Castiel never anticipated that this would happen to him. He had already been reeled back in for divine "reeducation" once, but even the brief amount of time he spent "experiencing Heaven's influence" (getting tortured) wasn't enough to prevent him from becoming wayward once again. "Wayward", actually, was putting it very lightly.

He rebelled against Heaven to help the Winchesters stop the Apocalypse.

He rebelled against Raphael, who was hellbent on putting the Apocalypse back on track.

He brought Sam back from Hell, soulless.

He collaborated with a demon, the King of Hell, in order to do so.

He killed his devoted lieutenant, Rachel, to keep his "dirty little secret" under wraps.

He had Balthazar illegally generate new souls for his so-called "war machine", gracefully coined by Atrapos.

He killed his best friend when he discovered his act of treachery.

He brutally harmed Sam by tearing down the wall Death had given him as a safety net.

He cracked open Purgatory, swallowed its reservoir of tainted souls, and tried to play God.

He committed genocide, slaughtering thousands of his siblings, and humans alike.

He unleashed the Leviathan upon the world (which ultimately resulted in Bobby Singer's murder).

He became toxically involved with one Meg "Masters".

He tried to avoid his mistakes.

And when he finally, finally, decided to own up to his transgressions, he landed both himself and Dean in Purgatory.

But now he was here, in the clutches of an unfamiliar part of Heaven. The walls were white-on-chrome, like something straight out of a sci-fi movie. He saw that the wall behind him was one huge sheet of spotless glass, with two swinging doors in the center. Two cushioned chairs sat between him and a large, nearly spotless desk. There was no clutter on said desk, but there was an angel sitting behind it. He didn't recognize this one.

She introduced herself as Naomi, and took credit for leading the mission to rescue him from the entwinement of Purgatory. Castiel recalled his own struggle to find a door to Purgatory, and Naomi had found one much more quickly. He never realized that Heaven had its own door to Purgatory. While it would have saved him a ton of aggravation with Crowley and monster alphas, Castiel was glad. Apparently Raphael had been ignorant to the fact as well. Any attempt to access Heaven's door to Purgatory surely would have been noticed by Raphael and it would have been game over. Castiel couldn't help being surprised though. Raphael was one of the five archangels. How could he not have known about the door?

This questions and others like it soon became irrelevant. Naomi had Castiel doing her dirty work quickly enough. He spied on the Winchesters for her, albeit he did it unknowingly. He became conveniently amnesiac when it came to his little meetings with Naomi. He would only recall previous meetings the moment he was pulled back into her office. He was, essentially, her snitch. It was horribly annoying, blanking periodically between meetings. Actually, it wasn't so bad at first. He would be left slightly confused, lost from the moment, but he would shrug it off and continue doing what he felt called to do: help other people. But then Naomi's intentions became more questionable. Fight as he did, he was no match for her surgical tools. He had to sit, strapped down, through several pain-staking sessions of rewiring and once Naomi accidentally reset him completely by pushing him too far. It was even harder work to rebuild what Castiel had created for himself: individuality. Naomi never got squeamish working on other angels as she did, but even she became bothered by what she had done. But she reminded herself that she wasn't in the wrong. She was doing her job: fixing Heaven. And she needed to keep Castiel under her thumb to do so.

But then she realized, this may not be so bad, stripping Castiel back down to his basic components. She put him to the test, and starting training him to kill Dean Winchester. But, incredibly, as she discovered, even when he was completely devoid, he was still uncooperative. He was so defective that even on his default settings he was malfunctioning. How could love and compassion for a human being overpower God's own handiwork? Naomi couldn't begin to understand. But she kept at it, tweaking Castiel carefully to get him back to an ideal state of body and mind.

Naomi wasn't alone in the endeavor to restore Heaven. She had her own competition, angels who disagreed with her controversial methods, who actually knew the power Naomi held over her subordinates and how she was claiming it. These angels were few and far between. One of them took particular interest in Naomi's "Project Castiel", once it was discovered that Castiel escaped from Purgatory. He didn't like what Naomi was doing to Castiel. Surprisingly, he sympathized with the poor creature. Well, he knew a lot of angels would sympathize with him if they knew Naomi brainwashed them to keep tabs on the going-ons. He found brainwashing to be far below him.

