Disclaimer: I don't own these guys at all.
A/N: This is an insight into Cas's mind pretty much during Season 6. Also, this is me playing with where he went when he died a second time.
Rock-a-bye
The splattering of bluish light against the marble floor, the sizzling of feet clawing into the ground echoes throughout a vast hall in Heaven. Tall, lean ethereal bodies of angels merge into one endless lake of bleeding Grace till one cannot tell friend from foe.
Kneeling in the middle of it all, the last weary form to leave the latest battlefield, Castiel is the only one in a form that is more familiar to him than his own skin. The image of the deceased Jimmy Novak is covered in the silver of liquid mercury. Long fingers dig into his tattered trench coat as a brother gasps and struggles, body and wings lashing out within his embrace.
Death comes slowly. Staring numbly ahead, Castiel whispers to his brother in a monotone voice that when an angel dies, it simply ceases to exist. They have no soul as a human and are not twisted creations tied to the Earth as monsters are. And it works. Humans go to Heaven or Hell; monsters go to Purgatory and angels into the Void. Even the pagan gods have their own little patches on the quilt called Existence.
He paints a picture he's painted a thousand—no a million times—before that the afterlife for an angel is blissful, a quiet blankness where orders and purposes are void. There is no fighting or questioning of one's faith and worrying about Father. One simply ceases to exist. He never once trips over the words as his brother finally stills, his Grace merging into the lake.
Something hot and white tears through his chest and Castiel finds himself bowing down on the ground, empty arms tightening around his middle as a earth-shattering scream explodes out of him. The marble floors crack and shatter, turning to dust as rage, pain and despair erupt through the cracks drowning the hallway in darkness. Screaming himself mute, Castiel losses himself in the agony that he will forever yearn foolishly for that peace of oblivion. For, he can no longer go to such a place, an angel of his stature—of no longer being pure—is forever barred from the Promise Land, such as the likes of Moses.
Collapsing onto soft, crumbling moss, Castiel heaves in a stuttering breath, the memories of his second death sinking roots into his wings. He blinks, pained blue eyes taking in the place where he went to and will return once his Father is done with him. Propping himself upwards with battered hands, the angel soaks in the familiar place of blood and water, of never ending cliffs and forests. Where dead trees grip and moan, their rotting bark cascading down on the leaves of scales and claws, their branches lashing out and tearing apart their latest victim. Where the sounds of predators cackle and yelp in the stillness while prowling the endless night, dancing in and out of the faint outlines of a red moon.
It's not like Hell, with its hooks and lightening, of blood and gore tainting breath, taste and smell. A place that he fears but knows what is to be expected because this is what he was created for: to serve Man and fight Demons. It's simple and clear. Not muddied with Humanity.
But this place, this Purgatory is anything but Hell. It's chaos. Pushing himself onto bleeding bare feet, his coat and jacket gone, leaving him only in a white shirt and black pants, he doesn't bother to shake off the moss before he finds himself running into the thick underbrush where his quivering wings try to fly, dragging themselves through the filth and stench. Angel wings are not meant for such terrain and heavy atmosphere, not like the heavy leather wings which propel the sleek Dragons spinning above the tree-tops.
Time warps here, a mixture of Hell's rapid speed with Heaven's non-existent one. Some nights drag on and on for what feels like years, while other times it's gone in a blink of an eye. It's enough to chip at Castiel's resolve. Crouching behind a boulder, he shakes from exhaustion and fear of the nameless things that bit at his feet. All the while he stares down at his mercury stained hands, the poisonous split blood of his family seeping into his Grace.
There's yelping of joy off the distance jerking him away from the drowning pool of guilt. The monsters thrive on his disorientation and the rare taste of angel. None of his kind have ever entered this realm where the Mother reigns supreme instead of the Father. One blink and he watches with detachment as a werewolf lunges at him. The next blink and Castiel finds himself lying on his back, body clean, gasping into existence with the Mother's ruby eyes the first thing he sees.
