Chapter 1
Castiel had always marveled at hospitals. He had watched them grow from the shanties of faith healers and ancient acupuncture to small civilizations within grand buildings, the humans' understanding of the ways of his Father almost threatening to undo His will and His plan. He had watched their knowledge of illnesses of the mind go from thinking them the work of the Devil or possessions to the true nature of their need for help. He was thankful that he had taken on Sam Winchester's instability during a time of obsession with curing mental illness. He knew he wasn't sick – actually, he felt better than he had before taking on Sam's burdens – but the humans saw him as such, not knowing any better, and gave him asylum where the Winchesters couldn't.
He did not hate the Winchesters for leaving him at the hospital. He had heard their conversation as they left after that night, and he agreed with them. They could not afford to watch him every second of every day, nor did he want them to have to. He had considered himself their guardian for the longest time, and he had failed him; he did not think anything they could do now would protect him from what would be coming for him. The fact was they could not protect him, but within these walls he was safe. And the demon Meg was determined to keep him all to herself for her own safety. He did not mind her using him; he was using her, too. She was strong, she was smart, and she was determined to have an angel up her sleeve.
He enjoyed the time allotted to him to spend outside, especially on days as gorgeous as this. Despite his distance from Heaven, he felt closest to God on these warm, sunny days, watching the bees go about their simple existence in silent fascination and almost envy. Such obedient little soldiers, pollenating flowers and producing honey for their queen, never questioning, never objecting, never rebelling, never needing anything else. Their individual and free thought, if they had any, said to follow their instincts and the commands of their queen. Sometimes it made him sad. Most of the time, though, it helped him feel closer to his Father again.
Sam's insanity translated as a freedom of mind for him. At first it was paralyzing, the hallucinations of his fallen brother, the visions and sensations of Hell all around him, he thought the weight of it all would kill him. But when the fog cleared, and he could breathe again, he discovered the taste of the air, the sweet relief of oxygen breathing life forms find every day. He could form his own thoughts and not be crushed by guilt or regret for thinking them. He was free. And freedom and insanity were equals in the mind of angels. On occasion one of those hallucinations bled through, and he would hear his trapped brothers' voices or see the fires of Hell, but they passed quickly once he found something else to focus on. With his mind suddenly able to focus on whatever he willed it to so easily, that was hardly difficult.
"Castiel," called the voice of his older brother. He ignored it and focused on the bees making their way from flower to flower in no particular order. It was a rare occasion that he had more than one hallucination on the same day now, but this was the second time today he heard Lucifer calling his name. He had thought back to the fate of his brothers more and more now that his only company was the bees and his thoughts, and the demon Meg when she was in a talkative mood. Despite knowing it was for the greater good, that it had saved humanity and his friends, he still felt a sense of tragedy at watching Michael and Lucifer plummet in to the fallen's cage in the depths of Hell, likely for all of eternity. There was no way to rescue Michael without risking springing Lucifer as well. Part of Sam's memories from Hell included Lucifer raving in frustration about the plans he had for God after he eradicated the "sickness" of mankind while he mercilessly tortured Sam's soul. He did not want those plans to come to light.
Castiel had stopped denying to himself that he had missed Lucifer, now that his mind was clear and unfiltered. Nearly every angel secretly missed Heaven's most cherished archangel, though none of them would admit it anymore. Lucifer's beauty had been the very essence of the multidimensional realm, and the lower angels like him had often mused that Lucifer must be more beautiful than God. None of them had ever seen their Father, and could not imagine anyone more beautiful than Lucifer. And when Lucifer had been cast in to the pit, Heaven seemed less luminescent, less beautiful, and less whole. He was the embodiment of perfection, and if they could lose him to corruption, they could lose anything.
They had met once or twice when Castiel was younger. Lucifer hadn't remembered, but Castiel had. The older had given him much wisdom and shown him useful fighting tips. To this day he still thought to those words when fighting or following through with an order, even after meeting Dean and Sam. Yes, Castiel had missed his brother, but his brother had never really come back. The Lucifer that he knew died at some point in the pit. What emerged with his same wings was a tainted, twisted echo of that former beauty.
