Disclaimer – I do not own Supernatural. This is just a random idea that came to me in the shower the other day (showers help me think). Normally I'd just not write it and think of it as a lovely head canon but I've been without muse for like a week now and something FINALLY came to me I am taking advantage of it
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In his life time, Castiel had only ever cared for four human beings. Three of those he thought of as his family; their names' were Dean and Sam Winchester and Bobby Singer. The forth . . . Well, the forth had been her.
So long ago it had been, when Castiel truly fell in love with a human—quite literally. This is the story of the first time the angel fell, so many, many years back.
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Black Death. That's what they were calling it. The bubonic plague; an abomination and, a threat to the human species.
So Michael sent some of his younger brothers and sisters down from heaven to fix the problem. They had to protect humans, of course. That is what their father had wanted them to do, after all. The angels were instructed to heal who they could and stop the illness from spreading. A simple task—it wouldn't take much time at all.
Castiel was one of the angels who were sent down. The area had been given was a small village just outside of London, England. For a vessel; a younger man—probably in his early twenties, with dark hair and blue eyes, very similar to his current vessel, as a matter of fact. His first patient—a small child who had fallen ill only three days before. Castiel did as instructed—he approached the door and knocked. A woman answered, most likely the boy's mother.
"What is it?" she asked; sadness in her voice.
Castiel took a deep breath. He hadn't had to speak with a human in a very long time. And English was a completely new language for him. "Greetings, ma'am. My name is Castiel; I am here to help your son."
The woman's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Not the doctor. Who then?"
"I am a new doctor, travelling through this town," he lied (as instructed by his older brother). "I know a cure for the plague, if you will please let me look at him . . ."
She considered his words, and after a moment, slowly slid the door open enough to let him in. The house was small—only one room. Lying on the bed farthest from the door was a young boy—only five or six. His face was pale and his eyes shut. He was sweating from a fever. Castiel walked over to him and placed his hand on the boy's forehead. After a moment, the color returned to his face and his breath became steadier—he was well again.
The mother gasped. "How did—Thank you!"
She threw her arms around Castiel, then retreated realizing she was being indecent. She rushed over to her son and brushed aside his over-grown hair.
"It was my pleasure, ma'am. If you'll excuse me, there are more people I need to save." He turned to leave, but she ran forward and jumped in front of him.
"Wait! You must want pay?"
He shook his head. "That is unnecessary, but thank you for your generous offer. I will be on my way now."
Word of his miracle healings quickly spread. People soon learned who he was, and came to him when members of their family fell ill. Nearly a month after him arriving, it had become a regular practice for him to stand outside in the square and heal sick people that were brought to him—so he could take more in one day. House calls were almost unheard of.
Until one day, right in the middle of him healing an elderly woman, a shriek rang through the street. "HELP! SOMEONE HELP! I NEED THE HEALER! CATHERINE NEEDS THE HEALER!"
A girl around thirteen or fourteen pushed through the crowd up to Castiel, screaming hysterically the entire time. Castiel healed the woman, stood up, and walked over to the girl. "What is the matter?"
"My sister," the girl sobbed. "Please you have to help her. She's too ill to move. She hid it from me for Lord knows how long but just now she fainted while we were feeding the animals. Please help us, please!"
"Take me to her," Castiel said. This resulted in angry protests from the crowd.
"We've been waiting here all day!"
"What about the sick people right here?!"
"Oi! You can't just run off like that!"
"If your ill are still well enough to make the journey here I am not concerned for them as much as a woman dying as we speak," Castiel snapped back at them. "I'll be back—this won't take long."
The girl sprinted away, Castiel following closely behind her. "What's your name?" he asked.
"Margret," she replied. "And I know you. You're Castiel. People say you can heal anyone."
Castiel said nothing. He continued to run after the girl, though finally taking a moment to observe her appearance.
She had long light hair pulled back behind a white piece of cloth tied like a bandana over her head. Her eyes were a light shade of blue and her skin was pale. Her green dress was torn and filthy—as was her face. But that seemed to be the condition of most people. She had a trail of freckles across her nose. Her run finally slowed to a walk when they reached the bottom of a hill. At the top, smoke from a chimney could be seen. "That's it. That's my house. Catherine's there."
Castiel nodded, and "flew" up to the house. He'd worry about explaining that bit to Margret later.
This house was also small, also only one room, though there appeared to be a second floor. That didn't matter. What did matter was the woman lying on the bed pushed against the left wall. The bubo on her neck was very visible, and he wondered how she had managed to conceal that from her sister. Her breathing was heavy and she was covered in sweat. She moaned quietly in her sleep, probably a result of the sore muscle symptom Castiel had observed in other victims. Her skin was starting to take on a pinkish hue—which meant this case was in face severe. How she had been on her earlier that day was a mystery. Realizing he was wasting time, he walked over to her and placed a hand on her face. The bubo on her neck shrunk down to nothing, her breathing steadied, her skin returned to a normal color and the sweat disappeared from her face. Her eyes flickered open—hazel, unlike her sister's. Her hair was also much darker. They really didn't look much alike at all.
"W-who are you?" she croaked.
"My name is Castiel," he told her. "I just cured you of the Black Death. You might want to take it easy for a while."
She blinked. "You are Castiel the Healer?"
He nodded. "That is what the villagers have named me."
"I'm Catherine," she told him. "And, uh . . . Thank you. For saving my life."
Before he had time to respond, the door flew open, revealing a panting Margret. She must have ran up the hill to check on her sister, not knowing where Castiel had gone.
"H-how did you—"
"I will explain that all later," Castiel promised. "But if you will excuse me, there is a mob of angry villagers waiting for me to heal their family members."
"Wait!" Catherine cried. She swung her legs around the bed and stood up. The multi-pattern quilt that had been over her fell to the ground, revealing her dark purple dress (that was also terribly filthy). "You can't just leave! There must be something we can give you to show our gratitude—"
"I require no payment," he told her, and attempted to leave again.
"Wait!" she said again. Persistent little human . . . "Where are you living?"
Castiel thought a moment. "Nowhere, I suppose."
"Well, welcome home, then," she told him. "You live here now. Least we can do. You'll sleep here and head to town in the mornings to heal people. No arguments. Now, go, save more lives. Be home in time for supper."
He had never been bossed around by a human before, and he could certainly blow her into nothingness, but that would not only defeat the purpose of having healed her, but also create a great toll on his conscience. In a strange way, she was being kind, after all.