Song Remains the Same

Chapter 68: Soul Searching

"Desperate times require desperate measures."
- Horatio Nelson

It was nine in the morning and Alex still slept deeply while nestled against Cas. His arms circled around her and he hadn't let go since she first fell asleep there beside him.

Sunlight warmed the attic and a clock could be heard ticking somewhere nearby, however, the sound Castiel was most transfixed upon and attentive to was the soft whisper of Alex's inhales and exhales. She was warm and soft in his arms, a summation of all the most beautiful textures and sights he knew in existence. His eyes journeyed her for the thousandth time to take her in. Her hair was evidence of the previous night's passion, knotted in places and tangled. Cas attempted to smooth it for her but he didn't know how exactly. He abandoned the attempt and instead looked at his fingers set against the dark brown of her hair. It was a color that seemed so like the rich earth when tilled for its bounty. His gaze went to her eyelashes fanning against creamy skin, skin that made him think of the subjects in Rembrandt paintings. His eyes drifted lower to her softly open pink lips and unbidden, he felt a gentle flush of heat at the memories stirred. She had done things to him with that mouth last night he never imagined possible or decent.

The fact that she had wanted to do that and had sought his pleasure over her own astounded and enraptured him. How wondrous that love could transcend into physical expression the way it did between the two of them.

It seemed both a mystery and a miracle how he was here with her right now—how she had come to love him and how he had fallen in love with her, how fate had brought them together in the way that it had. She was a comfort and an assurance, she was the best thing he could conceive of. His gaze fondly wandered her sleeping face and then traveled down the swoop of her neck and across the freckles scattering the slopes of her shoulders then down further to the soft pink rosebud peaks crowning the swells of her breasts. He knew the gentle slope of her hips, the tawny muscles of her thighs, the bend of her knees, the high arch of her feet, the spaces between her fingers, the curve of her spine. He knew the way she felt from the inside out. Never had he been so worshipful of the human form until he had encountered hers. She was so exquisite. And she counted herself as his. Between her humble breasts the shining penny rested on its chain, drawing his eye. Cas's heart seemed to grow larger and more tender and aching in his chest as he contemplated the coin and everything it signified. And then after that burst of affection and gratitude, a slow and lurching feeling of guilt and trepidation began to darken him.

The humans had a saying: playing with fire. Was that what he was doing? The creeping suspicions he tried not to feel about himself were forever on the edge of his mind, taunting him and shaking his confidence in himself. Perhaps the most difficult thing in all of this was waging the war alone and having no true confidant or supporter. Rachel was the closest thing he possessed to a confidant but she didn't understand him or even fully grasp the reason for the war—she was merely following his leadership, not fighting tooth and nail for free will and choice like he was. Castiel didn't even want her to be the one he confided in. His sister angel looked down her nose at him and barely tolerated the love he had for Alex and as such, Castiel actively disliked Rachel. Especially because of all she'd done to thwart his relationship with Alex. But alas he had no other choice but to continue to employ Rachel as his lieutenant—there was no one else to replace her, not with in his dwindling forces who lacked experience and ability.

'No other choice.' This was a phrase and a reality that continued to define his existence.

The pressure he had put onto himself was only increasing as time passed. He only went further and further into dark waters as he continued to pursue victory in this war. The partnership with Crowley, the search for Purgatory using the unwitting Winchester brothers... those things were bad enough, but the way Castiel had so brassily tricked the Winchester family into believing Crowley was dead and gone was the worst. It was lying, it was deceit, and last night as Castiel had made love to Alex he had known that and remembered it and absolutely hated himself for it. As such he had obsessed with giving the one he loved repeated pleasure and bliss... this seemed to be the only thing he knew how to do right these days. But he'd gone to the point of excess he now realized—he'd exhausted her and even when he'd known it was too much for her that last time, he'd done it anyway out of the lunacy of desperation. He'd needed to forget himself in her, he'd used her to feel marginally better about himself. He had been pathetically attempting to prove even to himself that he loved her. And did he? Was he fooling himself...? He sometimes thought that if he truly loved her, he wouldn't keep so much from her or lie. And yet the dishonesty only kept coming.