When Castiel appeared in a new office of unknown origin, he was hopelessly confused. This wasn't Naomi's work space. Unless she had done some major interior redecorating while he was gone. But no, this place looked something like Zachariah's Greenroom, the little box that served as a time-out playpen for Dean. Only this was much bigger. Ceilings were high and painted like the Sistine Chapel. There were little sculpted winged-angels in robes playing in the clouds overhead. Playing, or fighting. One of them was holding some kind of club, as if to strike down his brother. It left him perplexed, as he squinted up at the ornate ceiling, trying to make sense of the depiction.

"It is pretty morbid, oui?"

A sinewy voice had him snapping his head back down to earth. A figure stood far away from him, behind a rich oak desk. The acoustics of the room amplified the figure's voice so that he didn't have to raise it above a comfortable level. From what Castiel could discern, he had large hair. He was pouring himself a glass of white wine.

If Castiel's sense had been dull, he would have never believed this man to be an angel. Aesthetically, he looked nothing like the average grunt he met in passing. His vessel of choice looked like it had been plucked straight out of the bourgeoises. It was clear to him that this angel particularly favored French history; he wore a waistcoat, frilled cuffs, a cravat, polished shoes— his tricorne was missing from his head, and hooked on a small coat rack behind him. Everything about this angel was French, even his voice. Castiel had never seen this angel before in his life, but he clearly was set apart from the rest in his own way. When the angel noticed that Castiel hadn't budged, he took it upon himself to bring him closer, and resized the room for convenience. It happened so fast that Castiel was taken by surprise. Now that he was closer, he could see that the vessel was aged some, and actually not too aesthetically appealing. He had a dark mole plastered on his face just off of his bony nose, deep lines carved into his skin, thin lips, and his eyes resembled those of an owl, wide and angry. He also realized that his hair was actually a wig.

"...Hello, Castiel."

Castiel said nothing. He didn't know what to say.

"...What, you aren't going to ask where you are?" the angel continued, filling in the blanks for him. "Good, because I'm not going to tell you." Castiel opened his mouth.

"-Non, non!" the eccentric man drawled, "You are not in Heaven, so save your breath. Do not ask about Naomi either. I cannot stand her," the angel turned away from him, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. Castiel's mouth closed back up as he considered a good question to present.

"...Who are you?" he asked gravelly, suspicion lacing his voice.

"What does it matter who I am?" he returned to Castiel, incredibly, "What matters is that Naomi has you in her talons. And if you really want to know my name, why don't you just read it off of me?"

Inevitably, the brunette's eyes narrowed. Trying to peer at the angel's halo.

"...I can't," he admitted, after a minute.

"Because Naomi has blinded you to the truth," he said. "I am Sealiah and I want to help you."

Castiel cautiously considered Sealiah's words.

"...You're Naomi's adversary," he said. Sealiah rolled his eyes.

"Brilliant observation."

"You want to control Heaven."

"Not control, fix. Naomi wants control."

"That's not true-"

"She already has control over you."

This made Castiel pause. Sealiah saw the gears turning in his head. Good, he thought. Until the other angel unsheathed his weapon from his sleeve.

"You're lying-" Castiel said.

"I am telling the truth!" Sealiah hissed at him, "It is Naomi who is lying! I was on your side in the fight against Raphael! During the Purge of Heaven!"

"So was Naomi," Castiel said indignantly, "Need I remind you that I exterminated all of Raphael's followers when I returned to Heaven?"

"No. You forget those of us who remained neutral." Again, the misfitted angel squinted his eyes.

"Neutral? I gave you all an ultimatum: Join me or perish."

"Oui, but that doesn't mean every- last-" Sealiah dared to step closer to Castiel with each word dropping from his mouth, "one- of- us—" he was now right up in his face, voice shortening to a whisper, "pledged allegiance to any banner."

