A/N: Written for week 2 of SPN Hiatus Creations 2019 on tumblr. Prompt: Castiel.
It wasn't often that Castiel got to enjoy his flights. No, usually he would use the power of his wings to bend space and time around him, to be where he needed to be. But often he would sit and watch the birds, see the air ruffling through their feathers, and he'd stretch out his own wings, vast in the dimension he kept them in, spreading out behind him, feet upon feet of dark feathers. They were beyond Earthly ties, but to see the birds, so carefree, Castiel wanted to fly like them. So sometimes he did when he was away from Heaven and their duties, and away from his friends, too.
While Sam and Dean slept and Castiel had done his time of watching over their dreams, he took to the skies, perhaps not in the dimension that could be perceived by human eyes, but still one very real to his existence. He ascended, letting his wings carry him up and up, towards the glittering silver stars, through the clouds, nothing hindering him.
This wasn't what it was normally like to be an angel.
To be an angel meant orders, and barracks, and white halls, and watching over humanity, seeing them with their free will, but not knowing it, not truly.
Was this what free will felt like? To have the wind in his feathers? To now go against the gusts of the northerly wind so that he could face it instead of let himself be carried? To not toil as its burden, but carve his own path through the sky?
Or was he still doing his duty?
Castiel couldn't find his part in Heaven, and even now he couldn't find his part in the sky. He stuck out from the clouds, stuck out against the cold light of the moon, found himself wondering if he was more like a bird or a man.
Or perhaps neither.
But perhaps he was unlike an angel.
Castiel was a soldier of Heaven, had fought in battles, and bled for his Lord, but even now he questioned his loyalty and where his heart truly lay. Was it with his brethren, those who had been created by his Father beside him? Or was it with humanity? Castiel swooped down, head tilted down to the ground, imagining he could see through the dark, dark night to the motel that Sam, and Dean were in, that he could see into their dreams and walk with them, and keep them safe.
The longer he stayed airborne the more he felt an itching, a tingling, like he didn't belong, and so he brought himself back to Earth, clothes and hair all ruffled. He folded up his wings against his back and entered the motel room. It was warm inside, and there were the soft sounds of sleep, of Sam rolling onto his side, shifting his feet, of Dean's light snore.
Castiel sat in the chair by the window, but didn't look out, satisfied with his friends, with his place for the moment.
This was where he wanted to be, and that was good enough for now.