AN: a fusion of two other things: one is a book and another a comic-book. Hope people can sort of guess as the story progresses!
Lyrics are from "Renegade" by Styx
When he throws on his coat, he doesn't know what will happen. Will he be hunted? Followed? There is no telling what his fate will be, where destiny will take him. He has long since abandoned any pretense of hiding who he is.
He walks off into the street; Castiel, Angel of the Lord.
At least, he used to be…
Castiel walks down the darkening street and shoves his hands into the deep pockets of his trench coat. He squints into the dying shreds of hazy orange sunlight, huffs a heavy breath that plays as mist before his visage and widens his already brisk stride. It's too dangerous to stay out in the daylight, especially for someone like him. He crosses the gravel road and turns a right into what used to be a residential street. The houses are broken down, all rotten, termite-infested wood and broken windows; they stand symbolic of the society they all drown in, they stand as silent relics, sentinels of the impossible dream.
He stops mid-step on the sidewalk, frozen in place by the poster dangling in tatters on the grimy brick wall.
"Big Brother is Watching You" it says, Raphael's stoic face menacing in sheer tones of gray. Despite the inanimate object's muted threat Castiel turns and continues his path.
Things had changed drastically since the end of the Last Great War, most commonly known as the Holy War. Demons in possession of millions of wicked, sinful humans had decided that the angels wouldn't dare to hurt their father's most favored creation and all flocked towards those with any shred of grace or goodness in their souls. They then commenced the "Diem aeternam Annum" or Year of Eternal Night, the token name for the, actual, four years of slaughters and murders that ran rampant, first through America then Japan and it quickly spread through all the nations.
The murders were gruesome and the failure of government action led to political toppling, military dictatorships that rose and fell within hours of each other. Soldiers of every kind pulled gins out on each other, on their family and friends in fear of the dark, black eyes that would twinkle in glee as entrails were yanked out of still breathing bodies.
The world was in complete and utter anarchy. In Britain civilians had taken justice into their own hands as the little clusters of hunters that had lived there began to spread the knowledge of how to protect themselves from these vile fiends. "Utinam Christo apud vos" became a common phrase between the people of the healing lands, May Christ be with you; both a test and a prayer, a pseudo blessing in the trying times.
The churches had, of course, been the first to go. No one had attempted to preach the word of the Lord. No one had tried to pray. In their minds, in their hearts, they knew that there was no use. No one would save them but themselves.
Disregarding the bubbling conflict in Asia, the Eastern Hemisphere was slowly getting the upper hand on their problem. The Western hemisphere, however, was in complete and utter chaos. Canada was slowly but surely staving off the rampant, disease like plague of possessions by remaining devout. South America had not been inflicted as harshly as other continents, their rates only slightly higher than Africa's; Central America was being quickly evacuated to the south or to the Caribbean. Whole cities began to crumble under the quick abandonment and nature soon took control of the villages that were left vacant.
Which left Mexico and the United States.
Mexico, despite the trafficking, was a very religious country. Each portion of the country had its own ancient beliefs, ranging from the old Mayan Pupul Vuh to the modern Catholicism. Mother's nailed rosaries to the doors and sent prayers. Some news reporters had filmed stories of wailing mothers that claimed that some loved one or another was possessed and released by an angel, someone of infinite light with only a humanoid figure.
Then, the stories began to spread. People in Canada, the Czech Republic, Portugal and Laos began to tell tales of these bipedal forms of pure light that would appear in densely occupied areas known to be inhabited by the black-eyed harbingers of destruction and disappear—leaving only the confused and healthy remnants of missing family members, mourned friends.
Then it happened. Three years and the levee had broken and the floods of hell—and heaven—had been set loose.
The infestation in America had been the worse—the black eyed spawns had taken on victims high up in the echelon. In the week before the "Noctis de Angelis" the possessed had managed to launch thousands of bombs that were all directed towards Central America in order to cut off the "Human Plague" from fleeing to the north or south.
