Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Supernatural. I wish I did, but I do not. Please support the original release. All of the characters belong to the Eric Kripke and whatnot. Don't go around telling people that I claimed it or I'll do somethings. I don't know. Whatever.

Warning: None really. Kind of deals with religion I guess. I hope nobody who is on fire for the lord flames me. Just saying.

Without further ado, read on.

Dulce Et Decorum

How does one express the extent at which they are willing to follow an ideology? Can one be said to follow the path of righteousness more purely than others? Interpretations to a "just cause", is this what drives that human definition of "morality?"

A man with a wife and two sons named Isaac and John walks into a slightly crowded building. He has just returned from a long day at the office that seems to be aging him faster than time. As he makes his way past the man holding to door open for him, he utters no apology before shoving the man in and announcing to the civilians inside that he has got a bomb strapped to his chest and is doing the work of God before he clicks the remote and ends the lives of over 30 people, half of whom never heard the man's reasons for even coming into the building.

Morality has often been shifted into the human definition of the action that benefits most, and harms the least, but such an open-ended definition of the word often labels nameless men who believe in a just cause into someone who the public would rather label "suicide bomber" because his reasons are misunderstood. A nameless man who assumed an alien persona to complete a task he deemed as the work of God and for the better of mankind. Were this man's actions wrong? The spin on the loose interpretation is this: Let's say that the man's sons were critically injured and the building he had walked into had denied him the medical insurance to save Isaac's leg and John's ability to walk after the car accident that had killed their mother? How quickly details can humanize a man and turn him from a victim to an assailant and vice versa. Is it always right and wrong which pervade the thoughts of the human mind, or what is in the best interest of those more closely affiliated to the chooser of these two paths? This is where ideology is based. Those juxtaposition of good and bad that one deals with throughout life and cannot clearly labeled as either are thrown into the category of either right or wrong in accordance to the superior power. But is blindly, unquestioningly following an ideology more wise than interpreting morality on one's own and risking the chance of becoming an unnamed suicide bomber? But then again, the ratio of suicide bombers to an average, meaningless human existence has a great disparity. But maybe man-

"CAS!"

Castiel snapped out of his reverie to find Dean, mere inches from his face, screaming his name.

"Cas. Did you even hear a word I just said?" The elder Winchester asked before grabbing his beer from the nightstand and sauntering over to his motel bed to take a seat.

"I apologize. I was…" Castiel trailed off before looking down and his interlocked fingers that seemed to have gone white with the amount of pressure he was applying to his knuckles.

"You were…what, Cas? Daydreaming? Can Angels even do that?" Dean asked before taking a swig of his beer and following Castiel's line of sight toward the Angel's hands.

"Meditating. I was…meditating." Castiel offered in his monotonous tone before glancing back up at the television. The "news", as the humans called it, was on. The woman who hid her face behind copious amounts of powders and color lip applications and cheek reddeners was talking about a suicide bombing that had taken place in an insurance building, taking the lives of 26 people. No. It should be thirty. Thirty, counting his Father's child who was driven to such madness because he had strayed from the path. How could this man claim to be doing his Father's work? He had never once received an order from his Father to obliterate an insurance building, so why would this man do such a thing? He has strayed from the path of righteousness. That was the only plausible explanation as to why these flawless beings that his Father created would do such terrible things. If only the man had been reassured, maybe all of this could have been prevented. Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe if his Father had shown up when he was called. Maybe if his Father would have the decency and grace to prove to his hopeful son that he is indeed alive and all of this pointless pandemonium on earth isn't all for naught. Maybe if his Father could somehow come down here and reassure his fallen son that everything he is doing, betraying his brothers, committing sin amongst the humans, is okay and that it's all a part of his master plan. Maybe if his Father was all-knowing he could prove that his efforts aren't foolish or in vain by simply proving that he is…alive. No. No, no, no, no, no. It's those thoughts that run the moral corruption driving formerly good Angels like Lucifer into something that advocated the apocalypse and the deaths of his Father's children. Of the "meat suits" as Uriel so eloquently puts it.

