How Do I Love Thee?
One morning Cas found it taped to the bathroom mirror:
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,–I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!–and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Later, at breakfast, he waved the paper at Dean. “Elizabeth Barrett Browning?” he asked.
“What?” protested Dean, ears pink. “I read. Not as much as you since you moved in here, but I read.”
“I like the poem,” Cas said. “And aside from the fact that you had no ‘childhood faith’, it fits, I think.”
“That’s not quite true,” Dean said quietly. “I didn’t believe in Chuck when I was a child, that’s true enough. But Mom taught me to believe in angels.” He looked up at Cas, grinning. “And yes, it fits. After all the crap we’ve done for him, Chuck had better give us a place together in heaven after we die!”
“I have hope,” said Cas.
A few days later, Cas found a sky blue scrap of paper on the passenger seat of the Impala:
He walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in his aspect and his eyes.
He smiled at Dean. “A bit liberal with the pronouns, but I like it.Tennyson.”
“I liked the part about the starry skies and the eyes. It made me think of you. And “all that’s best of dark and bright”? I couldn’t describe your wings better. So what if I changed it a bit…” Dean mumbled.
Cas leaned over to brush his lips against Dean’s cheek. “It’s perfect.”