i see the stars but i do not feel their warmth.

trickster88:

Goldstream Park - built in July of 2010. The city council had decided to tear down an old, abandoned warehouse and build the park on top of it. Soon afterwards, a block of houses next to the park was sold to the city. Goldstream Elementary was completed in 2012.

Jenny Hawthorne moved to the Goldstream neighborhood the summer of her 4^th grade year, 2014. She was a bright kid with six freckles on her right cheek. She preferred to braid her dark brown hair and curl it in a bun, and she hated mustard on her hotdogs.

“Pass the ball!” Frankie Borak yelled. Jenny kicked the soccer ball to him as Ashley Turner jostled her from the left. Frankie charged forward, breaking away from the clump of 4^th graders chasing after the ball.

Jenny slowed, breathing heavily, and cheered when Frankie maneuvered the ball into the goal at the other end of the grass field.

“Who’s that?” Ashley asked, pointing towards the playground a few yards away. Jenny squinted at the colorful metal.

“Where?” Ashley pointed more insistently.

“Over on the bench!” Ashley made a face, lowering her hand. “He’s weird!”

Jenny’s eyes found the person Ashley was referring to. It was a man, about as old as her Daddy, and he wore a large, tan coat. It had a few streaks of dirt on it, but he appeared to be wearing a crumpled, dark blue suit underneath it.

“I don’t know.” Jenny stared at the man curiously. “He’s not a teacher.”

“Stranger danger, stranger danger!” Ben Park ran around Jenny and Ashley in a circle, flapping his arms wildly. Ashley shrieked, racing back towards the game. Ben followed her, but Jenny paused for a moment. The man didn’t look dangerous – he wasn’t even talking to any of the kids. He was just sitting there, thinking.

And for some peculiar reason, it didn’t feel like he was a stranger. Jenny had certainly never seen him before, but she just knew…

“Jenny!” Frankie’s voice broke her out of her thoughts, and Jenny looked up just as he sent the ball flying in her direction. She rejoined the game, soon forgetting about the man on the bench.

***

The next day, he was there.

And the next day.

And the next day.

He didn’t move.

Every day for an entire year, the man was there. Never leaving, never moving, and never speaking. After a month, Jenny informed her teachers, but Mrs. Elwell couldn’t see him. None of the teachers could see him, yet all of the children could.

‘The man on the bench’. Goldstream’s very own urban legend.

Nobody approached him until the winter of 6^th grade, when their curiosity finally outweighed the fear of the unknown.

“Hi,” Jenny said, steeling herself. The entire 6^th grade huddled together a safe distance away, watching her. Ashley shot her a gloved thumbs up.

“My friends and I noticed you’ve been sitting here for a while.” Nothing. No response, no eye contact. Jenny wasn’t sure he was even breathing. “We were wondering if you wanted us to bring you something. Maybe some food?”

The man stayed a statue. Jenny glanced back towards her friends once before reaching up to tighten her scarf decidedly.

“Well, if you ever do need anything,” Jenny hesitated, gathering her nerves, before cautiously touching the man’s pale hand. It was ice cold but malleable, definitely flesh, definitely real, unlike the stone she had always imagined him to be. “My name is Jenny.”

“Thank you, Jenny.” She jumped back at the unexpected, rumbling voice. The other kids were frozen, having heard his words quite clearly. “But I do not require any secular items.”

Jenny stayed quiet, waiting to see if the man on the bench had anything more to say. When he didn’t continue, nor make eye contact, she reached out and touched his hand again.

“What’s your name?” She could see her friends leaning forward as a group, frightened and rabidly interested at the same time. His eyes finally lifted to hers, and Jenny held back a gasp.

The man’s eyes were crystal clear blue, piercing and vibrant, possibly the bluest blue she’d ever seen.

“Castiel.”

Jenny swallowed, hard, and forced herself to sit down on the bench next to Castiel. Something about him felt safe, despite all of the self-preservation bells ringing in her gut.

“Why are you sitting here, Castiel?” Castiel looked past her, at the group of children watching him, before decidedly ignoring them.

“I am waiting for someone.” Jenny leaned forward, curling her fingers together.

“Who are you waiting for?” Castiel looked away from her, towards the empty playground.

“The Righteous Man.” He didn’t offer anything more by way of an explanation, and Jenny didn’t ask.

“Are you sure you don’t want something? We can get it for you, you don’t have to leave.” Castiel’s lips curled in the faintest hint of a smile.

“I do not need any material items, Jenny.” She nodded, her own lips curling back in a smile.