That's when the "Noctis de Angelis" occurred. In an attack worthy of the Blitzkrieg tittle, a thousand 'stars' flew across the sky, wiping out the possessed in the thousands. That night billions of people had died and all across the world the whispers of Angelic interference became shouts of glee.
Finally, their saviors had come.
The legions of angels all began to become human using the very same methods of possession their demon predecessors had used. A war was fought for the remainder of the year, bloody and brutal; it had taken out much of the lands and billions died. The population dwindled with the low food shortages, plagues and famine. The one night it ended. Just as it had started, the "Night of the Angels" had ended.
The Angel's reign began in what they called Adamah, the collective lands of the United States, Maxico and Canada.
The people under Raphael's strict, iron-fisted rule called it "Regni Sanctus Terror"—the Reign of Holy Terror.
Since then, almost five years since the start of the Holy Empire, the people were kept under Raphael and his cronies' control. England became its own empire, along with Asia, and Africa and South America simply flourished without the use of a military.
Castiel was once one of the soldiers, so loyal to his father and then Michael and finally Raphael. That time, the time of marching and stoic pride were long over. Had anyone in his former garrison seen him now, surely they would not recognize their beloved leader. He was a shell of a man—and it hadn't bothered him much, still doesn't to the very day because he was the last of the angels to be made directly by their father's hands and had always been… well, different.
And now? Well, now he was something else entirely. Not quite human and definitely no angel.
Not since that final mission, that last battle…
Castiel shakes his head as he makes it around the corner, narrowly avoiding a duo of angels; though definitely one of the newer generations of angels they were clearly less powerful than he. Still, Castiel shuddered at the thought of slaying one of his brethren and chose to evade rather than fight. So he turns another corner, bypassing a few more posters—some of them covered in navy paint—and into a dead end alley way.
"Hello there, little lost lamb." A voice jeers from behind Castiel and he scowls, turning his head to look at the angel leaning against the filthy brick wall. "ooh, you're a pretty one aren't ya'?" The angels flexes his burnt sepia wings behind him, a way to signal his interest and lets out a low whistle. He turns to the sound of footsteps to his right, floppy wavy brown hair following his head with a bounce. "Oi! C'mere a second." The angel turns and leers at Castiel who feels instantly soiled by the filthy look in the dirt brown eyes.
"Well well well," the second angel pipes up. "Little birdie is out after curfew!" The angel grins, something dark and twisted that should never touch a servant of the Lord's features, and starts to crowd Castiel towards the dead end. "We know just what to do with the likes of you…" This angel's creamy wing smacks into the other's.
"I am on my way home and would like to leave unbothered" Castiel murmurs, going through a thousand ways to get out of here without killing the angels.
"Did you hear that! He's got quite the voice, eh? Still, I think I'd rather stuff his mouth with my-" The Sepia-winged angel gasps and his wings snap wide, hitting the walls and bending to their maximum length. His eyes go wide and eternal light shines from the openings and into the darkness of the fresh night. His mouth opens into a mute scream and the same blinding white leaves his mouth until only wisps of energy escape his pale, bluing lips.
"I think the man said he wanted to go home unbothered," a new voice pipes up, slightly gruff and weary. The body falls in a heap on the floor and even with his weakened grace Castiel can tell that the man is alive, only slightly injured across his back though the angel is fully gone, wings and all.
"You stupid little fuck I'm going to rip your heart out!" the Second Angel growls as he turns, angelic blade slipping seamlessly from his black jacket sleeve. The man doesn't hesitate as he ducks and pivots to swing his dagger across the angel's throat.
There's no blood, Castiel knows this. A gold liquid will pour out of the wound to seal it but he is proven quite gruesomely wrong as the slit begins to spew crimson life. The body falls and all traces of grace seep out like the blood that is rushing through the man's wound. Castiel falls to his knees, shocked by the knowledge that some sort of weapon exists and completely forgets about the man that had just saved him and assaulted what are essentially his brothers.
