Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

Zachariah strode into the Intelligence Department. If he was being honest with himself, it was a little plain. Intelligence didn't even piggyback on one of the residents' Heavens the way much of the leadership did. Instead, they preferred to operate in the alcoves and hallways between souls, communicating by telepathy or cloud patterns, or whatever new way the R&D Department had come up with that was infinitely more complicated and time-consuming than basic prayer.

"Naomi," he said, entering the department head's immaculate white office. "It's been too long."

The other angel barely raised her head. Her eyes connected briefly with the garrison commander and she nodded her greeting.

"Zachariah, she said. "I wanted to discuss the rescue of Dean Winchester."

Zachariah raised an eyebrow. That was unexpected. The observers on the ground had said the human was merely moments away from agreeing to pick up the knife. Once that happened, the rescue could be mounted immediately. None of Naomi's intel even came from Hell, and raising inquiries at the eleventh hour was rarely her style. Nevertheless, he sat down in the chair in front of her desk.

"We're running drills right now," he reported. "Your simulations have been working perfectly, by the way. Still heavy casualties- we're looking at two, maybe three hundred, but so far, there's been a seventy-five percent success rate."

Naomi gave Zachariah a long searching look before replying.

"I had hoped you'd take my research into consideration," she said. "The communication implants alone could make it far easier to exchange information in the field and would actually-"

"Distract operatives who can't tell a celestial chat room from a Hell dungeon," Zachariah interrupted with a wave of his hand. Honestly, instantaneous communication was a good idea, but it included virtual realities and some of his soldiers were nearly as stupid as the monkey they were rescuing.

"I'm not taking the risk that one of my lieutenants misses a parry or gets impaled by a pitchfork just because he thinks he's in Heaven," he continued. "Naomi, if this was all you wanted to talk about, then we have at most a month until we're mounting our attack, so I should really get back."

He made to stand, but Naomi stopped him with a placating hand.

"That's not what this is about," she stated.

Zachariah seated himself and raised his eyebrow as if to ask what indeed this meeting was about.

"It's about your garrison," Naomi continued, almost apologetically. She passed Zachariah a blue binder.

"Page 7, entry 19."

Zachariah scrutinized the page.

"Castiel?"

She nodded.

"He's not flagged for Earth missions," she explained.

"This isn't an Earth mission," Zachariah returned.

Naomi leaned back in her chair and sighed.

"You plan to rescue the vessel and return him to Earth, do you not?" she asked.

Zachariah rolled his eyes. Of course they did. This incursion had only been planned for the last two millennia.

"Well, yes," he replied. "That would be the general idea of a rescue mission."

Naomi sighed, almost impatiently, before continuing.

"Castiel is not allowed on Earth missions," she said again. "I've had to re-program him no less than 72 times since the Crucifixion, and honestly, it would be a lot more if I hadn't instated the ban. Intelligence is only going to have more work on its plate with the Apocalypse. Anna's already fallen for Dad's sakes!"

She placed her palms flat on the desk and leaned forward.

"You know how much proximity to Earth increases Doubt and given all the compartmentalizing necessary to let the seals break, I don't need to be distracted by defective angels!" she finished angrily.

Naomi hadn't raised her voice; she hadn't stood. But she wasn't messing around and the last thing Zachariah needed was a pissed off seraph with the ability to rewire his brain, so he decided to take the more diplomatic approach.

"Naomi," he said soothingly, "I understand there's a lot of work involved, but Castiel's role is strictly offence. He's not involved with the rescue force. He's there to distract and engage."

He made eye contact and tried to let some form of admiration color his voice before continuing.

"And he's an excellent swordsmen," he said placatingly. "A good soldier. He follows orders. You did that. You fixed him. It would be a waste of your skills not to use him," he finished.

The senior intelligence officer remained quiet for a long time, eyes fixed on the inlay in her wooden desk.

"He hasn't strayed from course once?" she asked finally. "He hasn't questioned one order?"

All trace of humor was gone from his voice and Zachariah answered calmly.

"No."

But Naomi was not deterred.

"He stays on task during simulations? He doesn't suddenly rescue a comrade in another sector who's about to fall?"

Zachariah frowned. His brow furrowed as he tried to remember each one of the last 1,217 simulations.

"He rescued Balthazar once. Last week. He wasn't strictly within wing distance, but it wasn't off mission. He still vanquished the demons' first wave."

He paused and leaned forward.

"Naomi, I thought you valued angel life? Isn't that why you've been pushing the new tech? He's an asset. The fewer angels we loose to Hell, the more we have to fight the Apocalypse."

Naomi placed a hand to her chin contemplatively. He could almost see her running the calculations in her head. Casualties, miracles, demonic smitings, memory therapy.

He barely suppressed a shudder at that last thought.

Finally, Naomi sighed and looked at him.

"If you can assure me he will not come in contact with the vessel," she said slowly. "That he will not so much as hover above the Earth, I will green light the mission."

Inwardly, Zachariah sighed in relief. It wasn't that Castiel was irreplaceable per se, but he was very useful in the field. And he didn't concern himself with the bigger picture of things. Naomi's memory wipes had made him obedient, almost docile, and that had its uses.

"Great! We have a deal!" he said, standing from his chair. "Now, if you excuse me, I really need to get back, so if I could…" he gestured toward the door.

Naomi raised her hand distractedly.

"Yes, yes, of course, just have a written report on my desk after the mission is complete, will you? And I want one of my associates to be present at Castiel's debriefing."

Zachariah shrugged. Leave it to Intelligence to have their prayers in everyone's vessels.

"Of course," he said. "Whatever you want."

He made his way toward the door but turned and pause with his hand on the door handle.

"Honestly, Naomi," he assured her. "The mission's going to be textbook. Nothing is going to go wrong."

Author's Note: For a very long time I've been trying to write a story about Castiel and Heaven. But for me, writing about angels is like trying to see with dilated eyes: everything makes sense from far away, but when you try to focus on a specific detail, thing get blurry and you get a headache. So, this fic is part of my efforts to try to make sense of the angels, both as a species and a society. I'm still pretty new to fanfiction, so I'd appreciate any reviews or constructive criticism, and if anyone has insights about writing angels, I'd really like to talk to you.