“I didn’t ask if you needed anything.” Castiel’s piercing blue gaze fell upon her again, and Jenny met it, unblinking. “Do you want anything?”

“I – yes.” Jenny waited patiently, wondering what he could want for. She would do everything in her power to get it for him, but to a man who’s been sitting on a bench for three years, what could be desirable?

“I would like a hamburger.”

***

Castiel got his hamburger.

Every day for recess, the children would bring the man on the bench a hamburger. In return, Castiel would tell them his stories.

Sometimes, they were horrible, terrifying. Death and monsters, blood and gore so graphic a few of the children threw up. Other times they were beautiful, stunning. The description of the miracle of an angels’ wings was continually requested of Castiel.

More often than not, the stories were about the Righteous Man and his brother.

“Dean did not have faith in Sam’s plan. I had even less faith than he, after the abandonment of my father.” Castiel took a bite out of the burger, eyes passing over all of the children at his feet. The teachers always looked on, absolutely baffled as to why they were all sitting there, completely silent.

“There seemed to be no other course of action. We took Sam to Detroit, to Lucifer.” The kids waited anxiously, drawn in by the angel’s storytelling. “Sam drank demon blood, preparing himself to host Lucifer. But Lucifer knew we were coming, and he was ready.”

“What happened?” Frankie asked quietly. They all knew that the apocalypse had not come to pass, but what did that mean for Dean and Sam?

“Lucifer took Sam as his vessel.” Castiel’s gaze swept over the children again. “Sam tried to fight him, tried to carry out our original plan, but Lucifer was too strong.”

“Dean would not give up on his brother. He called upon the prophet Chuck for information on the location of the battle between Michael and Lucifer. Then, we departed for the cemetery.”

“Was Sammy okay?” Peyton asked, biting her lip. Castiel patted her on the head comfortingly.

“Lucifer and Michael were preparing to fight when Dean arrived. He attempted to speak with his brother, but his efforts were in vain.” Castiel crumpled up the hamburger wrapper and threw it away in the trash can next to the bench. “Bobby and I arrived at the graveyard, and I attacked Michael.”

“Lucifer was angry with me – he retaliated by ripping my vessel apart. He killed Bobby, and went for Dean.”

“No!” A couple of the girls hugged Castiel’s legs, tears welling up in their eyes. He comforted them, smiling faintly.

“Shh, shh…”

“How did you survive?” Jenny asked. Castiel met her eyes calmly.

“I do not know. But I believe that God saved me.” Castiel stayed silent for a moment, brushing down Rachel Montgomery’s hair as she clung to his leg, before continuing.

“Lucifer began to beat Dean. Again and again his fists pounded down upon him. Dean did not fight back, for he could not bear to harm his brother. Then, a miracle occurred.” Castiel stared at Jenny, though he didn’t seem to be seeing her, replaced instead by a vision of the past. “Sam regained control of his body and ceased the brutal attack on Dean. He took the rings and opened the Cage.”

“Michael reappeared, and Sam took him and Adam down into the Cage with him.” The recess bell rang; breaking the trance Castiel’s story always put them in.

“Is Sam still down there?” Elena asked worriedly. Castiel shook his head no.

“I will recount more tomorrow. Go forth and learn.” They did as he said, racing back inside, except for Jenny.

“I’m sorry.” Castiel looked at her, perfectly neutral.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Jenny held his gaze.

“I know. But I’m going to anyway.” And she turned, running back inside the school.

***

It took another year of hamburgers and recess to unfold the entire story. Castiel told them of Sam’s missing soul, and Dean’s quest to find it. He revealed that it was his fault that Sam’s soul was missing, but that he had no idea that would be the repercussion of attempting to bring the younger Winchester back.

He told them of the war in Heaven, and of his brother Balthazar. He told them of Crowley, and his offer of Purgatory.

Castiel told them everything.

“When is Dean going to come?” Frankie asked, after Castiel had finished telling them of his ill-gotten stint as God.

“I do not know,” Castiel looked around the group. “But I will wait for him.”

“For how long?” Timothy asked.

“For as long as it takes.”

Jenny hoped it wouldn’t take much longer. Castiel had been waiting long enough.

***

Dean still had not come.

Jenny and her classmates had moved to a new school – Goldstream High. Castiel had been sitting on the Goldstream Park bench for nearly 6 years.

Dean Winchester was nowhere to be seen.

“When’s he going to come?” Jenny asked quietly, handing Castiel a hamburger. She sat down next to him, scanning the empty playground.

