A/N: When I first decided to write something Christmas related, every plot bunny that jumped into my mind was angsty, with a capital A. Here's my first attempt at fluff, dedicated to my dear friend Feathered Filly because she's absolutely amazing.
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke, but Ramiel (from the 'Six Dawns' series) belongs to me!
The park bench felt stiff and damp against the layers of his trench coat, although the snow previously piled upon the wooden planks had been swept aside with a bare hand before he sat down upon it. Last night, the grey skies had loosened their burdens, opening up to spill delicate billows of individual tiny flakes, each one different from the others of its kind, unique in shape and beautiful in their own design, even if some never lived past settling on a surface far warmer and far more permanent; on the rosy cheeks of an eager laughing child, on the tongue of the furry little Dachshund out on her morning walk with her owner, on the eyelashes of the couple standing together in the winter wonderland after she'd gasped at the diamond, smiled, and said "I do".
Sharp blue eyes gazed out across the white landscape, at the colors of Creation that were hidden by a blanket of pristine whiteness Sitting there and gazing out over the quiet and the stillness, it was odd to think that there were many who disliked this season, disliked the coldness and the bitter wind, the lack of colors painting the world. Spring and Summer were always more favored, with their signs of new life and warm temperatures, for their opportunities for picnics in the park and running through the sprinklers in bathing suits and barefoot. He supposed it was easy for mankind to view Winter as dead and lifeless in comparison, choosing to fill up the so-called "silent nights" with caroling and filling in the blank drawing page with their own multi-colored lights, setting up effigies for a pagan holiday; a rotund bearded man in a red suit and snowmen with charcoal eyes and carrots for noses that looked nothing like the Man that God Almighty had made in His own image.
Certainly, the death of living things was nothing spectacularly lovely, but as he stared across the expanse of brilliance and tranquility, it was almost as if he was looking upon a new realm of creation, where sin did not exist and iniquity was but a memory long forgotten. The snow covered everything like the Lord's overreaching grace and all-abounding mercy, a perfect gift poured out from the hallowed halls above, as tranquil as the Elysian Fields and as pure as Heaven itself. An involuntary sigh escaped his vessel's throat, breath fogging in the chill air. The very thought of Heaven used to bring such joy to his soul, but now there was naught but heaviness weighing down upon him. It was not simply because of being away from the Host or the ever-diminishing state of his grace, but there were times that he simply wished to revel in the peace of the home he'd left behind.
"Not it!"
"Na na na na na, bet you can't catch me!"
"Oh yeah? Bet you I CAN!"
Castiel was pulled from his silent reverie as two children ran in front of him, boots clomping noisily against the ground as they chased one another across the cleanly-shoveled walkway and under the monkey bars, one puffy red marshmallow coat trailing after a large bundle of blue down jacket. Sometime in the midst of his musings, the park had come to life with brightly dressed children swarming ducking under the heavy-laden branches of the park's numerous trees, rolling the snow into compact little balls that would so be projectiles soaring through the air and falling upon their backs, moving their arms and legs through the snow for some odd reason that he couldn't fathom, perhaps it was a game.
No, not quite Heaven. The angel sat back slowly, watching the scene unfold, forced to recant his former thought, because Heaven did not have any children. The souls of those who'd forsaken their mortal bodies after their time had no real age in the Kingdom of Light, for time was an invention for human standards of measurement and the counting of years useless in the face of eternity. But as the intense gaze swept over those running through the snow and ruining the elegance of its perfection with little boot prints and peppering the previously silent surroundings with laughs that arose like soap bubbles in the morning air, Castiel was struck with the sudden thought that maybe Heaven should have children, for their souls shone as pure as any member of the Host, bright with innocence and the amazing beauty that all of mankind seemed to carry within themselves.
"Okay!" Came from beside him with a great exhalation of breath; he turned to see a young woman plunking a bag down heavily on the bench beside him before settling down herself and setting a pink bundle with legs on the ground. "My goodness, little lady. You are getting such a big girl; I'm not going to be able to carry you around everywhere for much longer! Now how did that get undone?" The mother smiled fondly, bending down to refasten a buckle on the tiny pink snow boot and then adjusting the long woolen scarf wrapped around her daughter's neck and face as her child turned and gazed curiously out at the whiteness, eyes wide with wonder. "Go on, go play, sweetie. Mommy will be right here, resting."