Castiel's confusion was obvious.

"What are you talking about?" He backed away, ironically uncomfortable with Sealiah's proximity to himself.

"You spared many of us from Death, Castiel. Including those who remained in the gray. I thought it was an act of benevolence, mercy upon those too scared to choose sides. But I'm being led to believe now that you yourself were not even aware of how many angels you took under your wings who doubted you."

"Naomi being one of them," Castiel concluded.

"Very good."

"...Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I believe in you, Castiel. I do." The bourgeois angel didn't have to reach very far to plant a seed of doubt in Castiel's mind. "Naomi doesn't believe in you. I know you can see that. She is only using you to achieve her own ends. You are but a tool in her hands." Sealiah watched again as the cogs churned in Castiel's tampered mind. Very good. He hadn't been expecting it to be easy, but he was already beginning to undo Naomi's work. Castiel could be incredibly naive, and he knew this. Something was very broken in him indeed, but it was working to his advantage. "Castiel, I am with you. I always have been. Moths like Naomi need to be swatted down. Together we can do that, I swear to you. I will never play mind games like she does, I will never hurt you like she does. Together we can restore Heaven to the beauty it once was. What do you say?"

The "holy tax accountant" was silent. He was still holding onto his blade, but all malicious intent to use it was ebbed away. As he remained there, thinking, trying to piece everything together in his mind, unpleasant memories surfaced which made him cringe visibly. Sealiah noticed this.

"Castiel?"

As if snapped from a trance, he was made aware of his surroundings again.

"...You can get me back into Heaven?" Castiel asked, remembering too well that Naomi had banished him. To this, Sealiah rounded his desk again, returning to his untouched wine, and put his hands on the hard surface, leaning toward him.

"Et plus."

Sealiah knew his faction was outnumbered by Naomi, but Castiel didn't need to have a reason to doubt him. They still stood a fair chance in this tug-of-war game. All that Sealiah could think of was how advantageous it would be to have the Great Castiel on his side. Even if Sealiah didn't need him, he would still take pride and pleasure in being able to snatch Naomi's favorite toy from her. But right now, Sealiah still had work to do on Castiel. He was only just starting to snip the sutures that Naomi had sewn into him. For all he knew, Castiel was still loyal to her. A test was in order, he decided. And he knew from Naomi's mistakes that killing Sam and Dean Winchester was not the right approach. He wouldn't make Castiel kill his friends. Purely for selfish reasons, really, not because he was being kind. He had to win Castiel over. This would be the groundwork for his master plan. Though, he had to admit, he did agree with Naomi on one thing. Castiel couldn't have both a place in Heaven and his own helping of humanity. One or the other. But for now, Sealiah could afford to slacken up on the Winchesters.

"...Do you accept my offer?" he asked.

Here was the dreaded fork in the road. But the decision was almost too easy to make.

"Yes."

Sealiah looked at him for a long moment, before turning up a thin grin.

"Excellent."

With a passive flip of his hand, a wine glass suddenly dropped in front of Castiel's eyes. His reflexes were good enough that he caught it before it shattered on the floor. A second later the glass was full. White wine. He looked up and saw Sealiah raising his glass.

"To... a hopeful future and victory," Sealiah proposed. Castiel hesitantly copied Sealiah and lifted his glass too. He didn't fully understand the purpose of toasting, but he went along with it all the same. Sealiah drank, and he drank. It had no discernable taste to him. Only that of molecules.

When Sealiah put down his glass, he cleared his throat.

"Castiel, I must say I am very pleased that you have seen sense. However-" this pushed the rim from Castiel's lips, "-In any sort of bond, there needs to be trust. Surely you know this."

Of course he did. Why wouldn't he?

"Well, you see– Unfortunately, I lack that trust in you."

"...I thought you said you believed in me," Castiel responded, as if wounded by this revelation.

"I do believe in you!" Sealiah said, with those owl eyes wide, "I believe in you more than I believe in God– Father forgive me. But you see, mon ami, there is a difference between croyance et confiance."

Castiel understood.

"You want me to prove myself to you."