“I don’t know.” Castiel replied, slowly unwrapping the burger. Most of the other kids had stopped coming, but Jenny returned to the park as often as she could.

But Jenny had known Castiel practically her whole life – she knew he was losing faith in the righteous man.

He was losing faith in his righteous man.

Jenny wasn’t blind – she’d figured it out a long time ago. Nobody talked the way Castiel talked about Dean without being completely and entirely in love.

“Why don’t you go to him?” Jenny suggested. Castiel shook his head, biting into the burger solemnly.

“I will wait for Dean Winchester. He will find me when he wants to.”

And that, Jenny thought, had to be the saddest thing she had ever heard.

***

Four years later, Dean had not come for Castiel.

Jenny was a senior now, too busy to visit the abandoned angel on the bench. Four AP courses, a language, and an editorial spot on the school newspaper ate up her time and left her absolutely exhausted.

But she passed him every now and then in her car, still sitting there on the bench. Still waiting for the man who, it seemed, would never come.

“Hey Jen,” Frankie grinned at her, leaning against an adjacent locker. “How’s my pumpkin?”

“You cheesy douchebag,” Jenny teased, leaning in to peck her boyfriend on the cheek. “Over-wrought, that’s what. I might have to cancel our date tonight to work on Rachel’s fucking column.”

“Aw babe, it’s Friday night!” Frankie sighed, shaking his head. “How about tomorrow night?”

“That definitely works for me.” Jenny rewarded Frankie with another kiss, this time on his lips, and far more prolonged than the previous one.

“Alright, I’ll call you. Maybe we can see that new Adam Sandler movie.” Frankie smiled wickedly at Jenny, aware of how irritating she found Adam Sandler.

“Shut up.” She punched him playfully in the shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”

Frankie disappeared, and Jenny headed out towards the parking lot. So many things she had to do, so little time in which to do it. Homework, the newspaper, dating, applying to colleges…

Jenny climbed into her car, pointing it towards the main street of the town. Her mother had texted her earlier in the day requesting bread and milk. Not to mention, she needed to go to the library for some resources on her Shakespeare paper.

Jenny pulled into a spot next to the Vietnamese cleaners and got out of the car, heading for the local market. They always had fresher bread than the Shoppers up the street.

She hurried past an ATM machine, barely glancing at her surroundings.

Until she froze, eyes wide, staring at the impossible car.

A 1967 Chevy Impala.

She gaped, daring to take a step forward. It couldn’t be.

But it had to be.

All thoughts of groceries and Shakespeare dissipated from her mind as Jenny reached out and touched the hood of the car. It had to be him. It had to be the righteous man.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” A gruff voice called out from behind her, and Jenny whirled around.

She knew that voice too well. Too often it had been described by Castiel.

“When Dean is sick, or upset, there is a catch at the back of his esophagus. It sounds like sand rubbing together, like a blip in the purr of the Impala’s engine.”

Another man came up beside the one who had called out to Jenny. She knew him, too.

“Sam is very tall, taller than I am. You are all very small, so I am confident you can imagine how tall he must be if he is to be taller than I.”

“You – I – How –” Jenny gawked, a fish out of water. Sam exchanged an eyebrow raise with his brother.

“You bastard!” Jenny yelled. Dean jumped and she stalked forward, smacking the elder man upside the head.

“Hey, what – ow!”

“He’s been waiting for you for nine years dickwad!” Jenny glared at Dean. “Why the hell have you kept him waiting so long?”

“I – what?!” Jenny smacked him again, harder.

“Nine years, and all you have to say for yourself is what.” Jenny shook her head in disgust. “You are a pig, Dean Winchester!”

“Who the hell are you?!” Dean snapped, irritation breaking through his surprise.

“It doesn’t matter!” Jenny turned around, opening the Impala and climbing into the backseat. “Shut the hell up and drive!”

“Dean, we’d better check this out.” Sam muttered to his brother, and Dean’s expression flashed between confusion and irritation.

“What the hell.” Dean cursed under his breath and got into the driver’s seat, Sam in the passenger’s. Jenny could feel a bubble of giddiness building up in her stomach. Castiel wouldn’t have to wait much longer.

“Go up this road. Turn right at the last corner.” Jenny instructed. Sam kept a careful watch on her in the backseat, making sure she didn’t turn into a creature and attempt to eat them.

“Would you mind telling me who the fuck you are?” Dean demanded.

“If you must know, my name is Jenny.” She responded shortly, staring intently out the windshield.

“Uh, Jenny,” Sam began calmly. “How do you know who we are?”

She contemplated her answer for a moment before she knew exactly what to say.