As the child began to totter her way out into the snow, Castiel watched her steps, slow and unsure but gradually becoming more certain as the little girl found her footing. Her soul shimmered with delight when she bent over to scoop up some of the snow in pink mittened hands, laughing merrily as a gust of wind blew past and carried the flakes away. From the other side of the bench, her mother sighed tiredly, but waved one hand encouragingly when her daughter looked back towards her. Upon gazing closer at her soul, Castiel could see the many sleepless nights she spent worrying about her husband who was away overseas, fighting in the war; he could see the toll the long months had taken upon her, the worry about having no income and a three year-old to support, about her husband's wellbeing, about her mother's failing health. And yet overriding it all, the young woman's soul shone with happiness at seeing her child having fun, a joy that was reflected through the smile upon her face.
Presently, the mother seemed to notice the pair of eyes resting upon her and turned her head, hazel orbs narrowing slightly when they met blue. Castiel read suspicion and a lurking fear as well as sudden, fierce protection and so quickly turned his gaze away, eyes straying to his hands. Dean had once simultaneously lectured and taught him the concept of personal space, about how humans disliked having their so-called 'bubbles' invaded by "standing so friggin' close that there isn't even room to breathe (seriously dude, it's annoying. Stop.)". And although the angel never saw any man, woman, or child walking around with individual air pockets surrounding their forms, he had learned to stay at least three feet away from the hunter, most of the time.
This must be another custom, Castiel thought with a frown; he did recall Dean mentioning once to "quit with the staring contest", saying that he would get punched in the face someday by "some bastard who doesn't like being ogled by a holy tax accountant". And so even though the angel knew this young woman had never lifted a hand in anger in all the twenty-eight years of her life, he still did not wish to cause a confrontation. Doing so had the very real possibility of drawing the attention of his kin, and seeing that he was still being hunted, that wasn't a very favorable outcome; he had to fit in. The problem was that there were so many unwritten regulations with humanity and it was oftentimes quite difficult to keep track of them all.
Castiel really was trying to do his best, though.
"Which one is yours?" He lifted his gaze; the mother was smiling at him in a friendly manner, clearly having decided that he was of no threat to her toddler who standing about ten feet away and amusing herself with flopping into the soft snow on her back and giggling up at the sky. The expression on his face must have been one of confusion, for she inclined her head toward the other children running around the playground. "Are you here with your family?"
Her voice was sweet and her words kind, but Castiel felt an instantaneous pang lance through his chest at the question, a longing that no words could describe. Your family. "I…no," he said quietly, gaze returning to his hands, although this time out of something akin to miserable sorrow swelling in him. "I am no longer accepted among my brothers and sisters."
"…oh." The young woman's voice was full of sympathy, her understanding coming from having been in the same situation once before, although it was doubtful she truly grasped the concept of being a member of the vast, near innumerable Host and having to break from communion from every single one of them. A light touch on his arm drew Castiel's attention back to his companion. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"It is alright." But in reality, it truly wasn't.
"No, it's not," she contradicted gently, in accordance with the angel's inner thoughts. "Christmas is a time for being with loved ones, for sharing and making memories with those you care about. No one should be lonely today." She peered at him, and Castiel sensed a genuine desire to offer comfort within her soul, shining out from her earnest gaze. "Don't you have friends to spend it with?"
"Friends?" Castiel's brow furrowed. Friends were close companions, with whom one had bonds of mutual affection; a confidant, a kindred spirit and his thoughts immediately turned to a headstrong hunter broken by Hell itself but pieced back together by Castiel's own careful hands, the one whose flaming soul bore the mark of an angel; he thought back upon that first meeting under a shower of sparks and surrounded by sigil-covered barn walls, of the growing doubt and the elder Winchester's quiet support, of the rage that flooded his soul as never before upon seeing Alastair bearing down upon his charge. But most of all, his thoughts turned back to the moment he decided, the moment he made his choice to give up everything, giving up all of himself for the man who had become closer than a charge, who had become an ally, closer than a brother.
Yes, Dean was his friend, his first friend – and to a lesser extent, so was Sam – his only friends. But regardless, the Winchester brothers never seemed to appreciate his sudden appearances and if they required support, one of them always called beforehand. Castiel had been continuing on his search for his Father, simply assuming that neither hunter wished to be bothered. Christmas was indeed a time to spend with one's kin, and he was of no relation to the Winchesters. He was not family.
"They are…otherwise engaged."
"That's nonsense. I'm sure they'd love your company. There more the merrier at Christmas time."
"The more the merrier…" the angel repeated softly, idly watching as the young woman's daughter wandered back over to her mother, cheeks pink from the cold. The little girl giggled, pleased at the attention, and waved one pink mittened hand in the air.
