"Well, this is a let down. I was looking forward to seeing the infamous 'good intentions',"Uriel announces as soon as their garrison nears their destination. A couple of others send their amusement through the communication network, but most remain silent. On his part, Castiel doesn't even bother to figure out which human platitude the pun plays on. Uriel is just being ridiculous, and it is neither unusual nor significant.
Castiel finds only one thing very significant now, and that is the fact that they are understands that it is their duty to prevent the apocalypse, so he did not understand why Zachariah took so long to give them the order to advance. He didn't question, of course, but deep down there was a treacherous part of him that didn't truly get it. He didn't know how long it would take for a mortal to break, but surely waiting two and a half decades to even start the war was too long.
It takes a long time for them to enter hell and an even longer time for the actual fighting to begin. Hell is a bit of a disorganized mess at the edges, Castiel notes, but they are met with troops as they go further in. Though the demons outnumber them, he knows that they can progress at least two times as quickly as they are right now. He listens as Hester attempts to bring that up with Zachariah and as Zachariah hisses at her about Heaven's plan. No one else has the the temerity to bring anything of that sort up again. Not even when they take a completely illogical route and enter a battle which was never strictly necessary. Due to poor planning, garrisons separate at that point and while most of the angelic army fights a relatively easy battle, others are fighting thirty, forty demons each. The others later realize what is happening and come to their air, so there are no deaths, but some wounded. In the end, it's a mess that can have been avoided.
It takes years more to enter the furthest ring. Thirty years since Dean Winchester has made the deal that left him here. Twenty-nine Dean has spent in Perdition. Only four since the host of Heaven has been given the order to set out.
It is at that point, four years into the expedition into hell, that he feels a presence in his head. Of course, that is absolutely normal for one of his kind, as telepathy is their main form of communication, but this is different. It's too close, too pushy, to be the regular communication network. Castiel recoils.
"Don't. I am trying to help you." The entity is distant, unclear and unidentifiable. Castiel knows better than to trust whatever it is.
"I don't understand." Castiel sends back. "Why do I need help?"
"No. You do not understand, and that is precisely why. That is why you need to listen to me. You need to see the big picture."
Castiel really shouldn't, and he knows it well. There's a part of him, however, that doesn't get what Zachariah is doing, a part that is starting doubt. It should be quashed, and he knows that. So, really, he doesn't quite believe it himself when he replies. "Alright."
"You need to raise Dean Winchester from Perdition." The entity explains, unhelpfully.
"Is that not what we are doing now?" Castiel adds a note of exasperation to the question.
"No, it is not." Still very unhelpful.
"Pardon?" Castiel asks, confused.
"Quite obviously, Zachariah will not let the troops win the battle until the first seal is broken."
Castiel wants badly to ask what it means, but another question escapes before he can stop himself. "Why?"
"Paradise." The entity sounds bitter, or amused, or both.
Castiel gets it then, and then desperately wishes that it didn't make so much sense, didn't correspond with the the things he had already observed. But no- it didn't. "No, Father would not allow it!"
"Wake up." Definitely bitter now. "Do you really think that he still running things up there?"
No, Castiel doesn't think that, even if he wouldn't actually admit it.
He remains silent for a minute, and his conversation partner appears to be waiting for an answer.
When he (or she?) receives none, they continue. Well, Cassie, I suppose the choice is yours.
"No, wait. What am I to do?" Castiel's first reflex is always to ask for commands, which he is proud of, as it is precisely the kind of thing a good soldier does.
"Save Dean Winchester. You have two weeks."
"Two weeks?!" That is a tiny amount of time, compared to everything that has happened so far.
"Until Dean breaks, yes." The other confirms.
"And you only ask me now? You must be jesting." Castiel replies.
"I am not."
Castiel watches his garrison around him, dozens of others around him. Uriel, Hester, Rebecca, Inias, Samandriel… "Why are you asking me?"
The entity is silent for a long time. "Because you've already done it. Oh, and, Cassie?"
"What?" Castiel isn't sure why he is being called that, but he doesn't care much.
"I am very sorry."