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Castiel thought that being responsible for a tiny village church, with a congregation that hardly cared to make the journey down the beaten path to listen to his sermons, was one of the low points of his life. He loved the old church and the silence of his semi-seclusion. After having accompanied his father to all kinds of foreign places where nobody had particular use for a priest apart from his eagerness to learn, to help and teach for free. But he had felt that often his attempts at philanthropy were mostly geared towards scrubbing his own conscience clean and were not always as well received as his father believed, so he had retreated. There was not even Wi-Fi up here and the only station he got in on his crappy old radio played love songs for heart-broken teenagers. So getting a post card from Papua New Guinea was the most excitement he had in the year after accepting this post.
That was until one day his ear drums almost burst when a screeching noise interrupted the soulful crying for love. Castiel spilt half of his coffee over his editorial notes on one of his father’s essays. The text smudged and the brown, wet lines dripped into Castiel’s lap before he got over his panic and jumped up to switch off the radio.
//No, fuck! Hey!//
Castiel froze at the crackling sound coming from the radio, but then he relaxed, guessing that it probably was a problem over at the station. The ear-splitting noise had abated slightly, but when he reached out to shut the radio off, it switched itself on again right away.
//Can you hear me? Who are you?// Castiel stared at the radio. //Hello?//
“Nobody told me that this had some sort of wireless function…” he muttered to himself, but was bombarded with the noise of what sounded like the roaring wind coming out of the radio. “Uh… I’m Father Castiel Morrison. Hello?”
//Castiel! Hey! Are you by chance in a church?// Castiel widened his eyes, jerking away from the radio to look around himself. //Don’t panic! Just answer the question, please!//
“Uh, yes…?” he muttered after having made sure that nobody was in the room with him and his door and windows were locked.
//Good. Sorry in advance,// the voice said then the radio shut off for good. Heart thumping, Castiel stared at the now silent radio. Then a loud crash shook the floor under his feet and made dust rain from the wooden beams of his ceiling. He couldn’t help shouting in alarm. It felt like something had crashed right through the roof of the church. He rushed out of his room, down the corridor and indeed found a pile of rubble and wood in the middle of the aisle. There was quite a respectable hole in the roof that still rained down a bit of debris. A man was lying on the aisle between the pews, apparently unconscious.
Getting over his wariness, Castiel gave in to his impulse to rush over and check if he could help. While the man was unconscious and bloodied, he didn’t seem to be mortally wounded. There was a tear in his pant leg and he missed one of his polished shoes. His tie was singed and his white shirt streaked red. Thinking he was safe to move the man to a more comfortable position before calling an ambulance, he tried to lift him. He was quite heavy, but not too heavy for Castiel to drag him into his own bedroom, dropping him on the bed.
By the time Castiel had his phone in his hand, the stranger had woken up with a pained groan.
“No need to call the hospital. I’ll be fine,” he said and even though it had been filled with static, Castiel was pretty sure it was the same voice he had heard coming from the radio.
“You just fell through my roof! You can’t be alright!” Castiel argued, but the man made a grab for Castiel’s shirt.
“I said I'll be fine,” he repeated, his green eyes stern and it made Castiel put the phone back down. He studied him, before he stepped closer to the bed.
“Who are you?”
“The name’s Dean,” the guy said, but then he clenched his teeth, grabbing his leg. Castiel saw his hand come back sticky with blood.
“Look, Dean, I’m sure you need a doctor and-“
“Is this a church or not?!” Dean barked and Castiel straightened in surprise, but nodded. “And are you a priest or not?!” Again Castiel nodded. “Then go wash your hands in holy water and put them on my leg!”
“How should that help?” Castiel asked in bewilderment but left the room to do as he was told. When he returned his breath got stuck in his throat. A halo of golden light glowed around Dean’s head and dark golden shapes blurrily moved behind his back. Dean lifted his eyebrow but continued unbuttoning his trousers to pull them down. There was a nasty cut to his thigh that almost made Castiel forget what he was seeing.
“So you can see,” Dean observed while Castiel was standing in the doorway, his hands dripping. “Yeah, angel of the Lord, nice to meet you. Come on now!” Castiel took a shaky breath, but then he walked over to Dean and put pressure on the deep gash on Dean’s leg. The angel, or whatever creature he was, hissed, bloodied fists clenching around Castiel’s bed sheets. Castiel wasn’t particularly squeamish, but feeling the bloody wound under his palms did make him gulp once or twice.
