A Thousand Years Or More

Title: A Thousand Years Or More.

Fandom: Supernatural.

Pairing: Dean/Castiel.

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 995

Spoilers: If you know who Castiel is, you're good.

Warnings: None, really.

Feedback: Yes please.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything even remotely related to Supernatural.

Beta:

tli was a darling and looked this over for me. Thanks!Notes: This is one of the things I never planned on posting, mostly because it's short and not my usual style. It feels... pulpy. But whatever. Maybe someone out there will like it. :o)

Summary: Castiel was made to love one soul above all others.

Link to this fic on LJ and on DW and on AO3.

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This fic is also available as a podfic.

Read by: me.

Duration: 07:50 mins.

Download link.

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Castiel, angel of Thursday, young compared to many of his brothers and sisters, always knew his destiny. Or part of it, anyway. It was the first thing he knew when he winked into existence. When the Almighty Father shaped him and brought him into Heaven, Castiel knew. He knew that he loved. He loved his Father, of course. He loved his fellow angels and every other thing their Father created, because that was how he was made. But most of all, he knew that he loved a single soul above all else.

Once he gave the matter some thought, this knowledge caused him quite a bit of discomfort, since he was taught that it was wrong to love anything above God. But he reasoned that it must be allowed, since God himself had shaped Castiel such. God had plans for all of them, so naturally Castiel could do nothing but have faith in his Father, and wait for his destiny to unfold.

He knew not which soul he loved, only that he did. It would be thousands of years yet before the soul could even be awoken, still cocooned in the Lord's creative graces, but Castiel knew. He knew and he gladly waited.

As humans evolved, Castiel knew their importance was significant, but he never imagined exactly how much this creation of his Father's would affect his existence. God shaped and molded their world, and Castiel watched it all and rejoiced. He followed his orders, and put his trust in the Lord. He watched souls come and go, bartered back and forth. From Eden to Earth, from Earth to Heaven, and later to and from an endless line of other places. Hell, purgatory and all the lesser dimensions. If nothing else, this served as an important lesson to Castiel of how adaptable the human soul was. It could exist anywhere.

When Castiel was given the order to pull Dean Winchester's soul from the depths of Hell, he did so gladly. The order was aglow with his Father's plan and Castiel reveled in the task, even as his wings burned, serving his purpose. Like any angel would, he felt blessed serving the Lord. And Castiel knew that this would be the first step on his journey. That somewhere on Earth the soul he was made to love was waiting to be found.

Castiel introduced himself to Dean in a decrepit barn, and while their first meeting was full of hostility and distrust, Castiel felt so sure in his conviction that he was doing what his Father meant him to do all along that he never questioned anything. Dean was important to God, so he was important to Castiel. But Castiel had only as much love for Dean then as he did for any of the Lord's miracles. He knew his time on Earth would shape his fate, and he hoped that he would soon meet the soul he was born to love. He remained hopeful, even in the face of the Apocalypse, and followed every order blindly. He guarded the Winchesters, and offered them any aid they asked for.

Castiel came to like the brothers. They were such different creatures from himself, but they called him friend, and the very notion was new and surprising at every turn. In Heaven everyone was family. Simple friendship was utterly new to Castiel, and when he realized the value of it, he cherished it deeply. It came to a point where he could say with complete certainty, that even in the absence of orders, Castiel would still give his life for the brothers.

And then it all got very confusing.

Castiel could no longer trust his Father's plan. He wasn't sure that his orders even came from the Lord anymore. Angels were killing angels, brothers and sisters were tearing each other apart, and war was raging through the very Heavens. And in the midst of chaos, suddenly Castiel found his destiny.

He had always believed that when he found his beloved soul that everything would become clear, and his path obvious. He had never once considered his life to become such a muddled mess of doubt, suffering and pain. And of love. Because in the middle of it all, Castiel's heart reached out, and no one could have been more surprised than Castiel himself, when his grace traveled barely an arm's length, before it found what he had been waiting an eternity for. That his very purpose of being had already been in his life for years, and was in fact sitting on a crooked motel bed across from him, cleaning guns.

And worse than everything else was the fact that Dean showed no reaction what so ever to Castiel's revelation. It would seem he didn't even feel the meeting of their cores happening, as if for the first time, and Castiel would have wept if he had known how. Never had he considered the possibility that his love might be unrequited. Surely there was no agony like this.

But then Dean looked up at him and smiled. The secret little smile he only offered when they were alone, and there was nobody there to witness what only Dean himself considered a show of weakness. It wasn't the all-encompassing connection Castiel had waited his entire life for, but it was something. Something that soothed his shredded heart, and let hope blossom.

Stunned by his only minutes old revelations, Castiel could not respond. But his eyes were fixed on Dean's face, seeing his own imprint on every cell of Dean's body where he reshaped it, as if it was all unknown to him. And he wondered why he hadn't realized it before, how he could have missed what was right in front of him. He could not look away. A long moment later, Dean shook his head and mumbled: “Freak,” fondly, before going back to cleaning his guns.

And somehow, it was enough. Somehow it would have to be.

End.