“The man on the bench told me.” Sam and Dean exchanged the communicative glance she had heard so much about, and she grinned, unable to contain her happiness.

“Aw dammit,” Jenny frowned. “I haven’t got a burger.”

She saw Dean mouth ‘the fuck?’ to his brother, and edged forward in her seat. They were nearly there.

Dean turned onto the street, maneuvering the Impala slowly down it. Jenny bounced, unbelievably excited.

“Stop!” Dean braked hard, and Jenny waited, satisfied.

“He’s waiting for you, Dean.” Dean’s eyes widened as he spotted the tan figure on the bench. He scrambled out of the car, and Sam gaped.

“Cas.” Dean breathed, and the angel turned.

“Dean.”

“How long did you say?” Sam asked Jenny quietly, glued to the scene before him.

“Nine years.” She replied.

“I – I thought you were dead.” Dean choked, and Jenny could hear the catch Castiel had described. For the first time in a long time, Castiel stood up, vacating the bench.

“Death cannot stop true love,” Castiel took an awkward step forward. “It can only delay it for a little while.”

Dean laughed desperately, tears welling in his eyes. “Pop-culture references. I’m impressed.”

“I hoped it would prove sufficient.” Castiel admitted. They stared at each other for a long moment.

“C’mon Dean,” Sam muttered impatiently.

As if telepathic, Dean lurched forward into Castiel’s arms. He caught the angel’s lips passionately, almost obscenely.

Jenny smiled. Castiel’s wait was over.

(Source: chicken-scratch-on-the-god-rock)

thecorruptedquietone:

For months he thought he was better. He got out of that mental hospital, he started over, he started healing people; he’s helping them. Everything was better. At least until he came.

Him. The man he’d never seen before, never seen but somehow knew, frightening attraction pining and clawing for him. The man with a gruff voice, the one he could only place in nightmares, ones he pointedly forgot. The man with the olive green eyes, those he may or may not have seen flashes of, and those which now fill him with such overwhelming emotion—the pain of remembering, the agony of what he isn’t aware of, the burn of either boiling hatred or wounded love—that everything he knows feels like a filthy bucket of lies.

And maybe they are. Maybe they are. But he prefers those lies to these feelings, these sickening and powerful whirlwinds, these raging and scorching fires that ignite and blaze whenever he sees the man. No, he was just about better before, he actually felt like he was fixed. But it turns out he’s still broken, just like the men in the white coats said at the hospital, just like the fisher folk who pulled him from the lake thought, just like everyone always knew. 

That’s why he won’t turn around. He won’t because he can’t handle what’s in him. There are monsters inside him. Horrible, terrible beasts that rise whenever the man tries to look at him. Worse than vampires or werewolves, ghosts or demons, so raw and reckless, rabid and raving. The voices in his head, the visions playing in his mind, all so real but no, they’re hallucinations, it’s his imagination, it isn’t true.

The voices aren’t whispers of brothers and sister. The images of two boys, an old Chevy, and an old man aren’t memories. The life he recalls of Grace and Heaven isn’t real. Because he is not an angel. Angels don’t exist.

But gazing into those eyes, all the therapy undoes itself. It shatters the glass those nice people put up, the shield that once kept him safe and sound in a serene solace of sanity, all the monsters just lurking but never striking. But those green eyes tempt them, and so they jump at him, biting his throat and slashing his face.

Anguish. Guilt. Sorrow. Remorse. Misery. Grief. Agony.

All of the feelings swell, flooding into the box, just like the furious waters. And all the monsters tear and rip at him, just like the black leviathans. And all the laments of atonement, of penance, of forgiveness and mercy ring in his ears, begging to escape his damaged head and seek the righteous man.

Seek the one he rasied from perdition. Seek the one he sacrificed everything for. Seek the one he died for time after time. Seek the one he loved with all his being. Seek the one who broke his heart. Seek the one with those olive green eyes. Seek Dean.

Dean’s presence destroys him, his safe palace of falsities blazing, him seated on his throne, surrounded by flames, and Dean standing down the hall with the torch. It’s so bright, so light, so alien now that he’s accustomed himself to the safety of the darkness. The light of hope scares him, the light of faith frightens him, the light of love terrifies him. Dean terrifies him.

And those eyes—those eyes—they slay him. They slay him with loyalty, with devotion, with sadness, with love. They make him hate himself, they make him damn the air he breathes, they kill him. 

For months Castiel thought he was better. But with Dean breaking him, he doesn’t know what to believe anymore. He just wishes he could heal his own pain and make it all stop.