A/N: This a little one-shot (the first fic I upload that is not Destiel, omg) I wrote because I love angel's lore and you wouldn't believe how obssesive I become when I find a topic that seems interesting and intricate. Plus, this was a no-screen-time week for Castiel and I just kept thinking about angels and their missions and I bet my own guardian angel is kind of sick of me. It's really short, but it carries a lot of meaning on why I believe things had happened the way they had on this season. Enjoy!
I do not own Supernatural. Or Castiel. Sadly.
Castiel listened to Ambriel's words. The angel of the zodiac, she was. He had seen her before somewhere in Heaven but, as a seraph, he didn't really spent much time with lesser angels. Her words, though, they seemed to resonate on his mind. Was it true? Were they expendable? Replaceable?
Throughout the history of mankind, there were people meant to change the world. To burn their marks on humanity's timeline, whether they knew it or not. Those men and women had been chosen to change everything around them, and they had been all assigned an angelical protector. A guide through their quests, those being peace, war, knowledge or epiphany.
The angels guarding them had to do whatever it took to ensure their humans accomplished their destinies. Their fates. Some of them had died. Some of them had fallen.
Castiel looked back at his own past. He had already died and fallen. He had disobeyed, he had turned his back to destiny and fate and prophecy. He had broken the word of God in every possible way. And still, there he was. Hiding in the trees, spying on the Darkness, God's sister.
Every angel in Heaven had been created with a purpose, sometimes unknown until the time to give their lives was upon them. But they never questioned it, for only their father knew it all, and all they knew was faith.
His mind wandered to Iaoel, the angel of visions who had accompanied Joan of Arc on his battles, and Morael, guardian to Mother Teresa. Iaoel had given Joan visions of Michael and certain saints to keep her fighting going, to let her return her country to the French and then get captured by the English to become a martyr as her destiny was meant to be. Young girl Agnes was meant to be the representation of peace, charity and service and so Mother Teresa was born.
The seraph watched as Ambriel walked to the Darkness, cautious and graceful, scared and beautiful, and somewhere his mind went back to the Winchesters. Morael and Iaoel had been dead for long now, but their work as protector and guides remained in history on Earth as in Heaven. But his work, Castiel's existence, was living proof on the heartbeats and breaths of the brothers. On Dean's shoulder. And he was proud of his work. He was proud of the path he took. Because he knew somewhere deep on his grace that God had chosen him to be with them. Morael and Iaoel could keep their saints, Castiel thought. He got The Righteous Man. He got the men who had stopped the Apocalypse, who had changed not the world, but the whole universe. And he was willing to give everything of him to their cause.
The sister of God drained Ambriel. And maybe she was going to do the same with him, but he knew it would've all been worth it. He'd fight and scratch and kick and cut because his only purpose was to look after the brothers. That was why God created him, he was sure. And he was also sure that, whatever God's plans were for the Darkness, after all this chaos had ended, his father would not let any harm come to Dean and Sam. And if God was gone far away, he knew the Winchesters would find a way to kill Amara. And maybe, just maybe, they would remember him when he was gone for good.
He was ready for anything that might happen. He, like his brothers and sisters before him, had faith.
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Thank you for reading this. I love you for that. And if you favorite and review, I'll love you even more.