But that word: "Morals." Who defines the word? Who gave the word its meaning? Were people like this man on television driven to such extremes by their morals? If this man somehow deemed killing 29 people and himself a righteous act of God, were those his morals? Killing is unjustifiable. Yes, the man was wronged when he was denied health support by the proprietor of that building; the proprietor was indeed selfish and wasn't even hearing the man out because his mind was focused on places he'd rather be. Was there one sure way to identify a situation as either right or wrong and leave both parties satisfied with its outcome? Was it even possible? Dean would say "snowball's chance in hell." This was one of the few human sayings that Castiel understood. If right and wrong could be clearly defined and leave all parties happy without the loss of life, would this be impossible? Would it be a snowball's chance in hell? His Father would (will) know. His Father would (will) tell him. His Father…is not here. How was he expected to harbor hope for his Father's creations when the Father himself shows no interests in the on-goings of the world he created. How can he show undying love for a creation that so readily kills its own kind for what can only be loosely defined as a "just cause?" Every Angel he has come across has turned their back on him. They have told him that his Father is gone and that the "meat suits" are destined to die. These creatures that are so flawed, so sinful, so undeniably corrupt that even God will not come to their aid during a time where Lucifer walks freely in the vessel of one of His creations. All of this was just so…dumb.

"Hey, Castiel!" Dean shouted again, breaking his concentration. Castiel looked up to see Dean standing right in front of him with a hand placed gingerly on his shoulder.

"Cas, you okay?" Dean's worry-filled green eyes met Castiel's deep blue ones for a brief moment. The look in Castiel's eyes caused the hand on the Angel's shoulder to flinch with the need to remove the appendage out of fear and keep it there for support.

"I… am fine." Castiel drawled, breaking eye contact to see the powder-faced woman being replaced by a man standing in front of large, white ovals and emphatically gesturing east and west to express the rain that was to come down like "cats and dogs," one of the many human expressions he had yet to understand.

Dean followed Castiel's eyes toward the television, and then back to Castiel.

"Well," Dean said, removing his hand from Castiel's shoulder and clapping his hands together. He strides over to the television and switches channels continuously.

"You're so done with watching the news. Wouldn't want you turning into one of those mindless zombies who watch too much televis-ooh. Dr. Sexy." Dean said before plopping down on the bed beside Castiel, satisfied with his change in shows.

Castiel looked to Dean who was still facing the television, chewing on some food that he had obtained at some time Castiel was unsure of.

"Dean."

"Yeah, Cas?"

"What are morals?"

Dean looked at Castiel incredulously.

"What?" The drama of Dr. Sexy M.D. was lost on the eldest Winchester whose full attention was now placed on the very serious Angel.

"I asked you what morals are." Castiel repeated.

"No. I know what you said-"Dean started.

"Then why ask 'what'?" Castiel asked confusedly, head tilting to the side.

"Okay. By 'what' I meant…well, what?" Dean looked at Castiel's confused expression and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What I mean to say is: Why are you asking me of all people? I'm pretty sure that I'm not the one you should be asking to define morals for you." Dean started before breaking into silence and continuing.

"There are way more innocent people in the world." Dean finished solemnly before looking at the floor ashamed and slowly back into the inquisitive eyes of the Angel.

"I believe that this is why you can tell me." Castiel stated, eyes looking more intense.

"What?" Dean repeated.

Castiel stared at him in his uncomprehending way for a few moments, debating whether Dean wanted him to repeat his previous statement or to explain it. He assumed the latter.

"I am saying that I believe your escapades on Earth have given you a sense of right and your time in Hell has made you see the side of wrong, so your judgment is validated." Castiel stated simply. Dean started at him, expecting more explanation than that. Once he figured out that the reticent Angel would give him nothing more, he opened his mouth to speak.

"Well, Cas, I think that morals are uhh…basically…impossible to define." Dean said, looking at the Angel's crestfallen expression, knowing that that wasn't the answer he was hoping for. Dean sighed before giving the Angel more to go on.