"Precisely."

"How do I do that, Sealiah? You said so yourself— Naomi has her talons in me. She's been torturing and reprogramming me–" Sealiah wasn't sure, but he suspected that color was starting to flush faintly into Castiel's borrowed face. "She's scrubbed my mind more times than I can count, and every time I leave Heaven, I can never so much as remember Naomi's name."

"...Castiel, we are not in Heaven, remember?"

He knew it. It took a moment for it to sink back in. He stared headlong at Sealiah when it did. In that moment, a little bit of Dean Winchester which had rubbed off of him over the years, bubbled to the surface.

"...Son of a..."

"Frère, I cannot bring back every memory that that moth Naomi has stolen from you. I cannot retrieve your old memories, those are gone forever. But she'd never deprive you of those memories of her. You say you forget her every time she is out of your sight, but you clearly remember her whenever you return to her. I can bring back whatever she shovels down into your subconscious. You know that Naomi is the enemy now."

Castiel looked down at the glass in his hand.

"...There is nothing a little Enochian magic cannot do," Sealiah joked lightly, "Do not worry, you are hidden from Naomi now. Of course, this fix is only temporary, but we can make it last.

"...I might suggest hiding your Winchester friends again. Those brands you carved on their ribs have long-since healed, you know, and they'll be the first place that Naomi looks for you."

Castiel meant to leave that very second, but he found that there were sigils holding him back, keeping him from leaving the room.

"Before I let you go, you still need to earn my trust, Castiel," Sealiah reminded him. "Your allegiance may belong to me now, but that doesn't mean that you won't change your mind in blink. ...Or have it changed for you." Nothing changed the fact that Castiel could still fall under Naomi's influence whether he liked it or not. "...We will have to work at undoing the abhorring obscenity she has crafted."

Castiel stared at him.

"...That didn't come out right-" Sealiah said, ducking his head apologetically. "But you will have to pass a few tests before I can trust you. I hope you understand."

He did.

A bright light emanated from Sealiah. Castiel backed away from the desk in alarm. His back hit a wall relatively quickly, and it stung him because of the warding on the walls. He shielded his face, expecting imminent betrayal. What he found instead was a young child in Sealiah's arms when the light died.

Something just shy of shock crossed his eyes.

"...Is that-"

"A pashs," Sealiah confirmed. Castiel moved a little closer, enraptured by this sight.

"...I haven't seen one since-"

"The Baroque Period?"

"Yes..." Castiel watched, awestruck as the babe slept soundly in the bourgeois' arms.

"This is your first test," Sealiah explained to him, much to his surprise.

"What?"

"It is now your job to watch over this pashs. Pashs are not like human infants, no, but they still need to be nurtured in their own ways."

"...I don't understand-"

Sealiah passed the pashs over to Castiel, whose face was leaking a sort of terror that was honestly amusing for the French enthusiast to see. The recipient of the babe was hesitant to take the child, but he knew that he must.

"I'm not- good with-"

It's all a part of the learning process, Castiel," Sealiah assured him. Castiel held onto the pashs as if it was both made of glass and about to take a chunk out of him. He was a warrior, not a nurse. He knew how to destroy things and slay beings, not how to shape a life or care for it. Was Sealiah trying to degrade him just for entertainment? Just because he could? That's what it was looking like to him.

"I have faith in you Castiel."

Yet you don't trust me, Castiel almost spat back. Instead of speaking the words on his mind, he just watched Sealiah with tight lips and a stiff jaw. He didn't even need to speak his mind, though. Sealiah got the message loud and clear.

You will suceed, Castiel.

With his blessing, the barriers were lifted, and Castiel was turned away with a wistful sweep of his hand. Sealiah's eyes watched the now-unoccupied space, as an afterthought bloomed in his mind. He sent out a whisper to his new ally, on one frequency of many, a private channel between him and Castiel.

"Be alert, frère, this one can bite."

I have to confess, French isn't really my area of expertise, so if any French-speakers read this, by all means, please let me know if I got my vocabulary wrong. x x

Thank you for taking the time to read!