Chapter Text
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
The voice is deep and gravelly, and loaded already with a myriad of emotions. Castiel has learned over the years that you can tell a lot from a person’s voice, and the low honeyed tone conjures up images of tanned skin, leather, and golden-amber whiskey. Castiel adjusts himself in his chair and waits, his hands clasped in his lap patiently.
“It has been…well, a damn long time since my last confession. And I guess I'm a little rusty.” The man huffs out a sardonic laugh, so quietly that Castiel barely hears him, and with the laugh comes an aura of intense sadness, one that permeates Castiel’s skin right through to the bone and he shivers involuntarily. It doesn't help that the church is absolutely freezing tonight; the sun went down hours ago, replaced by a sudden flurry of snow and the bitter wind had seeped in through the gaps under the doors and around the windows. Castiel has lit what felt like a thousand pillar candles through the church, in some meagre attempt at generating warmth, but it had failed miserably. He had tried prayer, to see if he could distract himself from the icy cold, but all he achieved was aching knees and questions without answers. Questions which were slowly opening the doors to doubt. The young man in the confessional has been silent for a moment, and Castiel shakes himself minutely. He’s supposed to be listening, not focusing on his own troubles.
“So, Father, I suppose this is the part where I tell you my sins, right? How long have you got?” There's that little self-deprecating laugh again, but Castiel remains quiet. It's not his place to speak yet.
“I've done…some bad things. In my time. And I always convinced myself that it was for the greater good, but these days I'm just not so sure.” The young man exhales heavily, clearly working himself up to say what he needs to. “I've hurt people. People I loved, people I didn't love, people I didn't know enough to love…and some people I really hated, people who deserved to di- to be hurt.” The young man corrects himself hastily and Castiel’s heart pounds at the realisation of what he was about to say. His hand twitches of its own accord, wanting to rip the privacy screen back and clap his eyes on the young man clearly going through a myriad of difficult situations.
“I run away from everything.” A sharp, deep exhale followed these words, and Castiel felt relief wash off the man in a crushing wave, as though the words have been eating him alive for years and he’s finally purged himself of them. “I run away from people who could make me happy, I run away from tough conversations, and I run away because…I’m not strong enough to handle it all. And I know that hitting the damn booze every time things go haywire isn’t the right thing to do, but it just sorta happens and I can’t control it. So there’s a couple of sins for you to get working on. But I have plenty more where they came from.” A dark, gruff, humourless laugh chases the words. “I’m not sure exactly what kind of thing I’m supposed to confess, if I’m brutally honest. I haven’t been in a church for a long time, at least not to better myself or ask for help. I have…other friends who provide help when I need it, and sometimes that help feels close to divine intervention but hey, nothing beats a little soul-searching in the true house of God, right?”
Castiel can’t argue that. He also can’t argue against the twinge in his chest as the young man’s voice cracks over certain words, and the soft sniffles that suggest tears are on their way, if he isn’t crying already. It seems as though it’s taken a great effort for him to come here today, and Castiel wants to reach out to him in any way he can. He’s leaning forward in his chair, his head bowed a little and gaze focused on his clasped fingers, listening closely.
“And I guess they always say you turn to God in times of crisis, and if this isn't one then damned if I know what is. Sam…my brother…he needs help, and I hoped if I could somehow do penance for the things I've done, then maybe God would look kindly on him. I'm not asking for anything for myself. It's all for Sam and…I just hope God knows that. I just want him to be saved. It doesn't matter about me. Just Sam.”
“You don't think you deserve to be saved?”
These are the first words Castiel has spoken, and he hears the young man draw in a sharp, shocked breath, which is followed up by a pregnant silence. For a second, Castiel thinks he’s about to hear the door open and close and footsteps on the stone floor of the church as the young man makes a swift exit. He’s clearly a flight risk based on his comments about running away, and Castiel is aware he should tread carefully.
“God loves you as well, not just your brother. He wants your happiness as well. Your self-sacrifice is admirable, but misplaced. How can you hope to help someone else if you haven’t first helped yourself? Our Lord can show you the way.” The words, although said with his deepest, most reassuring tone, feel hollow to Castiel. He wants to say other things.
“How do you know? What makes you think you really understand what God wants for me? What his direction is? And if it's even the right thing for me?” The young man’s voice is wracked with despair, and Castiel is sure he has his head in his hands. His voice is muffled and close to tears.
“Because it comes from Heaven. That makes it just.” Castiel’s words surprise him, and he listens for the other man’s response. Nothing for a while, a long, long while, and never before has Castiel wanted to open the screen more and see the face of the person baring their soul to him. He feels strangely drawn to this person, this sad, aching human who is entrusting him with the deepest troubles of his existence, and normally Castiel would just listen and provide words of comfort and guidance, but tonight…something feels different. Something is pulling him in, the beginnings of what could be a profound bond if they were face-to-face and interacting under normal circumstances, and he’s powerless to stop it.