She towers over him, an impassible mountain of jagged lave fields for hands, canyons for feet, and endless plains of bogs and swamps for flesh. Her three massive tails wither and snap the air. Scales crackle as she rolls her four shoulders, the slim neck bending down to let cobwebs flutter down. Jeweled orbs flash in the pale light, revealing the black line down the middle with dots prickling the edges. They blink sideways in utter glee and the flat nose crinkles as lips pull back to reveal fangs sharp as obsidian drip black with the blood of her latest kill.
"Hello, angel." Her voice is nothing like her horrific appearance. Instead, it's soft, full of innocence curling around him in a loving embrace. It's everything a mother's voice should be, stern but caring. "Your Father might have forsaken you, but you're one of mine now and I shall watch over you."
Her care is far from what he's seen a human mother bestow on her child. He'd rather have his Father's absence than this closeness of a Mother who laughs and watches him propel himself off the swampy ground clawing through the forests, swimming the acidic rivers and running through the hollow meadows while her real children chase after him. Creatures he's helped out wiped to ones he's only heard in stories. Even ones he's seen the Winchesters hunt, the vampires and ghouls giggle when his blood is shed, dancing over him as he crawls away.
It's a never ending race into the unknown. It becomes his existence, forever running and hiding as such as it was on Earth. Yet he's not as lucky. They tear, rip and eat him till nothing is left. Then he comes too once again, with the Mother sitting nearby humming a sweet lullaby.
"I'm starting to like you, angel." A warm, inviting smile dashes across her features, "I can just imagine your kind splayed at my feet while I finally take back what is rightfully mine."
She lets him go, her singing ringing endlessly in his ears. "Rock-a-bye baby, in the treetop."
Castiel doesn't stop till he skids and tumbles onto an endless glacier, his brothers and sisters broken bodies frozen underneath his feet. The ashen rain and the stench of ozone permeate his pores in a way Purgatory or Hell never could. The ice groans and the bodies of allies and enemies spear onto the shards, screaming in the utter agony he has rain upon them. The accusation is clearly written on their shattered wings. He's brought this upon his Home, upon his entire family.
Disgust rumbles in his body and Castiel finds his throat constricting in a very human reaction.
"You should have joined me, Castiel." Uriel, walks to his right. The bloody hole in his throat sputters as his powerful ashen wings drag on the ice covering those who failed to convert to his ways. "You wouldn't have to be in this much pain."
There's a flicker and Anna stands to his left, her fire hair glowing with holiness. "Why did you turn me in? I could have helped you! We could have stopped the Apocalypse from ever happening, from Sam losing his soul!" She's falling apart as she weeps, flesh and bone splattering the white with black.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Castiel staggers onwards trying to ignore their accusations. With each step, he hears the screams of despair, snarls of displaced hatred and cries of relief that make up the battles he has wrought upon Heaven in time with the beating of a once borrowed heart.
"Traitor." Zachariah's smug voice spears through his back. Halting, Castiel snarls, eyes snapping with fury. Spinning, ready to deliver a punch he's yearned for, he freezes arm raised slightly as Michael stands before him.
The Highest of All stares at him coldly, gray eyes sharp like steel betraying the young features of Adam Milligan. "You're pathetic, Castiel. You do not have the strength, stature or knowledge to lead an army much less rule Heaven. You are a mere grunt and shall die as such."
An animalistic scream erupts out of Castiel before he can stop it, the fist flying onwards. Michael smirks as if he's made a point, the fist slashing through him with ease.
"That the best you can do?"
No, not that voice. Swallowing, Castiel glances down taking in the ring of fire blazing around him. The searing heat casts the dead angels in a golden light rivaling the most perfect of sunsets. Turning, he takes in two figures, the owner of the voice absent from his usual forefront spot.
Bobby shakes his head in disappointment as Sam drops his eyes, sorrow painted across his face, "Why didn't you help me? Why didn't you respond when I first came out and realized that I had no soul? I thought we were friends."
The utter sadness in Sam's voice sears into his bones and he can't help his shoulders from dropping. A forbidden urge to run back into the forests of Purgatory rather than take this sneaks into his mind. But he's trapped, skinned open for all to see. And he deserves it.