He wished the voice would leave him alone. Not because he feared or hated his brother, but because the false voice tugged at his heart. It was the voice of the vessel he had used before Sam consented; Nick was the name Sam's memory offered for the poor lost soul. But it made sense why Sam's tormented psyche would hear that voice and not the liquid mercury of Lucifer's true vocals. That was the only voice Sam had ever known the Devil to have, minus his own talking to him through a mirror.
Lucifer had not been kind to the human; that much was apparent. After their meeting in Detroit, when Sam allowed the Devil entrance, Lucifer had killed Nick and snuffed out his soul. An angel could tell by touching the corpse of the deceased whether they had gained passage to Heaven or been condemned to Hell; when Castiel had touched Nick, he felt nothing, only a cold, empty shell. It was the most horrifying experience of his 4,000 years.
Sam's memories had proven very useful in answering some of his questions about Lucifer's actions, and perhaps made his condition more tolerable. His condition was only borrowed; therefore the memories would not be personalized. In a weird sense, it was a part of Sam's mind existing within his own. The most tortured part, nonetheless, but he did not mind. He deserved it after all he had done: dealing with demons, being so naïve as to accidentally free the Leviathans from their eternal damnation, having the audacity to challenge God's decision to lock them away. Sam Winchester had only ever strived for good and peace; he had not deserved the torture he received for his sacrifices. Castiel took them it in full because he knew he deserved no better.
But here, in the hospital, under the care of the humans and the watchful eye of Meg, perhaps he could work towards redeeming himself. In this state he was not completely free of the guilt, just dissociated from it. So perhaps he could work towards a useful state of being while no longer needing to carry that around with him. He liked the idea of it, though not so much the idea of getting involved with conflicts anymore. But that was Sam and Dean's lifestyle, and he did not want to lose his friends. Hopefully eventually he would stop being so sensitive to the idea of having to fight again. Until then he would help them in whatever ways he could without having to smite anything.
Meg tapped his shoulder to get his attention. She had assumed the role of his overseeing nurse, and did not allow most of the other orderlies to see to him. She took responsibility for him in all forms, from bringing him his meals and medications to chaperoning him throughout the hospital and its grounds. "Hospital's shutting its doors for the night," she said with slight condescension in her tone. She always sounded like that. "Time to head in." He nodded solemnly, never too thrilled to have to leave his careful observation of the bees. He said a silent goodbye to the busy insects, and then they were in his room.
"I can't figure you out, Cas," she says as he stares out the window, "you want to appear as human and insane as the rest of these drooling morons, and yet you refuse to use your legs. You're gonna get noticed one of these days. Maybe not by one of the other patients – who would believe them? – But by someone. And all it takes is one person rambling about their day for a demon or something worse to find out we're harboring an angel here."
He did not respond, only watched the sun glinting through the leaves as it gradually set. He did wish to remain human in the eyes of the hospital staff, but impatience and force of habit had him electing to fly instead of walk. And he knew she was only mocking him. Between the two of them, nothing would be hurting him. He was still an angel, still powerful enough to eliminate any threat to himself or to her. He did what he wanted, and avoided what he didn't. He didn't want to walk. So he didn't walk.
Night fell quickly. He hadn't moved from his spot leaning against the windowsill and watching the change of light since he had come inside. Once the moon was high in the sky, he opted to lie down and observe from a less harsh angle. He still didn't sleep. Ever since he had woken up from the coma induced by shifting Sam's trauma into himself, he had been awake every moment. He could go anywhere he chose during lights out; locked doors meant nothing to him. But he didn't. He stayed in his room and watched the stars through his window. It was relaxing, and helped him to think. He liked thinking. The orders of his superiors had been his psyche for his entire existence. Now his mind was whatever he chose it to be. He thought a lot. He thought about everything. Some humans drove themselves mad over-thinking. He was already mad, so he supposed he had nothing to worry about. He welcomed the feeling that insight and knowledge gave him.
Tonight was different though. He wasn't thinking about the routine of the bees or the patterns within the fibers of plants. He was thinking about his brothers again, and about Sam and Dean. He was thinking about all they had done together, throwing out the rule book and altering God's plan. He was thinking about his first encounter with Lucifer in nearly 3,500 years. How his brother had asked him to join him, and he refused without a second thought. Heaven's obedient soldier, who had prepared for that meeting since the first seal was broken. Had he truly been as convicted as he thought he was? He wasn't sure anymore. He would say no again in a heartbeat, but lately he had been wondering just how sure he had been of his answer at the time. So full of doubt was the young, freshly fallen angel. Saying yes to Lucifer would have meant regaining the command he craved, but it would have also meant the death of the only beings that had stood with him. They later stood against him, but he understood why now. Dean was right, and he should have listened.