"Angel!"
He nearly jumped, startled. How- Castiel peered intently at the child's soul, wondering if he had perhaps stumbled upon a Fallen sister, searching his memory for any such recent occurrences, but finding none to speak of. There were no remnants of former grace swirling in her being though, and as Castiel continued to scrutinize the little girl anxiously, his concentration was broken by a warm chuckle from her mother.
"Oh, of course. How could I forget?" Reaching into the bag she had been carrying earlier, the young woman pulled out a small doll made of wide gathered lace, felt, and craft wire. "Here you go, sweetie." At Castiel's slight head tilt of bewilderment, she laughed and explained. "She gets presents and yet she's more interested in the angel on top of the tree. Hasn't let go of it since last night." As if to emphasize the point, her daughter hugged the doll to her chest, shyly gazing up at him through her long eyelashes and her mother pulled her into her lap, embracing her close in turn. "It's her favorite part of the Christmas story. Isn't that right, Lilly?"
Lilly giggled, timid but bright. "Angel Gab-rel," she said proudly. "Sang wif the o'her angels today."
"Yes, that's right," her mother smiled, adjusting the scarf around Lilly's face. "And why is that?"
The little girl's answer was immediate and familiar. "'cause of Em-man-u-el."
Castiel's borrowed heart clenched tightly in his chest at the remembrance of his elder brother Gabriel, in all his glory (who appeared nothing like the doll in this child's hands), shining as a star in the midnight sky, glorious voice ringing out to the far corners of Creation in proclamation of the Lord's birth as a babe in a manger. He remembered Ramiel's voice uplifted in song being more beautiful than any other of the Host as the angel of joy truly brought Joy to the World, how his sister's grace shone with invitation as she tenderly drew him close under her wing and encouraged him to uplift his own voice in celebration and rejoicing…
Emmanuel. God with us.
But where was God? Two thousand years ago, the Son had taken on human flesh and descended into Creation for the sake of saving humanity from their sins, and the Lord's angels had glorified the Virgin birth. And yet now, in the direst of circumstances, the Almighty had yet to show His face. Was Lucifer's ascent enough of an emergency for the Father to appear, was not the Apocalypse enough cause for His presence? If God loved His people so very much, then truly, why was God not with them?
"He's dead, Castiel. Dead." Raphael's words, so certain and callous, echoed in his mind, clashing with what Castiel's soul burned with, the grace within him that flamed fervently, proof that his Father was still alive. But if so, why could he not find his Father? Was it because such a cause was tainted by his own selfish reasons, was he not worthy enough to find God?
"Hey, are you okay?"
The young woman was gazing worriedly at him, and Lilly too, gauging the severity of the situation, had fallen silent. "You sad," the little girl said quietly, voice muffled by the scarf obscuring the lower half of her face. Castiel nodded wordlessly, for it was true and without hesitation. "Why?"
He hesitated, and in that one brief instant, small hands were thrusting the handmade angel doll at him. "Don't be sad," the little girl instructed, in the way that only young children could do without seeming spoiled or pretentious. Suddenly, her eyes seemed larger than appropriate for her small face, countenance solemn and earnest at the same time. Her words became more than just that; they seemed to be inspiration and reassurance, hope and joy rolled into the tiny fingers of a little girl who was encouraging an angel to have faith. "Be happy 'cause Em-man-u-el."
Be happy because God is with us.
Once again Castiel found himself humbled by the faith of a child, such pure and unadulterated hope. "Thank you," he said gently and the little girl smiled back, then jumped to the ground and tugged at her mother's hand. The young woman smiled and with a wish of Merry Christmas, turned to lead her daughter away.
Ramiel whispered a word of thanks to the little girl before leaving the vessel's frame painlessly and inconspicuously, although she still kept her grace cloaked from her little brother's senses. It had been quite easy because of his diminished powers. She watched Castiel tuck the little doll into a pocket and with a flick of her fingers, the angel of joy nudged together two wires of the cell phone in the same pocket, causing the small communication device to buzz to life despite having no battery at all, before taking wing. May you find our Father soon, Castiel.