"I told you this would happen." The flames flare as Sam and Bobby fade into the smoke. There's the soft patter of feet and then there he is. The one who casted him into Purgatory thankfully doesn't wear the gentle face of Sam but instead the decay decadence of Nick. The air seems to still and Castiel feels as if his entire world halts. In the distance, he swears he hears the rattling of a lock against steel bars.
Pale blue blazes with a life and intimacy as if the real Lucifer himself is standing in front of Castiel in an encore of their first meeting. But it can't for he is locked in the Cage with Michael. There's no way out. No way out.
The Mother croons in his ear, "When the wind blows, the cradle will rock," as he takes in his fallen brother.
Cracked lips part, the understanding voice of Lucifer whispering, "That after I am gone, they would hunt you down." He tilts his head, and with a snap of his fingers the screams of their family bleeds ashen snow red.
"You might have your army, brother. But just how loyal are they to you?" Lucifer tucks his hands behind his back as he circles around the ring. "Will they still stand by your side if you win and kill Raphael? Or will they join with your once enemies and unite under the cause to take you out as well?"
Lucifer pulls with mastery at the doubts buried deep within the other angel. Castiel takes a step back, his tattered coat burning in the fire. Lucifer smirks as lighting illuminates the utter destruction of Heaven. "Though, I must say you have more guts than me." A sickening pause as the nails drive hard into his heart, "In a strange way, I am proud of you. Who would have thought a mere, unknown angel could destroy Heaven."
Something snaps deep inside. Without pause, Castiel lunges at his brother wanting to wipe that smug smile off his face. He's only taken one giant step before something cold and sharp slices into his stomach. Sputtering, Castiel glances down at the hilt of an angelic blade protruding from his body. Coughing, he follows a calloused hand to the strong arm and up towards a body and face that he's shaped back into life.
Green eyes blaze with hatred laced with the pain of betrayal. He knows. There's a twist of the blade as it sinks impossibly deeper. Castiel's body twitches and he feels his Grace collapsing in on itself. Dean presses forward, passing through the holy fire as if it's nothing. The hunter doesn't stop till he's flush against Castiel's chest with nothing but contempt in his posture. "Why don't you go home to Mommy and leave me the fuck alone."
One more twist and Castiel's back arches as his mouth falls open in a mute scream as his Grace erupts out of him in one final blast with the Mother singing, "And when the bough breaks, the cradle will fall."
Castiel jerks awake, feet scrambling for purchase as his hands fly to the side, blue eyes flashing with terror. His ghostly heart pumps hard against a chest he stolen with sweat running down his face in something akin to what he encountered when hiding in Australia.
Fingers reach up and rest over his stomach, muscles twitching in phantom pains. Heaving in deep breaths, Castiel blinks back the tears that threaten to fall, seeing through the watery veil the cold comfort of Heaven. He remembers now, remembers walking one of the long endless hallways for a moment alone. A place where he laid down and rested against the column of glass to mediate because angels don't sleep. They don't need to rest their bodies or feel the heaviness in their limbs. And they clearly don't dream much less have nightmares.
A blink and Castiel sees the murderous face of Dean. Biting back a sob, he thumps his head against the column, taking in the ashen face reflecting back. It isn't the face of a General, much less a grunt angel staring back at him. It's the face of man with the horrors of Purgatory and Civil War lining his brow. Yet, it's the self-hatred and never-ending guilt that darken his once crystal blue into muddied bogs.
There's thrum in the air and he knows he's being called for, that the brief respite is over. Pushing himself of his feet, Castiel feels every ounce of his being aching and oh so heavy. He's an angel but he feels more human than ever before. Closing his eyes, he slides his hand up the column, stomach twisting in fear of feeling the blade of his sword.
The Mother is still there, no longer tied to his dreams as she now walks upon the Earth. Her voice is still soft and young and as he listens he knows he's lying to himself. He's no angel, just some perverse version of it. A monster caught in the folds of two existences with Purgatory the only place that will welcome him with open arms.
Glancing at the column, the once righteous angel watches as the blank mask of a General locks into place, hiding his humanity and poisoned Grace behind determination and desperate reassurances.
The Mother soothes out the last of line of her song, till she feels the need to sing once more as Castiel stretches his wings, flying headfirst into battle.
"And down will come baby, cradle and all."