He shuffles forward and places his hands on the wound, eyes filling with silent tears as he feels heat course through his body and scorches his hands. He feels the man from before holding his shoulder in a bruising grip, trying to haul him away from the body but he resists with all his might until he feels the unsteady heartbeat beneath his trembling hands steady into a somewhat steady yet low pulse.
"What the hell did you just do?" he growls into Castiel's ear but Castiel can't muster up energy to speak. His hands feel like they're on fire and he can't breath—something's dripping from his nose and Castiel has a pretty good idea that it is blood. "Shit, did I just save a fucking angel? Bobby's gonna' fucking throw a bitch-fit, fuck, fuck-"
"I am not an angel." Castiel mumbles as he looks up at his savior and future executioner. Light brown hair bordering on dirty-blonde, bright emerald eyes and somewhat darkened skin. He's handsome in an unkempt way but something about him is ringing bells in Castiel's mind. He's in no state of clear thinking, though, and in this frame of mind reaches up, takes the blade into his palm and squeezes.
Blood, thick and darker than healthy, begins to slowly ooze from the wound and down the blade. The emerald eyes go from suspicious to slightly alarmed. The parted lips go tight into a drawn line and the man's features go dark.
"What the hell are you?" He growls, pressing forward on his knees, blade still in his grasp but not brandished as an immediate threat. Castiel can only close his eyes and sigh in resignation before meeting the stranger's eyes once more.
"I do not think I am completely sure of what it is I am, either." He responds and the stranger seems to accept this strange answer. It is true; Castiel is perhaps more confounded than his savior. "And since you asked me about my persona and identity I believe it is only customary for me to ask the very same variance of the question. Who are you?"
The man seems to regard Castiel for a second, like he's trying to figure out if he's real or not before turning away to look at the bodies still lying unconscious behind them. "They call me Righteous Man." He says, finally. "I don't think saying my name is safe at the moment."
"Mmm, in that case then you may call me…" Castiel thinks for a heartbeat before answering, "Sachiel." Not convincing on the 'not an angel' front but it'll do for sentimental purposes that Castiel would rather forget. The Righteous Man looks at him for a moment, assessing, like he's trying to look through Castiel's clothes and skin to his heart. They stare at each other for what feels like millennia until Castiel tries to push himself up into a seated position. His hand stings and he falls back on his bum, a low 'ouch' escaping him as the appendages begin to throb.
"Shit, buddy, your hands ain't looking too hot right now." The stranger says and Castiel tilts his head at the hint of a southern drawl. "C'mon, you're coming with me. There's gonna' be a little show tonight and I think you'd enjoy it."
They're sitting on top of the roof of an old hotel on the outskirts of the city. Castiel can't really remember how they had gotten there so quickly but this Righteous Man clearly knew his way through the city. He had helped Castiel get through the city and up the building without a word, offering help when he noticed Castiel's hidden winces. So they sat on the roof of the hotel, the dark sky drowning the stars in eternal darkness. The moon hangs limply and Castiel mourns, mourns over the death of the heavens, once so beautiful, once his home.
"Alright, so just check out the western borders of Raphael's Cathedral" The Righteous Man snickers as he sits next to Castiel. "Sachiel, keep your eyes over there and give me your hand." Castiel does as he is told mindlessly and feels something cool and soothing is smeared across the burnt flash of his palms. He tries to ignore the odd sensation sinking in his stomach as the Righteous Man finishes both his hands but doesn't let go, fingers slotting in the loose spaces between Castiel's as if they are meant to be there.
"Aaaand: action." The righteous man grins, something a little wild, a little crazy and Castiel can't help but feel a little breathless at the sight.
He's tired of his body betraying him so he lets it go and looks back to where something is happening.
From here he can see lights flashing down the streets, a few meters away from each other and music playing, guitar rifts and drum beats drifting from the loudspeakers on each corner.