For the first time, his brain hurt. So many conflicting thoughts and actions, so many regrets and poor decisions, but what else was an angel who had been given the gift of free thought to do, when he hadn't been taught how to use it? He had only done what he thought to be right, which is exactly what Dean had told him to do. Defeating Raphael was the only way to ensure that the path they had set for the Earth would remain on course. He needed to be stronger if he wished to beat Raphael. Dean had objected to his method without even trying to understand why or suggest a better solution. He had received contradicting orders from the one whom he modeled his behavior after.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. Dean was not to blame for his actions. He was.
He needed some air.
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He didn't like that those memories were becoming painful again. He enjoyed being able to look back on them free from the raw emotion they had formerly stirred in him. It allowed him to reflect and learn from his mistakes without feeling so horrible. It appeared they intended to haunt him and pull at his heart for the rest of his immortal life.
The New England forest he currently strode through was alive with the sounds of the night. This time he had elected to walk part of the way to his destination. He had observed the act of walking help many humans in clearing their heads from troubling thoughts, so he decided he would try it. It was helping a little. He used to come to this forest often during his days stationed on Earth. It was his job to observe humanity without interfering, and report back when convenient. He obeyed wholeheartedly, and was very good at picking up the little details the others in his garrison frequently overlooked. But every now and again he found himself bored of humanity's repetitive nature, and would retreat to a clearing on top of a mountain in the forests of what was now called New Hampshire to observe the other creations of his Father.
The full moon overhead illuminated the shining surface of the familiar river as Castiel entered the clearing, memories of simpler times filling his mind. He sat on a rock hanging over the rushing water and stared in to the distance, where the moonlight licked the tops of the trees of the neighboring mountains. Crickets chirped all around him, singing their song to anyone who cared to listen. He loved to listen. The air was cool and the sound of crickets mixed with the babbling river, falling to rocks below a few meters to his right, effectively cleared his mind of the overwhelming emotions that he had unintentionally subjected himself to in his hospital room. Here he felt close to his Maker once again, safe and cared for.
"God doesn't care about you, Castiel," came the voice of his brother. This was different, this was too real, and it sounded like it came from behind him. He turned and opened his eyes wide at the sight in front of him: Lucifer, back in the body of the human he had tortured so unjustly to get to Sam. When he blinked they were no longer in the forest, but the building where they had first encountered each other during the apocalypse. Lucifer had him pinned against the wall, right forearm pressed in to his neck, left hand holding his wrist against the cold brick.
"In fact I don't think he ever really did," he continued, voice smooth and authoritative. There was no harshness or mock in his tone, just his usual satiny charm. "I don't think he cares what the angels do to themselves, if they stand together as brothers in arms or slaughter each other by the dozen. As long as he's entertained by his little toys, he lets them do as they please." He looked Castiel dead in the eye, voice becoming impossibly soft. "Me, I have always cared about my brothers, always loved them. And always fought for the respect we deserve."
"This isn't real," Castiel said, trying to ignore his brother's existence.
"No?" Lucifer released Castiel's wrist to hold up an archangel's blade. He rested the silver blade against Castiel's cheek. "If I stabbed you with this, do you think it'd hurt? Is the fear you feel real? Does the Grace beneath this meat suit feel real? Am I just your imagination, Castiel? You know the difference between those hallucinations and reality."
"How would you know of them if you weren't one of them," Castiel shot back.
Lucifer smiled. "They were just the result of a few screws knocked loose in Sam's noggin. But an angel is connected to their vessel. When he got out of Hell I was a little disappointed – I liked knowing that at least we were there together. So when he got out I kept some tabs on him, watched him. And imagine my surprise when I saw you, dear brother, take all that away from him. I've got to admit, I'm impressed at just how much you're willing to sacrifice for those cockroaches."
Castiel looked the devil over. Yes, he recognized the difference now between a hallucination and reality. This felt pretty real. "How are you here?" He asked through gritted teeth.