"I'm sorry. The number you have called is not available at this time. Please-"
"Damn it, Cas. Where the hell are you?!" Dean growled into his phone as the tinny prerecorded voice sounded in his ear, because the angel was too stupid to even set up a voicemail account. His frustrated inquiry held a bit of desperation too, for it must have been the twentieth time he'd tried calling with no answer and although he would deny it until the day he died, the elder Winchester was staring to get a bit worried. It wasn't like Cas not to pick up, not unless he was in the middle of angel business, or whatever. But given that he was now on Heaven's top ten most wanted list, Dean doubted that Castiel was off singing sweetly over the plains to freaked out shepherds with his dick brothers, and the only other reason the angel wouldn't have been picking up was because-
No. Dean forced the thought out of his mind, flipping his phone shut as he glared morosely at little Zuzu Bailey in all her black-and-white depressed glory on the fuzzy TV screen ("Teacher says, every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings!").
Damn it. This was supposed to be a relatively hassle-free Christmas, too. Last year, they'd been tangled up in that mess with Sammy almost going darkside and killing Alastiar, and the year before that had been Dean's efforts to revert back to a childhood he'd never had for what he had thought would be his last Christmas on Earth, before the hellhounds and come to collect the due. Dean always seemed to resort to odd little moments of sentimentality when faced with what could be the end, the chick flick moments he always avoided in order to keep his masculinity intact.
Well, call him a creature of habit, but here he was, with both angels and demons on his ass after he and his brother had destroyed the world between the two of them, letting Lucifer free to walk the Earth, sitting in a motel room with takeout (Chinese of course; what else on Christmas Day?) and beer. The only difference was, this year he was actually happy, since everything seemed to be going okay - alright fine, it was still pretty far from okay, but still. Sam was here, still the puppy dog-eyed kid that Dean remembered practically raising and doing just beautifully without any hits of bitch blood, thanks very much, there was beer and food on the table, and all had been quiet on the Western front for the past few days because it seemed like even the angels and demons had taken a break for Christ's birthday...which didn't really fall on the twenty-fifth of December, but whatever. It was all a hunter could ask for Christmas, right?
Now would it be too much to ask for a certain stupid angel to show his feathered ass so that Dean could stop feeling like there was something missing? It hadn't been long before he realized he actually wanted Cas to be there with him and Sam over the holidays, on their scant time off. After all, it wasn't as if Cas couldn't have used some much needed R&R too.
Sam glanced up from where he was tapping away on his laptop to roll his eyes. "Relax, Dean. I'm sure Cas is fine."
"Yeah?" Dean shot back. "Is that why you've been trying to triangulate his cell phone for the past hour?" Don't try that with me, Sammy.
The younger Winchester looked flustered and immediately ducked his head behind the computer screen again. "Jerk," he mumbled, but didn't deny it and Dean flopped back onto his bed again, debating whether or not to try again but knowing that he would most likely throw his cell phone against the wall if he heard that god awful voice again ("This isn't funny, Dean! The voice says I'm almost out of minutes.") when the sound of beating wings made both Winchesters lift their heads.
"I apologize for not coming sooner, Dean; my phone seemed to be…dead?" Castiel stood awkwardly in the corner of the room, hands stiffly down at his sides as always as his eyes took in the sight of the tiny, three-foot little plastic tree standing in the corner of the room, layered in a string of lights before turning to Dean, who was halfway off the bed, mouth opened to yell at the angel for not picking up. "Is something wrong?"
"Wrong?" Dean repeated, about to scrounge up an angry retort when he caught glimpse of Sam shaking his head no, and remembering that he actually wanted the angel to stay. "Sit," he ordered curtly and almost grinned when Castiel did as he was told, one-handedly catching the beer the hunter tossed at him. The angel glanced at the bottle with some trepidation, confused. "Stay."
"But it is Christmas…" Castiel started, bewildered. Christmas is a time for being with loved ones, with family.
"Exactly. That's why I called you," the elder Winchester grunted, eyes already fixing back upon the TV screen although he kept watch on the angel out of his peripheral vision. "So stay." He picked up the remote, flicking through a couple of channels in an effort to seem nonchalant. "And take off the damn coat, will you?"
Sam hid a smile behind his laptop when Castiel complied, something between remaining uncertainty and a small measure of gratefulness crossing his features (which of course, with the angel, amounted to no more than slightly less of a frown and more tightening of the muscles around the mouth; the closest he would ever get to a smile, it seemed). Dean took a swig of beer, pretending not to be pleased, and Castiel gazed wonderingly at the TV, feeling the amulet resting in his shirt's breast pocket warm ever so slightly.
A/N: Well…hm. That was a bit all over the place. Oh well, I tried. Merry Christmas everyone!
If there's any confusion as Ramiel, it would make more sense if you read 'Measures of Reconciliation' first.