She motioned the garrison leader in. "What is the charge?"
"He asked Father why he didn't promote the Neanderthals," the captain snorted.
She looked down at her table, sighed. "Bring him in."
As was the style, this one, too, had taken on the seeming of the hairless apes. She wondered why, when he wanted the Neanderthals instead. She rolled her eyes: he looked young, so young-he must be just following the current fashion mindlessly. She, on the other hand, had done it to praise Father. Since they were His favorites, surely He wanted them to emulate them.
"Soldier, what is your name?"
"Castiel, ma'am."
She leaned back in her chair. "I hear you championed the Neanderthals against our Father's wishes. Why?"
His blush showed up even against the dark skin. "Ma'am...they are so gentle! And the hairless apes are murderous! And their poetry..." He sighed, his eyes distant. "So very beautiful. Father must have made a mistake. I was just trying to help!"
He was such a sweet little thing, so earnest. But it couldn't be allowed. She gestured him to the chair, stood up, picked up the drill. She sighed again. She hated the drilling. It made the poor things so...bland again.
***
She stretched. This time, there had been so many protests. They had gotten attached to their fractious charges, and many couldn't bear Father's punishment. She had been drilling for days.
There was a knock at the door. She closed her eyes. Another? When would it stop? "Come!" she called out.
The door opened and a garrison captain peered in. "Ma'am? I have another."
She puffed out a small, tired breath. "Who is this one?" she asked, as she pulled forward the papyrus and pen to record it.
"Castiel."
Her eyes flicked up. The name was familiar...hmmm...ah. The young one who had wanted the Neanderthals, right. "Bring him in."
He was shorter this time. Not as dark. He had the hooked nose and dusky skin of the people who called themselves...what was it? Sumerians, that was it.
"So, Castiel. You object to The Flood." It had become a weary recital for her, she had said it so often lately.
He stood tall, lifted his head, eyes filled with passion. Still so young. Headstrong.
"It is an injustice, ma'am! To kill everything, when Father could have revealed Himself to more, guided them! He made them the way they were-couldn't He have led them, instead of killing them?!"
She shook her head, gestured him to the chair, picked up the drill. Maybe he would be properly fixed this time. Bland was good, perhaps, in this one's case.
***
Castiel, again. She rubbed her face tiredly. Something was obviously wrong with this charming boy.
"What was it this time, Castiel?" His thick eyebrows twitched together in confusion. She laughed wryly. "You've been here before, child." He looked around the office, no recognition in his eyes. "So. Again: why are you here?" Oh, she knew. She knew this one, knew what made him doubt.
He turned his dark, brooding eyes to her. "Sodom and Gomorrah. Slamming them with an asteroid? What was Father thinking?! If they were sinful, He could have taught them! Shown them the path to righteousness! Not killed them all! Innocent children-people just going about their lives-thousands dead-!"
She gestured him to the chair, picked up the drill. Not that it would do any good. She was sure she'd see him again.
***
The slaughter of the Egyptian firstborns. The Fall of Rome. The burning of the Library at Alexandria. The Mongol hordes. The Black Plague. The Little Ice Age. The Reign of Terror. He had diverted the comet so it blew up over Tunguska, instead of its original target! The trenches in France. The Holocaust. The Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution. Pol Pot. 9/11. He was in and out of her chair, over and over again, more and more often.
Then he stopped the Apocalypse. And proclaimed himself God. And unleashed Leviathan. She had tried to fix him one last time, but, of course, it didn't work.
As Metatron drilled into her head-the wrong way-she had time for one last thought:
Castiel was right, all along.