InsaneJournal

Current mood:

thoughtful

Supernatural, Castiel-centric. Yeah, I don't get it either.
Set in the End-verse with spoilers accordingly. Sex but not really the shippy kind.



At first, the Apocalypse wasn't so bad.

He'd had hope; he'd kept hope for a long, long time. God, the Colt, blind faith and determination; something would work. He'd been sure of it.

Even as Dean grew colder and detached himself more from the others, even as the situation grew worse, Castiel had kept his faith. Castiel found strength he'd never imagined with Dean and Bobby and their other allies; humans were capable of such grace, such power.

There was always something that wasn't right; something in Dean's face, in his sorrow. It gave Castiel just a shadow of doubt, a hint of something dark to come. Still, the hope was stronger. They'd beat the darkness. Of course they would.

Castiel kept his hope until the night Dean came into his cabin and kissed him for the first time, hungry and desperate and wild. "No" never even occurred to Castiel; he'd given up so much already, how could he say no to this, to him?

The next morning he found out what Dean had known when he half-knocked the cabin door down.

Sam had said yes.

By noon, Castiel had scheduled the first orgy.