“If you’re an angel, then why are you hurt? And why are you here?”
„It’s the fucking apocalypse outside,“ the angel hissed through clenched teeth and whined when Castiel took away his hands in shock. “I mean not the – can you just put your hands back on my leg?! I’m bleeding here!”
Castiel’s fingers were trembling, but he nodded, earning himself a tired sigh from Dean.
“It’s a civil war. Nothing I haven’t seen before… But I was hurt and needed a place to recover. Churches and the healing hands of priests can help.”
“We have healing hands?”
“Just when you’re pure,” Dean said with a cheeky grin that sent heat to Castiel’s cheeks. “I’m kidding. I faintly felt you on the fringes of my awareness while I was running way. You have to be a devout and good man.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Castiel muttered and Dean laughed.
“Good enough for me. Just shelter me for a while and I’ll be out of your hair in no time,” Dean promised and Castiel nodded. He should be honoured that the Lord sent one of his holy messengers to someone as small and insignificant as Castiel. Maybe, just maybe, this would make his days just a bit more exciting.
Lucky for Castiel just three old ladies with their sleepy husbands where present to listen to Castiel’s sermon on the next morning which unfortunately proved to be a Sunday. Since the village was small, there were only sermons on Sundays and holidays, but he could be asked to come over whenever someone was in need to talk. But this particular morning he really didn’t feel like preaching. He was tired and hurt all over because the pews were uncomfortable places to sleep on. He spent most of the time the sermon would have taken talking about the hole in the roof. They collectively reached the conclusion that they needed more money to fix this church and that they should not do any sermons until it was safe to be inside. Castiel was not unhappy, since he had a patient to tend to.
“It’s been a long night, disregarding the hole. I have been doing the Lord’s work,” Castiel explained when he was asked why he was sighing all the time. “I hope…” he muttered when he had given his promise to make home visits to those that couldn’t bother to come but clearly needed the guiding hand of the Lord. Castiel doubted that the teenagers in question cared one bit about what Castiel had to say to them, but he always enjoyed visiting people and drinking tea or coffee with them. It gave him an excuse to bake and nibble on sweets.
But right now he had other concerns, a concern that awkwardly stumbled into the main hall just as Castiel was starting to clean. He dropped his broom and took hold of Dean’s upper arm, guiding the angel gently but firmly back into the bedroom.
“No confessions to take?” Dean wondered and Castiel shook his head. “Nice sermon by the way.” Castiel looked up from the various bruises and cuts he was studying. The angel’s face was handsome, even though his lips were swollen and cut and he sported a black eye.
“Will those who hurt you not come to look for you?” he wondered, then he pressed his hands back on the gash on Dean’s leg which still was the biggest wound on Dean’s body. The skin was warm under his hands and Dean watched him silently.
“Not here… Have you ever played catch as a child and you agreed that some places were safe if you got there?” Confused by the question Castiel looked up from his hands to study Dean’s face.
“I have, but why are you asking?” Dean shrugged.
“Because angels are all overgrown whiney children. We once agreed that as long as a human decides to harbour an angel in their house, the angel cannot be harmed… Especially if it’s in a church. Since the holy ground also keeps demons out.” Castiel’s knees buckled at that and he sat down on the floor instead, still diligently holding on to Dean’s legs.
“Demons,” he repeated and let his head drop into the mattress. He felt Dean’s palm cover the back of his hands.
“Hey… It’s okay… I know it’s a scary world out there,” he heard the angel say. Castiel turned his face to the side, looking up at him. He had a very small smile on his lips, mindful of his wounds.
“I have faith,” Castiel told him and Dean lowered his head.
“You should not have faith in angels or God, Cas,” he said, which earned himself a laugh from Castiel.
“Really? I should not? Is it not my choice where I put my faith?” the priest asked, sitting back up straight. Dean’s hand grabbed one of his, squeezing it. “Don’t you have faith, Dean? In something? Or someone?”
“Well… for now, let me just put my hopes in your healing hands,” Dean said with a wink, then he pulled Castiel’s hand to his face, pressing his lips against Castiel’s finger tips.
