Prologue

What if? What if it wasn't Castiel who gripped Dean tight and raised him from perdition? What then? What if it was another angel to bring Dean out of Hell? One who did what he was told? One who didn't doubt his superiors? One who didn't stop to watch the bees? One who didn't gaze at humanity with wonder, amazement, and, worst of all, respect? One named Tamel.

Chapter 1

It started with the headaches.

Every day as Castiel flew, performing his angelic duties, both in Heaven and on Earth, he would have throbbing headaches. For Castiel this was a first, he was an angel and was never afflicted with such minor things. He tried to heal his obviously damaged vessel, and found nothing wrong.

Then what was?

It was a question that Castiel spend most of his time pondering. What was the problem?

He even contemplated consulting his superiors; surely they would know what to do? But he always decided against it, they would probably examine him, or relieve him of his duties for the time being. That would only drive him more on edge.

And each day it got worse.

After about a week from the start of the headaches, he had his first vision. At first he was terrified. He had never had one before, but as far as he could tell, they were a lot like the nightly ones humans experienced. Excluding the content of course.

It had been three weeks since the first one, and since then Castiel had adapted accordingly. So at precisely noon, Greenwich Mean Time (all angels operated using GMT to reduce confusion), Castiel visited his version of the Garden, and choose a particularly secluded and undisturbed heaven to rest in. He never used the same one; if you visited a heaven once, the soul would ignore you or probably not even notice you were there, but after multiple visits the soul recognizes you and begins asking questions. Questions angels could hear.

Today he chooses the heaven of Sister Mary Constant, a nun who had died of old age in her convent. He particularly respected nuns; they were such devoted woman who gave up their lives for the lord. Castiel's very existence was for his father, and thus he felt a special tie to them, and trusted them more than most humans. This devoted woman had even chosen the convent as her heaven, in order to continue her life's work.

He enters a small room in the aforementioned convent. The room was abandoned, and looked like it hadn't been used in many years. He sat down on one of the three chairs within the room, the only one that seemed capable of supporting his weight. He rested his head back on the top of the chair, and closed his eyes. The second his eyelids shut, he lost consciousness and found himself in a different place entirely.

He always had the same dream.

Falling.

He was falling. Into a dark abyss that loomed below him, seeming to go on for miles. He was constantly stumbling and twirling; never managing to find a stable position between the unbalancing wind and absence of light.

He'd always reach for his wings, wondering why he couldn't fly. He would find none. And when he searched inside of him, there was only darkness. No grace. Not even the faintest flicker of his ever-present power.

He felt cut off. Lost. Scared.

Such human feelings. Castiel was not accustomed to them. And yet, Castiel mimicked these mortal emotions perfectly. Almost as if he was created with them. He wasn't of course, angels weren't made to feel. It was a weakness. They were soldiers, designed to carry out their father's orders. They couldn't make mistakes, or allow these feelings to get in the way of their duties. No. Emotions were a luxury only humans could afford.

But there was also something else.

Something else, he couldn't define. It was an odd sensation in his gut. He felt so…so…free? Yes, that's what it was. Freedom. He could practically feel it raging as a fire inside his chest. It burned into him, permanently marking him as its own. He didn't care. He just wanted more. He felt happy. Amazing. Ecstatic even.

He had sunk deep into rapture, and in a moment of inspiration, Castiel threw out his arms, stretching them wide, and laughed in pure joy into the ominous void below him

It made sense. Castiel finally understood that old moral tale of Icarus. It had puzzled him for centuries, ever since it was first told. Why had the boy flown so close to the sun, even after his father warned him of the danger? Well, here was the answer. Freedom. He had gotten drunk on it. And Castiel knew in his now human heart that if he had been the boy, he would have too.

It was great. Thrilling. He enjoyed every second of it, the endless falling, and though he didn't want it to end, he knew it would. But he wasn't disappointed. He had made a discovery, and wanted to share it with all his brothers and sisters. Imagine them experiencing this, the sheer euphoria of it all. Castiel found himself laughing again, simply trying to imagine their faces.

But that was enough, Castiel decided. If he was to do that, he had to first find a way out of here. He squinted, trying to make out the bottom of the pit. It couldn't go on forever. It had to end at some point.

There. He saw it. A shiny surface stood out against the dark, contrasting with everything else around him. Despite his fear he wanted to reach the bottom. It held much promise. And his only hope for life. A better life.

It steadily came closer. Growing from the size of a marble, until it was larger than him, himself; and only a few yards away. Castiel closed his eyes and tensed his body, ready for impact. The moment before hitting the bottom, Castiel only had one thought. Finally.

Then he woke.

Castiel awoke with a start, practically falling off the chair onto the dusty floor. Not angelic at all, he chided himself as he sunk back into the old chair. No one would look for him, and besides he needed some rest. His visions often left him exhausted and drained; this one was no different, if anything, more so.

He tried not to think of his latest vision, but as always his thoughts strayed.

That was how it always happened. He could never reach the bottom. He would sense it, only a fraction of an inch away. Then he'd wake.

And every time he woke up. He tried to grasp it. The undefinable emotion. To feel it. Savor it. One more time. But each time it slipped through his fingers, just beyond his reach. Just beyond the cold, glass case that surrounded him.

Whenever he thought back to his dreams, he felt detached; as if it wasn't his. Like it hadn't happened to Castiel, the angel of Thursdays. He couldn't feel like he had in those dreams. He wanted to, though; even if he'd never admit it.

But despite how hard he tried, these dreams began to make him doubt. To doubt if what they did was right. To doubt his orders. To doubt his purpose.

It made him think. On a whole new level- one of free will.

And we all know how that story ends.

Authors Note:

This is my first fanfic, don't hate me. I do my research. Sister Mary Constant from season 7 episode 23, "Survival of the Fittest." And I used the word rapture, bonus points for that. It is not centered around Tamel. The first few chapters, if not all, will be in Castiel's pov. I haven't written a second chapter, but if I get at least two good reviews I will consider posting a new chapter quickly. Please review, I really need the feedback. Yup. Bye. Damn these standardized tests.