"The careful and concise manipulation of some suicidal teenager in a small town," he answered, not trying to hide the smile in his voice. "Promise someone you'll save them from the disease that won't stop nagging them and they'll do anything you ask. She was very compliant for a very small price. I almost wish I could have kept her."
"What did you do to her," Castiel growled.
"It doesn't matter, she was just a pawn. I know you've always been so keen on the little details but try to see that there's a bigger picture here. Heaven's a mess. The Earth's a mess. I'm going to fix it. And I could really use your help, brother."
"I will never join you," Castiel spat, "I thought you would have learned that the last time we were here."
Lucifer clenched his jaw and shifted his weight, then shocked Castiel by releasing him and backing away. "The last time we were here, circumstances were different. You were in full-fledged rebellion mode, but had already chosen the side of the humans. There is no getting through to an angel so attached to a cause; that I learned from Michael many eons ago. But now you're avoiding conflict. You've let the weight of your mistakes crush and defeat you, Castiel. Everything's a mess, but none of it is your fault. You have only ever tried to do what you thought was right. That's the reason you rebelled, that's the reason you stood up to Raphael, that's the reason you feel the need to redeem yourself in the eyes of your little pet. Our interests are still the same. I want Heaven to be free of corruption, and the Earth to be cleansed. And I know you do too."
"I am nothing like you," Castiel growled.
"Aren't you?" Lucifer's formally soft eyes glinted with mischief. "Our Father had it written that the apocalypse would one day happen. He prepared you all for what roles you would play come Judgment Day, got you ready for how to handle my return. It was God's plan. But you couldn't go through with it. You knew it was wrong, and you begged your brothers to listen to you. But they tried to kill you, didn't they? So you stood alone and fell for what you knew was right." He took a step closer. "Tell me, dear brother; any of that sound familiar?"
A heavy silence hung in the air as they studied each other. Castiel refused to look him in the eye, but had also remained pressed against the wall, as if finding some comfort in the unrelenting brick. He was impossibly still, his thoughts stopping him from even breathing. He had questions he feared the answers to, had doubts stirred by the devil's convincing words, which he had tried not to even listen to. He felt so exposed. Were his walls coming down?
The Morningstar watched his younger brother with fascination. He saw the silent thoughts stirring behind the impossible sapphire eyes of his vessel. The storm in the younger angel's mind was very clearly debilitating in its severity, and he tried not to make any sudden movements in fear of snapping his composure. He had had his demons keep tabs on the Winchesters and their favorite angel, and one consistency throughout their reports was Castiel's unpredictable nature when he became emotional. Especially now with his mental state so fragile, he was careful not to push him too hard. He approached the younger slowly, only taking another step when he was certain it would not frighten the angel that had pinned himself to the wall.
Castiel started when he felt Lucifer's hand taking his wrist, not in threat or show of power, but almost compassionately, as if to ground him. Their eyes met, and Castiel suddenly felt so small under the gaze of Heaven's most beautiful child. "It's been a while since you've felt like yourself, hasn't it, Castiel?" Lucifer asked soothingly. "I'm guessing it's been years since you've even looked at your wings. You're an angel, brother, you should not be living the way you are, in a run down, filthy hospital for the lowest of God's flawed creations." Lucifer's free hand found Cas's shoulder, resting gently on the loose trench coat. "You're an angel of Heaven, and one of the few who has ever dared stand up for what they believe. That makes you more beautiful than any of those zombie-minded soldiers." He leaned in close to Castiel, who was now trembling from his incredulous state. "Show me your true beauty, Castiel."
Lucifer pulled him away from the wall so it would not hurt his wings when they manifested. Cas had not even commanded they do so; they appeared at the request of the devil, still holding his wrist and shoulder with a feather-light touch. The midnight wings spread to their full span, stretching the tendons to flay the feathers in a desperate manner. Lucifer eyed them in awe and admiration. Black wings were not common, not even in higher ranking angels. Most had wing colors spanning from dusty sand to a chestnut brown, much like a hawk's. Castiel's wings were simply stunning, the pitch black feathers, tipped a nighttime blue at the ends, larger than his vessel's body and so much more impressive. Finally, the appendages relaxed and Castiel folded them against his back. Slowly, so as not to alarm him, Lucifer released his shoulder to stroke the onyx feathers, his touch uncharacteristically calming. The fingers of his right hand remained wrapped slackly around Castiel's wrist.
