Author's Note: It's been a while since I've had to write an author's note so don't expect me to get personal or anything. I got this in my head, I don't know where it's going just yet but I would really like some constructive criticism. That said reviews are appreciated. My main focus is to make sure that I kept the characters in character. I thoroughly dislike fics that don't accomplish this so please inform me if I have failed on a certain level.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.
Set after Hunteri Heroici.
He didn't lie. He wasn't entirely truthful but he didn't lie. He wasn't sure that Fred would survive, and to be fair, part of the old man hadn't. Granted the initial response and success, however, there had been little reason to suspect that the old man was in any danger. Still, the angel stayed. He needed the calmness surrounding the old man. He needed to think.
Dean didn't say anything when Castiel had stated his intentions to stay. That was Dean Winchester. Silent worry, barely concealed panic, a flash of concern briefly seen in his green eyes, quickly hidden; but no words. Castiel wondered what reason for concern existed. Perhaps it is frowned upon to put distance between oneself and one's friends shortly after discussing the idea of suicide.
Castiel watched the old man who was staring out the window, completely oblivious to the world surrounding him and to the guardian angel he had recently acquired. Castiel wondered what such oblivion would feel like. The old man was happy, playing continuous classical music in his head. The angel listened pleasantly. It was a nice change from he had endured riding in the car with Dean. For all his talents, taste in music was not one of them.
He glanced briefly at the phone the Winchesters had given him. Sam had taken to texting him to keep him informed, despite them being apart for only hours at this point. The angel rarely responded anyways. He did not see the point in the constant communication to which humans had taken a liking and truth be told, he despised cell phones. The boys were only a state over. They didn't know what they were hunting just yet, but Sam didn't seem too worried and neither was Castiel. His hunters could handle anything.
The angel paused. He'd never thought about the Winchesters like that, though he couldn't argue the possessive. They were his. Despite his flaws, everything he had done was for Dean, and by extension, Sam. But he was wrong, all of it had been wrong. The worst was seeing Dean's disappointment, seeing that warmth and trust that didn't come easy for such a broken man crumble all because of his actions. He had become the thing he hunted, a source of Dean's pain.
It was getting late and Castiel watched as the orderlies helped Fred into bed. He had no idea what he would do at night. He did not need sleep and very little could go wrong with the old man as it was. The chance of something happening in his sleep was even more unlikely.
Castiel walked to the window in the room and stared at the night sky. Sky. It had been a long time since he'd admired the sky, even longer since he'd used his true form and taken to it. His demeanor prior to Purgatory had led him to be more appreciative of Earth, ignoring his angelic abilities. During Purgatory, he'd been doing penance, and had essentially grounded himself.
His mind made up, Castiel 'poofed' to a field outside of town, but still near the nursing home, just in case. He found a small concealed ditch, surrounded by tall weeds and grass. He lowered himself into the ditch and closed his vessel's eyes.
The feeling was incredible. The Angel of Thursday cried out in joy as his wings stretched, and his grace shone through. He doubted the existence of human words in any language to describe the feeling, as if every cramp and sore muscle had been restored to its full capacity, as if his mind had been released from human constraints. For all their beauty and wonder, humans were constrained.
He shot into the sky, wings extending as far as possible and then wrapping the around himself, feeling the soft touch of his once source of vanity. He laughed, like a young child in a warm towel after a bath, enjoying the safety of his true form, the high of the wind on his wings and the air in his lungs. His lungs. Not his vessel's. Staying within two states of the field, so as to not lose his vessel, Castiel flew. In the sky, time became forgotten. The wrongs of the past, the guilt that so heavily weighed on his shoulders, and the filth of purgatory that he so desperately tried to scrub away disappeared, cleansed by the clear night sky and the sheer joy of enjoying one's true self.
"Cas."
It was a soft, deep voice, familiar. Longing. It entered the angel's mind as if floating on the air, soft and quiet, like a prayer.
"I prayed to you every night…"
The angel smiled as he remembered Dean's unnecessary confession. He had heard every prayer in the wasteland, every prayer while Dean had been there, at least. Once Dean had left, Castiel had been cut off from the hunter's calls. He should have known that his hunter would continue to pray, even if it was just to him, and even it was just a few words.
"Good night, Cas."
The angel smiled softly. "Good night, Dean."
The hunter wouldn't hear him, not in this form. Cas wouldn't risk harming the man, yet again, with his true voice. No, Dean would hear him later, while asleep, in his dreams and be comforted by the deep voice of his vessel, the only form Dean Winchester would ever recognize him as.
This thought threatened to dampen the pure joy currently engulfing the angel's entire being and so he pushed it from his mind. He needed this clarification, the clearing of the conscience and mind. Should he wish to find purpose in life, all else could wait.
He flew for days, never needing rest, pausing only to check on Fred at random intervals and to make sure his vessel had not been disturbed. He lost all concept of time, not distinguishing between day and night; only knowing the difference when that familiar voice came to him on the wind.
"Good night, Cas."
Every time he heard the voice, a part of him he didn't know existed in angels swelled with joy. It was as if his true form had amplified everything, even the aspects of himself that had become "more human." He lived for that feeling, that voice that kept him tied to Earth and humanity as he re-experienced his grace and all the joy and temptation it brought him.
Author's Note: So I wasn't originally going to stop here, but it seems like a good place to stop. I have more written out, but it's not typed and I think that almost 1200 words seems like a decently long chapter (especially considering one of the finals I have to write by Thursday evening is 1400 words). Please don't hesitate to point out grammatical mistakes, misspellings, or punctuation or anything. I did a brief proofreading but I'm not perfect. Thank you in advanced and I'll have the next chapter up shortly after Winter Break starts.