"It's like this: everyone has their own sense of right and wrong. What I think is cool and uncool aren't exactly what someone else would agree with. I guess it kind of boils down to actions. Like, how far is someone gonna go to do something they think is right even if it's for something wrong or the other way around. Like when Sammy used his…powers…you said that he was wrong for usin' 'em, but he ended up saving a life or two doin' it. Yeah he sucked bitch blood to do his voodoo, but those demons ditched outta the bodies without us havin' to stake the poor bastards. It's that…uhh…" Dean snapping his fingers while searching for the right words, effectively startling Castiel from his concentration on the elder Winchester's explanation.

"Ends justifying the means thing. But my morals are 'cause of free will. Thank God for free will, right? Or I'd be an angel condom." Dean finished before looking around for his beer and griping said possession in his hand and taking a much needed gulp of it, temporarily ignoring the Angel.

The simple, colloquial use of "God" brightened Castiel's eyes.

If God didn't want his creatures to define their morals, he wouldn't have supplied them with free will. All of the choices that these humans make, good or bad, are for their own paths. The paths his Father has let them choose by bestowing free will upon them. If his Father didn't want his creatures to do these things and create their own paths, he wouldn't have given them free will. To some extent, everybody has free will. Everyone can choose his or her own path so that must mean that his Father-

"Yo, Cas! Can you do a Bewitched and make this beer I spilled disappear? You Angels carry around feather dusters with you, right?" Dean asked, effectively breaking the Angel's meaningful epiphany.

Castiel stared at Dean intensely for a few heartbeats before Dean looked away.

"Uhh or I can just use Sammy's shirt." Dean offered amiably, reaching onto Sam's motel bed and snatching a shirt.

"God. They teach you Angels how to glare in Sunday school?" Dean asked without looking back at Castiel while scrubbing the spilled liquid from the floor with Sam's polo.

"Dean."

"What? Sorry for breakin' your concentration. I thought since you spent enough time in the clouds, you wouldn't want to have your head in 'em. My bad for stopping your daydreaming." Dean half-heartedly apologized with a dismissive wave of Sam's shirt to show peace.

"That's not it. I wanted to thank you for helping me." Castiel offered.

"Helping you? What, your question? What was it about?" Dean asked, throwing Sam's damp shirt into its respective spot before sitting again. He was met with silence before Castiel opened his mouth.

"I had asked-"

"Before you start. I know what the question was about; I wanna know why you asked it. C'mon Cas, keep up." Dean rolled his eyes before looking at the Angel again.

"I was just thinking about God. I was thinking about why he would be absent when all of this is happening. I was thinking about why he would create you humans and not attend to it-"Castiel started before Dean cut him off.

"Kinda like my goldfish. Loved the little guy 'till I figured out he needed food." Dean joked only to be rewarded with a dead-eyed stare from Castiel.

"If you're not interested in what I have concluded, then make you opinions known." Castiel told him bluntly.

"Sorry. Continue, but with a little less sass." Dean waved his hand for Castiel's continuation.

"I was thinking that if God would give his creations all of these decisions, but not interfere if they choose the wrong path, his intentions must be-"Castiel was cut off again by the opening of the hotel door and Sam's entrance.

"Hold that thought." Dean put up one finger before breaking from his bed and sifting through the plastic convenience store bag that Sam had walked in with. Castiel looked at the brothers. They are his Father's creatures and yet they have paths that are set for them. Free will was an illusion for them. God has plans for everyone. Nobody makes their own path, they're just pointing to the exact road that God has whispered in their ear, thinking it their own thoughts. These boys didn't need this. Not now. Let them fight for what they want. Let them die holding onto the idea that it's a just cause. Let them die for their free will, their loved ones, and their humanity. Let them die for their morals. These boys are at war. Free will is their country, naïveté is their weapon and realism is their enemy. Let them have this. Let them fight for this. Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori. Let them die thinking they made that choice for themselves.

"Aww. Sammy! You got my pie. I knew I could rely on you." Dean grinned childishly before taking his prize and turning around to find the room vacant with the exception of him and his brother.

Author's Note: Hey. This is Efflorescent. I kind of wrote this out of boredom. It is supposed to take place before Dark Side of the Moon in season 5. I don't really think that it is all that good and if you think so, feel free to tell me. I just...I dunno. I was bored. I hope it's not too terrible.

Basic Translations:

Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori - It is glorious and honorable to die for one's country.