How long had it been since someone had touched his wings? Thousands of years, at least. Without realizing, Castiel laid his head against the crook of the Morningstar's shoulder, encouraging the touch. The last time he could remember anyone stroking his wing with any sort of compassion was with Balthazar, when they were both very young. Castiel had failed a training exercise, and Balthazar had laid a hand on his wing in a show of encouragement and friendship. Castiel had killed him nearly a year ago. The memory stung.
"I didn't know Balthazar was dead," Lucifer mused softly.
"I killed him," Castiel said monotonously, "he was my best friend, and I murdered him." Lucifer rested his chin on his brother's head, whom he could feel was fighting tears. He increased the area of his strokes. "I'm worse than you, aren't I?"
"No such thing," Lucifer smiled. "You made a few bad calls. So did I immediately after rebelling. You spent your whole life taking orders, following the commands of others, and suddenly you had to make your own decisions. Of course you were going to mess up a few times."
"Have you seen what I've done?"
"Of course, what else is there to do in the pit besides watch the chaos unfold up above? So you released a race of ancient monsters, big deal. If the Winchesters won't let you live that down, don't let them live down starting the freaking apocalypse."
"They're only human," Castiel tensed, "I'm an angel. I should know better."
"Yes, you are an angel," Lucifer squeezed Castiel's wing, "you're also free. Is this what you want to do with your freedom? Rot away in some human hospital in some pinprick on a map? Or do you want to redeem yourself and return your grace to its former shine? What's the point of breaking free of those bonds if you're not going to do something with it anymore?"
Castiel lifted his head to look the devil in the eye. "What do you propose I do?"
Lucifer smiled inwardly. It worked; he was listening, even asking for direction. He hadn't expected that to come so quickly. "I'm not going to tell you how to utilize your freedom, Castiel, that's not the point of freedom. But if I may make a suggestion, try attacking your guilt head on instead of trying to avoid it." Castiel looked confused. He couldn't help but giggle at the angel's inability to understand speaking in tongues. "Whatever's causing all of those conflicting emotions, take care of it so they stop."
Lowering his gaze, Castiel returned his head to its place against the Morningstar's shoulder. He could feel his brother's Grace burning hot under the thin membrane of his vessel, and wanted so desperately to use it to fix himself. But of course, an angel fully exposing their Grace was more dangerous than a human exposing their soul. That much raw energy could blow a hole in the universe, and a Grace had no defenses; a prick from a pin could severely wound it.
"We've missed you, Lucifer," Castiel whispered without thinking.
"I've missed you all, too." Suddenly Cas felt a Heavenly warmth washing over his human form, then seep through the thin skin and in to his essence, rushing up to his head before settling. He inhaled sharply at how much better he felt. He had thought taking on Sam's insanity had felt good, but that was only in comparison to how horrible he had felt for the past two years. Now he realized how low a definition of "good" that had been. He felt renewed, like his Grace had found a new spark. He gripped Lucifer's shirt for balance as the shock of it nearly forced him to his knees.
"There, that should get you back on your feet," Lucifer cooed warmly, placing a feather-light kiss to the younger's hair.
"What did you –"
"You wanted me to heal you, right?" Lucifer lifted Castiel's chin so he could look him in the eye. "You only needed to ask."
Castiel was grateful, and relieved. His mind was clearer than ever and he felt a new sense of conviction to fix what he broke and get the Leviathan back where they belonged. But he was instantly skeptical of the Devil's intentions. "If you think this will make me indebted to you –"
"I am capable of kindness," the devil shot down immediately, volume rising only slightly, "I was kind to you when we met in Heaven, wasn't I?" Castiel's eyes widened. He did remember him. "Consider it a gift in reminiscing of simpler times."
And then Lucifer was gone, leaving Castiel alone in the dank building where twice he had re-encountered his older brother. So many thoughts rushing through his head, so many things he knew he needed to do, and so many wrongs he had to right on his part and the Winchesters'. He only hoped Heaven would stop trying to kill him long enough to allow him to fix what he had broken.
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