The beauty you possess
Dean Winchester.
The soul's name spurred him on as he plunged into the raging inferno of Hell. The smell of burning flesh and charred organs was almost overpowering when it hit his Grace. The screams of the tortured souls ringing in his ears was difficult to ignore, but he knew he must continue with the mission. A great number of his garrison had sacrificed themselves, while attacking the demons that defended Hell, for this assignment. This was God's work. He was an angel and had been created for it. The red hot hellfire scarred his wings, making them black and tattered, as he travelled at celestial speed, descending further into the Pit.
The blackened and misshapen soul stood staring at the burning sky of Hell. At this moment, it was exploding with great bursts of white and red light, scattering light across the sky with a burning intensity. Normally, Hell's sky was a dark sea of black, making the souls feel trapped in a void, with no form of escape.
Alastair, Hell's grand torturer and a Demon Master, called to the soul, commanding it to return to his station. Alastair knew of the situation happening overhead. However, the angels had been dealt with and would be causing no more trouble. The torture master hissed at the soul staring at the sky, 'Hey, Dean-o, get over here. I want you to test my new torture device.'
The soul turned to look at the Demon Master. Dean, that was his name. He struggled to remember more details…Dean. Dean Winchester. He was a hunter. He died for his little brother, Sammy. Sam. He was meant to protect Sam. The hellhounds attacking him. Darkness. Then pain. Frequent, intense pain. And finally, being shattered and broken. Alastair had broken him and Dean had become his apprentice in the art of torture. Dean's humanity was destroyed. He reluctantly made his way over to join Alastair, silently chastising himself: He wasn't human anymore and he despised himself. He would never be able to escape from Hell.
He could sense that he was close to his target. He recalled his superior's commands: Retrieve the Righteous Man. Restore his body and cleanse his soul.
The angel flew onward, knowing he was the last of his garrison who was able to complete the mission. The heat intensified as he proceeded into Alastair's section of this abominable land. He was flying above the blood red ground which vaguely resembled a processing line in an Earth factory, with each stage resulting in a more horrific form of torture from the last. He searched for his charge, until his Grace zeroed in on Dean Winchester's soul.
Suddenly, he was blocked by a brigade of demon soldiers, dressed for battle in flowing black cloaks which hid their weapons from the angel's view. He stopped abruptly as a demon grabbed one of his wings and ripped away a small piece of his Grace. He raised his head to the sky in pain, fighting back a scream. He arched his wings, throwing off the demon with relative ease. His whole being started to shake with the intense pain caused by his Grace being tainted by the demon. He fought the urge to fly as the demons started to crowd around him. He quickly raised his hands and screamed an Enochian chant that the Hosts had taught the soldiers of Heaven. His Grace emitted a blinding light which vaporised the demons, causing thick black, sulphurous smoke to form in the sky.
The angel took a quick inventory of his injuries. His wings were still damaged from the fires and extreme heat of Hell. He inspected them and instantly knew that his Grace would eventually return them to their original state. He relocated Dean Winchester's soul and started to descend towards it. Even from his great height, the angel could see the glimmer of the man's soul. It was tarnished with sin and darkness, which belonged to Hell, but underneath the layers of black, was a shining human soul. The angel knew this soul possessed a beauty as clear as a diamond. As he flew closer to it, demons emerged on both sides and he produced his Heavenly weapons, slashing at the beasts of Hell with his angel blade. The attackers fell back as he reached for Dean's soul and lifted it carefully into his arms. The soul in his arms started to scream in pain when the pure Grace of the angel made contact. Realising his Grace was the source of the soul's anguish; the angel placed his hand on Dean's forehead and sent him to sleep.
Dean awoke to a gravelly voice murmuring words in language he didn't understand. He was having trouble remembering again, so he repeated the facts he could remember, like a mantra: He was Dean. He was in hell. He had to protect Sam. The hellhounds ripping him apart. Alastair. There had been a blinding light and pain, then darkness and the murmuring.
He fully woke when he heard a shout near him. Dean looked around in alarm and realised he was flying upwards at great speed. Air whooshed past as he ascended from the Pit below. He gazed at his new mode of transport and saw he was being carried by a creature with enormous wings. Dean could see that the wings were charred and blackened, although underneath the grime he could just make out a shimmering array of unimaginable colours. An angel, his mind screamed at him. This was an angel. Dean pushed the thought away as the creature looked down at him, pausing in its murmuring to stare into Dean's eyes. Dean was astonished to discover a human face with startling blue eyes staring back at him. They were incredibly bright, sparkling with intelligence, far beyond any human wit. These eyes had seen every part of the cosmos, and the many wonders that the universe holds, they had watched humanity evolve from whatever creature had first roamed the Earth, and had witnessed the paradoxical nature of God's favourite creation; they had seen the cruelty and kindness which exists in everyday life, and yet they were looking at Dean as if he was the most beautiful creature in all of existence.
