My Father, Who Art In Heaven
What did it feel like?
What does it feel like?
That's the question people always ask, always their first concern, as if the way it feels is somehow more important that what it is.
It feels like falling forever, but instead of that rush of adrenaline and excitement, there's only a deep, fearful ache. A pain unlike that which others have never known.
If you cut me, I do not bleed. James Novak, my host, is affected by blades and bullets, but he has been dead for a very long time. His body still bleeds for me.
My body bleeds for the Winchesters.
What does it feel like when an Angel falls?
How does it feel to be cut off from heaven?
It feels like confusion, like a betrayal. I go back and forth between feeling traitorous and betrayed. It feels like you once had a home, a meaning, a belonging, and when you went back there the locks were changed and nobody would open the door again.
Nobody opens the door for Castiel anymore.
I was sworn to the service of the Almighty God. His first words to me echo to this day:
"Greetings, celestial being. You have been created to be in service to the Almighty Power. Rejoice, for this is right and good."
The words still echo, but they are getting fainter. The Almighty never had much to say to me in the first place, and certainly not after my errors.
I, celestial being, warrior, soldier of the Lord, am stranded on this world with none of my God-given powers. I am sitting on a bus with the sinners. I brush up against humanity like I am one of them. I move unseen, all because of the tablet in my possession.
Heaven and I have chosen sides, and I am not on theirs.
The last person to fight Heaven so long and so hard ended up locked in a cage in Hell.
I am terrified that is my fate, too. And so I pray, and I ask forgiveness and redemption and acceptance, but the Almighty Is as silent as he ever was.
Celestial warrior of God that I am, I ask for a cheap motel room like any other man. The room is small. It smells of cigarettes. Although normally my strength would not wane, after this defiant move, some of what Dean would call my "Holy Juice" has been sapped, and there is an uncomfortable kink in my back when I lay on the scratchy comforter on the double bed.
I feel acute loneliness.
I miss Dean, but I cannot have him mixed up in this tablet business.
I miss heaven, but I cannot align myself with what they are doing anymore.
I even miss that accursed demon Meg, just to have some company.
I ache for someone to look at me, to know who and what I am, and to desire my company anyway. I could not bear to see the pain in Dean's eyes, and the ire of Naomi's wrath made my head burn with grief and shame.
My loneliness deepens and I fall to my knees.
"Our Father who art in Heaven," I began, just as the Son instructed humanity to pray, but then I stop. After breaking all other rules, what's this one?
"Father," I say, and I can hear my voice break as James Novak's eyes fill with tears. "Father, why have you forsaken me?"
Another quote. But I fall silent, waiting for an answer.
"Father," I begin again, "Guide me. Father, help me."
The room is silent.
Guidance does not come tonight.
Nor does company.
Nor does peace.
Nor sleep.