Chapter Text
“Eyes are windows to the soul.” Before meeting Dean Winchester, Castiel would have said that this statement was false, that eyes were more like mirrors than windows, and the details would have stripped all sentiment out of the statement.
Before Dean, sentiment was lost on him, an angel of the Lord, the good soldier. Dean’s prayers from hell had stirred the soldier into action to defend the righteous man; but it was his eyes and how they reflected the prayers unspoken by that tormented soul that had awakened awareness in this stoic angel.
Anger, pain, shame, disappointment, self-loathing and mistrust snaked through hope, longing, desire, and grace. Like a drop of blood into water, years of hurt and doubt clouded every positive emotion with fear.
“You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”
Something inside Castiel ached, with sharp breath taking pain in that moment. Then he thought it to be his grace reacting to Dean’s silent prayer. In time he would come to realize it was his soul, resonating with its kindred.