The young man’s muffled, slightly choked snort brings him back to the moment. It does sound like he’s crying now, and Castiel’s heart aches.
“You can’t say that shit, man. You don’t know what I’ve done. I’m not a good person.”
“I fail to see how that can possibly be true.”
“Oh? How’d you figure that?”
“You’re here, for a start. You want to change, you want to look back on the things you’ve done and absolve yourself of your guilt. That’s the first step to becoming the person God intends for you to be.”
It must be the wrong thing to say: another snort, this time one of derision.
“I guess I’m not good enough for our Lord the way I am, huh? I thought He was all about unconditional love, but I guess I got my wires crossed.”
Castiel is silent, thinking deeply. He had worded it wrong, no wonder it had been taken incorrectly. He knows God lofves humanity, he just knows it in his heart. Despite all his doubts, fears, and the creeping knowledge that he doesn’t belong in the church any more, that is one thing he will never doubt.
“God loves you, that much I can tell you. In spite of your sins, he loves you. He loves you all the more for being here, confessing your sins to me and seeking penance. He-“
“It's not just sins. My whole goddamn life is a fucking tragedy.”
There's an extended, loaded pause. Castiel doesn't react well to profanity, and he has to collect himself before forming a response. He decides against berating the young man for cursing; it doesn’t feel like the right thing to do. This isn’t a normal confession, so his usual responses don’t really fit. They wouldn’t be met well. He needs to use his own words to provide reassurance, use the voice that lives deep within him and lies dormant, conceding to his faith and persona as Castiel the Priest, allowing him to play his role. The voice which doubts and questions and sees the loopholes in the Bible and the supposed Word of God. This is the voice he needs to use to comfort this broken young man. He considers his words for so long that the young man speaks again before he gets a chance to respond.
“So what does our Lord want me to do? How can I redeem myself, so that he will drag his thumb out of his ass and help me for once? Because I really need it, man, I’ll do anything. Anything…” His voice cracks on the last word and is replaced by a small whine and a shaking inhale.
“Forgive yourself.”
Castiel doesn’t realise he’s spoken for a moment. Silence is his only response, and he takes advantage of it and continues.
“Forgive yourself for what you’ve done in the past. I don’t know the details, but I do know it’s eating you alive. And you cannot possibly begin to help your brother if you can’t allow yourself to feel at peace. You don’t need God’s forgiveness; you need your own. God can only guide you; he cannot intervene. So if that guidance isn’t enough to heal your brother then you need the strength from within yourself to help him. What is he suffering from?”
It takes a couple of tries, but the young man answers in cracked, guarded tones. “Hallucinations. He’s in a hospital a few hours from here, I’m on my way to him. I was just passing through, stopped for the night and thought…thought this place could bring me something I need. But if God won’t intervene then, well, what can I say?” A bitter, broken little laugh. “I guess this was pointless.”
“Pointless? I haven’t helped you at all?”
“No.” Silence, and Castiel can see his own breath in front of him, puffing out in a small cloud. The temperature has dropped another degree or two. “Yes. Perhaps. I think I’m beyond help.” He exhales, and Castiel can see him shifting behind the privacy screen. “I just need to…I need to save Sam, dammit-“ Tears twist his voice into a high-pitched whine and he cuts himself off, breathing deeply to try and gather himself up. “I can’t…I can’t be alone. I don’t know how. He’s my brother; I need him…”
“You’re never alone.” Castiel murmurs this quietly, his chest aching and his eyes burning for this man, who he can hear sobbing quietly just inches away from him. He wants so badly to reach out and put a comforting hand on his shoulder, console him with more than just empty words. “God is with you…”
“I just don’t think he is.”
The resignation, the finality in his tone chills Castiel - and for a poignant reason. It’s the same thought that has been circling his mind for a long time now, and hearing it said out loud is stirring something within him. Something he knows is going to grow and grow until he can’t ignore it any more. The young man exhales, a familiar sound now, and seems to have himself under control enough to speak again.
“Are we done here?”
Castiel pauses for a moment, collecting himself and blinking away tears he didn’t realise were tricking down his cheeks, then utters the closing words ‘Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good,’ and waits for the reply. The silence between them stretches on until Castiel wonders if the man has left without him noticing. Just as that thought crosses his mind, he hears movement; the door to the confessional opens and closes again with a terrible, resigned finality. Castiel is left alone, aching, with his thoughts.