A Soldier
By Hikaru H.
I am a soldier, Castiel reminded himself as he saw his brother cut down in front of him in a blaze of holy light. He didn't go to him. He didn't cry out.
He kept fighting. That was all he could do.
His blade sliced through a demon which still had its eyes covered against the glare. Simultaneously his other hand reached out to exorcize a second. These were pitiful, lowly beings, ones that shouldn't even be able to stand in the presence of him and his siblings. Their sheer numbers were all that kept them going. An infestation. It had been centuries since this many had made it to the Earth's surface, and the Angels were out of practice. He had seen three of his brothers overwhelmed and killed in the past week, and that was just in his garrison. They had no way of knowing how their other siblings faired, though he guessed it couldn't be much better than them. He fought with some of the best warriors in God's army, but that hadn't stopped them from losing lives.
His angel blade cut deep again as another demon fell. He could hear the screams of both the demons and the vessels they inhabited, locked deep inside but still conscious. They could see themselves tear their neighbors apart, hear the cries of battle, feel their flesh laid open by the angels' swords, yet could do nothing but scream and beat at the inside of their own skulls. They cried out for their family and friends, but the demons ignored them, laughed at them, and just kept fighting.
His eyes flicked to the empty vessel that had once been his brother, then immediately back to the fight before him. Angels didn't have that luxury. They were soldiers. They could morn the dead after the killing was done. Until then, they fought. No exceptions.
The air blazed and the demons threw up their hands to cover their eyes. It did no good. He lowered his sword as the remaining demons vaporized under the sheer brilliance of the heavenly light. When it cleared, a new vessel stood before them—an older man in a suit. Castiel focused his sight past the human guise to the angel beneath.
"Zachariah."
He turned to focus on Castiel with a slight nod of acknowledgement. "Castiel. Our father has a mission for you. Dean Winchester has fallen. He is essential to God's plan. You must raise him from perdition."
The second time Castiel was brought back to life was less disorienting than the first. It took seconds for his mind to recover. He felt the now-comforting fit of his vessel wrapped around him. His wings fluttered, assuring him that they were still there. And something else. Something that he hadn't been able to feel in months.
His grace.
And then he remembered the circumstances of his death.
Michael.
He took in his surroundings instantly, immediately aware that his brothers were no longer with him. But he was not alone.
He sat up slowly, eyes focused on the man who had started it all. Dean knelt in the middle of the graveyard, battered nearly beyond physical recognition. Castiel reached out with his grace to touch Dean's soul, for verification and reassurance.
The raw screams of uninhibited grief and guilt he found there made him physically recoil.
His heart wrenched at the sound and feelings that overwhelmed him. He stood and made his way over to the kneeling man, still alert to any signs of his brothers' return. He stopped several paces away. He could finally see what Dean was staring at.
The Horsemen's rings.
His own grief filled his vessel's heart as he realized what must have happened. He extended his grace deep into the earth and beyond, as far as he could send it without snapping. The vibrations for his brothers beating against the walls of their cage rose up to meet him.
They had won. Lucifer was back in his cage; the world was safe. It was all they had worked for. That had been their entire mission for the past year.
He felt no elation.
His hands began shaking. His eyes itched. His throat ached. As much as he tried to convince himself it was his vessel malfunctioning, he knew the truth.
Soldiers don't grieve. They don't feel guilt. They don't have friends of family, and they don't stop. They get a mission, see it through, and move on.
And finally Castiel admitted to himself what he had known in his heart for a long time: I am no soldier.
He reached out and laid his hand on Dean's shoulder.