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Wayword Sons	By : Looking_Glass Category: Supernatural > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 1342 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor do I claim ownership to Dean and Castiel. I am not, in any way, profiting off of this. Any similarity to real people or situations, while awesome, is purely coincidental.

Chapter List
- 7
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- 9
Dean and Bobby didn't say another word about what both of them now knew. They went about their business as they did every day- Dean blasting classic rock through an old boom box on the desk, Bobby occasionally muttering "damn it," or "sonofabitch" as he worked. At 6:00, Dean waved goodbye and set out for home. He turned off the music and drove in silence, trying to gauge his own feelings. There was a deep, clenching ache in his chest that hadn't been there before. He knew that he would have to do something, or he might break.
Well... The cat's out of the bag, now, he thought. Why not go for it? What's the worst that could happen?
What's the worst that could happen? A voice inside countered. How about the fact that you're falling for a celibate future priest? The guy is painfully shy and probably- Dean swallowed, hardly daring himself to think of himself as otherwise- straight. Castiel was hard to read, but Dean was almost positive he'd caught Cas checking him out a few times. Maybe it meant nothing. Probably the worst thing that could happen, he finally reasoned with himself, was scaring him away for good.
As he rounded the corner into the parking lot, he decided to wait. Spend more time with the guy. Like Sam said, if things were meant to be, it would work out. He stepped out of the Impala and unlocked the door, but paused halfway through opening it when he noticed a folded sheet of paper on the ground that someone must have slipped under the door. He picked up the paper, sank onto the bed, and began to read the neat script.
Dearest Dean,
First of all, I wanted to thank you for all that you've done for me. I thank you for fixing my car, of course, but I must also thank you for so much more. Meeting you has changed my life.
This morning, I debated with a professor about the purpose of free will. Free will, he said, was given to us so that we as human beings would be able to make our own choices- for how else would God know who among us was truly faithful? I believe this to be true as well. However, I argued, can we not also use our free will to forge our own path, in ways that may not outwardly appear righteous, while still maintaining our inner righteousness? If we want something so deeply and so profoundly, can we not chase after it? For God gave us free will, yes, but he did not leave other things to chance.
I must believe that God made each and every one of us, and that the things that give us the most joy were put on this Earth to raise us up. I argue that my free will, as I now see it, should be used to pursue those things.
This afternoon, I confessed. I sat in the house of the Lord and proclaimed that I was having impure thoughts. Thoughts that, by biblical standards, are considered sinful. But how can such feeling be sinful when they are directed toward someone so good? I confessed that my heart was full of light. That I had never before felt my spirits so buoyed by another person. That my every thought is occupied- my every dream disturbed. I knew, Dean, the moment I met you, that I could never be fully happy in this chaste and selfless life. Your affection is the most selfish thing I've ever wanted, but I cannot stop myself from feeling this way.
I was expelled from the seminary after my confession, and I didn't so much as blink. In fact, I felt a tremendous weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I can exercise my free will, now, and for the rest of my life. Thank you, Dean, for opening my eyes. I know that you are not do not share my attraction. I've written you this letter so that you will know why I must leave this place.
I mean this, sincerely, as a letter of thanks, and hope that you will see it as such, and forgive me, if you can, for wanting more than our wonderful (if short-lived) friendship.
May God bless you and keep you, always.
Castiel
Dean's heart beat forcefully in his chest, in his ears, and in his belly. Shit, Cas, he thought as he folded the letter and placed it on the bedside table. He hung his head in his hands, thoughts racing. He feels the same. He wants me, too. Dean almost allowed himself to feel joyous before processing the last paragraph. Son of a hitch. He's leaving. I have to find him.
--
Ten minutes later, Dean was out the door wearing a charcoal grey suit and tie that he had worn to a friend's funeral in high school. It was the only professional-looking outfit he owned. He didn't have a computer at home, so he screeched into the shop and jumped on the computer. "Come on, come on, come onnnn," he groaned as the dial-up connection chugged slowly along. Finally, the internet was connected, and Dean navigated to Google. "Catholic seminary Kansas City," Dean searched. The first result was St. Joseph's, a 30-minute drive. We'll see about that, Dean thought, and he jumped back into the Impala.
He didn't have a plan. It was nearly 7:00 on a Friday night. He didn't even know if Castiel would still be there. How long ago did he slip that note under the door? What if he did it on his way out of town? Dean couldn't worry about that now. His best chance of finding Cas was to start at the school. They would have his information there.
It only took him twenty minutes of reckless, totally illegal speeding to reach St. Joseph's. A few errant students stopped and stared as he pulled into the parking lot and stepped out. He tried to look as official as possible as he crossed the lot and headed for the front doors. His cool was dampened, however, when he was unable to open the doors. Fuck. Locked. He wheeled around, looking for signs or a directory that could point him anywhere. Fortunately, a security guard approached him before he had a chance to look around like a lost child for any longer.
"Can I help you with something?" the portly guard asked, coming to stand in front of Dean, who puffed out his chest as much as he could.
"Yes, sir," he said, and swallowed hard. "Detective Sambora with the Kansas City Police Deaprtment." He pulled his wallet from the jacket's inside pocket and flashed his driver's license, fast. Too fast for the guard to register anything. "I'm looking for a student. Can you direct me to the dormitories?"
The guard narrowed his eyes at Dean, no doubt unconvinced. "What are you lookin' for students for?"
"I'm looking for a particular student," he invented wildly. "He may or may not have been witness to an incident today. I just need to ask him a few questions."
This seemed to placate the guard. "He in any trouble?" he asked.
"No, sir. Just need some information." Dean tried to appear as confident as possible, even though he felt like a total dumbass in the monkey suit. After a moment of consideration, the guard nodded, and gestured for Dean to follow him.
- 7
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- 9
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Wayword Sons