The angel glanced down at the human he was carrying in his arms. He had always been fascinated by humanity, and had often silently watched them when he had been stationed on Earth. However, nothing in all of human history could compare to the being he was holding as he raced towards the wormhole the angels had created in the top layer of Hell. Dean Winchester was a renowned name in Heaven. Only a select few Arch-angels knew the real reason behind the man's prestige, but the angel knew that once Dean was alive again protecting him would be of major importance.
As the angel flew out of Hell and into the void which exist between each world, he knew it was time to reconstruct Dean's soul and return in to his body. The angel laid the soul down and began the process which would cleanse it from the darkness of Hell. He muttered blessings and prayers over Dean and started to strip away the grime from the shining, translucent soul. As he dug deeper to banish the dirt that 40 years of Hell had added to the soul, the angel was astonished to discover the clarity the soul had. It was pristine and shown with the power of a supernova. The angel marvelled at the beauty the soul possessed and vowed to protect the human from any danger which may befall him.
The angel retrieved the soul from the ground and flew onwards, entering Earth and teleporting to Dean decomposing remains. He touched the man's forehead and the flesh and organs of the Righteous man instantly healed themselves. The angel then started to lower Dean's soul into his body, taking care not to damage either part of his charge. When the soul was full emerged inside Dean's body, the man started to writhe and scream in pain. He looked down in alarm and understood the memories of Hell were tormenting the man. To purify Dean's mind, the angel pressed his hand against Dean's left shoulder and commanded his Grace to connect to the soul, instantly calming the man. As the warrior of God started to remove his hand, a piece of Dean's soul latched on to the angel's Grace, forming a celestial bond between them. Dean's body started to glow with a blinding white light, and the angel could feel his Grace explode outwards in every direction. The explosion sent out seismic waves, causing the earth to shake and shudder. The angel struggled to free himself from the connection, finally overcoming the bond and pulling his hand away. He noticed he had branded Dean with his handprint, signifying a union between the two beings. As Dean began to stir, the angel teleported to the surface to watch the human emerge from the ground.
Each light burst as the barn door opened. He could see the religious sigils covering every inch of wall space, but not one was powerful enough to harm his Grace. As he walked forward, towards the humans, sparks fell from the ceiling, showering him in light. Dean and the other man aimed their guns at him and started to fire. The angel knew this was a pointless exercise as he would instantly heal himself. He continued walking forward until he was level with his charge. He saw Dean grab a knife, the demon's knife, and the angel almost laughed because he knew it would have no effect on him whatsoever.
Dean stared at him, before asking, 'Who are you?'
He still had not adjusted to speaking in his human vessel but he answered Dean quickly, 'I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.'
Dean stared at him, frowning deeply, while replying, 'Yeah, thanks for that.'
Suddenly, Dean lunged forward and plunged the knife into his vessel. Dean backed away, clearly baffled by the inability of his weapons. The angel pulled the knife out of his heart and swung round to catch the bar the older man was swinging at his head. He soundlessly cast an Enochian sleeping spell and touched the older hunter's forehead, sending him into a peaceful slumber.
He looked back at the man he had pulled from Hell and said, 'We need to talk, Dean. Alone.'
As Dean checked Bobby's pulse, he looked up at the trench-coated man. He had dark hair, which stuck up in a messy and completely uncoordinated fashion. His eyes were oddly familiar, but Dean struggled to remember where he had seen the exquisite shade of cerulean blue before.
'Your friend's alive.'
Dean had never heard such a gravelly voice before. It seemed to vibrate through every fibre of his being. He questioned that man in front of him, 'Who are you?'
Dean got a clipped response from the man before him, 'Castiel.'
So this is Castiel, Dean thought to himself. He decided to ask a more appropriate question, 'Yeah, I figured that much. I mean, what are you?'
The man slowly turned to face Dean and answered him, 'I'm an angel of the Lord.'
There was a dead silence. Dean could hardly believe what he had just heard, it was ridiculous. He stood up slowly, ready to face the man if he decided to attack, and scoffed, 'Get the Hell out of here. There's no such thing.'
The man walked in front of him and almost growled at him, 'This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith.'
Castiel walked towards Dean and stopped. He knew that angels were forbidden from showing their wings to humans, but he had saved this man, and there was already an absolute bond between them. If he was going to disobey Heaven, then it would only ever be for Dean Winchester. His wings were still charred from his time in Hell, so Dean would not be able to see their true form. Castiel shuffled his shoulders, allowing his wings to unfold into this dimension. With a loud crash and a burst of light, the angel spread out his wings, as he stared at Dean's alarmed face. Although damaged, his wings were still magnificent to behold. Castiel glared and Dean, hoping to have proved his point and be able to continue with his angelic duties.
AN: Well, hope you enjoyed that. The next chapters will explore the relationship more and I should be able to update in a few days time. I'd love it if you reviewed and gave me some constructive criticism. Thanks for reading! :)