lungs of man with borrowed breath

Short ficlet based on this gorgeous fanart (x)


Angels do not go down on earth.


Through war, through famine, through disease—

Angels do not go down on earth.


That, at least, is what Castiel was told.


But then he was called, to leave Heaven, to take a vessel; and for a trifle of a thing. To ensure the safety of one Luke Ramirez.

It was explained to Castiel, and he listened dutifully, that occasionally these sort of acts were required. Not miracles, per se, but little pushes, little nudges, all to ensure the correct path. The grand plan.

(He does not know this speech has been given to him many times.)

Accidents barely avoided, a heavy thing falling just a little short, a bullet that grazes your cheek.

Such is the work of angels.

Castiel goes immediately. There is no need to wait, the orders came, and it is happening now. Jimmy Novak is young, perhaps too young, but Castiel takes him anyway. He has no other options.

He follows Ramirez to the city center, his angel eyes sharp, his senses attuned to any possible danger. He receives some strange looks, perhaps because he has no coat, only a thin jacket to fight against the winter chill, or perhaps because such a young boy should not be travelling alone. Castiel does not notice, or care. No one approaches him.

The city is brightly lit, decorated to celebrate the upcoming holiday, the celebration of the birth of Christ. Obviously, things got a little lost over the years. The infant known as Joshua, and later Jesus, was not born in December as the stories said, but July. And there had been only two men in attendance, both of whom were certainly not wise. 

The matter is simple. A couple dropped books, a redirection of a bicycle—and Ramirez’s path is blocked, for 30 crucial seconds, and the taxi that would have hit him drives safely by.

Castiel watches from a nearby storefront, a quiet pride in completing his orders.

He stays for a while, just watching, even though his charge has long since disappeared from view. Humanity is endlessly fascinating, and Castiel has never had the chance to see it this close. 

He takes a deep breath into his borrowed lungs, turning his face up to meet the snow, falling from the sky. He should return to Heaven. He should return home.

“Dean Winchester, stop trying to grab the nice boy!”

Castiel turns.

Behind him stands a group of three people, taking brief shelter under the same awning. They are laden with their Christmas shopping, bundled up warmly for the Kansas weather, and Castiel knows them.

John and Mary Winchester. He recognizes their faces immediately. They are very important in his Father’s plan; and their names are etched into every angel’s brain. The man is holding what Castiel knows to be his son, the firstborn. And he also knows the great tragedy that will soon tear this family apart. 

He peers at the infant struggling in his father’s arms. A small boy, eyes bright and green, hands grasping in Castiel’s direction. His mother brushes a hand through her son’s hair, smiling warmly at Castiel.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “He’s not usually like this.”

Castiel shakes his head.

“Quite alright,” he murmurs.

The boy continues to reach for him. His cheeks are pink with the cold, and he’s babbling happily, carefree and joyous. Castiel does not know his exact age; it is so hard to tell with human children. He could look into his soul and know—but that would be rude, Castiel thinks.

“Hello,” he says instead. “And who might you be?”

His father smiles, bouncing him slightly.

“This here’s Dean.”

Castiel smiles.

“Hello, Dean.”

He nods to the Winchesters, thinking now he definitely should be going. Coming down to Earth was one thing, but talking to humans? It was not mentioned in his orders. He should not disobey. 

He inclines his head, and turns to take his leave.

Then Dean touches him.

His tiny hand catches his ear, sliding down his cheek—and Castiel is suddenly overwhelmed, with a flood of images that nearly leaves him staggering.

A barn, lights sparking before his eyes. A rain-filled room and an archangel with murder in his eyes. A ring of holy fire, a painful glance, hands pulling a sodden trenchcoat from the water. And longing, longing, longing, a bone-deep clamoring ache, only getting stronger as the images strengthen. Blood on his hands, not his own—and a hand on his face, begged words, his name said, over and over. Then not in pain, or hurt, or fear—but in heat. Passion.

Love.

He touches him, and Castiel knows instantly.

Dean Winchester is 22 months, 19 days, and 5 hours old. And in roughly 28 years, Castiel will meet him again. In the fiery pits of Hell.

He does not move. Castiel watches this small child, innocent, unknowing, still grasping at Castiel’s hair. He has no idea.

Castiel decides it makes him…sad.

He quickly backs away, ignoring the odd look Dean’s parents give him. They will not remember this. They will not remember an encounter with a strange boy, one cold December day, too long ago.

He ducks into an alley and disappears.

He safely returns Jimmy Novak to his bed, and for his benefit as much as his own, wipes the encounter from the boy’s mind. He is not so sure Jimmy would be so easily convinced a second time.

He returns quietly to Heaven, and his superiors radiate pride and happiness at his success. Castiel goes back to what he had always done before, working beside his brothers and sisters, and tries not to think of the human, with green eyes and the sun in his smile.

Yes, angels do not go down on earth.

But Castiel does. And he will go again.

G/T short story: words

(I’m a little rusty when it comes to short stories, been a while since I worked on one but I’m trying to get back into it and finish all the ones I started!)


“Hey, take it easy now….”

Words. Words meant to reassure and calm.
Words to be believed, to be heard and understood.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you..”

Words that hold the truth, that ask for trust.
Words spoken as soft as a gentle breeze.

Words meant nothing to Tali.
How could they?
She was currently huddled into a tight corner, panting for breath as she leaned against the skirting board of a gigantic house and looked up into the eyes of a monumentally huge man bearing down upon her with footsteps as loud as thunder.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Marriage proposal

“Shit. Shit shit shit.” Dean rifled through his drawers frantically, eyes widening in dismay when the little black box he was looking for seemed to be nowhere. The box had been collecting dust in his sock drawer for months now, since their one year anniversary. It was the only place he thought it was safe, since Cas had access to everywhere in his apartment. But not it was lost and Dean was going to have a heart attack if he didn’t find his grandmother’s ring.

“Ready? We are going to be late.” Cas’ voice came as Dean whipped his head around to see his boyfriend nonchalantly leaning against his bedroom doorway. 

“Yeah-uh-I just need a moment.” 

His breathing stopped when Castiel smirked and brought out the small black box from behind his back. “I forgot to bring socks when I came over last night, so I went to borrow a pair of yours and I found this. Imagine my surprise.”

Dean felt the air being suction-cupped from his lungs. “Babe-”

“Dean Winchester? The man who not one year ago when we started this told me that he wasn’t the settling type? The man who curses at the mere mention of marriage?” Castiel dropped his eyes to the box and his smile dissipated. “Unless you have someone else, someone who this box is meant for… and I am just the ass on the side.”

“Fuck no, baby. I-” Dean cleared the distance between them and cupped Cas’ face to bring their eyes together. “That box is for you, the ring too. It’s stupid. But I-well I love you. And I wanted you to know it. And yeah, marriage is stupid and redundant but-uh-I’d be happy to do it with you.”

Castiel grinned lovingly. “Smooth, Winchester.”

Their lips met as Dean clumsily took hold of the box and grabbed the ring. As he slid it up Cas’ finger, he felt his smile pierce through the kiss.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, and thank God I found it or you would never have gotten around to it.”