Castiel drew back in surprise, his face heating up but Dean, his lips now healed, grinned at him. Castiel frowned when Dean laughed at his flustered expression, rose to his feet and walked out of the room. Apparently much to the chagrin of the angel, who gave a start and reached out to him.
“Hey! Come on, Cas! I was just trying to lighten the mood!” he heard Dean complain.
It took almost two weeks to repair the roof all on his own and by now he hurt so much all over from working all day, kneeling on the floor next to his bed to heal the angel and tinkering up on the roof, that he just wanted to collapse and not get up for a year.
Living with Dean was not unpleasant, since he was funny and nice and generally talked a lot even though he rarely spoke about Heaven apparently not to spoil Castiel’s fun of having his own idea about the place upstairs. It was a lot louder and far less solitary with him around and the two weeks had had their nice moments. He really did like Dean, even though he was certainly not the kind of angel Castiel had expected.
But it was also stressful.
The angel was getting better, shuffling around mostly in circles through the tiny church, getting in the way, apologizing for getting in the way, and continued to stay right in Castiel’s personal space.
He decided to go out to meet one of his friends to at least allow his body to cool down, because there was no denying what being close to the charming angel did to Castiel. Castiel knew it, Dean knew it and kept pushing his boundaries, making him wake up from dreams that he had to wash away with the coldest showers. He was pretty sure that Dean knew about those too, the shades of his wings puffing up proudly when Castiel avoided eye-contact after one of his emergency showers. Castiel wasn’t a particularly sexual being, but even he knew that thinking about an angel covering his body with its own was really a step into the wrong direction as far as his celibacy vows were concerned. Not that he felt particular shame about it in terms of moral obligations. He did his fair share of being embarrassed with an angel in the room and that was mortification enough. No need to pray or ring up someone to take his confessions.
Considering how Dean was really eager to be around him it didn’t really come as a surprise that he looked thoroughly unhappy when Castiel told him that he had to go out for a couple of hours. He fidgeted in the doorway, holding on to the door, but made no move to call Castiel back.
A couple of minutes of silence and the cool air around him, made the priest stop. He was not far away from the church. If he turned his head he could still see it perched between fields at the very end of a long and lonely gravel road. He raised his head to the misty blue early evening sky. He took a few breaths and shook his head.
He turned his bicycle around and drove straight back to the church, finding Dean sitting on one of the pews, his form slumped. He looked up when Castiel closed the door loudly enough to catch his attention. He got up at once, surprise on his face.
“You are a guest under my roof, I should take care of you. I want to take care of you,” he said and was prevented from saying more by being wrapped up in a hug.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been fine for a while. I just didn’t want to go back out to face my family fighting against each other over stupid things…,” Dean confessed and Castiel looked at him in surprise. The look on the angel’s now completely healed face was embarrassed and sad.
“You may stay as long as you wish and come and go as you please,” Castiel found himself saying before he could think too much about it. Dean’s palms against the black fabric of his clothes were comforting just like the press of Dean’s lips against Castiel’s forehead. “Just… don’t do that if you-“
“Not mean it? Trust me, Cas. I don’t just go around smooching random priests.” Castiel stepped away from him, lifting an eyebrow. Dean scrunched up his nose, lifting his shoulders. “Well, okay… but I don't approach people who don't want to be seduced,” Dean told him. “Or do you want to be seduced because that could be arranged.”
“No Dean, I was not looking for some dark, mysterious man to come along and save me from my loneliness,” Castiel told him dryly, but a grin still pulled at the corners of his mouth. Dean laughed and put his arm around Castiel’s shoulders. “I was lonely though.”
“I’ll be back,” Dean promised, “as soon as I leave your church I will want to be back.” Castiel nodded, then he looked at the bag he was carrying because seeing Dean’s eyes on him for much longer would make him do silly things.
“Well, now that pie will go to waste,” he lamented, but Dean was there immediately, scooping the bag up possessively. “Do you eat?”
“Pie? Hell yeah,” Dean commented and wandered off into the kitchen. Castiel shook his head and followed him.
Maybe living in a tiny, kind of abandoned church, visited by angels, wasn’t the low point of his life after all.