Oh momma I'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the law
Lawman has put an end to my running and I'm so far from my home
Oh momma I can hear you a'crying you're so scared and all alone
Hangman is comin' down from the gallows and I don't have very
long
Castiel's face scrunches as the flashes of lights end at the end of the street, right at the corner of the cathedral before he feels it—an insistent tugging deep inside of him and a loud cry in his ears.
"BROTHER! HELP US!"
The jig is up the news is out they've finally found me
The renegade who had it made retrieved for a bounty
Never more to go astray
This will be the end today of the wanted man
"What have they done?" Castiel chokes out, his hand clenching onto the Righteous Man's hand in a bruising grip. The man glances over at Castiel, a hint of amusement and wonder in his eyes. Somehow, deep inside, Castiel senses fear and a twinge of mischief within the strange man's mind.
"We've started the revolution." He says simply, as if his words hold no strength, no value. "The fight for free will."
Oh momma I've been years on the lam
And had a high price on my head
Lawman said get him dead or alive
Now it's for sure he'll see me dead
Dear momma I can hear you a'crying
You're so scared and all alone
Hangman is coming down from the gallows
And I don't have very long
"Revolution?" Castiel asks, confused. He had seen revolutions before, from Julius Caesar's assassination to Napoleon's reign but nothing like this.
"Humanity under Raphael is slavery." The Righteous One says. "It's not what angels are made for, not what mankind was meant to undergo. So we're fighting back." Dean looks over at Castiel, like he knows something Castiel doesn't. "And you, well, you look like you're already fighting a war of your own, aren't you Castiel?"
The jig is up, the news is out
They finally found me
The renegade who had it made
Retrieved for a bounty
Never more to go astray
The judge will have revenge today
On the wanted man
"No." Castiel murmurs and he tugs his hand away from the Righteous Man, eyes wide and eyebrows drawn together. "That is not my name." Not anymore. "I am-"
"Trust me, you are not in danger." The Righteous Man whispers and his hand clings harder, a grip Castiel knows he can easily break free from but he is beguiled, he is confounded into staying. "We can provide you shelter and nourishment and a way out—anything you need. We're an uprising, yes, but we are also a network made to help people escape." The emerald eyes bore into Castiel's and he knows that the man isn't lying.
"I don't want to leave."
Oh Momma, I'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the law
Hangman is coming down from the gallows And I don't have very long
"We can help you get what you want, get to where you want to be." The Righteous Man says and his voice sounds so sincere Castiel can't help but to believe in him. Believe in this futile attempt to overthrow the regime his brother has honed over billions of years.
"I want…"
But Castiel doesn't know how to answer that. He wants his friends. He wants his brothers. He wants his home; he wants his former self and he wants everything to just be over.
The jig is up, the news is out
They finally found me
The renegade who had it made
Retrieved for a bounty
Never more to go astray
"I want to fight." Castiel finally says and The Righteous man smiles, looks on into the distance.
This'll be the end today
Of the wanted man
the wanted man
"We banished them." The Righteous Man says and he doesn't notice the minute tremor that passes through Castiel. "We used some sigils we found in some ruins and through some intel." He says nonchalantly, as if throwing this huge fact in Castiel's face isn't turning his world upside down. "Anyway, we should start going to the base, music's almost over and Raphael's little soldiers will be out and about soon."
Castiel rrises and leaves with this man, a thousand questions burning in his mind as they leave. Most importantly, however are the revelations of the night:
There are people willing to fight Raphael, he can actually help and perhaps the most shattering of all: Gabriel is alive and maybe, maybe Balthazar is too.
They were the only angels other than Raphael and Castiel aware of banishing sigils.
"How- How did you know my..?" Castiel trails off, unsure how to posture the question. The Rightous Man stops at the door to the stairwell and turns to look at Castiel.
"Your real name?" He finishes and Castiel nods. "Oh, well…" The man pulls off his shirt and Castiel gasps as the red hand-mark on the man's shoulder, the only blemish on his tan skin, makes Castiel's hand feel hotter.
"My name is Dean Winchester and you, well, you're the angel that saved me."
and i don't wanna go,
oh no
dont let 'em take me
no no