound like salvation.
Author: Lady Yueh
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not my property and no infringement is intended.
Character(s): Dean Winchester/Castiel (slashy only if you squint really really hard from an upside down point of view through a magnifying glass with a slashy mind. That is, not really at all.)
Date: December 15
Author’s Notes: For
kira_bouviea's prompt "church, carol of the bells". Blame my Muse.---------
The grain of worn wood is smooth to the touch. The air is warm thanks to the heater and smells of wax and old dust. The lights are dim, the glow of candles the only illumination to be had.
“Do you seek refuge?” Castiel's voice is low and reverent, soft like a whisper on the wind.
Dean doesn’t turn to look at him; afraid of what he’d see, wondering whether this holy place would bring more of Castiel’s angelic nature to the fore where he’d see something humans were never meant to. More afraid that Castiel would catch sight of something in him that no one should ever see.
“No,” Dean answers as he stares at the candles, golden flickers of light.
“I think you do,” Castiel disagrees.
Dean is too tired to argue, hollow and empty, waiting for something to fill him--anger, sorrow, pain, purpose, all of it has deserted him.
“You seek sanctuary in the wrong place, Dean.”
Dean shuts his eyes, as if that will shut out Castiel presence, his words, his existence.
The church bells ring. Their low tolls reverberate in the silence of the night, echo in the deserted room with it’s high walls and vaulted ceiling.
There is warmth at his back and Dean doesn’t open his eyes, afraid that it is the warmth of the divine that will burn him to cinders with a single stolen glance.
There is a human hand--flesh and blood, skin and bone--that clutches his shoulder, a grasp that is tight and steady, filling him with fire and determination and life and it hurts, it hurts so good because he can feel.
“The Lord is with you, Dean.”
Castiel’s words sound like a promise, ironclad and unbreakable, like the inescapable peal of bronze bells.
“I am with you.”
They sound like salvation.
